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Title:Options

"TheRoseofDixie";TheThirdIngredient;TheHidingofBlackBill;SchoolsandSchools;Thimble,Thimble;SupplyandDemand;BuriedTreasure;ToHimWhoWaits; He Also Serves; TheMoment of Victory; The Head-Hunter; NoStory;TheHigherPragmatism;Best-Seller;RusinUrbe;APoorRule

Author:O.Henry

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O.Henry

CONTENTS

"THEROSEOFDIXIE"THETHIRDINGREDIENTTHEHIDINGOFBLACKBILL

SCHOOLSANDSCHOOLSTHIMBLE,THIMBLE

SUPPLYANDDEMAND

BURIEDTREASURETOHIMWHOWAITS

HEALSOSERVESTHEMOMENTOFVICTORY

THEHEAD-HUNTER

NOSTORYTHEHIGHERPRAGMATISM

BEST-SELLERRUSINURBE

APOORRULE

"THEROSEOFDIXIE"

When The Rose of Dixie magazine was started by a stock company inToombsCity,Georgia, therewasneverbutonecandidatefor itschiefeditorialposition in the minds of its owners. Col. Aquila Telfair was the man for theplace.Byalltherightsoflearning,family,reputation,andSoutherntraditions,hewas its foreordained, fit, and logical editor. So, a committee of the patrioticGeorgiacitizenswhohadsubscribedthefoundingfundof$100,000calleduponColonelTelfairathisresidence,CedarHeights,fearfullesttheenterpriseandtheSouthshouldsufferbyhispossiblerefusal.

The colonel received them in his great library,where he spentmost of hisdays.Thelibraryhaddescendedtohimfromhisfather.Itcontainedtenthousandvolumes,someofwhichhadbeenpublishedaslateastheyear1861.Whenthedeputationarrived,ColonelTelfairwasseatedathismassivewhite-pinecentre-table, reading Burton's "Anatomy ofMelancholy." He arose and shook handspunctiliouslywitheachmemberofthecommittee.IfyouwerefamiliarwithTheRoseofDixieyouwillrememberthecolonel'sportrait,whichappearedinitfromtime to time.You could not forget the long, carefully brushedwhite hair; thehooked,high-bridgednose,slightly twisted to the left; thekeeneyesunder thestill black eyebrows; the classicmouth beneath the droopingwhitemustache,slightlyfrazzledattheends.

The committee solicitously offered him the position of managing editor,humbly presenting an outline of the field that the publicationwas designed tocover andmentioning a comfortable salary. The colonel's landswere growingpoorereachyearandweremuchcutupbyredgullies.Besides, thehonorwasnotonetoberefused.

In a forty-minute speech of acceptance, Colonel Telfair gave an outline ofEnglish literature from Chaucer to Macaulay, re-fought the battle ofChancellorsville,andsaidthat,Godhelpinghim,hewouldsoconductTheRose

ofDixie that its fragranceandbeautywouldpermeate theentireworld,hurlingback into the teethof theNorthernminions theirbelief thatnogeniusorgoodcould exist in the brains and hearts of the people whose property they haddestroyedandwhoserightstheyhadcurtailed.

Offices for the magazine were partitioned off and furnished in the secondflooroftheFirstNationalBankbuilding;anditwasforthecoloneltocauseTheRoseofDixie toblossomandflourishortowiltinthebalmyairofthelandofflowers.

ThestaffofassistantsandcontributorsthatEditor-ColonelTelfairdrewabouthimwas a peach. Itwas awhole crate ofGeorgia peaches.The first assistanteditor,TolliverLeeFairfax,hadhadafatherkilledduringPickett'scharge.Thesecond assistant,KeatsUnthank,was thenephewofoneofMorgan'sRaiders.Thebookreviewer,JacksonRockingham,hadbeentheyoungestsoldier in theConfederate army, having appeared on the field of battlewith a sword in onehand and amilk-bottle in the other.The art editor,RoncesvallesSykes,was athirdcousintoanephewofJeffersonDavis.MissLaviniaTerhune,thecolonel'sstenographerandtypewriter,hadanauntwhohadoncebeenkissedbyStonewallJackson. TommyWebster, the head office-boy, got his job by having recitedFatherRyan'spoems,complete,atthecommencementexercisesoftheToombsCityHigh School. The girls whowrapped and addressed themagazinesweremembersofoldSouthernfamiliesinReducedCircumstances.ThecashierwasascrubnamedHawkins, fromAnnArbor,Michigan,whohad recommendationsandabondfromaguaranteecompanyfiledwiththeowners.EvenGeorgiastockcompaniessometimesrealizethatittakesliveonestoburythedead.

Well,sir, ifyoubelieveme,TheRoseofDixieblossomedfive timesbeforeanybodyheardofitexceptthepeoplewhobuytheirhooksandeyesinToombsCity.ThenHawkinsclimbedoffhisstoolandtoldon'emtothestockcompany.EveninAnnArborhehadbeenusedtohavinghisbusinesspropositionsheardof at least as far away as Detroit. So an advertisingmanager was engaged—Beauregard Fitzhugh Banks—a young man in a lavender necktie, whosegrandfatherhadbeentheExaltedHighPillow-slipoftheKukluxKlan.

InspiteofwhichTheRoseofDixiekeptcomingouteverymonth.AlthoughineveryissueitranphotosofeithertheTajMahalortheLuxembourgGardens,or Carmencita or La Follette, a certain number of people bought it and

subscribed for it. As a boom for it, Editor-Colonel Telfair ran three differentviewsofAndrewJackson'soldhome,"TheHermitage,"afull-pageengravingofthesecondbattleofManassas,entitled"LeetotheRear!"andafive-thousand-word biography of Belle Boyd in the same number. The subscription list thatmonth advanced 118. Also there were poems in the same issue by LeoninaVashtiHaricot(pen-name),relatedtotheHaricotsofCharleston,SouthCarolina,andBillThompson,nephewofoneof the stockholders.Andanarticle fromaspecial societycorrespondentdescribinga tea-partygivenby the swellBostonandEnglishset,wherealotofteawasspilledoverboardbysomeoftheguestsmasqueradingasIndians.

Onedayapersonwhosebreathwouldeasilycloudamirror,hewassomuchalive,enteredtheofficeofTheRoseofDixie.Hewasamanaboutthesizeofareal-estateagent,withaself-tiedtieandamanner thathemusthaveborrowedconjointly fromW.J.Bryan,Hackenschmidt,andHettyGreen.Hewasshownintotheeditor-colonel'sponsasinorum.ColonelTelfairroseandbeganaPrinceAlbertbow.

"I'mThacker,"saidtheintruder,takingtheeditor'schair—"T.T.Thacker,ofNewYork."

He dribbled hastily upon the colonel's desk some cards, a bulky manilaenvelope, and a letter from the owners of The Rose of Dixie. This letterintroducedMr. Thacker, and politely requested Colonel Telfair to give him aconferenceandwhateverinformationaboutthemagazinehemightdesire.

"I'vebeencorrespondingwiththesecretaryofthemagazineownersforsometime," said Thacker, briskly. "I'm a practical magazine man myself, and acirculation booster as good as any, if I do say it. I'll guarantee an increase ofanywhere from ten thousand to ahundred thousandayear for anypublicationthatisn'tprintedinadeadlanguage.I'vehadmyeyeonTheRoseofDixieeversinceitstarted.Iknoweveryendofthebusinessfromeditingtosettinguptheclassifiedads.Now,I'vecomedownheretoputagoodbunchofmoneyinthemagazine,ifIcanseemywayclear.Itoughttobemadetopay.Thesecretarytells me it's losing money. I don't see why a magazine in the South, if it'sproperlyhandled,shouldn'tgetagoodcirculationintheNorth,too."

Colonel Telfair leaned back in his chair and polished his gold-rimmed

glasses.

"Mr. Thacker," said he, courteously but firmly, "The Rose of Dixie is apublication devoted to the fostering and the voicing of Southern genius. Itswatchword, which you may have seen on the cover, is 'Of, For, and By theSouth.'"

"But you wouldn't object to a Northern circulation, would you?" askedThacker.

"I suppose," said the editor-colonel, "that it is customary to open thecirculation lists to all. I do not know. I have nothing to dowith the businessaffairsofthemagazine.Iwascalledupontoassumeeditorialcontrolofit,andIhave devoted to its conduct such poor literary talents as I may possess andwhateverstoreoferuditionImayhaveacquired."

"Sure," said Thacker. "But a dollar is a dollar anywhere, North, South, orWest—whetheryou'rebuyingcodfish,gooberpeas,orRockyFordcantaloupes.Now, I've been looking over yourNovember number. I see one here on yourdesk.Youdon'tmindrunningoveritwithme?

"Well,yourleadingarticleisallright.Agoodwrite-upofthecotton-beltwithplentyofphotographsisawinneranytime.NewYorkisalwaysinterestedinthecotton crop. And this sensational account of the Hatfield-McCoy feud, by aschoolmate of a niece of the Governor of Kentucky, isn't such a bad idea. Ithappened so long ago thatmost people have forgotten it.Now, here's a poemthree pages long called 'The Tyrant's Foot,' by Lorella Lascelles. I've pawedaroundagooddealovermanuscripts,but Ineversawhernameona rejectionslip."

"Miss Lascelles," said the editor, "is one of our most widely recognizedSouthernpoetesses.SheiscloselyrelatedtotheAlabamaLascellesfamily,andmadewithherownhands the silkenConfederatebanner thatwaspresented tothegovernorofthatstateathisinauguration."

"Butwhy,"persistedThacker,"isthepoemillustratedwithaviewoftheM.&O.RailroadfreightdepotatTuscaloosa?"

"Theillustration,"saidthecolonel,withdignity,"showsacornerofthefencesurroundingtheoldhomesteadwhereMissLascelleswasborn."

"Allright,"saidThacker."Ireadthepoem,butIcouldn'ttellwhetheritwasaboutthedepotofthebattleofBullRun.Now,here'sashortstorycalled'Rosies'Temptation,'byFosdykePiggott.It'srotten.WhatisaPiggott,anyway?"

"Mr.Piggott,"saidtheeditor,"isabrotheroftheprincipalstockholderofthemagazine."

"All'srightwiththeworld—Piggottpasses,"saidThacker."WellthisarticleonArcticexplorationandtheoneontarponfishingmightgo.Buthowaboutthiswrite-up of the Atlanta, New Orleans, Nashville, and Savannah breweries? Itseems toconsistmainlyof statisticsabout theiroutputand thequalityof theirbeer.What'sthechipoverthebug?"

"If I understand your figurative language," answeredColonel Telfair, "it isthis: thearticleyou refer towashanded tomeby theownersof themagazinewithinstructionstopublishit.Theliteraryqualityofitdidnotappealtome.But,inameasure,Ifeelimpelledtoconform,incertainmatters,tothewishesofthegentlemenwhoareinterestedinthefinancialsideofTheRose."

"I see," said Thacker. "Next we have two pages of selections from 'LallaRookh,'byThomasMoore.Now,whatFederalprisondidMooreescapefrom,orwhat'sthenameoftheF.F.V.familythathecarriesasahandicap?"

"MoorewasanIrishpoetwhodiedin1852,"saidColonelTelfair,pityingly."He isaclassic. Ihavebeen thinkingof reprintinghis translationofAnacreonseriallyinthemagazine."

"Look out for the copyright laws," said Thacker, flippantly. Who's BessieBelleclair,whocontributestheessayonthenewlycompletedwater-worksplantinMilledgeville?"

"Thename, sir," saidColonelTelfair, "is thenomdeguerre ofMissElviraSimpkins. I havenot thehonorof knowing the lady; but her contributionwassent tousbyCongressmanBrower,ofhernativestate.CongressmanBrower'smotherwasrelatedtothePolksofTennessee.

"Now,seehere,Colonel,"saidThacker, throwingdownthemagazine,"thiswon'tdo.Youcan'tsuccessfullyrunamagazineforoneparticularsectionofthecountry. You've got to make a universal appeal. Look how the NorthernpublicationshavecateredtotheSouthandencouragedtheSouthernwriters.Andyou've got to go far and wide for your contributors. You've got to buy stuffaccordingtoitsqualitywithoutanyregardtothepedigreeoftheauthor.Now,I'llbetaquartofinkthatthisSouthernparlororganyou'vebeenrunninghasneverplayedanotethatoriginatedaboveMason&Hamlin'sline.AmIright?"

"I have carefully and conscientiously rejected all contributions from thatsectionofthecountry—ifIunderstandyourfigurativelanguagearight,"repliedthecolonel.

"Allright.NowI'llshowyousomething."

Thacker reached for his thick manila envelope and dumped a mass oftypewrittenmanuscriptontheeditorsdesk.

"Here's some truck," said he, "that I paid cash for, and brought alongwithme."

Onebyonehe foldedback themanuscriptsandshowed their firstpages tothecolonel.

HerearefourshortstoriesbyfourofthehighestpricedauthorsintheUnitedStates—threeof'emlivinginNewYork,andonecommuting.There'saspecialarticle on Vienna-bred society by Tom Vampson. Here's an Italian serial byCaptain Jack—no—it's theotherCrawford.Here are three separate exposésofcitygovernmentsbySniffings,andhere'sadandyentitled'WhatWomenCarryin Dress-Suit Cases'—a Chicago newspaper woman hired herself out for fiveyears as a lady's maid to get that information. And here's a Synopsis ofPrecedingChaptersofHallCaine'snewserialtoappearnextJune.Andhere'sacoupleofpoundsofversdesociététhatIgotataratefromtheclevermagazines.That's the stuff that people everywherewant.And now here's awrite-upwithphotographs at the ages of four, twelve, twenty-two, and thirty of George B.McClellan.It'saprognostication.He'sboundtobeelectedMayorofNewYork.It'llmakeabighitalloverthecountry.He—"

"Ibegyourpardon,"saidColonelTelfair,stiffeninginhischair."Whatwasthename?"

"Oh, I see," saidThacker,with half a grin.Yes, he's a son of theGeneral.We'llpassthatmanuscriptup.But,ifyou'llexcuseme,Colonel,it'samagazinewe'retryingtomakegooff—notthefirstgunatFortSumter.Now,here'sathingthat'sboundtogetnexttoyou.It'sanoriginalpoembyJamesWhitcombRiley.J.W.himself.Youknowwhatthatmeanstoamagazine.Iwon'ttellyouwhatIhad to pay for that poem; but I'll tell you this—Riley canmakemoremoneywritingwithafountain-penthanyouorIcanwithonethatletstheinkrun.I'llreadyouthelasttwostanzas:

"'Palaysaround'n'loafsallday,'N'readsandmakesusleavehimbe.

HeletsmedojustlikeIplease,'N'whenI'mbadhelaughsatme,

'N'whenIhollerloud'n'sayBadwords'n'thenbegintotease

Thecat,'n'pajustsmiles,ma'smad'N'givesmeJessecrostherknees.Ialwayswonderedwhythatwuz—Iguessit'scause

Paneverdoes.

"''N'afterallthelightsareoutI'msorry'boutit;soIcreep

Outofmytrundlebedtoma's'N'sayIloveherawholeheap,

'N'kissher,'n'Ihughertight.'N'it'stoodarktoseehereyes,

ButeverytimeIdoIknowShecries'n'cries'n'cries'n'cries.Ialwayswonderedwhythatwuz—Iguessit's'cause

Paneverdoes.'

"That'sthestuff,"continuedThacker."Whatdoyouthinkofthat?"

"I am not unfamiliar with the works of Mr. Riley," said the colonel,deliberately. "I believe he lives in Indiana. For the last ten years I have beensomewhatofaliteraryrecluse,andamfamiliarwithnearlyallthebooksintheCedarHeightslibrary.Iamalsooftheopinionthatamagazineshouldcontaina

certainamountofpoetry.ManyofthesweetestsingersoftheSouthhavealreadycontributed to the pages of The Rose of Dixie. I, myself, have thought oftranslating fromtheoriginal forpublication in itspages theworksof thegreatItalianpoetTasso.Haveyoueverdrunkfromthefountainofthisimmortalpoet'slines,Mr.Thacker?"

"Notevenademi-Tasso,"saidThacker.Now,let'scometothepoint,ColonelTelfair. I've already invested some money in this as a flyer. That bunch ofmanuscriptscostme$4,000.Myobjectwastotryanumberoftheminthenextissue—Ibelieveyoumakeup less thanamonthahead—andseewhateffect ithasonthecirculation.IbelievethatbyprintingthebeststuffwecangetintheNorth,South,East,orWestwecanmakethemagazinego.Youhavethere theletter fromtheowningcompanyaskingyoutoco-operatewithmein theplan.Let'schuckoutsomeofthisslushthatyou'vebeenpublishingjustbecausethewriters are related to theSkoopdoodlesofSkoopdoodleCounty.Areyouwithme?"

"As long as I continue to be the editor ofTheRose," saidColonelTelfair,withdignity,"Ishallbeitseditor.ButIdesirealsotoconformtothewishesofitsownersifIcandosoconscientiously."

"That's the talk," said Thacker, briskly. "Now, howmuch of this stuff I'vebroughtcanwegetintotheJanuarynumber?Wewanttobeginrightaway."

"ThereisyetspaceintheJanuarynumber,"saidtheeditor,"forabouteightthousandwords,roughlyestimated."

"Great!" saidThacker. "It isn'tmuch,but it'llgive the readers somechangefromgoobers, governors, andGettysburg. I'll leave the selection of the stuff Ibroughttofillthespacetoyou,asit'sallgood.I'vegottorunbacktoNewYork,andI'llbedownagaininacoupleofweeks."

ColonelTelfairslowlyswunghiseye-glassesbytheirbroad,blackribbon.

"The space in the January number that I referred to," said he,measuredly,"hasbeenheldopenpurposely,pendingadecisionthatIhavenotyetmade.AshorttimeagoacontributionwassubmittedtoTheRoseofDixie that isoneofthemost remarkable literary efforts that has ever comeundermyobservation.

Nonebutamastermindandtalentcouldhaveproducedit.ItwouldjustfillthespacethatIhavereservedforitspossibleuse."

Thackerlookedanxious.

"What kind of stuff is it?" he asked. "Eight thousand words soundssuspicious.Theoldest familiesmusthavebeencollaborating. Is theregoing tobeanothersecession?"

"The author of the article," continued the colonel, ignoring Thacker'sallusions, "isawriterof some reputation.Hehasalsodistinguishedhimself inotherways.Idonotfeelatlibertytorevealtoyouhisname—atleastnotuntilIhavedecidedwhetherornottoaccepthiscontribution."

"Well,"saidThacker,nervously,"isitacontinuedstory,oranaccountoftheunveilingofthenewtownpumpinWhitmire,SouthCarolina,orarevisedlistofGeneralLee'sbody-servants,orwhat?"

"Youaredisposedtobefacetious,"saidColonelTelfair,calmly."Thearticleisfromthepenofathinker,aphilosopher,aloverofmankind,astudent,andarhetoricianofhighdegree."

"It must have been written by a syndicate," said Thacker. "But, honestly,Colonel,youwant togoslow. Idon'tknowofanyeight-thousand-wordsingledoses ofwrittenmatter that are read by anybody these days, except SupremeCourt briefs and reports of murder trials. You haven't by any accident gottenholdofacopyofoneofDanielWebster'sspeeches,haveyou?"

ColonelTelfairswungalittleinhischairandlookedsteadilyfromunderhisbushyeyebrowsatthemagazinepromoter.

"Mr. Thacker," he said, gravely, "I am willing to segregate the somewhatcrudeexpressionofyoursenseofhumorfromthesolicitudethatyourbusinessinvestmentsundoubtedlyhaveconferreduponyou.ButImustaskyoutoceaseyour jibes andderogatory comments upon theSouth and theSouthernpeople.They,sir,willnotbetoleratedintheofficeofTheRoseofDixieforonemoment.AndbeforeyouproceedwithmoreofyourcovertinsinuationsthatI,theeditorofthismagazine,amnotacompetentjudgeofthemeritsofthemattersubmitted

toitsconsideration,Ibegthatyouwillfirstpresentsomeevidenceorproofthatyouaremysuperiorinanyway,shape,orformrelativetothequestioninhand."

"Oh,come,Colonel,"saidThacker,good-naturedly."Ididn'tdoanythinglikethattoyou.Itsoundslikeanindictmentbythefourthassistantattorney-general.Let'sgetbacktobusiness.What'sthis8,000to1shotabout?"

"The article," said Colonel Telfair, acknowledging the apology by a slightbow,"coversawideareaofknowledge. It takesup theoriesandquestions thathave puzzled the world for centuries, and disposes of them logically andconcisely.Onebyoneitholdsuptoviewtheevilsoftheworld,pointsoutthewayoferadicating them,and thenconscientiouslyand indetailcommends thegood. There is hardly a phase of human life that it does not discuss wisely,calmly, and equitably.Thegreat policiesof governments, thedutiesof privatecitizens,theobligationsofhomelife, law,ethics,morality—alltheseimportantsubjectsarehandledwithacalmwisdomandconfidencethatImustconfesshascapturedmyadmiration."

"Itmustbeacrackerjack,"saidThacker,impressed.

"Itisagreatcontributiontotheworld'swisdom,"saidthecolonel."Theonlydoubtremaininginmymindastothetremendousadvantageitwouldbetoustogive it publication in The Rose of Dixie is that I have not yet sufficientinformationabouttheauthortogivehisworkpublicityinourmagazine.

"Ithoughtyousaidheisadistinguishedman,"saidThacker.

"He is," replied the colonel, "both in literary and in othermore diversifiedandextraneousfields.ButIamextremelycarefulaboutthematterthatIacceptfor publication. My contributors are people of unquestionable repute andconnections,whichfactcanbeverifiedatanytime.AsIsaid,Iamholdingthisarticle until I can acquire more information about its author. I do not knowwhether Iwillpublish itornot. If Idecideagainst it, I shallbemuchpleased,Mr.Thacker,tosubstitutethematterthatyouareleavingwithmeinitsplace."

Thackerwassomewhatatsea.

"Idon'tseemtogather,"saidhe,"muchaboutthegistofthisinspiredpieceof

literature.ItsoundsmorelikeadarkhorsethanPegasustome."

"Itisahumandocument,"saidthecolonel-editor,confidently,"fromamanofgreataccomplishmentswho,inmyopinion,hasobtainedastrongergraspontheworldanditsoutcomesthanthatofanymanlivingto-day."

Thackerrosetohisfeetexcitedly.

"Say!"he said. "It isn't possible that you've cornered JohnD.Rockefeller'smemoirs,isit?Don'ttellmethatallatonce."

"No,sir,"saidColonelTelfair."Iamspeakingofmentalityandliterature,notofthelessworthyintricaciesoftrade."

"Well,what's the trouble about running the article," askedThacker, a littleimpatiently,"iftheman'swellknownandhasgotthestuff?"

ColonelTelfairsighed.

"Mr. Thacker," said he, "for once I have been tempted. Nothing has yetappearedinTheRoseofDixiethathasnotbeenfromthepenofoneofitssonsor daughters. I know little about the author of this article except that he hasacquiredprominenceinasectionofthecountrythathasalwaysbeeninimicaltomyheartandmind.ButIrecognizehisgenius;and,asIhavetoldyou,Ihaveinstitutedaninvestigationofhispersonality.Perhapsitwillbefutile.ButIshallpursuetheinquiry.Untilthatisfinished,ImustleaveopenthequestionoffillingthevacantspaceinourJanuarynumber."

Thackerarosetoleave.

"All right, Colonel," he said, as cordially as he could. "You use your ownjudgment. Ifyou've reallygota scoopor something thatwillmake 'emsitup,runitinsteadofmystuff.I'lldropinagaininabouttwoweeks.Goodluck!"

ColonelTelfairandthemagazinepromotershookhands.

Returning a fortnight later, Thacker dropped off a very rocky Pullman atToombsCity.He found the Januarynumberof themagazinemadeupand theformsclosed.

Thevacantspacethathadbeenyawningfortypewasfilledbyanarticlethatwasheadedthus:

SECONDMESSAGETOCONGRESS

Writtenfor

THEROSEOFDIXIE

BY

AMemberoftheWell-known

BULLOCHFAMILY,OFGEORGIA

T.ROOSEVELT

THETHIRDINGREDIENT

The(so-called)VallambrosaApartment-House isnotanapartment-house. Itiscomposedoftwoold-fashioned,brownstone-frontresidencesweldedintoone.Theparlorfloorofonesideisgaywiththewrapsandhead-gearofamodiste;the other is lugubrious with the sophistical promises and grisly display of apainlessdentist.Youmayhavearoomtherefortwodollarsaweekoryoumayhave one for twenty dollars. Among the Vallambrosa's roomers arestenographers, musicians, brokers, shop-girls, space-rate writers, art students,wire-tappers,andotherpeoplewholeanfaroverthebanister-railwhenthedoor-bellrings.

This treatise shall have to dowith but two of theVallambrosians—thoughmeaningnodisrespecttotheothers.

Atsixo'clockoneafternoonHettyPeppercamebacktoher third-floorrear$3.50roomintheVallambrosawithhernoseandchinmoresharplypointedthanusual.Tobedischargedfromthedepartmentstorewhereyouhavebeenworkingfouryears, andwithonly fifteen cents inyourpurse, doeshave a tendency tomakeyourfeaturesappearmorefinelychiselled.

AndnowforHetty'sthumb-nailbiographywhilesheclimbsthetwoflightsofstairs.

She walked into the Biggest Store one morning four years before withseventy-fiveothergirls,applyingforajobbehindthewaistdepartmentcounter.Thephalanxofwage-earnersformedabewilderingsceneofbeauty,carryingatotalmass of blondhair sufficient to have justified the horsebackgallops of ahundredLadyGodivas.

The capable, cool-eyed, impersonal, young, bald-headedmanwhose task itwastoengagesixofthecontestants,wasawareofafeelingofsuffocationasifhe were drowning in a sea of frangipanni, while white clouds, hand-embroidered, floated about him. And then a sail hove in sight. Hetty Pepper,homely of countenance, with small, contemptuous, green eyes and chocolate-colored hair, dressed in a suit of plain burlap and a common-sense hat, stoodbeforehimwitheveryoneofhertwenty-nineyearsoflifeunmistakablyinsight.

"You'reon!"shoutedthebald-headedyoungman,andwassaved.AndthatishowHettycametobeemployedintheBiggestStore.Thestoryofherrisetoaneight-dollar-a-weeksalaryisthecombinedstoriesofHercules,JoanofArc,Una,Job, andLittle-Red-Riding-Hood.You shall not learn fromme the salary thatwaspaidherasabeginner.Thereisasentimentgrowingaboutsuchthings,andIwantnomillionairestore-proprietorsclimbing the fire-escapeofmy tenement-housetothrowdynamitebombsintomyskylightboudoir.

ThestoryofHetty'sdischargefromtheBiggestStoreissonearlyarepetitionofherengagementastobemonotonous.

In each department of the store there is an omniscient, omnipresent, and

omnivorous person carrying always a mileage book and a red necktie, andreferredtoasa"buyer."Thedestiniesofthegirlsinhisdepartmentwholiveon(seeBureauofVictualStatistics)—somuchperweekareinhishands.

This particular buyer was a capable, cool-eyed, impersonal, young, bald-headedman.Ashewalkedalong theaislesofhisdepartmentheseemed tobesailing on a sea of frangipanni, while white clouds, machine-embroidered,floated around him. Too many sweets bring surfeit. He looked upon HettyPepper's homely countenance, emerald eyes, and chocolate-colored hair as awelcome oasis of green in a desert of cloying beauty. In a quiet angle of acounterhepinchedher armkindly, three inches above the elbow.She slappedhimthreefeetawaywithonegoodblowofhermuscularandnotespeciallylily-white right. So, now you knowwhyHetty Pepper came to leave the BiggestStoreatthirtyminutes'notice,withonedimeandanickelinherpurse.

Thismorning'squotationslistthepriceofribbeefatsixcentsper(butcher's)pound.ButonthedaythatHettywas"released"bytheB.S.thepricewassevenandone-half cents.That fact iswhatmakes this storypossible.Otherwise, theextrafourcentswouldhave—

But the plot of nearly all the good stories in the world is concerned withshortswhowereunabletocover;soyoucanfindnofaultwiththisone.

Hetty mounted with her rib beef to her $3.50 third-floor back. One hot,savory beef-stew for supper, a night's good sleep, and shewould be fit in themorning to apply again for the tasks ofHercules, Joan ofArc,Una, Job, andLittle-Red-Riding-Hood.

Inherroomshegotthegranite-warestew-panoutofthe2×4-footchina—er—Imeanearthenwarecloset,andbegantodigdowninarat's-nestofpaperbagsfor the potatoes and onions. She cameoutwith her nose and chin just a littlesharperpointed.

Therewasneitherapotatonoranonion.Now,whatkindofabeef-stewcanyoumakeoutofsimplybeef?Youcanmakeoyster-soupwithoutoysters,turtle-soupwithout turtles, coffee-cakewithout coffee, butyoucan'tmakebeef-stewwithoutpotatoesandonions.

Butribbeefalone,inanemergency,canmakeanordinarypinedoorlooklikeawrought-irongambling-houseportal to thewolf.With salt andpepper and atablespoonfulof flour (firstwell stirred in a little coldwater) 'twill serve—'tisnotsodeepasalobsteràlaNewburgnorsowideasachurchfestivaldoughnut;but'twillserve.

Hetty tookherstew-pan to therearof the third-floorhall.According to theadvertisements of theVallambrosa therewas runningwater to be found there.Betweenyouandmeandthewater-meter,itonlyambledorwalkedthroughthefaucets; but technicalities have no place here. There was also a sink wherehousekeepingroomersoftenmettodumptheircoffeegroundsandglareatoneanother'skimonos.

At this sink Hetty found a girl with heavy, gold-brown, artistic hair andplaintiveeyes,washingtwolarge"Irish"potatoes.HettyknewtheVallambrosaaswellasanyonenotowning"doublehextra-magnifyingeyes"couldcompassits mysteries. The kimonos were her encyclopedia, her "Who's What?" herclearinghouse of news, of goers and comers. From a rose-pink kimono edgedwithNilegreenshehadlearnedthatthegirlwiththepotatoeswasaminiature-painterlivinginakindofattic—or"studio,"astheyprefertocallit—onthetopfloor.Hettywasnot certain inhermindwhat aminiaturewas;but it certainlywasn'tahouse;becausehouse-painters,althoughtheywearsplashyoverallsandpoke ladders in your face on the street, are known to indulge in a riotousprofusionoffoodathome.

Thepotatogirlwasquiteslimandsmall,andhandledherpotatoesasanoldbachelorunclehandlesababywhoiscuttingteeth.Shehadadullshoemaker'sknifeinherrighthand,andshehadbeguntopeeloneofthepotatoeswithit.

Hettyaddressedherinthepunctiliouslyformaltoneofonewhointendstobecheerfullyfamiliarwithyouinthesecondround.

"Begpardon,"shesaid,"forbutting intowhat'snotmybusiness,but ifyoupeelthempotatoesyouloseout.They'renewBermudas.Youwanttoscrape'em.Lemmeshowyou."

Shetookapotatoandtheknife,andbegantodemonstrate.

"Oh,thankyou,"breathedtheartist."Ididn'tknow.AndIdidhatetoseethethickpeelinggo; it seemedsuchawaste.But I thought theyalwayshad tobepeeled.Whenyou'vegotonlypotatoestoeat,thepeelingscount,youknow."

"Say, kid," said Hetty, staying her knife, "you ain't up against it, too, areyou?"

Theminiatureartistsmiledstarvedly.

"IsupposeIam.Art—or,atleast,thewayIinterpretit—doesn'tseemtobemuchindemand.Ihaveonlythesepotatoesformydinner.Buttheyaren'tsobadboiledandhot,withalittlebutterandsalt."

"Child," saidHetty, lettingabrief smile softenher rigid features, "Fatehassentmeandyoutogether.I'vehadithandedtomeintheneck,too;butI'vegotachunkofmeatinmy,roomasbigasalap-dog.AndI'vedoneeverythingtogetpotatoes except pray for 'em. Let's me and you bunch our commissarydepartmentsandmakeastewof'em.We'llcookitinmyroom.Ifweonlyhadanonion togo in it!Say,kid,youhaven'tgotacoupleofpennies that've slippeddownintotheliningofyourlastwinter'ssealskin,haveyou?Icouldstepdownto the corner andget one at oldGiuseppe's stand.A stewwithout anonion isworse'namatinéewithoutcandy."

"YoumaycallmeCecilia,"saidtheartist."No;Ispentmylastpennythreedaysago."

"Thenwe'llhavetocuttheonionoutinsteadofslicingitin,"saidHetty."I'dask the janitress for one, but I don'twant 'emhep just yet to the fact that I'mpoundingtheasphaltforanotherjob.ButIwishwedidhaveanonion."

In theshop-girl's room the twobegan toprepare their supper.Cecilia'spartwastositonthecouchhelplesslyandbegtobeallowedtodosomething,inthevoiceofacooingring-dove.Hettypreparedtheribbeef,puttingitincoldsaltedwaterinthestew-panandsettingitontheone-burnergas-stove.

"Iwishwehadanonion,"saidHetty,asshescrapedthetwopotatoes.

On thewallopposite thecouchwaspinneda flaming,gorgeousadvertisingpictureofoneof thenew ferry-boatsof theP.U.F.F.Railroad thathadbeen

builttocutdownthetimebetweenLosAngelesandNewYorkCityone-eighthofaminute.

Hetty,turningherheadduringhercontinuousmonologue,sawtearsrunningfromherguest'seyesasshegazedontheidealizedpresentmentofthespeeding,foam-girdledtransport.

"Why,say,Cecilia,kid,"saidHetty,poisingherknife,"isitasbadartasthat?I ain't a critic; but I thought it kind of brightened up the room. Of course, amanicure-paintercouldtellitwasabumpictureinaminute.I'lltakeitdownifyousayso.IwishtotheholySaintPotluckwehadanonion."

But the miniature miniature-painter had tumbled down, sobbing, with hernoseindentingthehard-wovendraperyofthecouch.Somethingwasheredeeperthantheartistictemperamentoffendedatcrudelithography.

Hettyknew.Shehadacceptedherrôlelongago.Howscantthewordswithwhichwetrytodescribeasinglequalityofahumanbeing!Whenwereachtheabstractwearelost.ThenearertoNaturethatthebabblingofourlipscomes,thebetter do we understand. Figuratively (let us say), some people are Bosoms,someareHands, someareHeads, someareMuscles, someareFeet, someareBacksforburdens.

Hetty was a Shoulder. Hers was a sharp, sinewy shoulder; but all her lifepeoplehadlaidtheirheadsuponit,metaphoricallyoractually,andhadleftthereallorhalftheirtroubles.LookingatLifeanatomically,whichisasgoodawayasany, shewas preordained to be a Shoulder. Therewere few truer collar-bonesanywherethanhers.

Hettywasonlythirty-three,andshehadnotyetoutlivedthelittlepangthatvisited her whenever the head of youth and beauty leaned upon her forconsolation. But one glance in her mirror always served as an instantaneouspain-killer.Soshegaveonepale lookinto thecrinklyoldlooking-glassonthewallabovethegas-stove,turneddowntheflamealittlelowerfromthebubblingbeef and potatoes, went over to the couch, and lifted Cecilia's head to itsconfessional.

"Go on and tell me, honey," she said. "I know now that it ain't art that's

worryingyou.Youmethimonaferry-boat,didn'tyou?Goon,Cecilia,kid,andtellyour—yourAuntHettyaboutit."

Butyouthandmelancholymustfirstspendthesurplusofsighsandtearsthatwaft and float the barque of romance to its harbor in the delectable isles.Presently, throughthestringytendons that formedthebarsof theconfessional,thepenitent—orwasittheglorifiedcommunicantofthesacredflame—toldherstorywithoutartorillumination.

"Itwasonlythreedaysago.IwascomingbackontheferryfromJerseyCity.OldMr.Schrum,anartdealer,toldmeofarichmaninNewarkwhowantedaminiatureofhisdaughterpainted.Iwenttoseehimandshowedhimsomeofmywork.WhenItoldhimthepricewouldbefiftydollarshelaughedatmelikeahyena.He said an enlarged crayon twenty times the sizewould cost himonlyeightdollars.

"IhadjustenoughmoneytobuymyferryticketbacktoNewYork.IfeltasifIdidn'twanttoliveanotherday.ImusthavelookedasIfelt,forIsawhimontherowofseatsoppositeme, lookingatmeas ifheunderstood.Hewasnice-looking, but oh, above everything else, he looked kind.When one is tired orunhappyorhopeless,kindnesscountsmorethananythingelse.

"WhenIgotsomiserablethatIcouldn'tfightagainstitanylonger,Igotupandwalkedslowlyoutthereardooroftheferry-boatcabin.Noonewasthere,andIslippedquicklyovertherailanddroppedintothewater.Oh,friendHetty,itwascold,cold!

"For justonemoment IwishedIwasback in theoldVallambrosa,starvingandhoping.AndthenIgotnumb,anddidn'tcare.AndthenIfeltthatsomebodyelsewas in thewater close byme, holdingme up.He had followedme, andjumpedintosaveme.

"Somebodythrewathinglikeabig,whitedoughnutatus,andhemademeputmyarmsthroughthehole.Thentheferry-boatbacked,andtheypulledusonboard.Oh,Hetty,Iwassoashamedofmywickednessintryingtodrownmyself;and,besides,myhairhadalltumbleddownandwassoppingwet,andIwassuchasight.

"Andthensomemeninblueclothescamearound;andhegavethemhiscard,andIheardhimtellthemhehadseenmedropmypurseontheedgeoftheboatoutsidetherail,andinleaningovertogetitIhadfallenoverboard.AndthenIrememberedhavingreadinthepapersthatpeoplewhotrytokillthemselvesarelockedupincellswithpeoplewhotrytokillotherpeople,andIwasafraid.

"Butsomeladiesontheboattookmedownstairstothefurnace-roomandgotmenearlydryanddidupmyhair.Whentheboatlanded,hecameandputmeinacab.Hewasalldrippinghimself,butlaughedasifhethoughtitwasallajoke.He beggedme, but I wouldn't tell himmy name norwhere I lived, I was soashamed."

"Youwereafool,child,"saidHetty,kindly."WaittillIturnthelightupabit.IwishtoHeavenwehadanonion."

"Thenheraisedhishat,"wentonCecilia,"andsaid:'Verywell.ButI'llfindyou,anyhow.I'mgoingtoclaimmyrightsofsalvage.'Thenhegavemoneytothecab-driverandtoldhimtotakemewhereIwantedtogo,andwalkedaway.Whatis'salvage,'Hetty?"

"Theedgeofapieceofgoods that ain'themmed," said the shop-girl. "Youmusthavelookedprettywellfrazzledouttothelittleheroboy."

"It'sbeenthreedays,"moanedtheminiature-painter,"andhehasn'tfoundmeyet."

"Extendthetime,"saidHetty."Thisisabigtown.Thinkofhowmanygirlshe might have to see soaked in water with their hair down before he wouldrecognizeyou.Thestew'sgettingonfine—butoh,foranonion!I'devenuseapieceofgarlicifIhadit."

Thebeefandpotatoesbubbledmerrily,exhalingamouth-wateringsavorthatyetlackedsomething,leavingahungeronthepalate,ahaunting,wistfuldesireforsomelostandneedfulingredient.

"Icameneardrowninginthatawfulriver,"saidCecilia,shuddering.

"Itoughttohavemorewaterinit,"saidHetty;"thestew,Imean.I'llgogetsomeatthesink."

"Itsmellsgood,"saidtheartist.

"That nasty old North River?" objected Hetty. "It smells to me like soapfactories andwet setter-dogs—oh,youmean the stew.Well, Iwishwehadanonionforit.Didhelooklikehehadmoney?"

"First,helookedkind,"saidCecilia."I'msurehewasrich;butthatmatterssolittle.When he drew out his bill-folder to pay the cab-man you couldn't helpseeinghundredsandthousandsofdollarsinit.AndIlookedoverthecabdoorsandsawhimleavetheferrystationinamotor-car;andthechauffeurgavehimhisbearskintoputon,forhewassoppingwet.Anditwasonlythreedaysago."

"Whatafool!"saidHetty,shortly.

"Oh,thechauffeurwasn'twet,"breathedCecilia."Andhedrovethecarawayverynicely."

"Imeanyou,"saidHetty."Fornotgivinghimyouraddress."

"Inevergivemyaddresstochauffeurs,"saidCecilia,haughtily.

"Iwishwehadone,"saidHetty,disconsolately.

"Whatfor?"

"Forthestew,ofcourse—oh,Imeananonion."

Hettytookapitcherandstartedtothesinkattheendofthehall.

Ayoungmancamedownthestairsfromabovejustasshewasoppositethelowerstep.Hewasdecentlydressed,butpaleandhaggard.Hiseyesweredullwiththestressofsomeburdenofphysicalormentalwoe.Inhishandheboreanonion—apink, smooth, solid, shiningonion as large around as a ninety-eight-centalarm-clock.

Hettystopped.Sodidtheyoungman.TherewassomethingJoanofArc-ish,Herculean,andUna-ishinthelookandposeoftheshop-lady—shehadcastofftherôlesofJobandLittle-Red-Riding-Hood.Theyoungmanstoppedatthefoot

of the stairs and coughed distractedly. He felt marooned, held up, attacked,assailed, levied upon, sacked, assessed, panhandled, browbeaten, though heknewnotwhy.ItwasthelookinHetty'seyesthatdidit.InthemhesawtheJollyRoger fly to the masthead and an able seaman with a dirk between his teethscurryuptheratlinesandnailitthere.Butasyethedidnotknowthatthecargohecarriedwas the thing thathadcausedhim tobesonearlyblownoutof thewaterwithoutevenaparley.

"Beg your pardon," said Hetty, as sweetly as her dilute acetic acid tonespermitted, "but did you find that onion on the stairs?Therewas a hole in thepaperbag;andI'vejustcomeouttolookforit."

Theyoungmancoughedforhalfaminute.Theintervalmayhavegivenhimthe courage to defend his own property. Also, he clutched his pungent prizegreedily,and,withashowofspirit,facedhisgrimwaylayer.

"No,"hesaidhuskily,"Ididn'tfinditonthestairs.ItwasgiventomebyJackBevens,onthetopfloor.Ifyoudon'tbelieveit,askhim.I'llwaituntilyoudo."

"IknowaboutBevens," saidHetty, sourly. "Hewritesbooksand thingsupthereforthepaper-and-ragsman.Wecanhearthepostmanguyhimalloverthehouse when he brings them thick envelopes back. Say—do you live in theVallambrosa?"

"Idonot,"saidtheyoungman."IcometoseeBevenssometimes.He'smyfriend.Ilivetwoblockswest."

"What are you going to do with the onion?—begging your pardon," saidHetty.

"I'mgoingtoeatit."

"Raw?"

"Yes:assoonasIgethome."

"Haven'tyougotanythingelsetoeatwithit?"

Theyoungmanconsideredbriefly.

"No,"heconfessed;"there'snotanotherscrapofanythinginmydiggingstoeat.IthinkoldJackisprettyhardupforgrubinhisshack,too.Hehatedtogiveuptheonion,butIworriedhimintopartingwithit."

"Man,"saidHetty,fixinghimwithherworld-sapienteyes,andlayingabonybutimpressivefingeronhissleeve,"you'veknowntrouble,too,haven'tyou?"

"Lots,"saidtheonionowner,promptly."Butthisonionismyownproperty,honestlycomeby.Ifyouwillexcuseme,Imustbegoing."

"Listen,"saidHetty,palingalittlewithanxiety."Rawonionisamightypoordiet.And so is a beef-stewwithout one.Now, if you're JackBevens' friend, Iguessyou'renearly right.There's a little lady—a friendofmine—inmy roomthereattheendofthehall.Bothofusareoutofluck;andwehadjustpotatoesandmeat between us. They're stewing now. But it ain't got any soul. There'ssomethinglackingtoit.There'scertainthingsinlifethatarenaturallyintendedtofitandbelongtogether.Oneispinkcheese-clothandgreenroses,andoneisham and eggs, and one is Irish and trouble. And the other one is beef andpotatoeswithonions.Andstillanotheroneispeoplewhoareupagainst itandotherpeopleinthesamefix."

Theyoungmanwentintoaprotractedparoxysmofcoughing.Withonehandhehuggedhisoniontohisbosom.

"No doubt; no doubt," said he, at length. "But, as I said, Imust be going,because—"

Hettyclutchedhissleevefirmly.

"Don'tbeaDago,LittleBrother.Don'teatrawonions.Chipitintowardthedinnerandlineyourselfinsidewiththebeststewyoueverlickedaspoonover.Must two ladies knock a young gentleman down and drag him inside for thehonorofdiningwith 'em?Noharmshallbefallyou,LittleBrother.Loosenupandfallintoline."

Theyoungman'spalefacerelaxedintoagrin.

"Believe I'll go you," he said, brightening. "If my onion is good as acredential,I'llaccepttheinvitationgladly."

"It'sgoodasthat,butbetterasseasoning,"saidHetty."YoucomeandstandoutsidethedoortillIaskmyladyfriendifshehasanyobjections.Anddon'trunawaywiththatletterofrecommendationbeforeIcomeout."

Hettywentintoherroomandclosedthedoor.Theyoungmanwaitedoutside.

"Cecilia,kid,"saidtheshop-girl,oilingthesharpsawofhervoiceaswellasshecould,"there'sanonionoutside.Withayoungmanattached.I'veaskedhimintodinner.Youain'tgoingtokick,areyou?"

"Oh, dear!" saidCecilia, sitting up and patting her artistic hair. She cast amournfulglanceattheferry-boatposteronthewall.

"Nit,"saidHetty."Itain'thim.You'reupagainstreallifenow.Ibelieveyousaidyourherofriendhadmoneyandautomobiles.Thisisapoorskeezicksthat'sgotnothingtoeatbutanonion.Buthe'seasy-spokenandnotafreshy.Iimaginehe'sbeenagentleman,he's so lowdownnow.Andweneed theonion.Shall Ibringhimin?I'llguaranteehisbehavior."

"Hetty,dear," sighedCecilia, "I'msohungry.Whatdifferencedoes itmakewhetherhe'saprinceoraburglar?Idon'tcare.Bringhiminifhe'sgotanythingtoeatwithhim."

Hettywentbackintothehall.Theonionmanwasgone.Herheartmissedabeat,andagraylooksettledoverherfaceexceptonhernoseandcheek-bones.And then the tidesof life flowed in again, for she sawhim leaningoutof thefrontwindowattheotherendofthehall.Shehurriedthere.Hewasshoutingtosomeonebelow.Thenoiseofthestreetoverpoweredthesoundofherfootsteps.She lookeddownoverhis shoulder, sawwhomhewasspeaking to,andheardhiswords.Hepulledhimselfinfromthewindow-sillandsawherstandingoverhim.

Hetty'seyesboredintohimliketwosteelgimlets.

"Don't lie tome," she said, calmly. "Whatwere you going to dowith thatonion?"

Theyoungmansuppressedacoughandfacedherresolutely.Hismannerwas

thatofonewhohadbeenbeardedsufficiently.

"Iwasgoing toeat it,"saidhe,withemphaticslowness;"justas I toldyoubefore."

"Andyouhavenothingelsetoeatathome?"

"Notathing."

"Whatkindofworkdoyoudo?"

"Iamnotworkingatanythingjustnow."

"Thenwhy,"saidHetty,withhervoicesetonitssharpestedge,"doyouleanoutofwindowsandgiveorderstochauffeursingreenautomobilesinthestreetbelow?"

Theyoungmanflushed,andhisdulleyesbegantosparkle.

"Because, madam," said he, in accelerando tones, "I pay the chauffeur'swagesandIowntheautomobile—andalsothisonion—thisonion,madam."

HeflourishedtheonionwithinaninchofHetty'snose.Theshop-ladydidnotretreatahair's-breadth.

"Thenwhydoyoueatonions,"shesaid,withbitingcontempt,"andnothingelse?"

"IneversaidIdid,"retortedtheyoungman,heatedly."IsaidIhadnothingelsetoeatwhereIlive.Iamnotadelicatessenstore-keeper."

"Thenwhy,"pursuedHetty,inflexibly,"wereyougoingtoeatarawonion?"

"My mother," said the young man, "always made me eat one for a cold.Pardonmy referring to a physical infirmity; but youmay have noticed that Ihave a very, very severe cold. I was going to eat the onion and go to bed. IwonderwhyIamstandinghereandapologizingtoyouforit."

"Howdidyoucatchthiscold?"wentonHetty,suspiciously.

Theyoungman seemed to have arrived at some extremeheight of feeling.Thereweretwomodesofdescentopentohim—aburstofrageorasurrendertotheridiculous.Hechosewisely;andtheemptyhallechoedhishoarselaughter.

"You'readandy,"saidhe."AndIdon'tblameyouforbeingcareful. Idon'tmindtellingyou.Igotwet.IwasonaNorthRiverferryafewdaysagowhenagirljumpedoverboard.Ofcourse,I—"

Hettyextendedherhand,interruptinghisstory.

"Givemetheonion,"shesaid.

Theyoungmansethisjawatrifleharder.

"Givemetheonion,"sherepeated.

Hegrinned,andlaiditinherhand.

ThenHetty'sinfrequent,grim,melancholysmileshoweditself.Shetooktheyoungman'sarmandpointedwithherotherhandtothedoorofherroom.

"LittleBrother," she said, "go in there.The little foolyou fishedoutof theriveristherewaitingforyou.Goonin.I'llgiveyouthreeminutesbeforeIcome.Potatoesisinthere,waiting.Goonin,Onions."

Afterhehadtappedatthedoorandentered,Hettybegantopeelandwashtheonionatthesink.Shegaveagraylookatthegrayroofsoutside,andthesmileonherfacevanishedbylittlejerksandtwitches.

"Butit'sus,"shesaid,grimly,toherself,"it'susthatfurnishedthebeef."

THEHIDINGOFBLACKBILL

A lank,strong, red-facedmanwithaWellingtonbeakandsmall, fieryeyestemperedbyflaxenlashes,satonthestationplatformatLosPinosswinginghislegs to and fro.At his side sat anotherman, fat,melancholy, and seedy,whoseemed to be his friend. They had the appearance of men to whom life hadappearedasareversiblecoat—seamyonbothsides.

"Ain'tseenyouinaboutfouryears,Ham,"saidtheseedyman."Whichwayyoubeentravelling?"

"Texas," said the red-facedman. "Itwas too cold inAlaska forme.And IfounditwarminTexas.I'lltellyouaboutonehotspellIwentthroughthere.

"Onemorning I stepsoff the International at awater-tankand lets itgoonwithoutme. 'Twas a ranch country, and fuller of spite-houses thanNewYorkCity.Onlyout there theybuild 'emtwentymilesawaysoyoucan'tsmellwhatthey'vegotfordinner,insteadofrunning'emuptwoinchesfromtheirneighbors'windows.

"Therewasn'tanyroadsinsight,soIfootedit'crosscountry.Thegrasswasshoe-topdeep,andthemesquitetimberlookedjustlikeapeachorchard.Itwasso much like a gentleman's private estate that every minute you expected akennelfulofbulldogs to runout andbiteyou.But Imusthavewalked twentymilesbeforeIcameinsightofaranch-house.Itwasalittleone,aboutasbigasanelevated-railroadstation.

"There was a little man in a white shirt and brown overalls and a pinkhandkerchiefaroundhisneckrollingcigarettesunderatreeinfrontofthedoor.

"'Greetings,' says I. 'Any refreshment,welcome,emoluments,orevenworkforacomparativestranger?'

"'Oh, come in,' sayshe, in a refined tone. 'Sitdownon that stool,please. Ididn'thearyourhorsecoming.'

"'Heisn'tnearenoughyet,'saysI.'Iwalked.Idon'twanttobeaburden,butIwonderifyouhavethreeorfourgallonsofwaterhandy.'

"'Youdolookprettydusty,'sayshe;'butourbathingarrangements—'

"'It'sadrinkIwant,'saysI.'Nevermindthedustthat'sontheoutside.'

"Hegetsmeadipperofwateroutofaredjarhangingup,andthengoeson:

"'Doyouwantwork?'

"'Foratime,'saysI.'Thisisaratherquietsectionofthecountry,isn'tit?'

"'Itis,'sayshe.'Sometimes—soIhavebeentold—oneseesnohumanbeingpassforweeksatatime.I'vebeenhereonlyamonth.Iboughttheranchfromanoldsettlerwhowantedtomovefartherwest.'

"'It suitsme,' says I. 'Quiet and retirement are good for aman sometimes.And I need a job. I can tend bar, salt mines, lecture, float stock, do a littlemiddle-weightslugging,andplaythepiano.'

"'Canyouherdsheep?'asksthelittleranchman.

"'DoyoumeanhaveIheardsheep?'saysI.

"'Canyouherd'em—takechargeofaflockof'em?'sayshe.

"'Oh,'saysI,'nowIunderstand.Youmeanchase'emaroundandbarkat'emlike collie dogs. Well, I might,' says I. 'I've never exactly done any sheep-herding,butI'veoftenseen'emfromcarwindowsmasticatingdaisies,andtheydon'tlookdangerous.'

"'I'm short a herder,' says the ranchman. 'You never can depend on theMexicans. I'veonlygot twoflocks.Youmay takeoutmybunchofmuttons—there are only eight hundred of 'em—in themorning, if you like. The pay istwelve dollars amonth and your rations furnished.You camp in a tent on theprairie with your sheep. You do your own cooking, but wood and water arebroughttoyourcamp.It'saneasyjob.'

"'I'mon,'saysI.'I'lltakethejobevenifIhavetogarlandmybrowandholdontoacrookandwearaloose-effectandplayonapipeliketheshepherdsdoinpictures.'

"Sothenextmorningthelittleranchmanhelpsmedrivetheflockofmuttonsfromthecorraltoabouttwomilesoutandlet'emgrazeonalittlehillsideontheprairie.Hegivesmealotofinstructionsaboutnotlettingbunchesofthemstrayofffromtheherd,anddriving'emdowntoawater-holetodrinkatnoon.

"'I'll bring out your tent and camping outfit and rations in the buckboardbeforenight,'sayshe.

"'Fine,'saysI. 'Anddon'tforgettherations.Northecampingoutfit.Andbesuretobringthetent.Yourname'sZollicoffer,ain'tit?"

"'Myname,'sayshe,'isHenryOgden.'

"'Allright,Mr.Ogden,'saysI.'MineisMr.PercivalSaintClair.'

"I herded sheep for five days on the Rancho Chiquito; and then the woolentered my soul. That getting next to Nature certainly got next to me. I waslonesomer than Crusoe's goat. I've seen a lot of personsmore entertaining ascompanionsthanthosesheepwere.I'ddrive'emtothecorralandpen'emeveryevening,andthencookmycorn-breadandmuttonandcoffee,andliedowninatent the size of a table-cloth, and listen to the coyotes and whip-poor-willssingingaroundthecamp.

"Thefifthevening,afterIhadcorralledmycostlybutuncongenialmuttons,Iwalked over to the ranch-house and stepped in the door. "'Mr.Ogden,' says I,'youandmehavegottogetsociable.Sheepareallverywelltodotthelandscapeand furnish eight-dollar cotton suitings forman, but for table-talk and firesidecompanions they rank alongwith five-o'clock teazers. If you've got a deck ofcards,oraparcheesioutfit,oragameofauthors,get'emout,andlet'sgetonamentalbasis.I'vegottodosomethinginanintellectualline,ifit'sonlytoknocksomebody'sbrainsout.'

"ThisHenryOgdenwasapeculiarkindof ranchman.Hewore finger-ringsandabiggoldwatchandcarefulneckties.Andhisfacewascalm,andhisnose-spectacleswas kept very shiny. I saw once, inMuscogee, an outlaw hung formurdering sixmen,whowas a dead ringer for him.But I knewapreacher inArkansasthatyouwouldhavetakentobehisbrother.Ididn'tcaremuchforhimeitherway;whatIwantedwassomefellowshipandcommunionwithholysaints

orlostsinners—anythingsheeplesswoulddo.

"'Well,SaintClair,'sayshe,layingdownthebookhewasreading,'Iguessitmustbeprettylonesomeforyouatfirst.AndIdon'tdenythatit'smonotonousforme.Areyousureyoucorralledyoursheepsotheywon'tstrayout?'

"'They'reshutupastightasthejuryofamillionairemurderer,'saysI. 'AndI'llbebackwiththemlongbeforethey'llneedtheirtrainednurse.'

"SoOgdendigsupadeckofcards,andweplaycasino.Afterfivedaysandnights ofmy sheep-camp itwas like a toot onBroadway.When I caught bigcasino I felt as excited as if I hadmadeamillion inTrinity.AndwhenH.O.loosenedupalittleandtoldthestoryabouttheladyinthePullmancarIlaughedforfiveminutes.

"Thatshowedwhatacomparativethinglifeis.Amanmayseesomuchthathe'dbeboredtoturnhisheadto lookata$3,000,000fireorJoeWeberor theAdriaticSea.Butlethimherdsheepforaspell,andyou'llseehimsplittinghisribs laughing at 'Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night,' or really enjoying himselfplayingcardswithladies.

"By-and-byOgdengetsoutadecanterofBourbon,and then there isa totaleclipseofsheep.

"'Doyourememberreadinginthepapers,aboutamonthago,'sayshe,'abouta train hold-up on theM. K. & T.? The express agent was shot through theshoulderandabout$15,000 incurrency taken.And it'ssaid thatonlyonemandidthejob.'

"'SeemstomeIdo,'saysI.'Butsuchthingshappensooftentheydon'tlingerlonginthehumanTexasmind.Didtheyovertake,overhaul,seize,orlayhandsuponthedespoiler?'

"'Heescaped,'saysOgden.'AndIwasjustreadinginapaperto-daythattheofficershavetrackedhimdownintothispartofthecountry.Itseemsthebillstherobbergotwere all the first issueof currency to theSecondNationalBankofEspinosaCity.Andsothey'vefollowedthetrailwherethey'vebeenspent,anditleadsthisway.'

"OgdenpoursoutsomemoreBourbon,andshovesmethebottle.

"'I imagine,'saysI,after ingurgitatinganothermodicumof theroyalbooze,'thatitwouldn'tbeatalladisingenuousideaforatrainrobbertorundownintothispartofthecountrytohideforaspell.Asheep-ranch,now,'saysI,'wouldbethefinestkindofaplace.Who'deverexpecttofindsuchadesperatecharacteramongthesesong-birdsandmuttonsandwildflowers?And,bytheway,'saysI,kind of looking H. Ogden over, 'was there any description mentioned of thissingle-handedterror?Washislineamentsorheightandthicknessorteethfillingsorstyleofhabilimentssetforthinprint?'

"'Why,no,'saysOgden;'theysaynobodygotagoodsightofhimbecauseheworeamask.Buttheyknowitwasatrain-robbercalledBlackBill,becausehealwaysworks aloneandbecausehedroppedahandkerchief in the express-carthathadhisnameonit.'

"'All right,' says I. 'I approve of Black Bill's retreat to the sheep-ranges. Iguesstheywon'tfindhim.'

"'There'sonethousanddollarsrewardforhiscapture,'saysOgden.

"'Idon'tneed thatkindofmoney,'saysI, lookingMr.Sheepmanstraight intheeye.'Thetwelvedollarsamonthyoupaymeisenough.Ineedarest,andIcansaveupuntilIgetenoughtopaymyfaretoTexarkana,wheremywidowedmother lives. IfBlackBill,' I goes on, looking significantly atOgden, 'was tohavecomedownthisway—say,amonthago—andboughta littlesheep-ranchand—'

"'Stop,' saysOgden,gettingoutofhischairand lookingprettyvicious. 'Doyoumeantoinsinuate—'

"'Nothing,'saysI; 'noinsinuations.I'mstatingahypodermicalcase.Isay,ifBlackBillhadcomedownhereandboughtasheep-ranchandhiredmetoLittle-Boy-Blue 'em and treatedme square and friendly, as you've done, he'd neverhaveanythingtofearfromme.Amanisaman,regardlessofanycomplicationshemayhavewithsheeporrailroadtrains.NowyouknowwhereIstand.'

"Ogden looks black as camp-coffee for nine seconds, and then he laughs,

amused.

"'You'lldo,SaintClair,'sayshe. 'If IwasBlackBill Iwouldn'tbeafraid totrust you.Let's have agameor twoof seven-up to-night.That is, if youdon'tmindplayingwithatrain-robber.'

"'I'vetoldyou,'saysI,'myoralsentiments,andthere'snostringsto'em.'

"WhileIwasshufflingafterthefirsthand,IasksOgden,asiftheideawasakindofacasualty,wherehewasfrom.

"'Oh,'sayshe,'fromtheMississippiValley.'

"'That's a nice little place,' says I. 'I've often stoppedover there.But didn'tyoufindthesheetsalittledampandthefoodpoor?Now,Ihail,'saysI,'fromthePacificSlope.Everputupthere?'

"'Too draughty,' says Ogden. 'But if you're ever in the Middle West justmentionmyname,andyou'llgetfoot-warmersanddrippedcoffee.'

"'Well,'saysI,'Iwasn'texactlyfishingforyourprivatetelephonenumberandthe middle name of your aunt that carried off the Cumberland Presbyterianminister. It don'tmatter. I justwant you to knowyou are safe in thehandsofyourshepherd.Now,don'tplayheartsonspades,anddon'tgetnervous.'

"'Stillharping,'saysOgden,laughingagain.'Don'tyousupposethatifIwasBlackBill and thoughtyoususpectedme, I'dputaWinchesterbullet intoyouandstopmynervousness,ifIhadany?'

"'Notany,'saysI.'Amanwho'sgotthenervetoholdupatrainsingle-handedwouldn'tdoatricklikethat.I'veknockedaboutenoughtoknowthat themarethekindofmenwhoputavalueonafriend.NotthatIcanclaimbeingafriendof yours, Mr. Ogden,' says I, 'being only your sheep-herder; but under moreexpeditiouscircumstanceswemighthavebeen.'

"'Forgetthesheeptemporarily,Ibeg,'saysOgden,'andcutfordeal.'

"About four days afterward,whilemymuttonswas nooning on thewater-holeandIdeepintheintersticesofmakingapotofcoffee,upridessoftlyonthe

grass amysteriousperson in thegarbof thebeinghewished to represent.HewasdressedsomewherebetweenaKansasCitydetective,BuffaloBill,andthetowndog-catcherofBatonRouge.Hischinandeyewasn'tmoldedonfightinglines,soIknewhewasonlyascout.

"'Herdin'sheep?'heasksme.

"'Well,'saysI,'toamanofyourevidentgumptionalendowments,Iwouldn'thave the nerve to state that I am engaged in decorating old bronzes or oilingbicyclesprockets.'

"'Youdon'ttalkorlooklikeasheep-herdertome,'sayshe.

"'Butyoutalklikewhatyoulookliketome,'saysI.

"And then he asks me who I was working for, and I shows him RanchoChiquito, twomiles away, in the shadowof a lowhill, and he tellsme he's adeputysheriff.

"'There'satrain-robbercalledBlackBillsupposedtobesomewhereintheseparts,'saysthescout.'He'sbeentracedasfarasSanAntonio,andmaybefarther.Haveyouseenorheardofanystrangersaroundhereduringthepastmonth?'

"'Ihavenot,' saysI, 'exceptareportofoneoverat theMexicanquartersofLoomis'ranch,ontheFrio.'

"'Whatdoyouknowabouthim?'asksthedeputy.

"'He'sthreedaysold,'saysI.

"'Whatkindofa lookingmanis themanyouworkfor?'heasks. 'DoesoldGeorgeRameyownthisplaceyet?He'srunsheephereforthelasttenyears,butneverhadnosuccess.'

"'TheoldmanhassoldoutandgoneWest,'Itellshim.'Anothersheep-fancierboughthimoutaboutamonthago.'

"'Whatkindofalookingmanishe?'asksthedeputyagain.

"'Oh,' says I, 'a big, fat kind of a Dutchman with long whiskers and bluespecs.Idon'tthinkheknowsasheepfromaground-squirrel.IguessoldGeorgesoakedhimprettywellonthedeal,'saysI.

"After indulginghimself in a lotmorenon-communicative information andtwo-thirdsofmydinner,thedeputyridesaway.

"ThatnightImentionsthemattertoOgden.

"'They'redrawingthetendrilsoftheoctopusaroundBlackBill,'saysI.AndthenItoldhimaboutthedeputysheriff,andhowI'ddescribedhimtothedeputy,andwhatthedeputysaidaboutthematter.

"'Oh,well,'saysOgden,'let'sdon'tborrowanyofBlackBill'stroubles.We'vea fewofourown.Get theBourbonoutof thecupboardandwe'lldrink tohishealth—unless,'sayshe,withhislittlecacklinglaugh,'you'reprejudicedagainsttrain-robbers.'

"'I'lldrink,'saysI, 'toanymanwho'safriendtoafriend.AndIbelievethatBlackBill,'Igoeson, 'wouldbethat.Sohere'stoBlackBill,andmayhehavegoodluck.'

"Andbothofusdrank.

"Abouttwoweekslatercomesshearing-time.Thesheephadtobedrivenuptotheranch,andalotoffrowzy-headedMexicanswouldsnipthefuroffofthemwith back-action scissors. So the afternoon before the barberswere to come Ihustled my underdone muttons over the hill, across the dell, down by thewindingbrook,andup to the ranch-house,where Ipenned 'em inacorralandbade'emmynightlyadieus.

"Iwentfromtheretotheranch-house.IfindH.Ogden,Esquire,lyingasleepon his little cot bed. I guess he had been overcome by anti-insomnia ordiswakefulnessorsomeofthediseasespeculiartothesheepbusiness.Hismouthandvestwereopen,andhebreathedlikeasecond-handbicyclepump.Ilookedathimandgavevent to justafewmusings. 'ImperialCæsar,' saysI, 'asleep insuchaway,mightshuthismouthandkeepthewindaway.'

"Amanasleepiscertainlyasighttomakeangelsweep.Whatgoodisallhisbrain, muscle, backing, nerve, influence, and family connections? He's at themercyofhisenemies,andmoresoofhisfriends.Andhe'saboutasbeautifulasa cab-horse leaning against the Metropolitan Opera House at 12.30 A.M.dreamingoftheplainsofArabia.Now,awomanasleepyouregardasdifferent.Nomatter how she looks, youknow it's better for all hands forher tobe thatway.

"Well, I took a drink of Bourbon and one for Ogden, and started in to becomfortablewhile hewas taking his nap.He had somebooks on his table onindigenoussubjects,suchasJapananddrainageandphysicalculture—andsometobacco,whichseemedmoretothepoint.

"After I'd smoked a few, and listened to the sartorial breathing ofH.O., Ihappenedto lookout thewindowtoward theshearing-pens,where therewasakindofaroadcomingupfromakindofaroadacrossakindofacreekfartheraway.

"Isawfivemenridingupto thehouse.Allof 'emcarriedgunsacross theirsaddles,andamong'emwasthedeputythathadtalkedtomeatmycamp.

"They rodeupcareful, inopen formation,with theirguns ready. I setapart

withmyeye theone Iopinionated tobe thebossmuck-rakerof this law-and-ordercavalry.

"'Good-evening,gents,'saysI.'Won'tyou'light,andtieyourhorses?'

"Thebossridesupclose,andswingshisgunovertilltheopeninginitseemstocovermywholefrontelevation.

"'Don't youmove your hands none,' says he, 'till you andme indulge in aadequateamountofnecessaryconversation.'

"'Iwillnot,'saysI.'Iamnodeaf-mute,andthereforewillnothavetodisobeyyourinjunctionsinreplying.'

"'We are on the lookout,' says he, 'forBlackBill, theman that held up theKatyfor$15,000inMay.Wearesearchingtheranchesandeverybodyon 'em.Whatisyourname,andwhatdoyoudoonthisranch?'

"'Captain,' says I, 'Percival Saint Clair is my occupation, and my name issheep-herder. I've gotmy flock of veals—no,muttons—penned here to-night.Theshearersarecoming to-morrow togive themahaircut—withbaa-a-rum, Isuppose.'

"'Where'sthebossofthisranch?'thecaptainofthegangasksme.

"'Waitjustaminute,cap'n,'saysI.'Wasn'tthereakindofarewardofferedforthecaptureofthisdesperatecharacteryouhavereferredtoinyourpreamble?'

"'There'sathousanddollarsrewardoffered,'saysthecaptain,'butit'sforhiscapture and conviction. There don't seem to be no provision made for aninformer.'

"'Itlookslikeitmightraininadayorso,'saysI,inatiredway,lookingupattheceruleanbluesky.

"'Ifyouknowanythingaboutthelocality,disposition,orsecretivenessofthishereBlackBill,'sayshe,inaseveredialect, 'youareamiabletothelawinnotreportingit.'

"'I heard a fence-rider say,' says I, in a desultory kind of voice, 'that aMexicantoldacowboynamedJakeoveratPidgin'sstoreontheNuecesthatheheardthatBlackBillhadbeenseeninMatamorasbyasheepman'scousin twoweeksago.'

"'TellyouwhatI'lldo,TightMouth,'saysthecaptain,afterlookingmeoverforbargains.'IfyouputusonsowecanscoopBlackBill,I'llpayyouahundreddollarsoutofmyown—outofourown—pockets.That's liberal,'sayshe. 'Youain'tentitledtoanything.Now,whatdoyousay?'

"'Cashdownnow?'Iasks.

"Thecaptainhasasortofdiscussionwithhishelpmates,andtheyallproducethecontentsoftheirpocketsforanalysis.Outofthegeneralresultstheyfiguredup$102.30incashand$31worthofplugtobacco.

"'Comenearer,capitanmeeo,'saysI,'andlisten.'Hesodid.

"'I ammighty poor and low down in theworld,' says I. 'I amworking fortwelve dollars a month trying to keep a lot of animals together whose onlythoughtseemstobetogetasunder.Although,'saysI, 'Iregardmyselfassomebetter than the State of South Dakota, it's a come-down to a man who hasheretoforeregardedsheeponlyintheformofchops.I'mprettyfarreducedintheworldonaccountoffoiledambitionsandrumandakindofcocktailtheymakealong the P. R. R. all the way from Scranton to Cincinnati—dry gin, Frenchvermouth, one squeeze of a lime, and a good dash of orange bitters. If you'reeverupthatway,don'tfailtoletonetryyou.And,again,'saysI, 'Ihaveneveryetwentbackona friend. I'vestayedby 'emwhen theyhadplenty,andwhenadversity'sovertakenmeI'veneverforsook'em.

"'But,' I goes on, 'this is not exactly the case of a friend. Twelve dollars amonthisonlybowing-acquaintancemoney.AndIdonotconsiderbrownbeansand corn-bread the foodof friendship. I amapoorman,' says I, 'and I have awidowedmotherinTexarkana.YouwillfindBlackBill,'saysI,'lyingasleepinthishouseonacotintheroomtoyourright.He'sthemanyouwant,asIknowfromhiswordsandconversation.Hewasinawayafriend,'Iexplains,'andifIwasthemanIoncewastheentireproductof theminesofGondolawouldnothavetemptedmetobetrayhim.But,'saysI, 'everyweekhalfofthebeanswas

wormy,andnotnighenoughwoodincamp.

"'Bettergo incareful,gentlemen,' says I. 'Heseems impatientat times,andwhen you think of his late professional pursuits one would look for abruptactionsifhewascomeuponsudden.'

"So the whole posse unmounts and ties their horses, and unlimbers theirammunition and equipments, and tiptoes into the house. And I follows, likeDelilahwhenshesetthePhilipSteinsontoSamson.

"TheleaderoftheposseshakesOgdenandwakeshimup.Andthenhejumpsup,andtwomoreofthereward-huntersgrabhim.Ogdenwasmightytoughwithallhisslimness,andhegives'emasneatasingle-footedtussleagainstoddsasIeversee.

"'Whatdoesthismean?'hesays,aftertheyhadhimdown.

"'You'rescoopedin,Mr.BlackBill,'saysthecaptain.'That'sall.'

"'It'sanoutrage,'saysH.Ogden,madderyet.

"'Itwas,'saysthepeace-and-good-willman.'TheKatywasn'tbotheringyou,andthere'salawagainstmonkeyingwithexpresspackages.'

"And he sits on H. Ogden's stomach and goes through his pocketssymptomaticallyandcareful.

"'I'llmakeyouperspireforthis,'saysOgden,perspiringsomehimself.'IcanprovewhoIam.'

"'SocanI,'saysthecaptain,ashedrawsfromH.Ogden'sinsidecoat-pocketahandfulofnewbillsoftheSecondNationalBankofEspinosaCity.'Yourregularengraved Tuesdays-and-Fridays visiting-card wouldn't have a louder voice inproclaiming your indemnity than this here currency.You can get up now andpreparetogowithusandexpatriateyoursins.'

"H.Ogden gets up and fixes his necktie.He says nomore after they havetakenthemoneyoffofhim.

"'Awell-greased idea,' says the sheriff captain, admiring, 'to slip off downhereandbuyalittlesheep-ranchwherethehandofmanisseldomheard.Itwastheslickesthide-outIeversee,'saysthecaptain.

"Sooneofthemengoestotheshearing-penandhuntsuptheotherherder,aMexicantheycallJohnSallies,andhesaddlesOgden'shorse,andthesheriffsallrideupclosearoundhimwiththeirgunsinhand,readytotaketheirprisonertotown.

"Beforestarting,Ogdenputs theranchinJohnSallies'handsandgiveshimordersabouttheshearingandwheretograzethesheep,justasifheintendedtobebackinafewdays.AndacoupleofhoursafterwardonePercivalSaintClair,an ex-sheep-herder of the Rancho Chiquito, might have been seen, with ahundredandninedollars—wagesandblood-money—inhispocket,ridingsouthonanotherhorsebelongingtosaidranch."

Thered-facedmanpausedandlistened.Thewhistleofacomingfreight-trainsoundedfarawayamongthelowhills.

Thefat,seedymanathissidesniffed,andshookhisfrowzyheadslowlyanddisparagingly.

"Whatisit,Snipy?"askedtheother."Gotthebluesagain?"

"No,Iain't"saidtheseedyone,sniffingagain."ButIdon'tlikeyourtalk.Youandmehavebeenfriends,offandon,forfifteenyear;andIneveryetkneworheardofyougivinganybodyup to the law—notnoone.Andherewasamanwhosesaleratusyouhadetandatwhosetableyouhadplayedgamesofcards—ifcasinocanbesocalled.Andyetyouinformhimtothelawandtakemoneyforit.Itneverwaslikeyou,Isay."

"This H. Ogden," resumed the red-faced man, "through a lawyer, provedhimself freebyalibisandother legal terminalities,as Isoheardafterward.Heneversufferednoharm.Hedidmefavors,andIhatedtohandhimover."

"Howaboutthebillstheyfoundinhispocket?"askedtheseedyman.

"Iput 'emthere,"saidthered-facedman,"whilehewasasleep,whenIsawthe posse ridingup. IwasBlackBill.Lookout, Snipy, here she comes!We'll

boardheronthebumperswhenshetakeswateratthetank."

SCHOOLSANDSCHOOLS

I

Old Jerome Warren lived in a hundred-thousand-dollar house at 35 EastFifty-SoforthStreet.Hewasadowntownbroker,sorichthathecouldaffordtowalk—forhishealth—afewblocksinthedirectionofhisofficeeverymorning,andthencallacab.

Hehadanadoptedson,thesonofanoldfriendnamedGilbert—CyrilScottcould play him nicely—whowas becoming a successful painter as fast as hecouldsqueezethepaintoutofhistubes.AnothermemberofthehouseholdwasBarbaraRoss, a step-niece.Man is born to trouble; so, as old Jerome had nofamilyofhisown,hetookuptheburdensofothers.

Gilbert and Barbara got along swimmingly. There was a tacit and tacticalunderstanding all round that the twowould stand up under a floral bell somehighnoon, andpromise theminister to keepold Jerome'smoney in a state ofhighcommotion.Butatthispointcomplicationsmustbeintroduced.

Thirtyyearsbefore,whenoldJeromewasyoungJerome,therewasabrotherof his named Dick. Dick went West to seek his or somebody else's fortune.NothingwasheardofhimuntilonedayoldJeromehadaletterfromhisbrother.It was badly written on ruled paper that smelled of salt bacon and coffee-grounds.ThewritingwasasthmaticandthespellingSt.Vitusy.

Itappeared that insteadofDickhavingforcedFortune tostandanddeliver,

hehadbeenhelduphimself,andmadetogivehostagestotheenemy.Thatis,ashis letterdisclosed,hewason thepointofpeggingoutwithacomplicationofdisorders that even whiskey had failed to check. All that his thirty years ofprospectinghadnettedhimwasonedaughter,nineteenyearsold,asperinvoice,whomhewasshippingEast,chargesprepaid,forJerometoclothe,feed,educate,comfort, and cherish for the rest of her natural life or untilmatrimony shouldthempart.

OldJeromewasaboard-walk.EverybodyknowsthattheworldissupportedbytheshouldersofAtlas;andthatAtlasstandsonarail-fence;andthattherail-fenceisbuiltonaturtle'sback.Now,theturtlehastostandonsomething;andthatisaboard-walkmadeofmenlikeoldJerome.

Idonotknowwhetherimmortalityshallaccruetoman;butifnotso,IwouldliketoknowwhenmenlikeoldJeromegetwhatisduethem?

They met Nevada Warren at the station. She was a little girl, deeplysunburned and wholesomely good-looking, with a manner that was franklyunsophisticated, yet one that not even a cigar-drummer would intrude uponwithoutthinkingtwice.Lookingather,somehowyouwouldexpecttoseeherinashortskirtandleatherleggings,shootingglassballsortamingmustangs.Butinherplainwhitewaistandblackskirtshesentyouguessingagain.Withaneasyexhibition of strength she swung along a heavy valise, which the uniformedporterstriedinvaintowrestfromher.

"Iamsureweshallbethebestoffriends,"saidBarbara,peckingatthefirm,sunburnedcheek.

"Ihopeso,"saidNevada.

"Dearlittleniece,"saidoldJerome,"youareaswelcometomyhomeasifitwereyourfather'sown."

"Thanks,"saidNevada.

"AndIamgoingtocallyou'cousin,'"saidGilbert,withhischarmingsmile.

"Take thevalise,please,"saidNevada."Itweighsamillionpounds. It'sgotsamplesfromsixofdad'soldminesinit,"sheexplainedtoBarbara."Icalculate

they'dassayaboutninecentstothethousandtons,butIpromisedhimtobringthemalong."

II

It isacommoncustomto refer to theusualcomplicationbetweenonemanandtwoladies,oroneladyandtwomen,oraladyandamanandanobleman,or—well,anyof thoseproblems—as the triangle.But theyareneverunqualifiedtriangles.Theyarealwaysisosceles—neverequilateral.So,uponthecomingofNevadaWarren,sheandGilbertandBarbaraRosslinedupintosuchafigurativetriangle;andofthattriangleBarbaraformedthehypotenuse.

OnemorningoldJeromewas lingering longafterbreakfastover thedullestmorningpaperinthecitybeforesettingforthtohisdown-townfly-trap.Hehadbecomequite fondofNevada, finding in hermuchof his deadbrother's quietindependenceandunsuspiciousfrankness.

AmaidbroughtinanoteforMissNevadaWarren.

"Amessenger-boydelivereditatthedoor,please,"shesaid."He'swaitingforananswer."

Nevada,whowaswhistlingaSpanishwaltzbetweenherteeth,andwatchingthecarriagesandautosrollbyinthestreet,tooktheenvelope.SheknewitwasfromGilbert,beforesheopenedit,bythelittlegoldpaletteintheupperleft-handcorner.

After tearing it open she pored over the contents for a while, absorbedly.Then,withaseriousface,shewentandstoodatheruncle'selbow.

"UncleJerome,Gilbertisaniceboy,isn'the?"

"Why, bless the child!" said old Jerome, crackling his paper loudly; "ofcourseheis.Iraisedhimmyself."

"He wouldn't write anything to anybody that wasn't exactly—I mean thateverybodycouldn'tknowandread,wouldhe?"

"I'd just like to see him try it," said uncle, tearing a handful from hisnewspaper."Why,what—"

"Readthisnotehejustsentme,uncle,andseeifyouthinkit'sallrightandproper.Yousee,Idon'tknowmuchaboutcitypeopleandtheirways."

Old Jerome threw his paper down and set both his feet upon it. He tookGilbert'snoteandfiercelyperusedittwice,andthenathirdtime.

"Why, child," said he, "youhadme almost excited, although Iwas sure ofthatboy.He'saduplicateofhisfather,andhewasagilt-edgeddiamond.Heonlyasks if you and Barbara will be ready at four o'clock this afternoon for anautomobiledriveovertoLongIsland.Idon'tseeanythingtocriticiseinitexceptthestationery.Ialwaysdidhatethatshadeofblue."

"Woulditbeallrighttogo?"askedNevada,eagerly.

"Yes,yes,yes,child;ofcourse.Whynot?Still, itpleasesme toseeyousocarefulandcandid.Go,byallmeans."

"Ididn'tknow,"saidNevada,demurely."IthoughtI'daskyou.Couldn'tyougowithus,uncle?"

"I? No, no, no, no! I've ridden once in a car that boy was driving. Neveragain!Butit'sentirelyproperforyouandBarbaratogo.Yes,yes.ButIwillnot.No,no,no,no!"

Nevadaflewtothedoor,andsaidtothemaid:

"You betwe'll go. I'll answer forMissBarbara. Tell the boy to say toMr.Warren,'Youbetwe'llgo.'"

"Nevada,"calledoldJerome,"pardonme,mydear,butwouldn'titbeaswelltosendhimanoteinreply?Justalinewoulddo."

"No,Iwon'tbotheraboutthat,"saidNevada,gayly."Gilbertwillunderstand

—healwaysdoes.Ineverrodeinanautomobileinmylife;butI'vepaddledacanoe down Little Devil River through the Lost Horse Cañon, and if it's anylivelierthanthatI'dliketoknow!"

III

Twomonthsaresupposedtohaveelapsed.

Barbarasatinthestudyofthehundred-thousand-dollarhouse.Itwasagoodplaceforher.Manyplacesareprovidedintheworldwheremenandwomenmayrepair for thepurposeof extricating themselves fromdivers difficulties.Thereare cloisters, wailing-places, watering-places, confessionals, hermitages,lawyer'soffices,beautyparlors,air-ships,andstudies;andthegreatestofthesearestudies.

Itusuallytakesahypotenusealongtimetodiscoverthatitisthelongestsideofatriangle.Butit'salonglinethathasnoturning.

Barbara was alone. Uncle Jerome and Nevada had gone to the theatre.Barbarahadnotcaredtogo.Shewantedtostayathomeandstudyinthestudy.Ifyou,miss,wereastunningNewYorkgirl,andsaweveryday thatabrown,ingenuousWesternwitchwasgettinghobblesandalassoontheyoungmanyouwantedforyourself,you,too,wouldlosetastefortheoxidized-silversettingofamusicalcomedy.

Barbarasatbythequartered-oaklibrarytable.Herrightarmresteduponthetable, and her dextral fingers nervouslymanipulated a sealed letter. The letterwas addressed to Nevada Warren; and in the upper left-hand corner of theenvelopewasGilbert's littlegoldpalette. Ithadbeendeliveredatnineo'clock,afterNevadahadleft.

Barbara would have given her pearl necklace to know what the lettercontained; but she could not open and read it by the aid of steam, or a pen-handle, or a hair-pin, or any of the generally approvedmethods, because herpositioninsocietyforbadesuchanact.Shehadtriedtoreadsomeofthelinesof

theletterbyholdingtheenvelopeuptoastronglightandpressingithardagainstthepaper,butGilberthadtoogoodatasteinstationerytomakethatpossible.

At eleven-thirty the theatre-goers returned. It was a deliciouswinter night.Evensofarasfromthecabtothedoortheywerepowderedthicklywiththebigflakes downpouring diagonally from the east. Old Jerome growled good-naturedly about villainous cab service and blockaded streets. Nevada, coloredlike a rose,with sapphire eyes, babbledof the stormynights in themountainsarounddad'scabin.Duringallthesewintryapostrophes,Barbara,coldatheart,sawedwood—theonlyappropriatethingshecouldthinkoftodo.

Old Jerome went immediately up-stairs to hot-water-bottles and quinine.Nevadaflutteredintothestudy,theonlycheerfullylightedroom,subsidedintoan arm-chair, and, while at the interminable task of unbuttoning her elbowgloves,gaveoraltestimonyastothedemeritsofthe"show."

"Yes,IthinkMr.Fieldsisreallyamusing—sometimes,"saidBarbara."Hereisaletterforyou,dear,thatcamebyspecialdeliveryjustafteryouhadgone."

"Whoisitfrom?"askedNevada,tuggingatabutton.

"Well,really,"saidBarbara,withasmile,"Icanonlyguess.TheenvelopehasthatqueerlittlethinginonecornerthatGilbertcallsapalette,butwhichlookstomeratherlikeagiltheartonaschool-girl'svalentine."

"Iwonderwhathe'swritingtomeabout"remarkedNevada,listlessly.

"We'reallalike," saidBarbara; "allwomen.We try to findoutwhat is inaletterbystudyingthepostmark.Asalastresortweusescissors,andreaditfromthebottomupward.Hereitis."

ShemadeamotionasiftotosstheletteracrossthetabletoNevada.

"Great catamounts!" exclaimed Nevada. "These centre-fire buttons are anuisance.I'dratherwearbuckskins.Oh,Barbara,pleaseshuckthehideoffthatletterandreadit.It'llbemidnightbeforeIgettheseglovesoff!"

"Why,dear,youdon'twantme toopenGilbert's letter toyou? It's foryou,andyouwouldn'twishanyoneelsetoreadit,ofcourse!"

Nevadaraisedhersteady,calm,sapphireeyesfromhergloves.

"Nobodywritesmeanythingthateverybodymightn'tread,"shesaid."Goon,Barbara.MaybeGilbertwantsustogooutinhiscaragainto-morrow."

Curiositycandomorethingsthankillacat;andifemotions,wellrecognizedasfeminine,areinimicaltofelinelife,thenjealousywouldsoonleavethewholeworldcatless.Barbaraopenedtheletter,withanindulgent,slightlyboredair.

"Well,dear,"saidshe,"I'llreaditifyouwantmeto."

Sheslittheenvelope,andreadthemissivewithswift-travellingeyes;readitagain,andcastaquick,shrewdglanceatNevada,who,forthetime,seemedtoconsiderglovesastheworldofherinterest,andlettersfromrisingartistsasnomorethanmessagesfromMars.

For a quarter of a minute Barbara looked at Nevada with a strangesteadfastness; and then a smile so small that it widened her mouth only thesixteenth part of an inch, and narrowed her eyes no more than a twentieth,flashedlikeaninspiredthoughtacrossherface.

Sincethebeginningnowomanhasbeenamysterytoanotherwoman.Swiftas light travels,eachpenetrates theheartandmindofanother, siftsher sister'swordsof their cunningestdisguises, readshermosthiddendesires, andplucksthe sophistry from her wiliest talk like hairs from a comb, twiddling themsardonically betweenher thumb and fingers before letting them float awayonthebreezesoffundamentaldoubt.LongagoEve'ssonrangthedoor-bellofthefamilyresidenceinParadisePark,bearingastrangeladyonhisarm,whomheintroduced.Evetookherdaughter-in-lawasideandliftedaclassiceyebrow.

"TheLandofNod," said the bride, languidly flirting the leaf of a palm. "Isupposeyou'vebeenthere,ofcourse?"

"Not lately," said Eve, absolutely unstaggered. "Don't you think the apple-sauce they serve over there is execrable? I rather like thatmulberry-leaf tuniceffect,dear;but,ofcourse,therealfiggoodsarenottobehadoverthere.Comeoverbehind this lilac-bushwhile thegentlemensplitacelery tonic. I think thecaterpillar-holeshavemadeyourdressopenalittleintheback."

So,thenandthere—accordingtotherecords—wastheallianceformedbytheonlytwowho's-wholadiesintheworld.Thenitwasagreedthatwomanshouldforever remain as clear as a pane of glass—though glass was yet to bediscovered—tootherwomen,andthatsheshouldpalmherselfoffonmanasamystery.

Barbaraseemedtohesitate.

"Really, Nevada," she said, with a little show of embarrassment, "youshouldn'thaveinsistedonmyopeningthis.I—I'msureitwasn'tmeantforanyoneelsetoknow."

Nevadaforgotherglovesforamoment.

"Then read it aloud," she said. "Since you've already read it, what's thedifference?IfMr.Warrenhaswrittentomesomethingthatanyoneelseoughtn'ttoknow,thatisallthemorereasonwhyeverybodyshouldknowit."

"Well," said Barbara, "this is what it says: 'Dearest Nevada—Come tomystudioattwelveo'clockto-night.Donotfail.'"BarbararoseanddroppedthenoteinNevada'slap."I'mawfullysorry,"shesaid,"thatIknew.Itisn'tlikeGilbert.Theremust be somemistake. Just consider that I am ignorant of it,will you,dear? I must go up-stairs now, I have such a headache. I'm sure I don'tunderstandthenote.PerhapsGilberthasbeendiningtoowell,andwillexplain.Goodnight!"

IV

Nevada tiptoed to the hall, and heard Barbara's door close upstairs. Thebronzeclockinthestudytoldthehouroftwelvewasfifteenminutesaway.Sheran swiftly to the front door, and let herself out into the snow-storm. GilbertWarren'sstudiowassixsquaresaway.

By aerial ferry thewhite, silent forces of the storm attacked the city frombeyond the sullen East River. Already the snow lay a foot deep on the

pavements, thedriftsheaping themselves like scaling-ladders against thewallsofthebesiegedtown.TheAvenuewasasquietasastreetinPompeii.Cabsnowand thenskimmedpast likewhite-wingedgullsoveramoonlitocean;and lessfrequent motor-cars—sustaining the comparison—hissed through the foamingwaveslikesubmarineboatsontheirjocund,perilousjourneys.

Nevadaplungedlikeawind-drivenstorm-petrelonherway.Shelookedupattheraggedsierrasofcloud-cappedbuildingsthatroseabovethestreets,shadedbythenightlightsandthecongealedvaporstogray,drab,ashen,lavender,dun,andceruleantints.TheyweresolikethewintrymountainsofherWesternhomethatshefeltasatisfactionsuchasthehundred-thousand-dollarhousehadseldombroughther.

Apolicemancausedhertowaveronacorner,justbyhiseyeandweight.

"Hello,Mabel!"saidhe."Kindoflateforyoutobeout,ain'tit?"

"I—Iamjustgoingtothedrugstore,"saidNevada,hurryingpasthim.

Theexcuseservesasapassportforthemostsophisticated.Doesitprovethatwoman never progresses, or that she sprang from Adam's rib, full-fledged inintellectandwiles?

Turning eastward, the direct blast cut down Nevada's speed one-half. Shemadezigzag tracks in the snow;but shewasas toughas apiñon sapling, andbowed to it as gracefully. Suddenly the studio-building loomed before her, afamiliarlandmark,likeacliffabovesomewell-rememberedcañon.Thehauntofbusiness and its hostile neighbor, art, was darkened and silent. The elevatorstoppedatten.

Upeight flightsofStygianstairsNevadaclimbed,and rapped firmlyat thedoornumbered"89."Shehadbeen theremany timesbefore,withBarbaraandUncleJerome.

Gilbertopenedthedoor.Hehadacrayonpencilinonehand,agreenshadeoverhiseyes,andapipeinhismouth.Thepipedroppedtothefloor.

"AmIlate?"askedNevada."IcameasquickasIcould.Uncleandmewereatthetheatrethisevening.HereIam,Gilbert!"

Gilbert did a Pygmalion-and-Galatea act. He changed from a statue ofstupefactiontoayoungmanwithaproblemtotackle.HeadmittedNevada,gotawhisk-broom,andbegantobrushthesnowfromherclothes.Agreatlamp,withagreenshade,hungoveraneasel,wheretheartisthadbeensketchingincrayon.

"You wanted me," said Nevada simply, "and I came. You said so in yourletter.Whatdidyousendformefor?"

"Youreadmyletter?"inquiredGilbert,sparringforwind.

"Barbara read it to me. I saw it afterward. It said: 'Come to my studio attwelveto-night,anddonotfail.'Ithoughtyouweresick,ofcourse,butyoudon'tseemtobe."

"Aha!" said Gilbert irrelevantly. "I'll tell you why I asked you to come,Nevada. Iwant you tomarryme immediately—to-night.What's a little snow-storm?Willyoudoit?"

"You might have noticed that I would, long ago," said Nevada. "And I'mrather stuck on the snow-storm idea,myself. I surelywould hate one of theseflowery church noon-weddings.Gilbert, I didn't know you had grit enough toproposeitthisway.Let'sshock'em—it'sourfuneral,ain'tit?"

"You bet!" said Gilbert. "Where did I hear that expression?" he added tohimself."Waitaminute,Nevada;Iwanttodoalittle'phoning."

He shuthimself in a littledressing-room,andcalledupon the lightningsoftheheavens—condensedintounromanticnumbersanddistricts.

"Thatyou,Jack?Youconfoundedsleepyhead!Yes,wakeup;thisisme—orI—oh,botherthedifferenceingrammar!I'mgoingtobemarriedrightaway.Yes!Wake up your sister—don't answerme back; bring her along, too—youmust!RemindAgnesofthetimeIsavedherfromdrowninginLakeRonkonkoma—Iknowit'scaddishtorefertoit,butshemustcomewithyou.Yes.Nevadaishere,waiting. We've been engaged quite a while. Some opposition among therelatives,youknow,andwehavetopullitoffthisway.We'rewaitinghereforyou.Don'tletAgnesout-talkyou—bringher!Youwill?Goodoldboy!I'llordera carriage to call for you, double-quick time. Confound you, Jack, you're all

right!"

GilbertreturnedtotheroomwhereNevadawaited.

"Myoldfriend,JackPeyton,andhissisterweretohavebeenhereataquarterto twelve," he explained; "but Jack is so confoundedly slow. I've just 'phonedthem to hurry. They'll be here in a fewminutes. I'm the happiest man in theworld,Nevada!WhatdidyoudowiththeletterIsentyouto-day?"

"I'vegotitcinchedhere,"saidNevada,pullingitoutfrombeneathheropera-cloak.

Gilbertdrewtheletterfromtheenvelopeandlookeditovercarefully.ThenhelookedatNevadathoughtfully.

"Didn'tyouthinkitratherqueerthatIshouldaskyoutocometomystudioatmidnight?"heasked.

"Why, no," said Nevada, rounding her eyes. "Not if you needed me. OutWest,whenapalsendsyouahurrycall—ain'tthatwhatyousayhere?—wegettherefirstandtalkaboutitaftertherowisover.Andit'susuallysnowingthere,too,whenthingshappen.SoIdidn'tmind."

Gilbert rushed into another room, and came back burdenedwith overcoatswarrantedtoturnwind,rain,orsnow.

"Putthisraincoaton,"hesaid,holdingitforher."Wehaveaquarterofamileto go. Old Jack and his sister will be here in a few minutes." He began tostruggleintoaheavycoat."Oh,Nevada,"hesaid,"justlookattheheadlinesonthefrontpageofthateveningpaperonthetable,willyou?It'saboutyoursectionoftheWest,andIknowitwillinterestyou."

Hewaited a fullminute, pretending to find trouble in thegettingonofhisovercoat,andthenturned.Nevadahadnotmoved.Shewaslookingathimwithstrangeandpensivedirectness.Hercheekshadaflushonthembeyondthecolorthathadbeencontributedbythewindandsnow;buthereyesweresteady.

"Iwasgoingtotellyou,"shesaid,"anyhow,beforeyou—beforewe—before—well,beforeanything.Dadnevergavemeadayofschooling.Ineverlearned

toreadorwriteadarnedword.Nowif—"

Poundingtheiruncertainwayup-stairs, thefeetofJack, thesomnolent,andAgnes,thegrateful,wereheard.

V

When Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Warren were spinning softly homeward in aclosedcarriage,aftertheceremony,Gilbertsaid:

"Nevada,wouldyou really like toknowwhat Iwroteyou in the letter thatyoureceivedto-night?"

"Fireaway!"saidhisbride.

"Wordforword,"saidGilbert,"itwasthis:'MydearMissWarren—Youwererightabouttheflower.Itwasahydrangea,andnotalilac.'"

"Allright,"saidNevada."Butlet'sforgetit.Thejoke'sonBarbara,anyway!"

THIMBLE,THIMBLE

These are the directions for finding the office of Carteret&Carteret,MillSuppliesandLeatherBelting:

YoufollowtheBroadwaytraildownuntilyoupasstheCrosstownLine,theBread Line, and the Dead Line, and come to the Big Cañons of theMoneygrubberTribe.Thenyou turn to the left, to the right,dodgeapush-cart

andthetongueofatwo-tonfour-horsedrayandhop,skip,andjumptoagraniteledgeonthesideofatwenty-one-storysyntheticmountainofstoneandiron.Inthe twelfth story is the office of Carteret & Carteret. The factory where theymakethemillsuppliesandleatherbeltingisinBrooklyn.Thosecommodities—to say nothing of Brooklyn—not being of interest to you, let us hold theincidentswithintheconfinesofaone-act,one-sceneplay,therebylesseningthetoil of the reader and the expenditure of the publisher. So, if you have thecouragetofacefourpagesoftypeandCarteret&Carteret'sofficeboy,Percival,youshallsitonavarnishedchairintheinnerofficeandpeepatthelittlecomedyoftheOldNiggerMan,theHunting-CaseWatch,andtheOpen-FacedQuestion—mostlyborrowedfromthelateMr.FrankStockton,asyouwillconclude.

First,biography(butparedtothequick)mustintervene.Iamfortheinvertedsugar-coatedquininepill—thebitterontheoutside.

TheCarteretswere,orwas(ColumbiaCollegeprofessorspleaserule),anoldVirginiafamily.Longtimeagothegentlemenofthefamilyhadwornlacerufflesandcarried tinless foilsandownedplantationsandhadslaves toburn.But thewarhadgreatlyreducedtheirholdings.(OfcourseyoucanperceiveatoncethatthisflavorhasbeenshopliftedfromMr.F.HopkinsonSmith,inspiteofthe"et"after"Carter.")Well,anyhow:

Indiggingup theCarterethistoryIshallnot takeyoufartherback than theyear1620.ThetwooriginalAmericanCarteretscameover in thatyear,butbydifferent means of transportation. One brother, named John, came in theMayflowerandbecameaPilgrimFather.You'veseenhispictureonthecoversofthe Thanksgiving magazines, hunting turkeys in the deep snow with ablunderbuss.BlandfordCarteret,theotherbrother,crossedthepondinhisownbrigantine, landed on theVirginia coast, and became an F. F.V. John becamedistinguished for piety and shrewdness in business; Blandford for his pride,juleps;marksmanship,andvastslave-cultivatedplantations.

Then came the Civil War. (I must condense this historical interpolation.)Stonewall Jackson was shot; Lee surrendered; Grant toured the world; cottonwent to nine cents;OldCrowwhiskey and JimCrow carswere invented; theSeventy-ninthMassachusettsVolunteersreturnedtotheNinety-seventhAlabamaZouaves the battle flag of Lundy's Lane which they bought at a second-handstoreinChelsea,keptbyamannamedSkzchnzski;GeorgiasentthePresidenta

sixty-pound watermelon—and that brings us up to the time when the storybegins.My!butthatwassparringforanopening!IreallymustbrushoponmyAristotle.

TheYankeeCarteretswent intobusiness inNewYork longbefore thewar.Theirhouse,asfarasLeatherBeltingandMillSupplieswasconcerned,wasasmusty and arrogant and solid as one of those old East India tea-importingconcerns that you read about in Dickens. There were some rumors of a warbehinditscounters,butnotenoughtoaffectthebusiness.

During and after the war, Blandford Carteret, F.F.V., lost his plantations,juleps,marksmanship,and life.Hebequeathed littlemore thanhispride tohissurviving family. So it came to pass that Blandford Carteret, the Fifth, agedfifteen,wasinvitedbytheleather-and-mill-suppliesbranchofthatnametocomeNorthand learnbusiness insteadofhunting foxesandboastingof thegloryofhisfathersonthereducedacresofhisimpoverishedfamily.Theboyjumpedatthe chance; and, at the age of twenty-five, sat in the office of the firm equalpartner with John, the Fifth, of the blunderbuss-and-turkey branch. Here thestorybeginsagain.

The young men were about the same age, smooth of face, alert, easy ofmanner,andwithanairthatpromisedmentalandphysicalquickness.Theywererazored,blue-serged,straw-hatted,andpearlstick-pinnedlikeotheryoungNewYorkerswhomightbemillionairesorbillclerks.

One afternoon at four o'clock, in the private office of the firm, BlandfordCarteretopenedaletterthataclerkhadjustbroughttohisdesk.Afterreadingit,he chuckled audibly for nearly a minute. John looked around from his deskinquiringly.

"It'sfrommother,"saidBlandford."I'llreadyouthefunnypartofit.Shetellsme all the neighborhood news first, of course, and then cautions me againstgettingmyfeetwetandmusicalcomedies.Afterthatcomevitalstatisticsaboutcalvesandpigsandanestimateofthewheatcrop.AndnowI'llquotesome:

"'And what do you think! Old Uncle Jake, who was seventy-six lastWednesday,mustgotravelling.NothingwoulddobuthemustgotoNewYorkandseehis"youngMarsterBlandford."Oldasheis,hehasadealofcommon

sense,soI'velethimgo.Icouldn'trefusehim—heseemedtohaveconcentratedallhishopesanddesiresintothisoneadventureintothewideworld.Youknowhewasbornontheplantation,andhasneverbeentenmilesawayfromitinhislife.Andhewasyourfather'sbodyservantduringthewar,andhasbeenalwaysafaithfulvassalandservantofthefamily.Hehasoftenseenthegoldwatch—thewatch thatwas your father's and your father's father's. I told him itwas to beyours,Andhebeggedmetoallowhimtotakeittoyouandtoputitintoyourhandshimself.

"'Sohehasit,carefullyenclosedinabuck-skincase,andisbringingittoyouwithall theprideandimportanceofaking'smessenger.Igavehimmoneyfortheroundtripandfora twoweeks'stay in thecity. Iwishyouwouldsee to itthat he gets comfortable quarters—Jake won't need much looking after—he'sabletotakecareofhimself.ButIhavereadinthepapersthatAfricanbishopsand colored potentates generally have much trouble in obtaining food andlodgingintheYankeemetropolis.Thatmaybeallright;butIdon'tseewhythebesthotelthereshouldn'ttakeJakein.Still,Isupposeit'sarule.

"'Igavehimfulldirectionsaboutfindingyou,andpackedhisvalisemyself.Youwon't have to bother with him; but I do hope you'll see that he ismadecomfortable.Takethewatchthathebringsyou—it'salmostadecoration.IthasbeenwornbytrueCarterets,andthereisn'tastainuponitnorafalsemovementofthewheels.BringingittoyouisthecrowningjoyofoldJake'slife.Iwantedhimtohave that littleoutingand thathappinessbefore it is too late.Youhaveoften heard us talk about how Jake, pretty badly wounded himself, crawledthroughthereddenedgrassatChancellorsvilletowhereyourfatherlaywiththebulletinhisdearheart,andtookthewatchfromhispockettokeepitfromthe"Yanks."

"'So,my son,when the oldman comes consider him as a frail butworthymessengerfromtheold-timelifeandhome.

"'Youhavebeensolongawayfromhomeandsolongamongthepeoplethatwe have always regarded as aliens that I'm not sure that Jakewill know youwhenheseesyou.ButJakehasakeenperception,andIratherbelievethathewill know aVirginia Carteret at sight. I can't conceive that even ten years inYankee-landcouldchangeaboyofmine.Anyhow,I'msureyouwillknowJake.Iputeighteencollars inhisvalise.Ifheshouldhavetobuyothers,hewearsa

number15½.Pleaseseethathegetstherightones.Hewillbenotroubletoyouatall.

"'Ifyouarenottoobusy,I'dlikeforyoutofindhimaplacetoboardwheretheyhavewhite-mealcorn-bread,andtrytokeephimfromtakinghisshoesoffinyourofficeoron the street.His right foot swells a little, andhe likes tobecomfortable.

"'If you can spare the time, count his handkerchiefswhen they come backfromthewash.Iboughthimadozennewonesbeforeheleft.Heshouldbethereabout the time this letter reaches you. I told him to go straight to your officewhenhearrives.'"

AssoonasBlandfordhad finished the readingof this, somethinghappened(asthereshouldhappeninstoriesandmusthappenonthestage).

Percival, theofficeboy,withhisairofdespising theworld'soutputofmillsuppliesandleatherbelting,cameintoannouncethatacoloredgentlemanwasoutsidetoseeMr.BlandfordCarteret.

"Bringhimin,"saidBlandford,rising.

JohnCarteret swung around in his chair and said to Percival: "Ask him towaitafewminutesoutside.We'llletyouknowwhentobringhimin."

Thenheturnedtohiscousinwithoneofthosebroad,slowsmilesthatwasaninheritanceofalltheCarterets,andsaid:

"Bland,I'vealwayshadaconsumingcuriositytounderstandthedifferencesthatyouhaughtySouthernersbelievetoexistbetween'youall'andthepeopleoftheNorth.Ofcourse,Iknowthatyouconsideryourselvesmadeoutoffinerclayand look uponAdam as only a collateral branch of your ancestry; but I don'tknowwhy.Inevercouldunderstandthedifferencesbetweenus."

"Well,John,"saidBlandford,laughing,"whatyoudon'tunderstandaboutitisjustthedifference,ofcourse.Isupposeitwasthefeudalwayinwhichwelivedthatgaveusourlordlybaronialairsandfeelingofsuperiority."

"Butyouarenotfeudal,now,"wentonJohn."Sincewelickedyouandstole

yourcottonandmulesyou'vehadtogotoworkjustaswe'damyankees,'asyoucall us, have always been doing. And you're just as proud and exclusive andupper-classyasyouwerebeforethewar.Soitwasn'tyourmoneythatcausedit."

"Maybe itwas theclimate," saidBlandford, lightly, "ormaybeournegroesspoiledus.I'llcalloldJakein,now.I'llbegladtoseetheoldvillainagain."

"Waitjustamoment,"saidJohn."I'vegotalittletheoryIwanttotest.YouandIareprettymuchalikeinourgeneralappearance.OldJakehasn'tseenyousinceyouwerefifteen.Let'shavehiminandplayfairandseewhichofusgetsthewatch.Theolddarkysurelyoughttobeabletopickouthis'youngmarster'without any trouble. The alleged aristocratic superiority of a 'reb' ought to bevisible to him at once. He couldn't make the mistake of handing over thetimepiecetoaYankee,ofcourse.Theloserbuysthedinnerthiseveningandtwodozen15½collarsforJake.Isitago?"

Blandford agreed heartily. Percival was summoned, and told to usher the"coloredgentleman"in.

Uncle Jake stepped inside the private office cautiously.Hewas a little oldman,asblackassoot,wrinkledandbaldexceptforafringeofwhitewool,cutdecorouslyshort,thatranoverhisearsandaroundhishead.Therewasnothingofthestage"uncle"abouthim:hisblacksuitnearlyfittedhim;hisshoesshone,andhisstrawhatwasbandedwithagaudyribbon.Inhisrighthandhecarriedsomethingcarefullyconcealedbyhisclosedfingers.

Uncle Jake stoppeda fewsteps from thedoor.Twoyoungmensat in theirrevolving desk-chairs ten feet apart and looked at him in friendly silence.Hisgazeslowlyshiftedmanytimesfromonetotheother.Hefeltsurethathewasinthepresenceofone,atleast,ofthereveredfamilyamongwhosefortuneshislifehadbegunandwastoend.

OnehadthepleasingbuthaughtyCarteretair;theotherhadtheunmistakablestraight,longfamilynose.Bothhadthekeenblackeyes,horizontalbrows,andthin,smilinglipsthathaddistinguishedboththeCarteretoftheMayflowerandhimof thebrigantine.Old Jakehad thought thathe couldhavepickedouthisyoungmaster instantly from a thousandNortherners; but he found himself indifficulties.Thebesthecoulddowastousestrategy.

"Howdy,MarseBlandford—howdy,suh?"hesaid,lookingmidwaybetweenthetwoyoungmen.

"Howdy, Uncle Jake?" they both answered pleasantly and in unison. "Sitdown.Haveyoubroughtthewatch?"

UncleJakechoseahard-bottomchairatarespectfuldistance,satontheedgeof it,and laidhishatcarefullyon the floor.Thewatch in itsbuckskincasehegrippedtightly.Hehadnotriskedhislifeonthebattle-fieldtorescuethatwatchfrom his "old marster's" foes to hand it over again to the enemy without astruggle.

"Yes,suh;Igotitinmyhand,suh.I'mgwinegiveittoyourightawayinjus'aminute.OldMissustoldmetoputitinyoungMarseBlandford'shandandtellhimtowearitforthefamilyprideandhonor.Itwasamightylongsometripforanoldniggermantomake—tenthousandmiles,itmustbe,backtooldVi'ginia,suh.You'vegrowedmightily,youngmarster.Iwouldn'thavereconnizedyoubutforyo'powerfulresemblancetooldmarster."

With admirable diplomacy the oldmankept his eyes roaming in the spacebetween the twomen.Hiswordsmighthavebeenaddressed toeither.Thoughneitherwickednorperverse,hewasseekingforasign.

BlandfordandJohnexchangedwinks.

"I reckonyoudonegotyouma's letter,"wentonUncleJake."Shesaidshewasgwinetowritetoyou'boutmycomin'alongupthiser-way.

"Yes,yes,Uncle Jake," said Johnbriskly. "Mycousin and Ihave just beennotifiedtoexpectyou.WearebothCarterets,youknow."

"Althoughoneofus,"saidBlandford,"wasbornandraisedintheNorth."

"Soifyouwillhandoverthewatch—"saidJohn.

"MycousinandI—"saidBlandford.

"Willthenseetoit—"saidJohn.

"Thatcomfortablequartersarefoundforyou,"saidBlandford.

Withcreditableingenuity,oldJakesetupacackling,high-pitched,protractedlaugh. He beat his knee, picked up his hat and bent the brim in an apparentparoxysm of humorous appreciation. The seizure afforded him amask behindwhich he could roll his eyes impartially between, above, and beyond his twotormentors.

"Iseeswhat!"hechuckled,afterawhile."Yougen'lemenistryin'tohavefunwith the po' old nigger. But you can't fool old Jake. I knowed you, MarseBlandford,theminuteIsoteyesonyou.Youwasapo'skimpylittleboynomo'than about fo'teen when you lef' home to come No'th; but I knowed you theminute I sot eyes on you.You is themawtal image of oldmarster. The othergen'lemanresemblesyoumightily,suh;butyoucan'tfoololdJakeonamemberoftheoldVi'giniafamily.Nosuh."

AtexactlythesametimebothCarteretssmiledandextendedahandforthewatch.

UncleJake'swrinkled,blackfacelosttheexpressionofamusementtowhichhehadvainlytwistedit.Heknewthathewasbeingteased,andthatitmadelittlerealdifference,asfarasitssafetywent,intowhichofthoseoutstretchedhandsheplacedthefamilytreasure.ButitseemedtohimthatnotonlyhisownprideandloyaltybutmuchoftheVirginiaCarterets'wasatstake.HehadhearddownSouthduringthewaraboutthatotherbranchofthefamilythatlivedintheNorthandfoughton"theyutherside,"andithadalwaysgrievedhim.Hehadfollowedhis"oldmarster's" fortunes fromstately luxury throughwar toalmostpoverty.Andnow,withthelastrelicandreminderofhim,blessedby"oldmissus,"andintrustedimplicitlytohiscare,hehadcometenthousandmiles(asitseemed)todeliveritintothehandsoftheonewhowastowearitandwinditandcherishitandlistentoittickofftheunsulliedhoursthatmarkedthelivesoftheCarterets—ofVirginia.

His experience and conception of the Yankees had been an impression oftyrants—"low-down,commontrash"—inblue,layingwastewithfireandsword.HehadseenthesmokeofmanyburninghomesteadsalmostasgrandasCarteretHallascendingtothedrowsySouthernskies.Andnowhewasfacetofacewithoneofthem—andhecouldnotdistinguishhimfromhis"youngmarster"whom

hehadcometofindandbestowuponhimtheemblemofhiskingship—evenasthearm"clothedinwhitesamite,mystic,wonderful"laidExcaliburintherighthand of Arthur. He saw before him two young men, easy, kind, courteous,welcoming, either of whom might have been the one he sought. Troubled,bewildered,sorelygrievedathisweaknessofjudgment,oldJakeabandonedhisloyal subterfuges. His right hand sweated against the buckskin cover of thewatch.Hewasdeeplyhumiliatedandchastened.Seriously,now,hisprominent,yellow-whiteeyescloselyscannedthetwoyoungmen.Attheendofhisscrutinyhewasconsciousofbutonedifferencebetweenthem.Oneworeanarrowblacktiewithawhitepearlstickpin.Theother's"four-in-hand"wasanarrowblueonepinnedwithablackpearl.

And then, to old Jake's relief, there came a sudden distraction. Dramaknockedatthedoorwithimperiousknuckles,andforcedComedytothewings,andDramapeepedwithasmilingbutsetfaceoverthefootlights.

Percival,thehaterofmillsupplies,broughtinacard,whichhehanded,withthemannerofonebearingacartel,toBlue-Tie.

"OliviaDeOrmond,"readBlue-Tiefromthecard.Helookedinquiringlyathiscousin.

"Whynothaveherin,"saidBlack-Tie,"andbringmatterstoaconclusion?"

"UncleJake,"saidoneoftheyoungmen,"wouldyoumindtakingthatchairover there in the corner for awhile?A lady is coming in—on somebusiness.We'lltakeupyourcaseafterward."

The lady whom Percival ushered in was young and petulantly, decidedly,freshly, consciously, and intentionally pretty. She was dressed with suchexpensiveplainnessthatshemadeyouconsiderlaceandrufflesasmeretattersand rags. But one great ostrich plume that she wore would have marked heranywhereinthearmyofbeautyasthewearerofthemerryhelmetofNavarre.

Miss De Ormond accepted the swivel chair at Blue-Tie's desk. Then thegentlemen drew leather-upholstered seats conveniently near, and spoke of theweather.

"Yes,"saidshe,"Inoticeditwaswarmer.ButImustn'ttakeuptoomuchofyour time during business hours. That is," she continued, "unless we talkbusiness."

SheaddressedherwordstoBlue-Tie,withacharmingsmile.

"Verywell,"saidhe."Youdon'tmindmycousinbeingpresent,doyou?Weare generally rather confidential with each other—especially in businessmatters."

"Oh no," caroledMiss De Ormond. "I'd rather he did hear. He knows allabout it, anyhow. In fact,he'squite amaterialwitnessbecausehewaspresentwhen you—when it happened. I thought you might want to talk things overbefore—well,beforeanyactionistaken,asIbelievethelawyerssay."

"Haveyouanythinginthewayofapropositiontomake?"askedBlack-Tie.

MissDeOrmond looked reflectivelyat theneat toeofoneofherdullkid-pumps.

"Ihadaproposalmadetome,"shesaid."Iftheproposalsticksitcutsouttheproposition.Let'shavethatsettledfirst."

"Well,asfaras—"beganBlue-Tie.

"Excuseme, cousin," interruptedBlack-Tie, "if you don'tmindmy cuttingin."Andthenheturned,withagood-naturedair,towardthelady.

"Now, let's recapitulate a bit," he said cheerfully. "All three of us, besidesothermutualacquaintances,havebeenoutonagoodmanylarkstogether."

"I'mafraidI'llhavetocallthebirdsbyanothername,"saidMissDeOrmond.

"Allright,"respondedBlack-Tie,withunimpairedcheerfulness;"supposewesay 'squabs'whenwe talk about the 'proposal' and 'larks'whenwediscuss the'proposition.'Youhaveaquickmind,MissDeOrmond.Twomonthsagosomehalf-dozenofuswentinamotor-carforaday'srunintothecountry.Westoppedataroad-housefordinner.Mycousinproposedmarriagetoyouthenandthere.Hewas influenced todoso,ofcourse,by thebeautyandcharmwhichnoone

candenythatyoupossess."

"Iwish I had you for a press agent,Mr. Carteret," said the beauty,with adazzlingsmile.

"Youareonthestage,MissDeOrmond,"wentonBlack-Tie."Youhavehad,doubtless, many admirers, and perhaps other proposals. You must remember,too, thatwewereapartyofmerrymakersonthatoccasion.Therewereagoodmanycorkspulled.Thattheproposalofmarriagewasmadetoyoubymycousinwe cannot deny.But hasn't it been your experience that, by common consent,suchthingslosetheirseriousnesswhenviewedinthenextday'ssunlight?Isn'ttheresomethingofa'code'amonggood'sports'—Iusethewordinitsbestsense—thatwipesouteachdaythefolliesoftheeveningprevious?"

"Oh yes," saidMissDeOrmond. "I know that verywell.And I've alwaysplayed up to it. But as you seem to be conducting the case—with the silentconsentofthedefendant—I'lltellyousomethingmore.I'vegotlettersfromhimrepeatingtheproposal.Andthey'resigned,too."

"Iunderstand,"saidBlack-Tiegravely."What'syourpricefortheletters?"

"I'mnotacheapone,"saidMissDeOrmond."ButIhaddecidedtomakeyouarate.Youbothbelongtoaswellfamily.Well,ifIamonthestagenobodycansay a word against me truthfully. And the money is only a secondaryconsideration. It isn't the money I was after. I—I believed him—and—and Ilikedhim."

Shecastasoft,entrancingglanceatBlue-Tiefromunderherlongeyelashes.

"Andtheprice?"wentonBlack-Tie,inexorably.

"Tenthousanddollars,"saidthelady,sweetly.

"Or—"

"Orthefulfillmentoftheengagementtomarry."

"Ithinkitistime,"interruptedBlue-Tie,"formetobeallowedtosayawordortwo.YouandI,cousin,belongtoafamilythathashelditsheadprettyhigh.

Youhavebeenbroughtupinasectionofthecountryverydifferentfromtheonewhereourbranchofthefamilylived.YetbothofusareCarterets,evenifsomeofourwaysandtheoriesdiffer.Youremember,itisatraditionofthefamily,thatnoCartereteverfailed inchivalry toa ladyorfailed tokeephiswordwhenitwasgiven."

ThenBlue-Tie,with frank decision showing on his countenance, turned toMissDeOrmond.

"Olivia,"saidhe,"onwhatdatewillyoumarryme?"

Beforeshecouldanswer,Black-Tieagaininterposed.

"Itisalongjourney,"saidhe,"fromPlymouthrocktoNorfolkBay.Betweenthetwopointswefindthechangesthatnearlythreecenturieshavebrought.Inthattimetheoldorderhaschanged.Wenolongerburnwitchesortortureslaves.Andto-dayweneitherspreadourcloaksonthemudforladiestowalkovernortreatthemtotheducking-stool.Itistheageofcommonsense,adjustment,andproportion. All of us—ladies, gentlemen, women, men, Northerners,Southerners, lords, caitiffs, actors, hardware-drummers, senators, hod-carriers,and politicians—are coming to a better understanding. Chivalry is one of ourwords that changes its meaning every day. Family pride is a thing of manyconstructions—itmay show itself bymaintaining amoth-eaten arrogance in acobwebbedColonialmansionorbythepromptpayingofone'sdebts.

"Now, I suppose you've had enough of my monologue. I've learnedsomethingofbusinessandalittleoflife;andIsomehowbelieve,cousin,thatourgreat-great-grandfathers, the originalCarterets,would indorsemyviewof thismatter."

Black-Tiewheeledaroundtohisdesk,wroteinacheck-bookandtoreoutthecheck,thesharpraspoftheperforatedleafmakingtheonlysoundintheroom.HelaidthecheckwithineasyreachofMissDeOrmond'shand.

"Business is business," said he. "We live in a business age. There is mypersonal check for $10,000. What do you say, Miss De Ormond—will it heorangeblossomsorcash?"

MissDeOrmondpickedupthecheekcarelessly,foldedit indifferently,andstuffeditintoherglove.

"Oh,this'lldo,"shesaid,calmly."IjustthoughtI'dcallandputituptoyou.Iguessyoupeopleareallright.Butagirlhasfeelings,youknow.I'veheardoneofyouwasaSoutherner—Iwonderwhichoneofyouitis?"

She arose, smiled sweetly, and walked to the door. There, with a flash ofwhiteteethandadipoftheheavyplume,shedisappeared.

Both of the cousins had forgotten Uncle Jake for the time. But now theyheardtheshufflingofhisshoesashecameacrosstherugtowardthemfromhisseatinthecorner.

"Youngmarster,"hesaid,"takeyo'watch."

Andwithouthesitationhelaidtheancienttimepieceinthehandofitsrightfulowner.

SUPPLYANDDEMAND

Finchkeepsahats-cleaned-by-electricity-while-you-waitestablishment,ninefeetbytwelve,inThirdAvenue.Onceacustomer,youarealwayshis.Idonotknowhissecretprocess,buteveryfourdaysyourhatneedstobecleanedagain.

Finchisaleathern,sallow,slow-footedman,betweentwentyandforty.YouwouldsayhehadbeenbroughtupabushelmaninEssexStreet.Whenbusinessisslackhelikestotalk,soIhadmyhatcleanedevenoftenerthanitdeserved,hopingFinchmightletmeintosomeofthesecretsofthesweatshops.

Oneafternoon Idropped inand foundFinchalone.Hebegan toanointmy

headpiecedePanamawithhismysteriousfluidthatattracteddustanddirtlikeamagnet.

"TheysaytheIndiansweave'emunderwater,"saidI,foraleader.

"Don'tyoubelieveit,"saidFinch."NoIndianorwhitemancouldstayunderwater that long.Say,doyoupaymuchattention topolitics? I see in thepapersomethingaboutalawthey'vepassedcalled'thelawofsupplyanddemand.'"

I explained to him aswell as I could that the referencewas to a politico-economicallaw,andnottoalegalstatute.

"Ididn'tknow,"saidFinch."Iheardagooddealaboutitayearorsoago,butinaone-sidedway."

"Yes,"saidI,"politicaloratorsuseitagreatdeal.Infact,theynevergiveitarest.Isupposeyouheardsomeofthosecart-tailfellowsspoutingonthesubjectoverhereontheeastside."

"Ihearditfromaking,"saidFinch—"thewhitekingofatribeofIndiansinSouthAmerica."

I was interested but not surprised. The big city is like a mother's knee tomanywhohave strayed far and found the roads roughbeneath their uncertainfeet.Atdusktheycomehomeandsituponthedoor-step.IknowapianoplayerinacheapcaféwhohasshotlionsinAfrica,abell-boywhofoughtintheBritisharmyagainsttheZulus,anexpress-driverwhoseleftarmhadbeencrackedlikealobster's claw for a stew-pot of Patagonian cannibals when the boat of hisrescuershoveinsight.Soahat-cleanerwhohadbeenafriendofakingdidnotoppressme.

"Anewband?"askedFinch,withhisdry,barrensmile.

"Yes,"saidI,"andhalfaninchwider."Ihadhadanewbandfivedaysbefore.

"Imeetsamanonenight,"saidFinch,beginninghisstory—"amanbrownassnuff,withmoneyineverypocket,eatingschweinerknuckelinSchlagel's.Thatwastwoyearsago,whenIwasahose-cartdriverforNo.98.Hisdiscourserunstothesubjectofgold.HesaysthatcertainmountainsinacountrydownSouth

that he calls Gaudymala is full of it. He says the Indians wash it out of thestreamsinpluralquantities.

"'Oh,Geronimo!'saysI.'Indians!There'snoIndiansintheSouth,'Itellhim,'exceptElks,Maccabees,andthebuyersforthefalldry-goodstrade.TheIndiansareallonthereservations,'saysI.

"'I'm telling you this with reservations,' says he. 'They ain't Buffalo BillIndians;they'resquattierandmorepedigreed.Theycall 'emInkersandAspics,andtheywasoldinhabitantswhenMazumawasKingofMexico.Theywashthegoldoutof themountainstreams,' says thebrownman, 'and fillquillswith it;andthentheyempty'emintoredjarstilltheyarefull;andthentheypackitinbuckskinsacksofonearrobaeach—anarrobaistwenty-fivepounds—andstoreit in a stonehouse,with an engravingof a idolwithmarcelledhair, playing aflute,overthedoor.'

"'Howdotheyworkoffthisunearthincrement?'Iasks.

"'Theydon't,'saystheman.'It'sacaseof"Illfaresthelandwiththegreatdealofvelocitywherewealthaccumulatesandthereain'tanyreciprocity."'

"Afterthismanandmegotthroughourconversation,whichlefthimdryofinformation,IshookhandswithhimandtoldhimIwassorryIcouldn'tbelievehim. And a month afterward I landed on the coast of this Gaudymala with$1,300thatIhadbeensavingupforfiveyears.I thoughtIknewwhatIndiansliked,and I fixedmyselfaccordingly. I loadeddownfourpack-muleswith redwoollenblankets,wrought-ironpails, jewelled side-combs for the ladies, glassnecklaces, and safety-razors. I hired a blackmozo,whowas supposed tobe amule-driverandaninterpretertoo.Itturnedoutthathecouldinterpretmulesallright,buthedrovetheEnglishlanguagemuchtoohard.HisnamesoundedlikeaYalekeywhenyoupushitinwrongsideup,butIcalledhimMcClintock,whichwasclosetothenoise.

"Well, thisgoldvillagewas fortymilesup in themountains,and it tookusnine days to find it. But one afternoon McClintock led the other mules andmyself over a rawhide bridge stretched across a precipice five thousand feetdeep, it seemed tome.Thehoofsof thebeastsdrummedon it just likebeforeGeorgeM.Cohanmakeshisfirstentranceonthestage.

"This village was built of mud and stone, and had no streets. Some fewyellow-and-brownpersonspopped theirheadsout-of-doors, lookingabout likeWelshrabbitswithWorcestersauceonem.Outofthebiggesthouse,thathadakindofaporcharoundit,stepsabigwhiteman,redasabeetincolor,dressedinfinetanneddeerskinclothes,withagoldchainaroundhisneck,smokingacigar.I've seenUnited States Senators of his style of features and build, also head-waitersandcops.

"He walks up and takes a look at us, while McClintock disembarks andbeginstointerprettotheleadmulewhilehesmokesacigarette.

"'Hello,Buttinsky,'saysthefinemantome.'Howdidyougetinthegame?Ididn'tseeyoubuyanychips.Whogaveyouthekeysofthecity?'

"'I'm a poor traveller,' says I. 'Especiallymule-back.You'll excuseme.Doyourunahacklineoronlyabluff?'

"'Segregateyourselffromyourpseudo-equinequadruped,'sayshe,'andcomeinside.'

"Heraisesafinger,andavillagerrunsup.

"'Thismanwilltakecareofyouroutfit,'sayshe,'andI'lltakecareofyou.'

"Heleadsmeintothebiggesthouse,andsetsoutthechairsandakindofadrinkthecolorofmilk.ItwasthefinestroomIeversaw.Thestonewallswashungalloverwithsilkshawls,andtherewasredandyellowrugsonthefloor,andjarsofredpotteryandAngoragoatskins,andenoughbamboofurnituretomisfurnishhalfadozenseasidecottages.

"'Inthefirstplace,'saystheman,'youwanttoknowwhoIam.I'msolelesseeandproprietorofthistribeofIndians.TheycallmetheGrandYacuma,whichistosayKingorMainFingerofthebunch.I'vegotmorepowerherethanachargéd'affaires,achargeofdynamite,andachargeaccountatTiffany'scombined.Infact,I'mtheBigStick,withasmanyextraknotsonitasthereisontherecordrunof theLusitania.Oh, I read the papers nowand then,' says he. 'Now, let'shearyourentitlements,'hegoeson,'andthemeetingwillbeopen.'

"'Well,' says I, 'I am known as one W. D. Finch. Occupation, capitalist.

Address,541EastThirty-second—'

"'NewYork,'chipsintheNobleGrand.'Iknow,'sayshe,grinning.'Itain'tthefirsttimeyou'veseenitgodownontheblotter.Icantellbythewayyouhanditout.Well,explain"capitalist."'

"ItellsthisbossplainwhatIcomeforandhowIcometocame.

"'Gold-dust?'sayshe,lookingaspuzzledasababythat'sgotafeatherstuckonitsmolassesfinger. 'That'sfunny.Thisain'tagold-miningcountry.Andyouinvestedallyourcapitalonastranger'sstory?Well,well!TheseIndiansofmine—they are the last of the tribe ofPeches—are simple as children.Theyknownothing of the purchasing power of gold. I'm afraid you've been imposed on,'sayshe.

"'Maybeso,'saysI,'butitsoundedprettystraighttome.'

"'W.D.,' says theKing,allof a sudden, 'I'llgiveyoua squaredeal. It ain'toften Iget to talk toawhiteman,and I'llgiveyouashowforyourmoney. Itmaybe theseconstituentsofminehavea fewgrainsofgold-dusthidaway intheirclothes.To-morrowyoumaygetoutthesegoodsyou'vebroughtupandseeifyoucanmakeanysales.Now,I'mgoingtointroducemyselfunofficially.Myname is Shane—Patrick Shane. I own this tribe of Peche Indians by right ofconquest—singlehandedandunafraid.Idriftedupherefouryearsago,andwon'embymysizeandcomplexionandnerve.Ilearnedtheirlanguageinsixweeks—it'seasy:yousimplyemitastringofconsonantsaslongasyourbreathholdsoutandthenpointatwhatyou'reaskingfor.

"'Iconquered'em,spectacularly,'goesonKingShane,'andthenIwentat'emwitheconomicalpolitics,law,sleight-of-hand,andakindofNewEnglandethicsandparsimony.EverySunday,orasnearasIcanguessatit,Ipreachto'eminthe council-house (I'm the council) on the lawof supply anddemand. I praisesupplyandknockdemand.Iuse thesametexteverytime.Youwouldn't think,W.D.,'saysShane,'thatIhadpoetryinme,wouldyou?'

"'Well,'saysI,'Iwouldn'tknowwhethertocallitpoetryornot.'

"'Tennyson,' says Shane, 'furnishes the poetic gospel I preach. I always

consideredhimthebosspoet.Here'sthewaythetextgoes:

"'"For,nottoadmire,ifamancouldlearnit,weremoreThantowalkalldaylikeaSultanofoldinagardenofspice."

"'You see, I teach 'em to cut out demand—that supply is themain thing. Iteach 'emnottodesireanythingbeyondtheirsimplestneeds.Alittlemutton,alittlecocoa,anda littlefruitbroughtupfromthecoast—that'sall theywant tomake'emhappy.I'vegot'emwelltrained.Theymaketheirownclothesandhatsoutofavegetablefibreandstraw,andthey'reacontentedlot.It'sagreatthing,'winds up Shane, 'to have made a people happy by the incultivation of suchsimpleinstitutions.'

"Well,thenextday,withtheKing'spermission,IhastheMcClintockopenupa couple of sacks of my goods in the little plaza of the village. The Indiansswarmed around by the hundred and looked the bargain-counter over. I shookredblanketsat 'em,flashedfinger-ringsandear-bobs,triedpearlnecklacesandside-combsonthewomen,andalineofredhosieryonthemen. 'Twasnouse.They looked on like hungry graven images, but I nevermade a sale. I askedMcClintock what was the trouble. Mac yawned three or four times, rolled acigarette, made one or two confidential side remarks to a mule, and thencondescendedtoinformmethatthepeoplehadnomoney.

"Just then up strollsKingPatrick, big and red and royal as usual,with thegoldchainoverhischestandhiscigarinfrontofhim.

"'How'sbusiness,W.D.?'heasks.

"'Fine,'saysI.'It'sabargain-dayrush.I'vegotonemorelineofgoodstoofferbefore I shut up shop. I'll try 'emwith safety-razors. I've got two gross that Iboughtatafiresale.'

"Shanelaughstillsomekindofmamelukeorprivatesecretaryhecarrieswithhimhastoholdhimup.

"'O my sainted Aunt Jerusha!' says he, 'ain't you one of the Babes in theGoods,W.D.?Don'tyouknowthatnoIndiansevershave?Theypullouttheirwhiskersinstead.'

"'Well,'saysI,'that'sjustwhattheserazorswoulddofor'em—theywouldn'thaveanykickcomingiftheyused'emonce.'

"Shanewentaway,andIcouldhearhimlaughingablock,iftherehadbeenanyblock.

"'Tell 'em,' says I toMcClintock, 'it ain't money I want—tell 'em I'll takegold-dust.Tell 'emI'llallow 'emsixteendollarsanouncefor it in trade.That'swhatI'moutfor—thedust.'

"Macinterprets,andyou'dhavethoughtasquadronofcopshadchargedthecrowdtodisperse it.Everyuncle'snephewandaunt'snieceof 'emfadedaway

insideoftwominutes.

"AttheroyalpalacethatnightmeandtheKingtalkeditover.

"'They'vegotthedusthidoutsomewhere,'saysI,'ortheywouldn'thavebeensosensitiveaboutit.'

"'Theyhaven't,'saysShane.'What'sthisgagyou'vegotaboutgold?YoubeenreadingEdwardAllenPoe?Theyain'tgotanygold.'

"'Theyput it inquills,' says I, 'and then theyempty it in jars,and then intosacksoftwenty-fivepoundseach.Igotitstraight.'

"'W.D.,'saysShane,laughingandchewinghiscigar,'Idon'toftenseeawhiteman,andIfeellikeputtingyouon.Idon'tthinkyou'llgetawayfromherealive,anyhow,soI'mgoingtotellyou.Comeoverhere.'

"Hedrawsasideasilkfibrecurtaininacorneroftheroomandshowsmeapileofbuckskinsacks.

"'Forty of 'em,' says Shane. 'One arroba in each one. In round numbers,$220,000worthofgold-dustyouseethere.It'sallmine.ItbelongstotheGrandYacuma.Theybring it all tome.Twohundred and twenty thousanddollars—thinkofthat,youglass-beadpeddler,'saysShane—'andallmine.'

"'Littlegooditdoesyou,'saysI,contemptuouslyandhatefully. 'Andsoyouarethegovernmentdepositoryofthisgangofmoneylessmoney-makers?Don'tyoupayenoughinterestonittoenableoneofyourdepositorstobuyanAugusta(Maine)Pullmancarbondiamondworth$200for$4.85?'

"'Listen,' says Patrick Shane, with the sweat coming out on his brow. 'I'mconfidantwithyou,asyouhave,somehow,enlistedmyregards.Didyouever,'hesays, 'feel theavoirdupoispowerofgold—not the troyweightof it,but thesixteen-ounces-to-the-poundforceofit?'

"'Never,'saysI.'Inevertakeinanybadmoney.'

"Shanedropsdownonthefloorandthrowshisarmsoverthesacksofgold-dust.

"'I love it,' says he. 'I want to feel the touch of it day and night. It's mypleasure in life. I come in this room, and I'm a king and a richman. I'll be amillionaire in anotheryear.Thepile's gettingbigger everymonth. I'vegot thewhole tribe washing out the sands in the creeks. I'm the happiest man in theworld, W. D. I just want to be near this gold, and know it's mine and it'sincreasingeveryday.Now,youknow,' sayshe, 'whymyIndianswouldn'tbuyyourgoods.Theycan't.Theybringallthedusttome.I'mtheirking.I'vetaught'emnottodesireoradmire.Youmightaswellshutupshop.'

"'I'll tellyouwhatyouare,' says I. 'You'reaplain,contemptiblemiser.Youpreachsupplyandyouforgetdemand.Now,supply,'Igoeson,'isneveranythingbut supply.On the contrary,' says I, 'demand is amuchbroader syllogismandassertion.Demand includes the rights of ourwomen and children, and charityandfriendship,andevenalittlebeggingonthestreetcorners.They'vebothgottoharmonizeequally.AndI'vegotafewthingsupmycommercialsleeveyet,'saysI,'thatmayjostleyourpreconceivedideasofpoliticsandeconomy.

"ThenextmorningIhadMcClintockbringupanothermule-loadofgoodstotheplazaandopenitup.Thepeoplegatheredaroundthesameasbefore.

"Igotoutthefinestlineofnecklaces,bracelets,hair-combs,andearringsthatIcarried,andhadthewomenput'emon.AndthenIplayedtrumps.

"Out ofmy last pack I opened up a half gross of hand-mirrors,with solidtinfoil backs, and passed 'em around among the ladies. That was the firstintroductionoflooking-glassesamongthePecheIndians.

"Shanewalksbywithhisbiglaugh.

"'Businesslookingupany?'heasks.

"'It'slookingatitselfrightnow,'saysI.

"By-and-by a kind of amurmur goes through the crowd. Thewomen hadlooked into the magic crystal and seen that they were beautiful, and wasconfidingthesecrettothemen.Themenseemedtobeurgingthelackofmoneyandthehardtimesjustbeforetheelection,buttheirexcusesdidn'tgo.

"Thenwasmytime.

"IcalledMcClintockawayfromananimatedconversationwithhismulesandtoldhimtodosomeinterpreting.

"'Tell'em,'saysI,'thatgold-dustwillbuyforthemthesebefittingornamentsforkingsandqueensoftheearth.Tell'emtheyellowsandtheywashoutofthewatersfortheHighSanctifiedYacomayandChopSueyofthetribewillbuytheprecious jewels and charms that will make them beautiful and preserve andpickle themfromevilspirits.Tell 'emthePittsburghbanksarepayingfourpercent.interestondepositsbymail,whilethisget-rich-frequentlycustodianofthepublicfundsain'tevenpayingattention.Keeptelling'em,Mac,'saysI,'toletthegold-dust family do their work. Talk to 'em like a born anti-Bryanite,' says I.'Remind'emthatTomWatson'sgonebacktoGeorgia,'saysI.

"McClintock waves his hand affectionately at one of his mules, and thenhurlsafewstickfulsofminiontypeatthemobofshoppers.

"A gutta-percha Indian man, with a lady hanging on his arm, with threestrings of my fish-scale jewelry and imitationmarble beads around her neck,standsuponablockofstoneandmakesatalkthatsoundslikeamanshakingdiceinaboxtofillacesandsixes.

"'Hesays,'saysMcClintock,'thatthepeoplenotknowthatgold-dustwillbuytheirthings.Thewomenverymad.TheGrandYacumatellthemitnogoodbutforkeeptomakebadspiritskeepaway.'

"'Youcan'tkeepbadspiritsawayfrommoney,'saysI.

"'They say,' goesonMcClintock, 'theYacuma fool them.They raiseplentyrow.'

"'Going!Going!' says I. 'Gold-dust or cash takes the entire stock.Thedustweighedbeforeyou,andtakenatsixteendollarstheounce—thehighestpriceontheGaudymalacoast.'

"Thenthecrowddispersesallofasudden,andIdon'tknowwhat'sup.Macandmepacksaway thehand-mirrorsand jewelry theyhadhandedback tous,andwehadthemulesbacktothecorraltheyhadsetapartforourgarage.

"Whilewewasthereweheargreatnoisesofshouting,anddownacrosstheplazarunsPatrickShane,hotfoot,withhisclothesrippedhalfoff,andscratchesonhisfacelikeacathadfoughthimhardforeveryoneofitslives.

"'They'relootingthetreasury,W.D.,'hesingsout. 'They'regoingtokillmeandyou,too.Unlimberacoupleofmulesatonce.We'llhavetomakeaget-awayinacoupleofminutes.'

"'They'vefoundout,'saysI,'thetruthaboutthelawofsupplyanddemand.'

"'It'sthewomen,mostly,'saystheKing.'Andtheyusedtoadmiremeso!'

"'Theyhadn'tseenlooking-glassesthen,'saysI.

"'They'vegotknivesandhatchets,'saysShane;'hurry!'

"'Takethatroanmule,'saysI.'Youandyourlawofsupply!I'llridethedun,forhe'stwoknotsperhourthefaster.Theroanhasastiffknee,buthemaymakeit,' saysI. 'Ifyou'd includedreciprocity inyourpoliticalplatformImighthavegivenyouthedun,'saysI.

"Shane and McClintock and me mounted our mules and rode across therawhidebridgejustasthePechesreachedtheothersideandbeganfiringstonesandlongknivesatus.Wecutthethongsthatheldupourendofthebridgeandheadedforthecoast."

Atall,bulkypolicemancameintoFinch'sshopatthatmomentandleanedanelbowontheshowcase.Finchnoddedathimfriendly.

"IhearddownatCasey's,"saidthecop,inrumbling,huskytones,"thattherewas going to be a picnic of the Hat-Cleaners' Union over at Bergen Beach,Sunday.Isthatright?"

"Sure,"saidFinch."There'llbeadandytime."

"Gimme five tickets," said the cop, throwing a five-dollar bill on theshowcase.

"Why,"saidFinch,"ain'tyougoingitalittletoo—"

"Gotoh––––!"saidthecop."Yougot'emtosell,ain'tyou?Somebody'sgottobuy'em.WishIcouldgoalong."

IwasgladtoSeeFinchsowellthoughtofinhisneighborhood.

Andthenincameaweegirlofseven,withdirtyfaceandpureblueeyesandasmutchedandinsufficientdress.

"Mammasays,"she recitedshrilly,"thatyoumustgivemeeightycents forthe grocer and nineteen for themilkman and five cents forme to buy hokey-pokey with—but she didn't say that," the elf concluded, with a hopeful buthonestgrin.

Finchshelledoutthemoney,countingittwice,butInoticedthatthetotalsumthatthesmallgirlreceivedwasonedollarandfourcents.

"That'stherightkindofalaw,"remarkedFinch,ashecarefullybrokesomeofthestitchesofmyhatbandsothat itwouldassuredlycomeoffwithinafewdays—"thelawofsupplyanddemand.Butthey'vebothgottoworktogether.I'llbet,"hewenton,withhisdrysmile,"she'llgetjellybeanswiththatnickel—shelikes'em.What'ssupplyifthere'snodemandforit?"

"WhateverbecameoftheKing?"Iasked,curiously.

"Oh,Imighthavetoldyou,"saidFinch."ThatwasShanecameinandboughtthetickets.Hecamebackwithme,andhe'sontheforcenow."

BURIEDTREASURE

Therearemanykindsoffools.Now,willeverybodypleasesitstilluntiltheyarecalleduponspecificallytorise?

I had been every kind of fool except one. I had expended my patrimony,pretendedmymatrimony,playedpoker, lawn-tennis,andbucket-shops—partedsoonwithmymoneyinmanyways.ButthereremainedoneruleofthewearerofcapandbellsthatIhadnotplayed.ThatwastheSeekerafterBuriedTreasure.Tofewdoesthedelectablefurorcome.Butofallthewould-befollowersinthehoof-prints of King Midas none has found a pursuit so rich in pleasurablepromise.

But,goingbackfrommythemeawhile—aslamepensmustdo—Iwasafoolof the sentimental sort. I sawMayMarthaMangum, and was hers. She waseighteen, the color of the white ivory keys of a new piano, beautiful, andpossessedbytheexquisitesolemnityandpatheticwitcheryofanunsophisticatedangeldoomed to live ina small,dull,Texasprairie-town.Shehadaspirit andcharm that could have enabled her to pluck rubies like raspberries from thecrownofBelgiumoranyothersportykingdom,butshedidnotknowit,andIdidnotpaintthepictureforher.

Yousee,IwantedMayMarthaMangumfortohaveandtohold.Iwantedhertoabidewithme,andputmyslippersandpipeawayeverydayinplaceswheretheycannotbefoundofevenings.

MayMartha's fatherwasamanhiddenbehindwhiskersandspectacles.Helivedforbugsandbutterfliesandallinsectsthatflyorcrawlorbuzzorgetdownyourbackor in thebutter.Hewas an etymologist, orwords to that effect.Hespent his life seining the air for flying fish of the June-bug order, and thenstickingpinsthrough'emandcalling'emnames.

HeandMayMarthawere thewhole family.Heprizedherhighlyasa finespecimenoftheracibushumanusbecauseshesawthathehadfoodattimes,andputhisclothesonrightsidebefore,andkepthisalcohol-bottlesfilled.Scientists,theysay,areapttobeabsent-minded.

TherewasanotherbesidesmyselfwhothoughtMayMarthaMangumonetobedesired.ThatwasGoodloeBanks,ayoungmanjusthomefromcollege.Hehad all the attainments to be found in books—Latin, Greek, philosophy, and

especiallythehigherbranchesofmathematicsandlogic.

Ifithadn'tbeenforhishabitofpouringoutthisinformationandlearningoneveryonethatheaddressed,I'dhavelikedhimprettywell.But,evenasitwas,heandIwere,youwouldhavethought,greatpals.

Wegottogethereverytimewecouldbecauseeachofuswantedtopumptheotherforwhateverstrawswecould tofindwhichwaythewindblewfromtheheartofMayMarthaMangum—ratheramixedmetaphor;GoodloeBankswouldneverhavebeenguiltyofthat.Thatisthewayofrivals.

YoumightsaythatGoodloerantobooks,manners,culture,rowing,intellect,and clothes. Iwould have put you inmindmore of baseball andFriday-nightdebatingsocieties—bywayofculture—andmaybeofagoodhorsebackrider.

Butinourtalkstogether,andinourvisitsandconversationwithMayMartha,neitherGoodloeBanksnorIcouldfindoutwhichoneofusshepreferred.MayMarthawasanatural-bornnon-committal,andknewinhercradlehowtokeeppeopleguessing.

AsIsaid,oldmanMangumwasabsent-minded.Afteralongtimehefoundout oneday—a little butterflymust have toldhim—that twoyoungmenweretryingtothrowanetovertheheadoftheyoungperson,adaughter,orsomesuchtechnicalappendage,wholookedafterhiscomforts.

I never knew scientists could rise to such occasions. Old Mangum orallylabelledandclassifiedGoodloeandmyselfeasilyamongthelowestordersofthevertebrates; and inEnglish, too,without going any further intoLatin than thesimple references toOrgetorix, RexHelvetii—which is as far as I ever went,myself.Andhetoldusthatifheevercaughtusaroundhishouseagainhewouldaddustohiscollection.

Goodloe Banks and I remained away five days, expecting the storm tosubside.WhenwedaredtocallatthehouseagainMayMarthaMangumandherfatherweregone.Gone!Thehousetheyhadrentedwasclosed.Theirlittlestoreofgoodsandchattelswasgonealso.

Andnotawordof farewell toeitherofus fromMayMartha—notawhite,

flutteringnotepinned to thehawthorn-bush;notachalk-markon thegate-postnorapost-cardinthepost-officetogiveusaclew.

For twomonthsGoodloeBanks and I—separately—tried every schemewecouldthinkoftotracktherunaways.Weusedourfriendshipandinfluencewiththe ticket-agent,with livery-stablemen, railroadconductors, andourone lone,lornconstable,butwithoutresults.

Thenwebecamebetterfriendsandworseenemiesthanever.Weforgatheredin the back room of Snyder's saloon every afternoon after work, and playeddominoes,andlaidconversationaltrapstofindoutfromeachotherifanythinghadbeendiscovered.Thatisthewayofrivals.

Now,GoodloeBankshadasarcasticwayofdisplayinghisownlearningandputtingme in the class thatwas reading "Poor JaneRay,herbird is dead, shecannotplay."Well,IratherlikedGoodloe,andIhadacontemptforhiscollegelearning,andIwasalwaysregardedasgood-natured,soIkeptmytemper.AndIwastryingtofindoutifheknewanythingaboutMayMartha,soIenduredhissociety.

Intalkingthingsoveroneafternoonhesaidtome:

"Supposeyoudofindher,Ed,wherebywouldyouprofit?MissMangumhasamind.Perhaps it isyetuncultured,but she isdestined forhigher things thanyoucouldgiveher.Ihavetalkedwithnoonewhoseemedtoappreciatemoretheenchantment of the ancient poets and writers and the modern cults that haveassimilated and expended their philosophy of life. Don't you think you arewastingyourtimelookingforher?"

"My idea," said I, "of a happy home is an eight-roomhouse in a grove oflive-oaksbythesideofacharcoonaTexasprairie.Apiano,"Iwenton,"withan automatic player in the sitting-room, three thousand head of cattle underfence for a starter, a buckboard and ponies always hitched at a post for 'themissus'—and May Martha Mangum to spend the profits of the ranch as shepleases,andtoabidewithme,andputmyslippersandpipeawayeverydayinplaceswheretheycannotbefoundofevenings.That,"saidI,"iswhatistobe;and a fig—a dried, Smyrna, dago-stand fig—for your curriculums, cults, andphilosophy."

"Sheismeantforhigherthings,"repeatedGoodloeBanks.

"Whateversheismeantfor,"Ianswered,justnowsheisoutofpocket.AndIshallfindherassoonasIcanwithoutaidofthecolleges."

"Thegame isblocked," saidGoodloe,puttingdownadomino;andwehadthebeer.

ShortlyafterthatayoungfarmerwhomIknewcameintotownandbroughtmeafoldedbluepaper.Hesaidhisgrandfatherhadjustdied.Iconcealedatear,and he went on to say that the oldman had jealously guarded this paper fortwenty years. He left it to his family as part of his estate, the rest of whichconsistedoftwomulesandahypotenuseofnon-arableland.

Thesheetofpaperwasoftheold,bluekindusedduringtherebellionoftheabolitionists against the secessionists. It was dated June 14, 1863, and itdescribed thehiding-placeof tenburro-loadsofgoldand silver coinvaluedatthreehundredthousanddollars.OldRundle—grandfatherofhisgrandson,Sam—was given the information by a Spanish priestwhowas in on the treasure-burying, and who died many years before—no, afterward—in old Rundle'shouse.OldRundlewroteitdownfromdictation.

"Whydidn'tyourfatherlookthisup?"IaskedyoungRundle.

"Hewentblindbeforehecoulddoso,"hereplied.

"Whydidn'tyouhuntforityourself?"Iasked.

"Well," saidhe, "I'veonlyknownabout thepaper for tenyears.First therewasthespringploughin'todo,andthenchoppin'theweedsoutofthecorn;andthen come takin' fodder; andmighty soonwinterwas on us. It seemed to runalongthatwayyearafteryear."

That sounded perfectly reasonable to me, so I took it up with young LeeRundleatonce.

Thedirectionson thepaperwere simple.Thewholeburro cavalcade ladenwiththetreasurestartedfromanoldSpanishmissioninDoloresCounty.Theytravelledduesouthbythecompassuntil theyreachedtheAlamitoRiver.They

fordedthis,andburiedthetreasureonthetopofalittlemountainshapedlikeapack-saddle standing in a row between two higher ones. A heap of stonesmarkedtheplaceoftheburiedtreasure.AllthepartyexcepttheSpanishpriestwerekilledby Indiansa fewdays later.The secretwasamonopoly. It lookedgoodtome.

LeeRundlesuggestedthatwerigoutacampingoutfit,hireasurveyortorunout the line from the Spanish mission, and then spend the three hundredthousand dollars seeing the sights in Fort Worth. But, without being highlyeducated,Iknewawaytosavetimeandexpense.

We went to the State land-office and had a practical, what they call a"working," sketchmadeof all the surveysof land from theoldmission to theAlamitoRiver.OnthismapIdrewalineduesouthwardtotheriver.Thelengthoflinesofeachsurveyandsectionoflandwasaccuratelygivenonthesketch.By thesewe found thepointon the riverandhada"connection"madewith itandanimportant,well-identifiedcorneroftheLosAnimosfive-leaguesurvey—agrantmadebyKingPhilipofSpain.

Bydoingthiswedidnotneedtohavethelinerunoutbyasurveyor.Itwasagreatsavingofexpenseandtime.

So, Lee Rundle and I fitted out a two-horse wagon team with all theaccessories,anddroveahundredandforty-ninemilestoChico,thenearesttowntothepointwewishedtoreach.Therewepickedupadeputycountysurveyor.HefoundthecorneroftheLosAnimossurveyforus,ranoutthefivethousandsevenhundredandtwentyvaraswestthatoursketchcalledfor,laidastoneonthespot,hadcoffeeandbacon,andcaughtthemail-stagebacktoChico.

I was pretty sure we would get that three hundred thousand dollars. LeeRundle'swastobeonlyone-third,becauseIwaspayingalltheexpenses.WiththattwohundredthousanddollarsIknewIcouldfindMayMarthaMangumifshewasonearth.AndwithitIcouldflutterthebutterfliesinoldmanMangum'sdovecot,too.IfIcouldfindthattreasure!

But Lee and I established camp. Across the river were a dozen littlemountains densely covered by cedar-brakes, but not one shaped like a pack-saddle. That did not deter us. Appearances are deceptive. A pack-saddle, like

beauty,mayexistonlyintheeyeofthebeholder.

I and the grandsonof the treasure examined those cedar-coveredhillswiththe care of a lady hunting for the wicked flea. We explored every side, top,circumference,meanelevation,angle,slope,andconcavityofeveryonefortwomilesupanddowntheriver.Wespentfourdaysdoingso.Thenwehitchedupthe roan and thedun, andhauled the remainsof the coffee andbacon theonehundredandforty-ninemilesbacktoConchoCity.

Lee Rundle chewed much tobacco on the return trip. I was busy driving,becauseIwasinahurry.

As shortly as could be after our empty return Goodloe Banks and Iforgathered in thebackroomofSnyder'ssaloon toplaydominoesandfishforinformation.ItoldGoodloeaboutmyexpeditionaftertheburiedtreasure.

"IfIcouldhavefoundthatthreehundredthousanddollars,"Isaidtohim,"Icould have scoured and sifted the surface of the earth to find May MarthaMangum."

"Sheismeantforhigherthings,"saidGoodloe."Ishallfindhermyself.But,tellmehowyouwentaboutdiscoveringthespotwherethisunearthedincrementwasimprudentlyburied."

Itoldhiminthesmallestdetail.Ishowedhimthedraughtsman'ssketchwiththedistancesmarkedplainlyuponit.

After glancing over it in a masterly way, he leaned back in his chair andbestoweduponmeanexplosionofsardonic,superior,collegiatelaughter.

"Well,youareafool,Jim,"hesaid,whenhecouldspeak.

"It'syourplay,"saidI,patiently,fingeringmydouble-six.

"Twenty,"saidGoodloe,makingtwocrossesonthetablewithhischalk.

"WhyamIafool?"Iasked."Buriedtreasurehasbeenfoundbeforeinmanyplaces."

"Because," said he, "in calculating the point on the river where your linewouldstrikeyouneglectedtoallowforthevariation.Thevariationtherewouldbeninedegreeswest.Letmehaveyourpencil."

GoodloeBanksfiguredrapidlyonthebackofanenvelope.

"Thedistance,fromnorthtosouth,ofthelinerunfromtheSpanishmission,"saidhe,"isexactlytwenty-twomiles.Itwasrunbyapocket-compass,accordingtoyourstory.Allowingforthevariation,thepointontheAlamitoRiverwhereyoushouldhavesearchedforyourtreasureisexactlysixmilesandninehundredandforty-fivevarasfartherwestthantheplaceyouhitupon.Oh,whatafoolyouare,Jim!"

"Whatisthisvariationthatyouspeakof?"Iasked."Ithoughtfiguresneverlied."

"The variation of the magnetic compass," said Goodloe, "from the truemeridian."

He smiled in his superior way; and then I saw come out in his face thesingular,eager,consumingcupidityoftheseekerafterburiedtreasure.

"Sometimes,"hesaidwiththeairoftheoracle,"theseoldtraditionsofhiddenmoney are not without foundation. Suppose you let me look over that paperdescribingthelocation.Perhapstogetherwemight—"

TheresultwasthatGoodloeBanksandI,rivalsinlove,becamecompanionsinadventure.WewenttoChicobystagefromHuntersburg,thenearestrailroadtown.InChicowehireda teamdrawingacoveredspring-wagonandcampingparaphernalia.We had the same surveyor run out our distance, as revised byGoodloe and his variations, and then dismissed him and sent him on hishomewardroad.

Itwasnightwhenwearrived.Ifedthehorsesandmadeafirenearthebankof the riverandcookedsupper.Goodloewouldhavehelped,buthiseducationhadnotfittedhimforpracticalthings.

But while I worked he cheered me with the expression of great thoughtshandeddownfromthedeadonesofold.Hequotedsometranslationsfromthe

Greekatmuchlength.

"Anacreon,"heexplained."ThatwasafavoritepassagewithMissMangum—asIrecitedit."

"Sheismeantforhigherthings,"saidI,repeatinghisphrase.

"Cantherebeanythinghigher,"askedGoodloe,"thantodwellinthesocietyoftheclassics,toliveintheatmosphereoflearningandculture?Youhaveoftendecriededucation.Whatofyourwastedeffortsthroughyourignoranceofsimplemathematics?Howsoonwouldyouhavefoundyourtreasureifmyknowledgehadnotshownyouyourerror?"

"We'lltakealookatthosehillsacrosstheriverfirst,"saidI,"andseewhatwefind.Iamstilldoubtfulaboutvariations.Ihavebeenbroughtuptobelievethattheneedleistruetothepole."

ThenextmorningwasabrightJuneone.Wewereupearlyandhadbreakfast.Goodloewascharmed.Herecited—Keats,Ithinkitwas,andKellyorShelley—whileIbroiled thebacon.Weweregettingreadytocross theriver,whichwaslittlemorethanashallowcreekthere,andexplorethemanysharp-peakedcedar-coveredhillsontheotherside.

"MygoodUlysses,"saidGoodloe,slappingmeontheshoulderwhileIwaswashingthetinbreakfast-plates,"letmeseetheenchanteddocumentoncemore.I believe it gives directions for climbing the hill shaped like a pack-saddle. Ineversawapack-saddle.Whatisitlike,Jim?"

"Scoreoneagainstculture,"saidI."I'llknowitwhenIseeit."

Goodloewas lookingatoldRundle'sdocumentwhenhe rippedout amostuncollegiateswear-word.

"Come here," he said, holding the paper up against the sunlight. "Look atthat,"hesaid,layinghisfingeragainstit.

On thebluepaper—a thing Ihadnevernoticedbefore—Isawstandout inwhitelettersthewordandfigures:"Malvern,1898."

"Whataboutit?"Iasked.

"It's thewater-mark,"saidGoodloe."Thepaperwasmanufactured in1898.Thewritingonthepaperisdated1863.Thisisapalpablefraud."

"Oh,Idon'tknow,"saidI."TheRundlesareprettyreliable,plain,uneducatedcountrypeople.Maybethepapermanufacturerstriedtoperpetrateaswindle."

And then Goodloe Banks went as wild as his education permitted. Hedroppedtheglassesoffhisnoseandglaredatme.

"I've often told you you were a fool," he said. "You have let yourself beimposeduponbyaclodhopper.Andyouhaveimposeduponme."

"How,"Iasked,"haveIimposeduponyou?"

"Byyourignorance,"saidhe."TwiceIhavediscoveredseriousflawsinyourplansthatacommon-schooleducationshouldhaveenabledyoutoavoid.And,"hecontinued,"IhavebeenputtoexpensethatIcouldillaffordinpursuingthisswindlingquest.Iamdonewithit."

Iroseandpointedalargepewterspoonathim,freshfromthedish-water.

"Goodloe Banks," I said, "I care not one parboiled navy bean for youreducation.Ialwaysbarelytolerateditinanyone,andIdespiseditinyou.Whathas your learning done for you? It is a curse to yourself and a bore to yourfriends.Away," Isaid—"awaywithyourwater-marksandvariations!Theyarenothingtome.Theyshallnotdeflectmefromthequest."

Ipointedwithmyspoonacross theriver toasmallmountainshaped likeapack-saddle.

"I am going to search thatmountain," Iwent on, "for the treasure.Decidenowwhetheryouareinitornot.Ifyouwishtoletawater-markoravariationshakeyoursoul,youarenotrueadventurer.Decide."

Awhitecloudofdustbegantorisefardowntheriverroad.Itwasthemail-wagonfromHesperustoChico.Goodloeflaggedit.

"Iamdonewiththeswindle,"saidhe,sourly."Noonebutafoolwouldpayanyattentiontothatpapernow.Well,youalwayswereafool,Jim.Ileaveyoutoyourfate."

He gathered his personal traps, climbed into the mail-wagon, adjusted hisglassesnervously,andflewawayinacloudofdust.

AfterIhadwashedthedishesandstakedthehorsesonnewgrass,Icrossedtheshallowriverandmademywayslowly through thecedar-brakesup to thetopofthehillshapedlikeapack-saddle.

ItwasawonderfulJuneday.NeverinmylifehadIseensomanybirds,somany butter-flies, dragon-flies, grasshoppers, and such winged and stingedbeastsoftheairandfields.

Iinvestigatedthehillshapedlikeapack-saddlefrombasetosummit.Ifoundan absolute absence of signs relating to buried treasure. Therewas no pile ofstones,noancientblazesonthetrees,noneoftheevidencesofthethreehundredthousanddollars,assetforthinthedocumentofoldmanRundle.

Icamedownthehillinthecooloftheafternoon.Suddenly,outofthecedar-brakeIsteppedintoabeautifulgreenvalleywhereatributarysmallstreamranintotheAlamitoRiver.

AndthereIwasstartledtoseewhatItooktobeawildman,withunkemptbeardandraggedhair,pursuingagiantbutterflywithbrilliantwings.

"Perhaps he is an escapedmadman," I thought; andwondered howhe hadstrayedsofarfromseatsofeducationandlearning.

And then I tooka fewmore steps and sawavine-coveredcottagenear thesmallstream.AndinalittlegrassygladeIsawMayMarthaMangumpluckingwildflowers.

Shestraightenedupand lookedatme.For the first timesince Iknewher Isawherface—whichwasthecolorofthewhitekeysofanewpiano—turnpink.Iwalkedtowardherwithoutaword.Sheletthegatheredflowerstrickleslowly

fromherhandtothegrass.

"I knew you would come, Jim," she said clearly. "Father wouldn't let mewrite,butIknewyouwouldcome."

What followed youmayguess—therewasmywagon and team just acrosstheriver.

I'veoftenwonderedwhatgoodtoomucheducationistoamanifhecan'tuseitforhimself.Ifallthebenefitsofitaretogotoothers,wheredoesitcomein?

ForMayMarthaMangumabideswithme.Thereisaneight-roomhouseinalive-oakgrove,andapianowithanautomaticplayer,andagoodstarttowardthethreethousandheadofcattleisunderfence.

AndwhenIridehomeatnightmypipeandslippersareputawayinplaceswheretheycannotbefound.

Butwhocaresforthat?Whocares—whocares?

TOHIMWHOWAITS

The Hermit of the Hudson was hustling about his cave with unusualanimation.

ThecavewasonorinthetopofalittlespuroftheCatskillsthathadstrayeddown to the river's edge, and,nothavinga ferry ticket,had to stop there.Thebijoumountainsweredenselywoodedandwereinfestedbyferocioussquirrelsandwoodpeckersthatforevermenacedthesummertransients.Likeabadlysewn

stripofwhitebraid,amacadamizedroadranbetweenthegreenskirtofthehillsandthefoamylaceoftheriver'sedge.Adimpathwoundfromthecomfortableroad up a rocky height to the hermit's cave. One mile upstream was theViewpointInn,towhichsummerfolkfromthecitycame;leavingcool,electric-fanned apartments that they might be driven about in burning sunshine,shrieking,ingasolinelaunches,byspindle-leggedModredsbearingtheblankestofshields.

Train your lorgnette upon the hermit and let your eye receive the personaltouchthatshallendearyoutothehero.

A man of forty, judging him fairly, with long hair curling at the ends,dramaticeyes,andaforkedbrownbeardlikethosethatwereimposedupontheWest some years ago by self-appointed "divine healers" who succeeded thegrasshoppercrop.Hisoutwardvestureappearedtobekindofgunny-sacking,cutandmadeintoagarmentthatwouldhavemadethefortuneofaLondontailor.His long, well-shaped fingers, delicate nose, and poise of manner raised himhighabovetheclassofhermitswhofearwaterandburymoneyinoyster-cansintheircavesinspotsindicatedbyrudecrosseschippedinthestonewallabove.

Thehermit'shomewasnotaltogetheracave.Thecavewasanadditiontothehermitage,whichwasa rudehutmadeofpolesdaubedwithclayandcoveredwiththebestqualityofrust-proofzincroofing.

Inthehousepropertherewerestoneslabsforseats,arusticbookcasemadeofunplanedpoplarplanks,andatableformedofawoodenslablaidacrosstwoupright pieces of granite—something between the furniture of aDruid templeandthatofaBroadwaybeefsteakdungeon.Hungagainstthewallswereskinsofwild animals purchased in the vicinity of Eighth Street and University Place,NewYork.

The rear of the cabin merged into the cave. There the hermit cooked hismeals on a rude stone hearth. With infinite patience and an old axe he hadchoppednatural shelves in the rockywalls.On them stoodhis storesof flour,bacon,lard,talcum-powder,kerosene,baking-powder,soda-minttablets,pepper,salt,andOlivo-CremoEmulsionforchapsandroughnessofthehandsandface.

The hermit had hermited there for ten years. He was an asset of the

Viewpoint Inn.To its guests hewas second in interest only to theMysteriousEcho in theHauntedGlen.And theLover'sLeapbeat himonly a few inches,flat-footed.Hewasknownfar(butnotverywide,onaccountofthetopography)as a scholar of brilliant intellectwho had forsworn theworld because he hadbeenjiltedinaloveaffair.EverySaturdaynighttheViewpointInnsenttohimsurreptitiouslyabasketofprovisions.Henever left the immediateoutskirtsofhis hermitage.Guests of the innwhovisited him said his store of knowledge,wit,andscintillatingphilosophyweresimplywonderful,youknow.

That summer theViewpoint Innwascrowdedwithguests.So,onSaturdaynights,therewereextracansoftomatoes,andsirloinsteak,insteadof"rounds,"inthehermit'sbasket.

Now you have the material allegations in the case. So, make way forRomance.

Evidently the hermit expected a visitor.He carefully combed his long hairand parted his apostolic beard. When the ninety-eight-cent alarm-clock on astone shelf announced the hour of five he picked up his gunny-sacking skirts,brushed them carefully, gathered an oaken staff, and strolled slowly into thethickwoodsthatsurroundedthehermitage.

He had not long towait. Up the faint pathway, slipperywith its carpet ofpine-needles, toiled Beatrix, youngest and fairest of the famous Trenholmesisters.Shewasall inbluefromhat tocanvaspumps,varying in tint fromtheshadeofthetinkleofabluebellatdaybreakonaspringSaturdaytothedeephueofaMondaymorningatninewhenthewasherwomanhasfailedtoshowup.

Beatrixdugherceruleanparasoldeepintothepine-needlesandsighed.Thehermit,ontheq. t., removedagrassburr fromtheankleofonesandalledfootwiththebigtoeofhisotherone.Sheblued—andalmoststarchedandironedhim—withhercobalteyes.

"Itmustbesonice,"shesaidinlittle,tremulousgasps,"tobeahermit,andhaveladiesclimbmountainstotalktoyou."

The hermit folded his arms and leaned against a tree.Beatrix,with a sigh,settled down upon themat of pine-needles like a bluebird upon her nest. The

hermit followed suit; drawing his feet rather awkwardly under his gunny-sacking.

"Itmustbenice tobeamountain,"saidhe,withponderous lightness,"andhaveangelsinblueclimbupyouinsteadofflyingoveryou."

"Mammahadneuralgia," saidBeatrix, "andwent tobed,or Icouldn'thavecome. It'sdreadfullyhotat thathorridold inn.Butwehadn't themoney togoanywhereelsethissummer."

"Lastnight,"saidthehermit,"Iclimbedtothetopofthatbigrockaboveus.Icould see the lightsof the innandhear a strainor twoof themusicwhen thewindwasright. I imaginedyoumovinggracefully in thearmsofothers to thedreamymusicof thewaltz amid the fragranceof flowers.Thinkhow lonely Imusthavebeen!"

The youngest, handsomest, and poorest of the famous Trenholme sisterssighed.

"Youhaven'tquitehit it,"shesaid,plaintively."Iwasmovinggracefullyatthearmsofanother.Mammahadoneofherperiodicalattacksofrheumatisminbothelbowsandshoulders,andIhadtorubthemforanhourwiththathorridoldliniment.Ihopeyoudidn'tthinkthatsmelledlikeflowers.Youknow,thereweresome West Point boys and a yacht load of young men from the city at lastevening'sweeklydance.I'veknownmammatositbyanopenwindowforthreehourswithone-halfofherregistering85degreesandtheotherhalffrostbitten,andneversneezeonce.ButjustletabunchofineligiblescomearoundwhereIam,andshe'llbegintoswellattheknucklesandshriekwithpain.AndIhavetotakehertoherroomandrubherarms.Toseemammadressedyou'dbesurprisedtoknowthenumberofsquareinchesofsurfacetherearetoherarms.Ithinkitmustbedelightful tobeahermit.That—cassock—orgabardine, isn't it?—thatyouwearissobecoming.Doyoumakeit—orthem—ofcourseyoumusthavechanges—yourself?Andwhatablessedreliefitmustbetowearsandalsinsteadofshoes!Thinkhowwemustsuffer—nomatterhowsmallIbuymyshoestheyalwayspinchmytoes.Oh,whycan'ttherebeladyhermits,too!"

ThebeautifulestandmostadolescentTrenholmesisterextendedtwoslenderblue ankles that ended in two enormous blue-silk bows that almost concealed

twofairyOxfords,alsoofoneoftheforty-sevenshadesofblue.Thehermit,asifimpelledbyakindofreflex-telepathicaction,drewhisbaretoesfartherbeneathhisgunny-sacking.

"Ihaveheardabout theromanceofyour life,"saidMissTrenholme,softly."They have it printed on the back of themenu card at the inn.Was she verybeautifulandcharming?"

"Onthebillsoffare!"mutteredthehermit;"butwhatdoIcarefortheworld'sbabble? Yes, she was of the highest and grandest type. Then," he continued,"thenIthoughttheworldcouldnevercontainanotherequaltoher.SoIforsookitandrepairedtothismountainfastnesstospendtheremainderofmylifealone—todevoteanddedicatemyremainingyearstohermemory."

"It'sgrand,"saidMissTrenholme,"absolutelygrand.Ithinkahermit'slifeistheidealone.Nobill-collectorscalling,nodressingfordinner—howI'dliketobeone!Butthere'snosuchluckforme.IfIdon'tmarrythisseasonIhonestlybelieve mamma will force me into settlement work or trimming hats. It isn'tbecauseI'mgettingoldorugly;butwehaven'tenoughmoneylefttobuttinatany of the swell places any more. And I don't want to marry—unless it'ssomebodyIlike.That'swhyI'dliketobeahermit.Hermitsdon'tevermarry,dothey?"

"Hundredsof'em,"saidthehermit,"whenthey'vefoundtherightone."

"But they're hermits," said the youngest and beautifulest, "because they'velosttherightone,aren'tthey?"

"Because they think they have," answered the recluse, fatuously. "Wisdomcomestooneinamountaincaveaswellastooneintheworldof 'swells,'asIbelievetheyarecalledintheargot."

"Whenoneofthe'swells'bringsittothem,"saidMissTrenholme."Andmyfolksareswells.That'sthetrouble.Buttherearesomanyswellsattheseashoreinthesummer-timethatwehardlyamounttomorethanripples.Sowe'vehadtoput all ourmoney into river andharbor appropriations.Wewere all girls, youknow.Therewerefourofus.I'mtheonlysurvivingone.Theothershavebeenmarriedoff.Alltomoney.Mammaissoproudofmysisters.Theysendherthe

loveliestpen-wipersandartcalendarseveryChristmas.I'mtheonlyoneonthemarketnow.I'mforbiddentolookatanyonewhohasn'tmoney."

"But—"beganthehermit.

"But, oh," said the beautifulest, "of course hermits have great pots of goldanddoubloonsburiedsomewherenearthreegreatoak-trees.Theyallhave."

"Ihavenot,"saidthehermit,regretfully.

"I'm so sorry," saidMiss Trenholme. "I always thought they had. I think Imustgonow."

Oh,beyondquestion,shewasthebeautifulest.

"Fairlady—"beganthehermit.

"IamBeatrixTrenholme—somecallmeTrix,"shesaid."Youmustcometotheinntoseeme."

"Ihaven'tbeenastone's-throwfrommycaveintenyears,"saidthehermit.

"You must come to see me there," she repeated. "Any evening exceptThursday."

Thehermitsmiledweakly.

"Good-bye," she said, gathering the folds of her pale-blue skirt. "I shallexpectyou.ButnotonThursdayevening,remember."

WhataninterestitwouldgivetothefuturemenucardsoftheViewpointInntohavetheseprintedlinesaddedtothem:"Onlyonceduringthemorethantenyears of his lonely existence did themountain hermit leave his famous cave.ThatwaswhenhewasirresistiblydrawntotheinnbythefascinationsofMissBeatrix Trenholme, youngest and most beautiful of the celebrated Trenholmesisters,whosebrilliantmarriageto—"

Aye,towhom?

Thehermitwalkedbacktothehermitage.AtthedoorstoodBobBinkley,hisoldfriendandcompanionofthedaysbeforehehadrenouncedtheworld—Bob,himself, arrayed like the orchids of the greenhouse in the summer man'spolychromatic garb—Bob, the millionaire, with his fat, firm, smooth, shrewdface, his diamond rings, sparkling fob-chain, and pleated bosom.Hewas twoyearsolderthanthehermit,andlookedfiveyearsyounger.

"You're Hamp Ellison, in spite of those whiskers and that going-awaybathrobe,"heshouted."I readaboutyouon thebillof fareat the inn.They'verunyourbiography inbetween thecheeseand 'NotResponsible forCoatsandUmbrellas.'What'dyoudoitfor,Hamp?Andtenyears,too—geewhilikins!"

"You're just the same," said thehermit. "Come inand sitdown.Siton thatlimestonerockoverthere;it'ssofterthanthegranite."

"Ican'tunderstandit,oldman,"saidBinkley."Icanseehowyoucouldgiveupawomanfortenyears,butnottenyearsforawoman.OfcourseIknowwhyyoudidit.Everybodydoes.EdithCarr.Shejiltedfourorfivebesidesyou.Butyouweretheonlyonewhotooktoaholeintheground.Theothershadrecoursetowhiskey, theKlondike, politics, and that similia similibus cure. But, say—Hamp,EdithCarrwasjustaboutthefinestwomanintheworld—high-tonedandproudandnoble,andplayingheridealstowinatallkindsofodds.Shecertainlywasacrackerjack."

"AfterIrenouncedtheworld,"saidthehermit,"Ineverheardofheragain."

"Shemarriedme,"saidBinkley.

Thehermitleanedagainstthewoodenwallsofhisante-caveandwriggledhistoes.

"Iknowhowyoufeelaboutit,"saidBinkley."Whatelsecouldshedo?TherewereherfoursistersandhermotherandoldmanCarr—yourememberhowheputall themoneyhehad intodirigibleballoons?Well,everythingwascomingdownandnothinggoingupwith 'em,asyoumightsay.Well, IknowEdithaswellasyoudo—althoughImarriedher.Iwasworthamillionthen,butI'verunitupsincetobetweenfiveandsix.Itwasn'tmeshewantedasmuchas—well,itwasaboutlikethis.Shehadthatbunchonherhands,andtheyhadtobetaken

care of. Edithmarriedme twomonths after you did the ground-squirrel act. Ithoughtshelikedme,too,atthetime."

"Andnow?"inquiredtherecluse.

"We're better friends than ever now. She got a divorce fromme two yearsago.Justincompatibility.Ididn'tputinanydefence.Well,well,well,Hamp,thisis certainly a funny dugout you've built here. But you alwayswere a hero offiction.Seemslikeyou'dhavebeentheveryonetostrikeEdith'sfancy.Maybeyou did—but it's the bank-roll that catches 'em, my boy—your caves andwhiskers won't do it. Honestly, Hamp, don't you think you've been a darnedfool?"

Thehermitsmiledbehindhistangledbeard.HewasandalwayshadbeensosuperiortothecrudeandmercenaryBinkleythatevenhisvulgaritiescouldnotangerhim.Moreover,hisstudiesandmeditationsinhisretreathadraisedhimfarabovethelittlevanitiesoftheworld.Hislittlemountain-sidehadbeenalmostanOlympus,overtheedgeofwhichhesaw,smiling,theboltshurledinthevalleysofmanbelow.Hadhis tenyearsofrenunciation,of thought,ofdevotion toanideal, of living scornof a sordidworld, been invain?Up from theworldhadcome tohim theyoungest andbeautifulest—fairer thanEdith—one and three-seventhtimeslovelierthantheseven-years-servedRachel.Sothehermitsmiledinhisbeard.

WhenBinkleyhadrelievedthehermitagefromtheblotofhispresenceandthe first faint star showed above the pines, the hermit got the can of baking-powderfromhiscupboard.Hestillsmiledbehindhisbeard.

Therewasaslightrustleinthedoorway.TherestoodEdithCarr,withalltheaddedbeautyandstatelinessandnoblebearingthattenyearshadbroughther.

She was never one to chatter. She looked at the hermit with her large,thinking,darkeyes.Thehermitstoodstill,surprisedintoaposeasmotionlessasherown.Onlyhissubconscioussenseofthefitnessofthingscausedhimtoturnthebaking-powdercanslowlyinhishandsuntilitsredlabelwashiddenagainsthisbosom.

"Iamstoppingattheinn,"saidEdith,inlowbutcleartones."Iheardofyou

there.ItoldmyselfthatImustseeyou.Iwanttoaskyourforgiveness.Isoldmyhappiness formoney.Therewereothers tobeprovided for—but thatdoesnotexcuseme. I justwanted to seeyouandaskyour forgiveness.Youhave livedhere ten years, they tellme, cherishingmymemory! Iwas blind,Hampton. Icould not see then that all themoney in theworld cannotweigh in the scalesagainstafaithfulheart.If—butitistoolatenow,ofcourse."

Herassertionwasaquestionclothedasbestitcouldbeinalovingwoman'spride.Butthroughthethindisguisethehermitsaweasilythathisladyhadcomebacktohim—ifhechose.Hehadwonagoldencrown—ifitpleasedhimtotakeit.Therewardofhisdecadeoffaithfulnesswasreadyforhishand—ifhedesiredtostretchitforth.

For the space of one minute the old enchantment shone upon him with areflectedradiance.Andthenbyturnshefeltthemanlysensationsofindignationathavingbeendiscarded,andofrepugnanceathavingbeen—asitwere—soughtagain.Andlastofall—howstrangethatitshouldhavecomeatlast!—thepale-blue vision of the beautifulest of the Trenholme sisters illuminated hismind'seyeandlefthimwithoutawaver.

"Itistoolate,"hesaid,indeeptones,pressingthebaking-powdercanagainsthisheart.

Oncesheturnedaftershehadgoneslowlytwentyyardsdownthepath.Thehermithadbeguntotwistthelidoffhiscan,buthehiditagainunderhissackingrobe.Hecouldseehergreateyesshiningsadlythroughthetwilight;buthestoodinflexibleinthedoorwayofhisshackandmadenosign.

Just as the moon rose on Thursday evening the hermit was seized by theworld-madness.

Upfromtheinn,fainterthanthehornsofelf-land,camenowandthenafewbars ofmusic played by the casino band. TheHudsonwas broadened by thenightintoanillimitablesea—thoselights,dimlyseenonitsoppositeshore,werenot beacons for prosaic trolley-lines, but low-set starsmillions ofmiles away.Thewatersinfrontoftheinnweregaywithfireflies—orweretheymotor-boats,

smellingofgasolineandoil?OncethehermithadknownthesethingsandhadsportedwithAmaryllis in the shadeof the red-and-white-striped awnings.Butfortenyearshehadturnedaheedlesseartothesefar-offechoesofafrivolousworld.Butto-nighttherewassomethingwrong.

Thecasinobandwasplayingawaltz—awaltz.Whatafoolhehadbeen toteardeliberatelytenyearsofhislifefromthecalendarofexistenceforonewhohadgivenhimupforthefalsejoysthatwealth—"tumtitumtitumti"—howdidthatwaltz go?But those years had not been sacrificed—had they not broughthimthestarandpearlofalltheworld,theyoungestandbeautifulestof—

"Butdonot comeonThursdayevening," shehad insisted.Perhapsbynowshe would bemoving slowly and gracefully to the strains of that waltz, heldcloselybyWest-Pointersorcitycommuters,whilehe,whohadreadinhereyesthingsthathadrecompensedhimfortenlostyearsoflife,mopedlikesomewildanimalinitsmountainden.Whyshould—"

"Damnit,"saidthehermit,suddenly,"I'lldoit!"

HethrewdownhisMarcusAureliusandthrewoffhisgunny-sack toga.Hedragged a dust-covered trunk from a corner of the cave, and with difficultywrenchedopenitslid.

Candleshehad inplenty,and thecavewassoonaglow.Clothes—tenyearsoldincut—scissors,razors,hats,shoes,allhisdiscardedattireandbelongings,weredraggedruthlesslyfromtheirrenunciatoryrestandstrewnaboutinpainfuldisorder.

Apairofscissorssoonreducedhisbeardsufficientlyforthedulledrazorstoperformapproximatelytheiroffice.Cuttinghisownhairwasbeyondthehermit'sskill. So he only combed and brushed it backward as smoothly as he could.Charity forbids us to consider the heartburnings and exertions of one so longremovedfromhaberdasheryandsociety.

Atthelastthehermitwenttoaninnercornerofhiscaveandbegantodiginthesoftearthwithalongironspoon.Outofthecavityhethusmadehedrewatin can, and out of the can three thousand dollars in bills, tightly rolled andwrappedinoiledsilk.Hewasarealhermit,asthismayassureyou.

Youmaytakeabrieflookathimashehastensdownthelittlemountain-side.A long,wrinkled black frock-coat reached to his calves.White duck trousers,unacquainted with the tailor's goose, a pink shirt, white standing collar withbrilliant blue butterfly tie, and buttoned congress gaiters. But think, sir andmadam—ten years! From beneath a narrow-brimmed straw hat with a stripedbandflowedhishair.Seeinghim,withallyourshrewdnessyoucouldnothaveguessed him. You would have said that he played Hamlet—or the tuba—orpinochle—youwouldneverhavelaidyourhandonyourheartandsaid:"Heisahermitwholivedtenyearsinacaveforloveofonelady—towinanother."

The dancing pavilion extended above thewaters of the river.Gay lanternsandfrostedelectricglobesshedasoftglamourwithin it.Ahundred ladiesandgentlemenfromtheinnandsummercottagesflittedinandaboutit.Totheleftofthedustyroadwaydownwhich thehermithad trampedwere the innandgrill-room. Something seemed to be on there, too. The windows were brilliantlylighted,andmusicwasplaying—musicdifferentfromthetwo-stepsandwaltzesofthecasinoband.

A negro man wearing a white jacket came through the iron gate, with itsimmensegranitepostsandwrought-ironlamp-holders.

"Whatisgoingonhereto-night?"askedthehermit.

"Well, sah," said the servitor, "dey is having de reg'lar Thursday-evenin'danceindecasino.Andindegrill-roomdere'sabeefsteakdinner,sah."

The hermit glanced up at the inn on the hillside whence burst suddenly atriumphantstrainofsplendidharmony.

"Andupthere,"saidhe,"theyareplayingMendelssohn—whatisgoingonupthere?"

"Upindeinn,"saidtheduskyone,"deyisaweddin'goin'on.Mr.Binkley,amighty richman, ammarryin'Miss Trenholme, sah—de young lady who amquitedebelleofdeplace,sah."

HEALSOSERVES

IfIcouldhaveathousandyears—justonelittlethousandyears—moreoflife,Imight,inthattime,drawnearenoughtotrueRomancetotouchthehemofherrobe.

Up from shipsmen come, and fromwaste places and forest and road andgarretandcellar tomaunder tome instrangelydistributedwordsof the thingstheyhave seen and considered.The recording of their tales is nomore than amatter of ears and fingers. There are only two fates I dread—deafness andwriter'scramp.Thehandisyetsteady;lettheearbeartheblameiftheseprintedwords be not in the order they were delivered to me by HunkyMagee, truecamp-followeroffortune.

Biographyshallclaimyoubutaninstant—IfirstknewHunkywhenhewashead-waiter at Chubb's little beefsteak restaurant and café on Third Avenue.Therewasonlyonewaiterbesides.

Then,successively,IcaromedagainsthiminthelittlestreetsoftheBigCityafterhistriptoAlaska,hisvoyageascookwithatreasure-seekingexpeditiontotheCaribbean,andhisfailureasapearl-fisher in theArkansasRiver.Betweenthesedashes into the landofadventureheusuallycameback toChubb's forawhile.Chubb'swasaportforhimwhengalesblewtoohigh;butwhenyoudinedthereandHunkywentforyoursteakyouneverknewwhetherhewouldcometoanchorinthekitchenorintheMalayanArchipelago.Youwouldn'tcareforhisdescription—hewassoftofvoiceandhardofface,andrarelyhadtousemorethanoneeyetoquellanyapproachtoadisturbanceamongChubb'scustomers.

One night I found Hunky standing at a corner of Twenty-third Street andThirdAvenueafteranabsenceofseveralmonths.Intenminuteswehadalittleroundtablebetweenusinaquietcorner,andmyearsbegantogetbusy.IleaveoutmyslyrusesandfeintstodrawHunky'sword-of-mouthblows—itallcametosomethinglikethis:

"Speakingofthenextelection,"saidHunky,"didyoueverknowmuchaboutIndians?No? Idon'tmean theCooper,Beadle, cigar-store,orLaughingWaterkind—Imean themodern Indian—thekind that takesGreekprizes incollegesandscalpsthehalf-backontheothersideinfootballgames.Thekindthateatsmacaroons and tea in the afternoons with the daughter of the professor ofbiology,andfillsupongrasshoppersandfriedrattlesnakewhentheygetbacktotheancestralwickiup.

"Well,theyain'tsobad.Ilike'embetterthanmostforeignersthathavecomeoverinthelastfewhundredyears.OnethingabouttheIndianisthis:whenhemixeswiththewhiteraceheswapsallhisownvicesforthemofthepale-faces—andheretainsallhisownvirtues.Well,hisvirtuesareenoughtocalloutthereserves whenever he lets 'em loose. But the imported foreigners adopt ourvirtuesandkeeptheirownvices—andit'sgoingtotakeourwholestandingarmysomedaytopolicethatgang.

"But let me tell you about the trip I took to Mexico with High JackSnakefeeder, aCherokee twice removed, a graduate of aPennsylvania collegeand the latest thing in pointed-toed, rubber-heeled, patent kid moccasins andMadrashunting-shirtwithturned-backcuffs.Hewasafriendofmine.ImethiminTahlequahwhenIwasoutthereduringthelandboom,andwegotthick.HehadgotalltherewasoutofcollegesandhadcomebacktoleadhispeopleoutofEgypt.Hewasamanoffirst-classstyleandwroteessays,andhadbeeninvitedtovisitrichguys'housesinBostonandsuchplaces.

"TherewasaCherokeegirl inMuscogee thatHighJackwas foolishabout.Hetookmetoseeherafewtimes.HernamewasFlorenceBlueFeather—butyouwant to clear yourmind of all ideas of squawswith nose-rings and armyblankets.Thisyoung ladywaswhiter thanyouare, andbetter educated than Ieverwas.Youcouldn'thavetoldherfromanyofthegirlsshoppingintheswellThirdAvenuestores.IlikedhersowellthatIgottocallingonhernowandthenwhenHighJackwasn'talong,whichisthewayoffriendsinsuchmatters.ShewaseducatedattheMuscogeeCollege,andwasmakingaspecialtyof—let'ssee—eth—yes, ethnology. That's the art that goes back and traces the descent ofdifferentracesofpeople,leadingupfromjelly-fishthroughmonkeysandtotheO'Briens. High Jack had took up that line too, and had read papers about itbefore all kinds of riotous assemblies—Chautauquas and Choctaws andchowder-parties,andsuch.Havingamutualtasteformustyinformationlikethat

waswhatmade'emlikeeachother,Isuppose.ButIdon'tknow!Whattheycallcongenialityoftastesain'talwaysit.Now,whenMissBlueFeatherandmewastalkingtogether,IlistenedtoheraffidavitsaboutthefirstfamiliesoftheLandofNodbeingcousinsgerman (well, if theGermansdon'tnod,whodoes?) to themound-builders ofOhiowith incomprehension and respect.Andwhen I'd tellherabouttheBoweryandConeyIsland,andsingherafewsongsthatI'dheardtheJamaicaniggerssingattheirchurchlawn-parties,shedidn'tlookmuchlessinterestedthanshedidwhenHighJackwouldtellherthathehadapipethatthefirst inhabitants of America originally arrived here on stilts after a freshet atTenafly,NewJersey.

"ButIwasgoingtotellyoumoreaboutHighJack.

"About six months ago I get a letter from him, saying he'd beencommissionedbytheMinorityReportBureauofEthnologyatWashingtontogodowntoMexicoandtranslatesomeexcavationsordigupthemeaningofsomeshorthandnotesonsomeruins—orsomethingofthatsort.AndifI'dgoalonghecouldsqueezethepriceintotheexpenseaccount.

"Well,I'dbeenholdinganapkinovermyarmatChubb'saboutlongenoughthen, so I wired High Jack 'Yes'; and he sent me a ticket, and I met him inWashington,andhehadalotofnewstotellme.Firstofall,wasthatFlorenceBlueFeatherhadsuddenlydisappearedfromherhomeandenvironments.

"'Runaway?'Iasked.

"'Vanished,' says High Jack. 'Disappeared like your shadow when the sungoesunderacloud.Shewasseenonthestreet,andthensheturnedacornerandnobody ever seenher afterward.Thewhole community turnedout to look forher,butweneverfoundaclew.'

"'That'sbad—that'sbad,'saysI.'Shewasamightynicegirl,andassmartasyoufindem.'

"HighJackseemedtotakeithard.IguesshemusthaveesteemedMissBlueFeatherquitehighly.Icouldseethathe'dreferredthemattertothewhiskey-jug.Thatwashisweakpoint—andmanyanotherman's.I'venoticedthatwhenamanlosesagirlhegenerallytakestodrinkeitherjustbeforeorjustafterithappens.

"FromWashingtonwerailroadedit toNewOrleans,andtheretookatrampsteamerboundforBelize.AndagalepoundedusalldowntheCaribbean,andnearlywreckedusontheYucatancoastoppositea little townwithoutaharborcalledBoca deCoacoyula. Suppose the ship had run against that name in thedark!

"'Better fifty years of Europe than a cyclone in the bay,' says High JackSnakefeeder.Sowegetthecaptaintosendusashoreinadorywhenthesquallseemedtoceasefromsqualling.

"'Wewillfindruinshereormake 'em,'saysHigh. 'TheGovernmentdoesn'tcarewhichwedo.Anappropriationisanappropriation.'

"BocadeCoacoyulawasadeadtown.Thembiblicaltownswereadabout—TiredandSiphon—aftertheywasdestroyed,theymusthavelookedlikeForty-secondStreetandBroadwaycomparedtothisBocaplace.Itstillclaimed1300inhabitants as estimatedandengravedon the stonecourt-houseby the census-taker in 1597. The citizens were a mixture of Indians and other Indians; butsome of 'em was light-colored, which I was surprised to see. The town washuddledupon theshore,withwoodsso thickaroundit thatasubpoena-servercouldn'thavereachedamonkeytenyardsawaywiththepapers.Wewonderedwhatkept it frombeingannexed toKansas;butwesoonfoundout that itwasMajorBing.

"Major Bing was the ointment around the fly. He had the cochineal,sarsaparilla, log-wood, annatto, hemp, and all other dye-woods and pure foodadulterationconcessionscornered.Hehadfive-sixthsoftheBocadeThingama-jiggersworkingforhimonshares.Itwasabeautifulgraft.WeusedtobragaboutMorgan andE.H. andothers of ourwisestwhen Iwas in the provinces—butnownomore.Thatpeninsulahasgotourlittlecountryturnedintoasubmarinewithouteventheobservationtowershowing.

"MajorBing's ideawas this.Hehad thepopulationgo forth into the forestandgather theseproducts.Whentheybrought 'eminhegave 'emone-fifthfortheir trouble. Sometimes they'd strike and demand a sixth. TheMajor alwaysgaveinto'em.

"TheMajorhadabungalowsocloseontheseathatthenine-inchtideseeped

throughthecracksinthekitchenfloor.MeandhimandHighJackSnakefeedersatontheporchanddrankrumfromnoontillmidnight.Hesaidhehadpiledup$300,000inNewOrleansbanks,andHighandmecouldstaywithhimforeverifwewould.ButHighJackhappenedtothinkoftheUnitedStates,andbegantotalkethnology.

"'Ruins!'saysMajorBing. 'Thewoodsarefullof 'em.Idon'tknowhowfartheydateback,buttheywasherebeforeIcame.'

"High Jack asks what form of worship the citizens of that locality areaddictedto.

"'Why,' says theMajor, rubbing his nose, 'I can't hardly say. I imagine it'sinfidelorAztecorNonconformistorsomethinglikethat.There'sachurchhere—aMethodistorsomeotherkind—withaparsonnamedSkidder.HeclaimstohaveconvertedthepeopletoChristianity.Heandmedon'tassimilateexceptonstate occasions. I imagine they worship some kind of gods or idols yet. ButSkiddersayshehas'eminthefold.'

"A fewdays laterHigh Jack andme, prowling around, strikes a plain pathintotheforest,andfollowsitagoodfourmiles.Thenabranchturnstotheleft.Wegoamile,maybe,downthat,andrunupagainstthefinestruinyoueversaw—solidstonewithtreesandvinesandunder-brushallgrowingupagainstitandinitandthroughit.Alloveritwaschiselledcarvingsoffunnybeastsandpeoplethatwouldhavebeenarrestedifthey'devercomeoutinvaudevillethatway.Weapproacheditfromtherear.

"HighJackhadbeendrinking toomuchrumeversincewelandedinBoca.YouknowhowanIndianis—thepalefacesfixedhisclockwhentheyintroducedhimtofirewater.He'dbroughtaquartalongwithhim.

"'Hunky,'sayshe,'we'llexploretheancienttemple.Itmaybethatthestormthat landedusherewaspropitious.TheMinorityReportBureauofEthnology,'sayshe,'mayyetprofitbythevagariesofwindandtide.'

"Wewent in the rear door of the bum edifice.We struck a kind of alcovewithoutbath.Therewasagranitedavenport,andastonewash-standwithoutanysoaporexitforthewater,andsomehardwoodpegsdroveintoholesinthewall,

and that was all. To go out of that furnished apartment into a Harlem hallbedroom would make you feel like getting back home from an amateurvioloncellosoloatanEastSideSettlementhouse.

"WhileHighwasexaminingsomehieroglyphicson thewall that thestone-masonsmusthavemadewhentheirtoolsslipped,Isteppedintothefrontroom.Thatwasat least thirtyby fifty feet, stone floor, six littlewindows likesquareport-holesthatdidn'tletmuchlightin.

"Ilookedbackovermyshoulder,andseesHighJack'sfacethreefeetaway.

"'High,'saysI,'ofallthe—'

"AndthenInoticedhelookedfunny,andIturnedaround.

"He'd taken off his clothes to the waist, and he didn't seem to hear me. Itouchedhim,andcamenearbeatingit.HighJackhadturnedtostone.Ihadbeendrinkingsomerummyself.

"'Ossified!' I says tohim, loudly. 'Iknewwhatwouldhappen ifyoukept itup.'

"AndthenHighJackcomesinfromthealcovewhenhehearsmeconversingwithnobody,andwehavealookatMr.SnakefeederNo.2.It'sastoneidol,orgod,orrevisedstatuteorsomething,anditlooksasmuchlikeHighJackasonegreen pea looks like itself. It's got exactly his face and size and color, but it'ssteadieronitspins.Itstandsonakindofrostrumorpedestal,andyoucanseeit'sbeentheretenmillionyears.

"'He'sacousinofmine,'singsHigh,andthenheturnssolemn.

"'Hunky,'hesays,puttingonehandonmyshoulderandoneonthestatue's,'I'mintheholytempleofmyancestors.'

"'Well,iflooksgoesforanything,'saysI,'you'vestruckatwin.Standsidebysidewithbuddy,andlet'sseeifthere'sanydifference.'

"Therewasn't.YouknowanIndiancankeephisfaceasstillasanirondog'swhenhewantsto,sowhenHighJackfrozehisfeaturesyoucouldn'thavetold

himfromtheotherone.

"'There'ssomeletters,'saysI,'onhisnob'spedestal,butIcan'tmake'emout.Thealphabetofthiscountryseemstobecomposedofsometimesa,e,i,o,andu,butgenerallyz's,l's,andt's.'

"HighJack'sethnologygets theupperhandofhisrumforaminute,andheinvestigatestheinscription.

"'Hunky,'sayshe,'thisisastatueofTlotopaxl,oneofthemostpowerfulgodsoftheancientAztecs.'

"'Gladtoknowhim,'saysI,'butinhispresentconditionheremindsmeofthejokeShakespearegotoffonJuliusCæsar.Wemightsayaboutyourfriend:

"'Imperiouswhat's-his-name,deadandturnedtostone—Nousetowriteorcallhimonthe'phone.'

"'Hunky,'saysHighJackSnakefeeder,lookingatmefunny,'doyoubelieveinreincarnation?'

"'Itsoundstome,'saysI, 'likeeitheraclean-upoftheslaughter-housesoranewkindofBostonpink.Idon'tknow.'

"'Ibelieve,'sayshe,'thatIamthereincarnationofTlotopaxl.Myresearcheshave convincedme that the Cherokees, of all the NorthAmerican tribes, canboastofthestraightestdescentfromtheproudAztecrace.That,'sayshe,'wasafavoritetheoryofmineandFlorenceBlueFeather's.Andshe—whatifshe—'

"HighJackgrabsmyarmandwallshiseyesatme.Justthenhelookedmorelikehiseminentco-Indianmurderer,CrazyHorse.

"'Well,' says I, 'what if she,what if she,what if she?You'redrunk,' says I.'Impersonating idols and believing in—what was it?—recarnalization? Let'shaveadrink,'saysI.'It'sasspookyhereasaBrooklynartificial-limbfactoryatmidnightwiththegasturneddown.'

"Just then I heard somebody coming, and I dragged High Jack into the

bedlessbedchamber.Therewaspeep-holesboredthroughthewall,sowecouldsee thewhole front part of the temple.MajorBing toldme afterward that theancientpriestsinchargeusedtorubberthroughthematthecongregation.

"InafewminutesanoldIndianwomancameinwithabigovalearthendishfullofgrub.Shesetitonasquareblockofstoneinfrontofthegravenimage,andlaiddownandwallopedherfaceonthefloorafewtimes,andthentookawalkforherself.

"HighJackandmewashungry,sowecameoutandlookeditover.Therewasgoat steaks and fried rice-cakes, and plantains and cassava, and broiled land-crabsandmangoes—nothinglikewhatyougetatChubb's.

"Weatehearty—andhadanotherroundofrum.

"'ItmustbeoldTecumseh's—orwhateveryoucallhim—birthday,'saysI.'Ordo they feed him every day? I thought gods only drank vanilla on MountCatawampus.'

"Then some more native parties in short kimonos that showed theiraborigineespuncturedthenear-horizon,andmeandHighhadtoskipbackintoFatherAxletree'sprivateboudoir.Theycamebyones,twos,andthrees,andleftall sortsofofferings—therewasenoughgrub forBingham'sninegodsofwar,withplentyleftoverforthePeaceConferenceatTheHague.Theybroughtjarsof honey, andbunchesof bananas, andbottles ofwine, and stacksof tortillas,and beautiful shawlsworth one hundred dollars apiece that the Indianwomenweaveofakindofvegetablefibrelikesilk.Allof'emgotdownandwriggledonthefloorinfrontofthathard-finishgod,andthensneakedoffthroughthewoodsagain.

"'Iwonderwhogetsthisrake-off?'remarksHighJack.

"'Oh,' says I, 'there's priests or deputy idols or a committee ofdisarrangementssomewhereinthewoodsonthejob.Whereveryoufindagodyou'llfindsomebodywaitingtotakechargeoftheburntofferings.'

"And thenwe tookanother swigof rumandwalkedout to theparlor frontdoortocooloff,foritwasashotinsideasasummercamponthePalisades.

"Andwhilewestoodthereinthebreezewelooksdownthepathandseesayoung lady approaching the blasted ruin. She was bare-footed and had on awhite robe, and carried awreath ofwhite flowers in her hand.When she gotnearerwe saw she had a long blue feather stuck through her black hair. AndwhenshegotnearerstillmeandHighJackSnakefeedergrabbedeachother tokeep from tumbling down on the floor; for the girl's face was as much likeFlorenceBlueFeather'sashiswaslikeoldKingToxicology's.

"AndthenwaswhenHighJack'sboozedrownedhissystemofethnology.Hedraggedmeinsidebackofthestatue,andsays:

"'Layholdofit,Hunky.We'llpackitintotheotherroom.Ifeltitallthetime,'sayshe.'I'mthereconsiderationofthegodLocomotorataxia,andFlorenceBlueFeatherwasmy bride a thousand years ago. She has come to seekme in thetemplewhereIusedtoreign.'

"'Allright,'saysI.'There'snousearguingagainsttherumquestion.Youtakehisfeet.'

"Weliftedthethree-hundred-poundstonegod,andcarriedhimintothebackroomofthecafé—thetemple,Imean—andleanedhimagainstthewall.Itwasmorework thanbouncing three liveones fromanall-nightBroadway jointonNew-Year'sEve.

"ThenHighJackranoutandbroughtinacoupleofthemIndiansilkshawlsandbegantoundresshimself.

"'Oh,figs!'saysI.'Isitthus?Strongdrinkisanadderandsubtractor,too.Isittheheatorthecallofthewildthat'sgotyou?'

"ButHighJackistoofullofexaltationandcane-juicetoreply.HestopsthedisrobingbusinessjustshortoftheManhattanBeachrules,andthenwindsthemred-and-white shawls aroundhim, andgoesout and. standson thepedestal assteadyasanyplatinumdeityyoueversaw.AndIlooksthroughapeek-holetoseewhatheisupto.

"Inafewminutesincomesthegirlwiththeflowerwreath.DangedifIwasn'tknocked a little silly when she got close, she looked so exactly much likeFlorence Blue Feather. 'I wonder,' says I to myself, 'if she has beenreincarcerated,too?IfIcouldsee,'saysItomyself,'whethershehasamoleonherleft—'ButthenextminuteIthoughtshelookedone-eighthofashadedarkerthanFlorence;butshelookedgoodat that.AndHighJackhadn'tdrunkall therumthathadbeendrank.

"The girl went up within ten feet of the bum idol, and got down andmassagedhernosewiththefloor,liketherestdid.Thenshewentnearerandlaid

theflowerwreathontheblockofstoneatHighJack'sfeet.RummyasIwas,Ithought it was kind of nice of her to think of offering flowers instead ofhouseholdandkitchenprovisions.Evenastonegodoughttoappreciatealittlesentiment like that on topof the fancygroceries theyhadpiledup in front ofhim.

"AndthenHighJackstepsdownfromhispedestal,quiet,andmentionsafewwords that sounded just like thehieroglyphicscarvedon thewallsof the ruin.Thegirlgivesalittlejumpbackward,andhereyesflyopenasbigasdoughnuts;butshedon'tbeatit.

"Why didn't she? I'll tell you why I think why. It don't seem to a girl sosupernatural,unlikely,strange,andstartlingthatastonegodshouldcometolifeforher.Ifhewastodoitforoneofthemsnub-nosedbrowngirlsontheotherside of the woods, now, it would be different—but her! I'll bet she said toherself: 'Well, goodnessme!you'vebeena long timegettingonyour job. I'vehalfamindnottospeaktoyou.'

"But she and High Jack holds hands and walks away out of the templetogether.BythetimeI'dhadtimetotakeanotherdrinkandenteruponthescenetheywas twentyyards away, goingup the path in thewoods that the girl hadcomedown.Withthenaturalsceneryalreadyinplace,itwasjustlikeaplaytowatch 'em—she looking up at him, and him giving her back the best that anIndiancanhand,outinthewayofagoo-gooeye.Buttherewasn'tanythinginthatrecarnificationandrevulsiontotintypeforme.

"'Hey! Injun!' Iyellsout toHighJack. 'We'vegotaboard-billdue in town,andyou'releavingmewithoutacent.BraceupandcutouttheNeapolitanfisher-maiden,andlet'sgobackhome.'

"Butonthetwogoes;withoutlookingoncebackuntil,asyoumightsay,theforest swallowed 'emup.And I never saworheardofHigh JackSnakefeederfromthatdaytothis.Idon'tknowiftheCherokeescamefromtheAspics;butiftheydid,oneof'emwentback.

"All Icoulddowas tohustleback to thatBocaplaceandpanhandleMajorBing. He detached himself from enough of his winnings to buy me a tickethome.And I'mbackagainon the jobatChubb's, sir, and I'mgoing tohold it

steady.Comeround,andyou'llfindthesteaksasgoodasever."

IwonderedwhatHunkyMageethoughtabouthisownstory;soIaskedhimif he had any theories about reincarnation and transmogrification and suchmysteriesashehadtouchedupon.

"Nothing like that," saidHunky,positively. "What ailedHigh Jackwas toomuchboozeandeducation.They'lldoanIndianupeverytime."

"ButwhataboutMissBlueFeather?"Ipersisted.

"Say,"saidHunky,withagrin,"thatlittleladythatstoleHighJackcertainlydidgivemeajarwhenIfirsttookalookather,butitwasonlyforaminute.YourememberItoldyouHighJacksaidthatMissFlorenceBlueFeatherdisappearedfromhomeaboutayearago?Well,whereshelandedfourdayslaterwasinasneata five-roomflatonEastTwenty-thirdStreetasyoueverwalkedsidewaysthrough—andshe'sbeenMrs.Mageeeversince."

THEMOMENTOFVICTORY

BenGrangerisawarveteranagedtwenty-nine—whichshouldenableyoutoguess thewar.He is also principalmerchant and postmaster ofCadiz, a littletownoverwhichthebreezesfromtheGulfofMexicoperpetuallyblow.

BenhelpedtohurltheDonfromhisstrongholdintheGreaterAntilles;andthen,hikingacrosshalftheworld,hemarchedasacorporal-usherupanddownthe blazing tropic aisles of the open-air college in which the Filipino wasschooled. Now, with his bayonet beaten into a cheese-slicer, he rallies hiscorporal'sguardofcroniesintheshadeofhiswell-whittledporch,insteadofinthematted junglesofMindanao.Alwayshavehis interest andchoicebeen fordeedsratherthanforwords;buttheconsiderationanddigestionofmotivesisnot

beyondhim,asthisstory,whichishis,willattest.

"What is it,"heaskedmeonemoonliteve,aswesatamonghisboxesandbarrels,"thatgenerallymakesmengothroughdangers,andfire,andtrouble,andstarvation,andbattle,andsuchrecourses?Whatdoesamandoitfor?Whydoeshetrytooutdohisfellow-humans,andbebraverandstrongerandmoredaringandshowythanevenhisbestfriendsare?What'shisgame?Whatdoesheexpecttogetoutofit?Hedon'tdoitjustforthefreshairandexercise.Whatwouldyousay,now,Bill, thatanordinarymanexpects,generallyspeaking,forhiseffortsalong the line of ambition and extraordinary hustling in the marketplaces,forums,shooting-galleries,lyceums,battle-fields,links,cinder-paths,andarenasofthecivilizedandviceversaplacesoftheworld?"

"Well,Ben,"saidI,withjudicialseriousness,"I thinkwemightsafelylimitthenumberofmotivesofamanwhoseeksfametothree—toambition,whichisa desire for popular applause; to avarice, which looks to thematerial side ofsuccess; and to love of some woman whom he either possesses or desires topossess."

Benponderedovermywordswhileamocking-birdonthetopofamesquitebytheporchtrilledadozenbars.

"I reckon,"saidhe,"thatyourdiagnosisaboutcovers thecaseaccording totheruleslaiddowninthecopy-booksandhistoricalreaders.ButwhatIhadinmymindwasthecaseofWillieRobbins,apersonIusedtoknow.I'll tellyouabouthimbeforeIcloseupthestore,ifyoudon'tmindlistening.

"Williewasoneofoursocialsetup inSanAugustine. Iwasclerking therethen for Brady&Murchison, wholesale dry-goods and ranch supplies.Willieand I belonged to the same german club and athletic association andmilitarycompany.Heplayedthetriangleinourserenadingandquartetcrowdthatusedtoringthewelkinthreenightsaweeksomewhereintown.

"Willie jibedwith his name considerable.Heweighed about asmuch as ahundredpoundsofveal inhissummersuitings,andhehada 'Where-is-Mary?'expressiononhisfeaturessoplainthatyoucouldalmostseethewoolgrowingonhim.

"Andyetyoucouldn'tfencehimawayfromthegirlswithbarbedwire.Youknowthatkindofyoungfellows—akindofamixtureoffoolsandangels—theyrushinandfeartotreadatthesametime;buttheyneverfailtotreadwhentheygetthechance.Hewasalwaysonhandwhen'ajoyfuloccasionwashad,'asthemorningpaperwouldsay,lookingashappyasakingfull,andatthesametimeasuncomfortableasarawoysterservedwithsweetpickles.Hedancedlikehehadhindhobbleson;andhehadavocabularyofaboutthreehundredandfiftywords thathemadestretchoverfourgermansaweek,andplagiarizedfromtogethimthrough two ice-creamsuppersandaSunday-nightcall.Heseemed tometobeasortofamixtureofMaltesekitten,sensitiveplant,andamemberofastranded'TwoOrphans'company.

"I'llgiveyouanestimateofhisphysiologicalandpictorialmake-up,andthenI'llstickspursintothesidesofmynarrative.

"WillieinclinedtotheCaucasianinhiscoloringandmannerofstyle.Hishairwasopalescentandhisconversationfragmentary.Hiseyeswere thesameblueshade as the china dog's on the right-hand corner of your Aunt Ellen'smantelpiece.Hetookthingsastheycame,andIneverfeltanyhostilityagainsthim.Ilethimlive,andsodidothers.

"ButwhatdoesthisWilliedobutcoaxhisheartoutofhisbootsandloseittoMyraAllison,theliveliest,brightest,keenest,smartest,andprettiestgirlinSanAugustine.Itellyou,shehadtheblackesteyes,theshiniestcurls,andthemosttantalizing—Oh,no,you'reoff—Iwasn'tavictim.Imighthavebeen,butIknewbetter. I kept out. JoeGranberrywas It from the start.Hehad everybody elsebeat a couple of leagues and thence east to a stake andmound.But, anyhow,Myra was a nine-pound, full-merino, fall-clip fleece, sacked and loaded on afour-horseteamforSanAntone.

"One night therewas an ice-cream sociable atMrs. Colonel Spraggins', inSanAugustine.Wefellowshadabigroomup-stairsopenedupforustoputourhatsandthingsin,andtocombourhairandputonthecleancollarswebroughtalonginsidethesweat-bandsofourhats—inshort,aroomtofixupinjustliketheyhaveeverywhereathigh-toneddoings.Alittlefartherdownthehallwasthegirls'room,whichtheyusedtopowderupin,andsoforth.Downstairswe—thatis, theSanAugustineSocialCotillionandMerrymakers'Club—hadastretcherputdownintheparlorwhereourdancewasgoingon.

"WillieRobbinsandmehappenedtobeupinour—cloak-room,Ibelievewecalledit—whenMyraAllisonskippedthroughthehallonherwaydown-stairsfromthegirls'room.Williewasstandingbeforethemirror,deeplyinterestedinsmoothingdowntheblondgrass-plotonhishead,whichseemedtogivehimlotsof trouble.Myrawasalways fullof lifeanddevilment.Shestoppedandstuckher head in our door. She certainly was good-looking. But I knew how JoeGranberrystoodwithher.SodidWillie;buthekeptonba-a-a-ingafterherandfollowingheraround.Hehada systemofpersistence thatdidn't coincidewithpalehairandlighteyes.

"'Hello,Willie!'saysMyra.'Whatareyoudoingtoyourselfintheglass?'

"'I'mtryingtolookfly,'saysWillie.

"'Well,younevercouldbefly,'saysMyra,withherspeciallaugh,whichwastheprovokingestsoundIeverheardexcepttherattleofanemptycanteenagainstmysaddle-horn.

"IlookedaroundatWillieafterMyrahadgone.Hehadakindofalily-whitelook on him which seemed to show that her remark had, as you might say,disrupted his soul. I never noticed anything in what she said that soundedparticularly destructive to aman's ideas of self-consciousness; but he was setbacktoanextentyoucouldscarcelyimagine.

"Afterwewentdown-stairswithourcleancollarson,WillieneverwentnearMyraagainthatnight.Afterall,heseemedtobeadilutedkindofaskim-milksortofachap,andIneverwonderedthatJoeGranberrybeathimout.

"The next day the battleshipMaine was blown up, and then pretty soonsomebody—I reckon it was Joe Bailey, or Ben Tillman, or maybe theGovernment—declaredwaragainstSpain.

"Well, everybody south ofMason&Hamlin's line knew that theNorth byitself couldn't whip a whole country the size of Spain. So the Yankeescommenced to holler for help, and the JohnnyRebs answered the call. 'We'recoming, FatherWilliam, a hundred thousand strong—and then some,'was theway they sang it.And the old party lines drawn by Sherman'smarch and theKukluxandnine-centcottonandtheJimCrowstreet-carordinancesfadedaway.

Webecameoneundivided.country,withnoNorth,verylittleEast,agood-sizedchunkofWest,andaSouththatloomedupasbigasthefirstforeignlabelonaneweight-dollarsuit-case.

"Ofcoursethedogsofwarweren'tacompletepackwithoutayelpfromtheSan Augustine Rifles, Company D, of the Fourteenth Texas Regiment. OurcompanywasamongthefirsttolandinCubaandstriketerrorintotheheartsofthefoe.I'mnotgoingtogiveyouahistoryofthewar,I'mjustdraggingitintofilloutmystoryaboutWillieRobbins,justastheRepublicanpartydraggeditintohelpouttheelectionin1898.

"Ifanybodyeverhadheroitis,itwasthatWillieRobbins.FromtheminutehesetfootonthesoilofthetyrantsofCastileheseemedtoengulfdangerasacatlaps up cream. He certainly astonished every man in our company, from thecaptain up. You'd have expected him to gravitate naturally to the job of anorderlytothecolonel,ortypewriterinthecommissary—butnotany.Hecreatedthepart of the flaxen-hairedboyherowho lives andgets backhomewith thegoods,insteadofdyingwithanimportantdespatchinhishandsathiscolonel'sfeet.

"OurcompanygotintoasectionofCubanscenerywhereoneofthemessiestandmost unsung portions of the campaign occurred.We were out every daycapering around in the bushes, and having little skirmishes with the Spanishtroopsthatlookedmorelikekindoftired-outfeudsthananythingelse.Thewarwasajoketous,andofnointeresttothem.Wenevercouldseeitanyotherwaythan as a howling farce-comedy that the San Augustine Rifles were actuallyfightingtoupholdtheStarsandStripes.Andtheblamedlittleseñorsdidn'tgetenoughpaytomakethemcarewhethertheywerepatriotsortraitors.Nowandthensomebodywouldgetkilled. Itseemedlikeawasteof life tome. IwasatConey Island when I went to New York once, and one of them down-hillskiddingapparatusestheycall'roller-coasters'flewthetrackandkilledamaninabrownsack-suit.WhenevertheSpaniardsshotoneofourmen,itstruckmeasjustaboutasunnecessaryandregrettableasthatwas.

"ButI'mdroppingWillieRobbinsoutoftheconversation.

"Hewasoutforbloodshed,laurels,ambition,medals,recommendations,andallotherformsofmilitaryglory.Andhedidn'tseemtobeafraidofanyof the

recognized forms of military danger, such as Spaniards, cannon-balls, cannedbeef,gunpowder,ornepotism.Hewentforthwithhispallidhairandchina-blueeyes and ate up Spaniards like you would sardines à la canopy. Wars andrumbles ofwars never flustered him.Hewould stand guard-duty,mosquitoes,hardtack, treat, and firewith equally perfect unanimity.No blondes in historyever come in comparison distance of him except the Jack of Diamonds andQueenCatherineofRussia.

"Iremember,onetime,alittlecaballardofSpanishmensaunteredoutfrombehind a patch of sugar-cane and shot Bob Turner, the first sergeant of ourcompany,whilewewereeatingdinner.Asrequiredbythearmyregulations,wefellowswent through the usual tactics of falling into line, saluting the enemy,andloadingandfiring,kneeling.

"That wasn't the Texas way of scrapping; but, being a very importantaddendum and annex to the regular army, the San Augustine Rifles had toconformtothered-tapesystemofgettingeven.

"Bythetimewehadgotoutour'Upton'sTactics,'turnedtopagefifty-seven,said 'one—two—three—one—two—three' a couple of times, and got blankcartridgesintoourSpringfields,theSpanishoutfithadsmiledrepeatedly,rolledandlitcigarettesbysquads,andwalkedawaycontemptuously.

"IwentstraighttoCaptainFloyd,andsaystohim:'Sam,Idon'tthinkthiswaris a straight game.You know aswell as I do thatBobTurnerwas one of thewhitestfellowsthateverthrewalegoverasaddle,andnowthesewirepullersinWashington have fixed his clock. He's politically and ostensibly dead. It ain'tfair.Whyshouldtheykeepthis thingup?If theywantSpainlicked,whydon'tthey turn theSanAugustineRiflesandJoeSeely's rangercompanyandacar-load ofWest Texas deputy-sheriffs onto these Spaniards, and let us exoneratethemfromthefaceoftheearth?Ineverdid,'saysI,'caremuchaboutfightingbythe Lord Chesterfield ring rules. I'm going to hand inmy resignation and gohome ifanybodyelse Iampersonallyacquaintedwithgetshurt in thiswar. Ifyoucangetsomebodyinmyplace,Sam,'saysI,'I'llquitthefirstofnextweek.Idon'twanttoworkinanarmythatdon'tgiveitshelpachance.Nevermindmywages,'saysI;'lettheSecretaryoftheTreasurykeep'em.'

"'Well,Ben,'saysthecaptaintome, 'yourallegationsandestimationsofthe

tacticsofwar,government,patriotism,guard-mounting, anddemocracyare allright.ButI'velookedintothesystemofinternationalarbitrationandtheethicsofjustifiableslaughteralittlecloser,maybe,thanyouhave.Now,youcanhandinyourresignationthefirstofnextweekifyouaresominded.Butifyoudo,'saysSam,'I'llorderacorporal'sguardtotakeyouoverbythatlimestonebluffonthecreekandshootenoughleadintoyoutoballastasubmarineair-ship.I'mcaptainofthiscompany,andI'vesworeallegiancetotheAmalgamatedStatesregardlessof sectional, secessional, and Congressional differences. Have you got anysmoking-tobacco?' winds up Sam. 'Mine gotwetwhen I swum the creek thismorning.'

"ThereasonIdragallthisnonexparteevidenceinisbecauseWillieRobbinswasstandingtherelisteningtous.Iwasasecondsergeantandhewasaprivatethen,butamongusTexansandWesternersthereneverwasasmuchtacticsandsubordination as there was in the regular army. We never called our captainanythingbut 'Sam'exceptwhentherewasalotofmajor-generalsandadmiralsaround,soastopreservethediscipline.

"And says Willie Robbins to me, in a sharp construction of voice muchunbecomingtohislighthairandpreviousrecord:

"'You ought to be shot,Ben, for emitting any such sentiments.Aman thatwon't fightforhiscountry isworse thanahorse-thief. If Iwas thecap,I'dputyou in the guard-house for thirty days on round steak and tamales.War,' saysWillie,'isgreatandglorious.Ididn'tknowyouwereacoward.'

"'I'mnot,'saysI.'IfIwas,I'dknocksomeofthepallidnessoffofyourmarblebrow.I'mlenientwithyou,'Isays,'justasIamwiththeSpaniards,becauseyouhavealwaysremindedmeofsomethingwithmushroomsontheside.Why,youlittle Lady of Shalott,' says I, 'you underdone leader of cotillions, you glassyfashionandmouldedform,youwhite-pinesoldiermadeintheCisalpineAlpsinGermanyforthelateNew-Yeartrade,doyouknowofwhomyouaretalkingto?We'vebeeninthesamesocialcircle,'saysI, 'andI'veputupwithyoubecauseyouseemedsomeekandself-un-satisfying.Idon'tunderstandwhyyouhavesosudden taken a personal interest in chivalrousness and murder. Your nature'sundergoneacompleterevelation.Now,howisit?'

"'Well,youwouldn'tunderstand,Ben,'saysWillie,givingoneofhisrefined

smilesandturningaway.

"'Comebackhere!'saysI,catchinghimbythetailofhiskhakicoat.'You'vemademekindofmad,inspiteofthealoofnessinwhichIhaveheretoforeheldyou.Youareoutformakingasuccessinthisherobusiness,andIbelieveIknowwhatfor.Youaredoingiteitherbecauseyouarecrazyorbecauseyouexpecttocatchsomegirlbyit.Now,ifit'sagirl,I'vegotsomethingheretoshowyou.'

"I wouldn't have done it, but I was plumbmad. I pulled a SanAugustinepaper out ofmyhip-pocket, and showedhim an item. Itwas a half a columnaboutthemarriageofMyraAllisonandJoeGranberry.

"Willielaughed,andIsawIhadn'ttouchedhim.

"'Oh,'sayshe,'everybodyknewthatwasgoingtohappen.Iheardaboutthataweekago.'Andthenhegavemethelaughagain.

"'Allright,'saysI. 'Thenwhydoyousorecklesslychasethebrightrainbowoffame?Doyouexpect tobeelectedPresident,ordoyoubelong toasuicideclub?'

"AndthenCaptainSaminterferes.

"'Yougentlemenquit jawing and go back to your quarters,' says he, 'or I'llhaveyouescorted to theguard-house.Now, scat,bothofyou!Beforeyougo,whichoneofyouhasgotanychewing-tobacco?'

"'We'reoff,Sam,'saysI.'It'ssupper-time,anyhow.Butwhatdoyouthinkofwhat we was talking about? I've noticed you throwing out a good manygrappling-hooks for this here balloon called fame—What's ambition, anyhow?Whatdoesaman riskhis lifedayafterday for?Doyouknowofanythinghegetsintheendthatcanpayhimforthetrouble?Iwanttogobackhome,'saysI.'Idon't carewhetherCuba sinksor swims, and Idon'tgiveapipefulof rabbittobaccowhetherQueenSophiaChristinaorCharlieCulbersonrulesthesefairyisles;andIdon'twantmynameonanylistexceptthelistofsurvivors.ButI'venoticedyou,Sam,'saysI,'seekingthebubblenotorietyinthecannon'slarynxanumberoftimes.Now,whatdoyoudoitfor?Isitambition,business,orsomefreckle-facedPhœbeathomethatyouareheroingfor?'

"'Well,Ben,'saysSam,kindofheftinghisswordoutfrombetweenhisknees,'asyoursuperiorofficerIcouldcourt-martialyouforattemptedcowardiceanddesertion.But Iwon't.And I'll tell youwhy I'm trying for promotion and theusualhonorsofwarandconquest.Amajorgetsmorepaythanacaptain,andIneedthemoney.'

"'Correctforyou!'saysI.'Icanunderstandthat.Yoursystemoffame-seekingisrootedinthedeepestsoilofpatriotism.ButIcan'tcomprehend,'saysI, 'whyWillieRobbins,whosefolksathomearewelloff,andwhousedtobeasmeekandundesirousofnoticeasacatwithcreamonhiswhiskers,shouldallatoncedevelop intoawarriorboldwith themost fire-eatingkindofproclivities.Andthegirlinhiscaseseemstohavebeeneliminatedbymarriagetoanotherfellow.Ireckon,'saysI,'it'saplaincaseofjustcommonambition.Hewantshisname,maybe,togothunderingdownthecoronersoftime.Itmustbethat.'

"Well, without itemizing his deeds, Willie sure made good as a hero. Hesimplyspentmostofhistimeonhiskneesbeggingourcaptaintosendhimonforlornhopesanddangerousscoutingexpeditions.Ineveryfighthewasthefirstman to mix it at close quarters with the Don Alfonsos. He got three or fourbulletsplantedinvariouspartsofhisautonomy.OncehewentoffwithadetailofeightmenandcapturedawholecompanyofSpanish.HekeptCaptainFloydbusywritingoutrecommendationsofhisbraverytosendintoheadquarters;andhe began to accumulate medals for all kinds of things—heroism and target-shooting and valor and tactics and uninsubordination, and all the littleaccomplishments that look good to the third assistant secretaries of the WarDepartment.

"Finally, Cap Floyd got promoted to be a major-general, or a knightcommanderof themainherd,orsomething like that.Hepoundedaroundonawhite horse, all desecrated up with gold-leaf and hen-feathers and a GoodTemplar'shat,andwasn'tallowedbytheregulationstospeaktous.AndWillieRobbinswasmadecaptainofourcompany.

"Andmaybehedidn'tgoafterthewreathoffamethen!AsfarasIcouldseeitwashimthatendedthewar.Hegoteighteenofusboys—friendsofhis,too—killedinbattlesthathestirreduphimself,andthatdidn'tseemtomenecessaryatall. One night he took twelve of us and waded through a little rill about ahundredandninetyyardswide,andclimbedacoupleofmountains,andsneaked

throughamileofneglectedshrubberyandacoupleofrock-quarriesandintoarye-straw village, and captured a Spanish general named, as they said, BennyVeedus. Benny seemed tome hardlyworth the trouble, being a blackishmanwithout shoes or cuffs, and anxious to surrender and throw himself on thecommissaryofhisfoe.

"ButthatjobgaveWilliethebigboosthewanted.TheSanAugustineNewsand the Galveston, St. Louis, New York, and Kansas City papers printed hispictureandcolumnsofstuffabouthim.OldSanAugustinesimplywentcrazyover its 'gallant son.' The News had an editorial tearfully begging theGovernment tocalloff the regulararmyand thenationalguard, and letWilliecarryontherestofthewarsingle-handed.ItsaidthatarefusaltodosowouldberegardedasaproofthattheNorthernjealousyoftheSouthwasstillasrampantasever.

"If thewar hadn't ended pretty soon, I don't know towhat heights of goldbraid and encomiums Willie would have climbed; but it did. There was asecessionofhostilitiesjustthreedaysafterhewasappointedacolonel,andgotinthreemoremedalsbyregisteredmail,andshottwoSpaniardswhiletheyweredrinkinglemonadeinanambuscade.

"Our companywent back to SanAugustinewhen thewarwas over.Therewasn'tanywhereelseforittogo.Andwhatdoyouthink?Theoldtownnotifiedus inprint,bywirecable, specialdelivery,andaniggernamedSaul sentonagraymule toSanAntone, that theywasgoingtogiveus thebiggestblow-out,complimentary,alimentary,andelementary,thateverdisturbedthekildeesonthesand-flatsoutsideoftheimmediatecontiguityofthecity.

"Isay'we,'butitwasallmeantforex-Private,Captaindefacto,andColonel-electWillieRobbins.The townwascrazyabouthim.Theynotifiedus that thereceptiontheyweregoingtoputupwouldmaketheMardiGrasinNewOrleanslooklikeanafternoonteainBurySt.Edmundswithacurate'saunt.

"Well,theSanAugustineRiflesgotbackhomeonscheduletime.EverybodywasatthedepotgivingforthRoosevelt-Democrat—theyusedtobecalledRebel—yells. There was two brass-bands, and the mayor, and schoolgirls in whitefrighteningthestreet-carhorsesbythrowingCherokeerosesinthestreets,and—well, maybe you've seen a celebration by a town that was inland and out of

water.

"TheywantedBrevet-ColonelWillie toget intoacarriageandbedrawnbyprominentcitizensandsomeofthecityaldermentothearmory,buthestucktohis company and marched at the head of it up Sam Houston Avenue. Thebuildings on both sideswas coveredwith flags and audiences, and everybodyhollered'Robbins!'or'Hello,Willie!'aswemarchedupinfilesoffours.Ineversaw a illustriouser-looking human inmy life thanWilliewas.He had at leastsevenoreightmedalsanddiplomasanddecorationson thebreastofhiskhakicoat;hewassunburntthecolorofasaddle,andhecertainlydonehimselfproud.

"Theytoldusatthedepotthatthecourthousewastobeilluminatedathalf-pastseven,andtherewouldbespeechesandchili-con-carneatthePalaceHotel.Miss Delphine Thompson was to read an original poem by JamesWhitcombRyan, and Constable Hooker had promised us a salute of nine guns fromChicagothathehadarrestedthatday.

"Afterwehaddisbandedinthearmory,Williesaystome:

"'Wanttowalkoutapiecewithme?'

"'Why, yes,' says I, 'if it ain't so far that we can't hear the tumult and theshouting die away. I'mhungrymyself,' says I, 'and I'mpining for somehomegrub,butI'llgowithyou.'

"Willie steered me down some side streets till we came to a little whitecottageinanewlotwithatwenty-by-thirty-footlawndecoratedwithbrickbatsandoldbarrel-staves.

"'Halt and give the countersign,' says I to Willie. 'Don't you know thisdugout? It's the bird's-nest that Joe Granberry built before he married MyraAllison.Whatyougoingtherefor?'

"ButWillie alreadyhad thegateopen.Hewalkedup thebrickwalk to thesteps, and Iwentwith him.Myrawas sitting in a rocking-chair on the porch,sewing.Herhairwas smoothedbackkindofhasty and tied in aknot. I nevernoticed till then that shehad freckles. Joewasatone sideof theporch, inhisshirt-sleeves,withnocollaron,andnosignsofashave, trying toscrapeouta

holeamongthebrickbatsandtincanstoplantalittlefruit-treein.Helookedupbutneversaidaword,andneitherdidMyra.

"Willie was sure dandy-looking in his uniform, withmedals strung on hisbreastandhisnewgold-handledsword.You'dneverhavetakenhimforthelittlewhite-headedsnipe that thegirlsused toorderaboutandmakefunof.He juststoodthereforaminute,lookingatMyrawithapeculiarlittlesmileonhisface;andthenhesaystoher,slow,andkindofholdingontohiswordswithhisteeth:

"'Oh,Idon'tknow!MaybeIcouldifItried!'

"Thatwasallthatwassaid.Willieraisedhishat,andwewalkedaway.

"And,somehow,whenhesaidthat,Iremembered,allofasudden,thenightof that dance andWillie brushing his hair before the looking-glass, andMyrastickingherheadinthedoortoguyhim.

"WhenwegotbacktoSamHoustonAvenue,Williesays:

"'Well,solong,Ben.I'mgoingdownhomeandgetoffmyshoesandtakearest.'

"'You?' says I. 'What's thematter with you?Ain't the court-house jammedwith everybody in townwaiting to honor thehero?And twobrass-bands, andrecitationsandflagsandjagsandgrubtofollowwaitingforyou?'

"Williesighs.

"'Allright,Ben,'sayshe.'DarnedifIdidn'tforgetallaboutthat.'

"And that's why I say," concludedBenGranger, "that you can't tell whereambitionbeginsanymorethanyoucanwhereitisgoingtowindup."

THEHEAD-HUNTER

When the war between Spain and George Dewey was over, I went to thePhilippine Islands. There I remained as bush-whacker correspondent for mypaper until its managing editor notified me that an eight-hundred-wordcablegramdescribingthegriefofapetcarabaooverthedeathofaninfantMorowasnotconsideredbytheofficetobewarnews.SoIresigned,andcamehome.

Onboardthetrading-vesselthatbroughtmebackIponderedmuchuponthestrangethingsIhadsensedintheweirdarchipelagooftheyellow-brownpeople.The manœuvres and skirmishings of the petty war interested me not: I wasspellboundby theoutlandishandunreadablecountenanceof that race thathadturneditsexpressionlessgazeuponusoutofanunguessablepast.

ParticularlyduringmystayinMindanaohadIbeenfascinatedandattractedbythatdelightfullyoriginal tribeofheathenknownas thehead-hunters.Thosegrim,flinty, relentless littlemen,neverseen,butchilling thewarmestnoondaybythesubtleterroroftheirconcealedpresence,parallelingthetrailoftheirpreythrough unmapped forests, across perilous mountain-tops, adown bottomlesschasms,intouninhabitablejungles,alwaysnearwiththeinvisiblehandofdeathuplifted, betraying their pursuit only by such signs as a beast or a bird or aglidingserpentmightmake—atwigcracklingintheawful,sweat-soakednight,adrenchofdewshoweringfromthescreeningfoliageofagianttree,awhisperat even from the rushes of a water-level—a hint of death for everymile andeveryhour—theyamusedmegreatly,thoselittlefellowsofoneidea.

When you think of it, their method is beautifully and almost hilariouslyeffectiveandsimple.

You have your hut in which you live and carry out the destiny that wasdecreedforyou.Spikedtothejambofyourbamboodoorwayisabasketmadeofgreenwithes,plaited.Fromtimetotime,asvanityorennuiorloveorjealousyorambitionmaymoveyou,youcreepforthwithyoursnickersneeandtakeupthe silent trail. Back from it you come, triumphant, bearing the severed, goryheadofyourvictim,whichyoudepositwithpardonableprideinthebasketatthesideofyourdoor.Itmaybetheheadofyourenemy,yourfriend,orastranger,

according as competition, jealousy, or simple sportiveness has been yourincentivetolabor.

In any case, your reward is certain. The village men, in passing, stop tocongratulateyou,asyourneighboronweakerplanesoflifestopstoadmireandpraisethebegoniasinyourfrontyard.Yourparticularbrownmaidlingers,withflutteringbosom, casting soft tiger's eyes at the evidenceofyour love forher.Youchewbetel-nutandlisten,content,totheintermittentsoftdripfromtheendsof the severedneckarteries.Andyou showyour teeth andgrunt like awater-buffalo—whichisasnearasyoucancometolaughing—atthethoughtthatthecold, acephalous body of your door ornament is being spotted by wheelingvulturesintheMindanaoanwilds.

Truly, the life of themerry head-hunter captivatedme.He had reduced artandphilosophytoasimplecode.To takeyouradversary'shead, tobasket itattheportalofyourcastle,toseeitlyingthere,adeadthing,withitscunningandstratagemsandpowergone—Isthereabetterwaytofoilhisplots,torefutehisarguments,toestablishyoursuperiorityoverhisskillandwisdom?

The ship that brought me home was captained by an erratic Swede, whochangedhiscourseanddepositedme,withgenuinecompassion,inasmalltownon the Pacific coast of one of theCentralAmerican republics, a few hundredmiles south of the port to which he had engaged to convey me. But I wasweariedofmovementandexoticfancies;soIleapedcontentedlyuponthefirmsandsofthevillageofMojada,tellingmyselfIshouldbesuretofindtheretherest that I craved.After all, far better to linger there (I thought), lulled by thesedativeplashofthewavesandtherustlingofpalm-fronds,thantosituponthehorsehairsofaofmyparentalhomeintheEast,andthere,castdownbycurrantwineandcake,andscourgedbyfatuousrelatives,drivelintotheearsofgapingneighborssadstoriesofthedeathofcolonialgovernors.

WhenIfirstsawChloeGreeneshewasstanding,allinwhite,inthedoorwayof her father's tile-roofed 'dobe house. She was polishing a silver cup with acloth,andshelookedlikeapearllaidagainstblackvelvet.Sheturnedonmeaflatteringlyprotractedbutawiltinglydisapprovinggaze,and thenwent inside,hummingalightsongtoindicatethevaluesheplaceduponmyexistence.

Small wonder: for Dr. Stamford (the most disreputable professional manbetween Juneau andValparaiso) and I were zigzagging along the turfy street,tunelesslysingingthewordsof"AuldLangSyne"totheairof"Muzzer'sLittleCoal-Black Coon." We had come from the ice factory, which was Mojada'spalace ofwickedness,wherewe had been playing billiards and opening blackbottles,whitewithfrost,thatwedraggedwithstringsoutofoldSandoval'sice-coldvats.

IturnedinsuddenragetoDr.Stamford,assoberasthevergerofacathedral.InamomentIhadbecomeawarethatwewereswinecastbeforeapearl.

"Youbeast,"Isaid,"thisishalfyourdoing.Andtheotherhalfisthefaultofthiscursedcountry.I'dbetterhavegonebacktoSleepy-townanddiedinawildorgyofcurrantwineandbunsthantohavehadthishappen."

Stamfordfilledtheemptystreetwithhisroaringlaughter.

"You too!" he cried. "And all as quick as the poppingof a cork.Well, shedoesseemtostrikeagreeablyupon the retina.Butdon'tburnyour fingers.AllMojadawilltellyouthatLouisDevoeistheman.

"Wewillseeaboutthat,"saidI."And,perhaps,whetherheisamanaswellastheman."

IlostnotimeinmeetingLouisDevoe.Thatwaseasilyaccomplished,fortheforeigncolonyinMojadanumberedscarceadozen;andtheygathereddailyatahalf-decent hotel kept by a Turk, where they managed to patch together thefluttering rags of country and civilization thatwere left them. I soughtDevoebeforeIdidmypearlofthedoorway,becauseIhadlearnedalittleofthegameofwar,andknewbetterthantostrikeforaprizebeforetestingthestrengthoftheenemy.

A sort of cold dismay—something akin to fear—filled me when I hadestimatedhim.Ifoundamansoperfectlypoised,socharming,sodeeplylearnedintheworld'srituals,sofulloftact,courtesy,andhospitality,soendowedwithgraceandeaseandakindofcareless,haughtypowerthatIalmostoversteppedtheboundsinprobinghim,inturninghimonthespittofindtheweakpointthatI so craved for him to have. But I left him whole—I had to make bitter

acknowledgmenttomyselfthatLouisDevoewasagentlemanworthyofmybestblows;andIsworetogivehimthem.Hewasagreatmerchantofthecountry,awealthyimporterandexporter.Alldayhesatinafastidiouslyappointedoffice,surroundedbyworksofartandevidencesofhishighculture,directingthroughglassdoorsandwindowstheaffairsofhishouse.

In person hewas slender and hardly tall.His small,well-shaped headwascoveredwiththick,brownhair,trimmedshort,andheworeathick,brownbeardalsocutcloseandtoafinepoint.Hismannerswereapattern.

Before long I had become a regular and a welcome visitor at the Greenehome.Ishookmywildhabitsfrommelikeaworn-outcloak.I trainedfor theconflictwiththecareofaprize-fighterandtheself-denialofaBrahmin.

AsforChloeGreene,Ishallwearyyouwithnosonnetstohereyebrow.Shewas a splendidly feminine girl, as wholesome as a November pippin, and nomoremysteriousthanawindow-pane.Shehadwhimsicallittletheoriesthatshehad deduced from life, and that fitted the maxims of Epictetus like princessgowns.Iwonder,afterall,ifthatolddufferwasn'tratherwise!

Chloehadafather,theReverendHomerGreene,andanintermittentmother,whosometimespalelypresidedoveratwilightteapot.TheReverendHomerwasaburr-likemanwithalife-work.HewaswritingaconcordancetotheScriptures,andhadarrivedas far asKings.Being,presumably, a suitor forhisdaughter'shand, Iwas timber for his literary outpourings. I had the family tree of IsraeldrilledintomyheaduntilIusedtocryaloudinmysleep:"AndAminadabbegatJayEyeSee," and so forth, until he had tackled another book. I oncemade acalculationthat theReverendHomer'sconcordancewouldbeworkedupasfarastheSevenVialsmentionedinRevelationsaboutthethirddayaftertheywereopened.

LouisDevoe,aswellasI,wasavisitorandanintimatefriendoftheGreenes.It was there I met him the oftenest, and a more agreeable man or a moreaccomplishedIhaveneverhatedinmylife.

Luckilyorunfortunately,IcametobeacceptedasaBoy.Myappearancewasyouthful,andIsupposeIhadthatpleadingandhomelessairthatalwaysdrawsthe motherliness that is in women and the cursed theories and hobbies of

paterfamilias.

Chloecalledme"Tommy,"andmadesisterlyfunofmyattemptstowooher.WithDevoeshewasvastlymorereserved.Hewasthemanofromance,onetostirherimaginationanddeepestfeelingshadherfancyleanedtowardhim.Iwasclosertoher,butstandinginnoglamour;Ihadthetaskbeforemeofwinningherinwhatseems tome theAmericanwayof fighting—withcleannessandpluckandeverydaydevotiontobreakawaythebarriersoffriendshipthatdividedus,and to take her, if I could, between sunrise and dark, abetted by neithermoonlightnormusicnorforeignwiles.

Chloegavenosignofbestowingherblitheaffectionsuponeitherofus.Butone day she let out to me an inkling of what she preferred in a man. It wastremendouslyinterestingtome,butnot illuminatingas to itsapplication.Ihadbeentormentingherforthedozenthtimewiththestatementandcatalogueofmysentimentstowardher.

"Tommy,"saidshe,"Idon'twantamantoshowhisloveformebyleadinganarmyagainstanothercountryandblowingpeopleofftheearthwithcannons."

"Ifyoumeanthattheoppositeway,"Ianswered,"astheysaywomendo,I'llsee what I can do. The papers are full of this diplomatic row in Russia.Mypeople know some big people inWashington who are right next to the armypeople,andIcouldgetanartillerycommissionand—"

"I'm not that way," interrupted Chloe. "I mean what I say. It isn't the bigthingsthataredoneintheworld,Tommy,thatcountwithawoman.Whentheknightswereridingabroadintheirarmortoslaydragons,manyastay-at-homepagewonalonesomelady'shandbybeingonthespottopickuphergloveandbequickwithhercloakwhenthewindblew.ThemanIamtolikebest,whoeverheshallbe,mustshowhisloveinlittleways.Hemustneverforget,afterhearingit once, that I do not like to have any onewalk atmy left side; that I detestbright-coloredneckties; that I prefer to sitwithmyback to a light; that I likecandiedviolets;thatImustnotbetalkedtowhenIamlookingatthemoonlightshiningonwater,andthatIvery,veryoftenlongfordatesstuffedwithEnglishwalnuts."

"Frivolity,"Isaid,withafrown."Anywell-trainedservantwouldbeequalto

suchdetails."

"Andhemustremember,"wentonChloe,toremindmeofwhatIwantwhenIdonotknow,myself,whatIwant."

"You're rising in the scale," I said. "What you seem to need is a first-classclairvoyant."

"AndifIsaythatIamdyingtohearaBeethovensonata,andstampmyfootwhenIsayit,hemustknowbythatthatwhatmysoulcravesissaltedalmonds;andhewillhavethemreadyinhispocket."

"Now,"saidI,"Iamataloss.Idonotknowwhetheryoursoul'saffinityistobeanimpresarioorafancygrocer."

Chloeturnedherpearlysmileuponme.

"TakelessthanhalfofwhatIsaidasajest,"shewenton."Anddon't thinktoolightlyofthelittlethings,Boy.Beapaladinifyoumust,butdon'tletitshowonyou.Mostwomen are onlyverybig children, andmostmen are onlyverylittleones.Pleaseus;don't try tooverpowerus.Whenwewantaherowecanmakeoneoutofevenaplaingrocerthethirdtimehecatchesourhandkerchiefbeforeitfallstotheground."

ThateveningIwastakendownwithperniciousfever.Thatisakindofcoastfeverwith improvements and high-geared attachments.Your temperature goesup among the threes and fours and remains there, laughing scornfully andfeverishlyatthecinchonatreesandthecoal-tarderivatives.Perniciousfeverisacase for a simplemathematician insteadof adoctor. It ismerely this formula:Vitality+thedesiretolive-thedurationofthefever=theresult.

I took to my bed in the two-roomed thatched hut where I had beencomfortablyestablished,andsentforagallonofrum.Thatwasnotformyself.Drunk, Stamford was the best doctor between the Andes and the Pacific. Hecame,satatmybedside,anddrankhimselfintocondition.

"My boy," said he, "my lily-white and reformedRomeo,medicinewill doyounogood.ButIwillgiveyouquinine,which,beingbitter,willarouseinyouhatred and anger—two stimulants thatwill add ten per cent. to your chances.

Youareasstrongasacariboucalf,andyouwillgetwellifthefeverdoesn'tgetinaknockoutblowwhenyou'reoffyourguard."

FortwoweeksI layonmybackfeelinglikeaHindoowidowonaburningghat.OldAtasca, an untrained Indian nurse, sat near the door like a petrifiedstatueofWhat's-the-Use,attendingtoherduties,whichwere,mainly,toseethattimewentbywithoutslippingacog.SometimesIwouldfancymyselfbackinthePhilippines,or,atworsetimes,slidingoffthehorsehairsofainSleepytown.

OneafternoonIorderedAtascatovamose,andgotupanddressedcarefully.Itook my temperature, which I was pleased to find 104. I paid almost daintyattentiontomydress,choosingsolicitouslyanecktieofadullandsubduedhue.ThemirrorshowedthatIwaslookinglittletheworsefrommyillness.Thefevergave brightness tomy eyes and color tomy face. Andwhile I looked at myreflectionmycolorwentandcameagainasIthoughtofChloeGreeneandthemillionsofeonsthathadpassedsinceI'dseenher,andofLouisDevoeandthetimehehadgainedonme.

Iwentstraighttoherhouse.Iseemedtofloatratherthanwalk;Ihardlyfeltthe ground undermy feet; I thought pernicious fevermust be a great boon tomakeonefeelsostrong.

IfoundChloeandLouisDevoesittingundertheawninginfrontofthehouse.Shejumpedupandmetmewithadoublehandshake.

"I'm glad, glad, glad to see you out again!" she cried, every word a pearlstrungonthestringofhersentence."Youarewell,Tommy—orbetter,ofcourse.Iwantedtocometoseeyou,buttheywouldn'tletme."

"Ohyes," said I, carelessly, "itwasnothing.Merely a little fever. I amoutagain,asyousee."

Wethreesatthereandtalkedforhalfanhourorso.ThenChloelookedoutyearningly and almost piteously across the ocean. I could see in her sea-blueeyessomedeepandintensedesire.Devoe,cursehim!sawittoo.

"Whatisit?"weasked,inunison.

"Cocoanut-pudding," said Chloe, pathetically. "I've wanted some—oh, so

badly,fortwodays.It'sgotbeyondawish;it'sanobsession."

"The cocoanut season is over," said Devoe, in that voice of his that gavethrilling interest tohismostcommonplacewords."Ihardly thinkonecouldbefoundinMojada.Thenativesneverusethemexceptwhentheyaregreenandthemilkisfresh.Theysellalltheripeonestothefruiterers."

"Wouldn'tabroiled lobsteroraWelshrabbitdoaswell?" I remarked,withtheengagingidiocyofapernicious-feverconvalescent.

Chloe came as near to pouting as a sweet disposition and a perfect profilewouldallowhertocome.

TheReverendHomerpokedhisermine-linedfacethroughthedoorwayandaddedaconcordancetotheconversation.

"Sometimes,"saidhe,"oldCamposkeepsthedriednutsinhislittlestoreonthehill.Butitwouldbefarbetter,mydaughter,torestrainunusualdesires,andpartakethankfullyofthedailydishesthattheLordhassetbeforeus."

"Stuff!"saidI.

"Howwasthat?"askedtheReverendHomer,sharply.

"Isayit'stough,"saidI,"todropintothevernacular,thatMissGreeneshouldbe deprived of the food she desires—a simple thing like kalsomine-pudding.Perhaps," I continued, solicitously, "some pickled walnuts or a fricassee ofHungarianbutternutswoulddoaswell."

Everyonelookedatmewithaslightexhibitionofcuriosity.

LouisDevoearoseandmadehisadieus.Iwatchedhimuntilhehadsaunteredslowlyandgrandioselytothecorner,aroundwhichheturnedtoreachhisgreatwarehouseandstore.Chloemadeherexcuses,andwentinsideforafewminutesto attend to some detail affecting the seven-o'clock dinner. She was a passedmistressinhousekeeping.Ihadtastedherpuddingsandbreadwithbeatitude.

Whenallhadgone,Iturnedcasuallyandsawabasketmadeofplaitedgreenwitheshangingbyanailoutside thedoor-jamb.Witharush thatmademyhot

templesthrobtherecamevividlytomymindrecollectionsofthehead-hunters—those grim, flinty, relentless little men, never seen, but chilling the warmestnoondaybythesubtleterroroftheirconcealedpresence…Fromtimetotime,asvanityorennuiorloveorjealousyorambitionmaymovehim,onecreepsforthwithhissnickersneeandtakesupthesilenttrail…Backhecomes,triumphant,bearing the severed, gory head of his victim…His particular brown orwhitemaid lingers,with flutteringbosom,casting soft tiger's eyesat theevidenceofhisloveforher.

Istolesoftlyfromthehouseandreturnedtomyhut.FromitssupportingnailsinthewallI tookamacheteasheavyasabutcher'scleaverandsharperthanasafety-razor.AndthenIchuckledsoftlytomyself,andsetouttothefastidiouslyappointed private office ofMonsieurLouisDevoe, usurper to the hand of thePearlofthePacific.

Hewasneverslowat thinking;hegaveonelookatmyfaceandanotherattheweaponinmyhandasIenteredhisdoor,andthenheseemedtofadefrommysight.Irantothebackdoor,kickeditopen,andsawhimrunninglikeadeerup the road toward thewood that began two hundred yards away. Iwas afterhim, with a shout. I remember hearing children and women screaming, andseeingthemflyingfromtheroad.

Hewasfleet,butIwasstronger.Amile,andIhadalmostcomeupwithhim.Hedoubledcunninglyanddashedintoabrakethatextendedintoasmallcañon.I crashed through this after him, and in fiveminutes had him cornered in anangle of insurmountable cliffs. There his instinct of self-preservation steadiedhim,as itwillsteadyevenanimalsatbay.Heturnedtome,quitecalm,withaghastlysmile.

"Oh,Rayburn!"hesaid,withsuchanawfuleffortateasethatIwasimpoliteenough to laugh rudely in his face. "Oh,Rayburn!" said he, "come, let's havedonewiththisnonsense.Ofcourse,Iknowit'sthefeverandyou'renotyourself;but collect yourself, man—giveme that ridiculous weapon, now, and let's gobackandtalkitover."

"I will go back," said I, "carrying your head with me. We will see howcharminglyitcandiscoursewhenitliesinthebasketatherdoor."

"Come,"saidhe,persuasively,"Ithinkbetterofyouthantosupposethatyoutry this sortof thingasa joke.Buteven thevagariesof a fever-crazed lunaticcome some time to a limit. What is this talk about heads and baskets? Getyourself together and throwaway that absurd cane-chopper.WhatwouldMissGreene think of you?" he ended, with the silky cajolery that one would usetowardafretfulchild.

"Listen,"saidI."Atlastyouhavestruckupontherightnote.Whatwouldshethinkofme?Listen,"Irepeated.

"Therearewomen,"Isaid,"wholookuponhorsehairsofasandcurrantwineas dross. To them even the calculated modulation of your well-trimmed talksoundslikethedroppingofrottenplumsfromatreeinthenight.Theyarethemaidenswhowalkbackandforthinthevillages,scorningtheemptinessofthebasketsatthedoorsoftheyoungmenwhowouldwinthem.

"Onesuchasthey,"Isaid,"iswaiting.Onlyafoolwouldtrytowinawomanbydroolinglikeabraggartinherdoorwayorbywaitinguponherwhimslikeafootman.TheyarealldaughtersofHerodias,and togain theirheartsonemustlaytheheadsofhisenemiesbefore themwithhisownhands.Now,bendyourneck,LouisDevoe.Donot be a coward aswell as a chatterer at a lady's tea-table."

"There,there!"saidDevoe,falteringly."Youknowme,don'tyou,Rayburn?"

"Oh yes," I said, "I knowyou. I knowyou. I knowyou.But the basket isempty.Theoldmenofthevillageandtheyoungmen,andboththedarkmaidensandtheoneswhoareasfairaspearlswalkbackandforthandseeitsemptiness.Willyoukneelnow,ormustwehaveascuffle?Itisnotlikeyoutomakethingsgoroughlyandwithbadform.Butthebasketiswaitingforyourhead."

Withthathewenttopieces.Ihadtocatchhimashetriedtoscamperpastmelike a scared rabbit. I stretched him out and got a foot on his chest, but hesquirmedlikeaworm,althoughIappealedrepeatedlytohissenseofproprietyandthedutyheowedtohimselfasagentlemannottomakearow.

Butatlasthegavemethechance,andIswungthemachete.

Itwasnothardwork.Hefloppedlikeachickenduringthesixorsevenblowsthat it took toseverhishead;but finallyhe laystill,andI tiedhishead inmyhandkerchief.TheeyesopenedandshutthricewhileIwalkedahundredyards.Iwas red tomy feetwith thedrip,butwhatdid thatmatter?Withdelight I feltundermyhandsthecrisptouchofhisshort,thick,brownhairandclose-trimmedbeard.

IreachedthehouseoftheGreenesanddumpedtheheadofLouisDevoeintothebasketthatstillhungbythenailinthedoor-jamb.Isatinachairundertheawning andwaited.The sunwaswithin twohours of setting.Chloe cameoutandlookedsurprised.

"Wherehaveyoubeen,Tommy?"sheasked."YouweregonewhenIcameout."

"Lookinthebasket,"Isaid,risingtomyfeet.Shelooked,andgavealittlescream—ofdelight,Iwaspleasedtonote.

"Oh,Tommy!"shesaid."ItwasjustwhatIwantedyoutodo.It'sleakingalittle,butthatdoesn'tmatter.Wasn'tItellingyou?It'sthelittlethingsthatcount.Andyouremembered."

Little things! She held the ensanguined head of Louis Devoe in her whiteapron.Tinystreamsofredwidenedonherapronanddrippeduponthefloor.Herfacewasbrightandtender.

"Little things, indeed!" I thought again. "The head-hunters are right. Thesearethethingsthatwomenlikeyoutodoforthem."

Chloecameclosetome.Therewasnooneinsight.Shelookedtipatmewithsea-blueeyesthatsaidthingstheyhadneversaidbefore.

"Youthinkofme,"shesaid."YouarethemanIwasdescribing.Youthinkofthelittlethings,andtheyarewhatmaketheworldworthlivingin.Themanformemustconsidermylittlewishes,andmakemehappyinsmallways.HemustbringmelittleredpeachesinDecemberifIwishforthem,andthenIwilllovehimtillJune.Iwillhavenoknightinarmorslayinghisrivalorkillingdragonsforme.Youpleasemeverywell,Tommy."

I stoopedandkissedher.Thenamoisturebrokeoutonmyforehead,and Ibegantofeelweak.IsawtheredstainsvanishfromChloe'sapron,andtheheadofLouisDevoeturntoabrown,driedcocoanut.

"Therewillbecocoanut-puddingfordinner,Tommy,boy,"saidChloe,gayly,"andyoumustcome.Imustgoinforalittlewhile."

Shevanishedinadelightfulflutter.

Dr.Stamfordtrampeduphurriedly.HeseizedmypulseasthoughitwerehisownpropertythatIhadescapedwith.

"Youarethebiggestfooloutsideofanyasylum!"hesaid,angrily."Whydidyouleaveyourbed?Andtheidioticthingsyou'vebeendoing!—andnowonder,withyourpulsegoinglikeasledge-hammer."

"Namesomeofthem,"saidI.

"Devoesentforme,"saidStamford."HesawyoufromhiswindowgotooldCampos'store,chasehimupthehillwithhisownyardstick,andthencomebackandmakeoffwithhisbiggestcocoanut."

"It'sthelittlethingsthatcount,afterall,"saidI.

"It'syourlittlebedthatcountswithyoujustnow,"saidthedoctor."Youcomewithmeatonce,orI'llthrowupthecase.'You'reasloonyasaloon."

SoIgotnococoanut-puddingthatevening,butIconceivedadistrustastothevalueofthemethodofthehead-hunters.Perhapsformanycenturiesthemaidensofthevillagesmayhavebeenlookingwistfullyattheheadsinthebasketsatthedoorways,longingforotherandlessertrophies.

NOSTORY

Toavoidhaving thisbookhurled intocornerof theroomby thesuspiciousreader,Iwillassertintimethatthisisnotanewspaperstory.Youwillencounterno shirt-sleeved, omniscient city editor, no prodigy "cub" reporter just off thefarm,noscoop,nostory—noanything.

Butifyouwillconcedemethesettingofthefirstsceneinthereporters'roomoftheMorningBeacon, Iwill repaythefavorbykeepingstrictlymypromisessetforthabove.

Iwasdoingspace-workontheBeacon,hoping tobeputonasalary.Someonehadclearedwitharakeorashovelasmallspaceformeattheendofalongtablepiledhighwithexchanges,CongressionalRecords, andold files.There Ididmywork.Iwrotewhateverthecitywhisperedorroaredorchuckledtomeonmydiligentwanderingsaboutitsstreets.Myincomewasnotregular.

OnedayTrippcameinandleanedonmytable.Trippwassomethinginthemechanicaldepartment—Ithinkhehadsomethingtodowiththepictures,forhesmelledofphotographers' supplies, andhishandswerealwaysstainedandcutupwithacids.Hewasabouttwenty-fiveandlookedforty.Halfofhisfacewascovered with short, curly red whiskers that looked like a door-mat with the"welcome"leftoff.Hewaspaleandunhealthyandmiserableandfawning,andanassiduousborrowerofsumsrangingfromtwenty-fivecentstoadollar.Onedollarwashis limit.Heknew the extent of his credit aswell as theChemicalNationalBankknowstheamountofH2Othatcollateralwillshowonanalysis.When he sat onmy table he held one handwith the other to keep both fromshaking.Whiskey.Hehadaspuriousairoflightnessandbravadoabouthimthatdeceivednoone,butwasusefulinhisborrowingbecauseitwassopitifullyandperceptiblyassumed.

This day I had coaxed from the cashier five shining silver dollars as agrumblingadvanceonastorythattheSundayeditorhadreluctantlyaccepted.Soif I was not feeling at peace with the world, at least an armistice had beendeclared;andIwasbeginningwithardortowriteadescriptionoftheBrooklynBridgebymoonlight.

"Well,Tripp,"saidI,lookingupathimratherimpatiently,"howgoesit?"He

was looking to-day more miserable, more cringing and haggard anddowntroddenthanIhadeverseenhim.Hewasatthatstageofmiserywherehedrewyourpitysofullythatyoulongedtokickhim.

"Have you got a dollar?" askedTripp,with hismost fawning look and hisdog-likeeyesthatblinkedinthenarrowspacebetweenhishigh-growingmattedbeardandhislow-growingmattedhair.

"Ihave,"saidI;andagainIsaid,"Ihave,"moreloudlyandinhospitably,"andfourbesides.AndIhadhardworkcorkscrewingthemoutofoldAtkinson,Icantellyou.AndIdrewthem,"Icontinued,"tomeetawant—ahiatus—ademand—aneed—anexigency—arequirementofexactlyfivedollars."

Iwas driven to emphasis by the premonition that Iwas to lose one of thedollarsonthespot.

"I don't want to borrow any," said Tripp, and I breathed again. "I thoughtyou'dliketogetputontoagoodstory,"hewenton."I'vegotarattlingfineoneforyou.Youought tomake it runacolumnat least. It'llmakeadandy ifyouwork itup right. It'llprobablycostyouadollaror two toget thestuff. Idon'twantanythingoutofitmyself."

I became placated. The proposition showed that Tripp appreciated pastfavors,althoughhedidnotreturnthem.Ifhehadbeenwiseenoughtostrikemeforaquarterthenhewouldhavegotit.

"What is the story?" I asked, poising my pencil with a finely calculatededitorialair.

"I'll tell you," said Tripp. "It's a girl. A beauty. One of the howlingestAmsden's Junes you ever saw. Rosebuds covered with dew—violets in theirmossy bed—and truck like that. She's lived on Long Island twenty years andneversawNewYorkCitybefore.IranagainstheronThirty-fourthStreet.She'djustgotinontheEastRiverferry.Itellyou,she'sabeautythatwouldtakethehydrogenoutofalltheperoxidesintheworld.ShestoppedmeonthestreetandaskedmewhereshecouldfindGeorgeBrown.AskedmewhereshecouldfindGeorgeBrowninNewYorkCity!Whatdoyouthinkofthat?

"Italkedtoher,andfoundthatshewasgoingtomarryayoungfarmernamedDodd—HiramDodd—nextweek.ButitseemsthatGeorgeBrownstillholdsthechampionshipinheryouthfulfancy.Georgehadgreasedhiscowhidebootssomeyearsago,andcametothecitytomakehisfortune.Butheforgottorememberto show up again at Greenburg, andHiram got in as second-best choice. ButwhenitcomestothescratchAda—hername'sAdaLowery—saddlesanagandrides eightmiles to the railroad station and catches the 6.45A.M. train for thecity. Looking for George, you know—you understand about women—Georgewasn'tthere,soshewantedhim.

"Well, you know, I couldn't leave her loose inWolftown-on-the-Hudson. Isupposeshethoughtthefirstpersonsheinquiredofwouldsay:'GeorgeBrown?—why,yes—lemmesee—he'sashortmanwithlight-blueeyes,ain'the?Ohyes—you'llfindGeorgeonOneHundredandTwenty-fifthStreet,rightnexttothegrocery.He'sbill-clerkinasaddle-and-harnessstore.'That'sabouthowinnocentandbeautifulsheis.YouknowthoselittleLongIslandwater-frontvillageslikeGreenburg—acoupleofduck-farmsforsport,andclamsandaboutninesummervisitorsforindustries.That'sthekindofaplaceshecomesfrom.But,say—yououghttoseeher!

"WhatcouldIdo?Idon'tknowwhatmoneylookslikeinthemorning.Andshe'dpaidherlastcentofpocket-moneyforherrailroadticketexceptaquarter,which shehad squanderedongum-drops.Shewas eating themout of a paperbag.Itookhertoaboarding-houseonThirty-secondStreetwhereIusedtolive,andhockedher.She'sinsoakforadollar.That'soldMotherMcGinnis'priceperday.I'llshowyouthehouse."

"Whatwordsare these,Tripp?"said I. "I thoughtyousaidyouhadastory.EveryferryboatthatcrossestheEastRiverbringsortakesawaygirlsfromLongIsland."

TheprematurelinesonTripp'sfacegrewdeeper.Hefrownedseriouslyfromhis tangleofhair.Heseparatedhishandsandemphasizedhisanswerwithoneshakingforefinger.

"Can'tyousee,"hesaid,"whatarattlingfinestoryitwouldmake?Youcoulddoitfine.Allabouttheromance,youknow,anddescribethegirl,andputalotof stuff in it about true love, and sling in a few stickfuls of funny business—

joshingtheLongIslandersaboutbeinggreen,and,well—youknowhowtodoit.Yououghttogetfifteendollarsoutofit,anyhow.Andit'llcostyouonlyaboutfourdollars.You'llmakeaclearprofitofeleven."

"Howwillitcostmefourdollars?"Iasked,suspiciously.

"OnedollartoMrs.McGinnis,"Trippanswered,promptly,"andtwodollarstopaythegirl'sfarebackhome."

"Andthefourthdimension?"Iinquired,makingarapidmentalcalculation.

"Onedollartome,"saidTripp."Forwhiskey.Areyouon?"

Ismiledenigmaticallyandspreadmyelbowsasiftobeginwritingagain.Butthisgrim,abject,specious,subservient,burr-likewreckofamanwouldnotbeshakenoff.Hisforeheadsuddenlybecameshininglymoist.

"Don'tyousee,"hesaid,withasortofdesperatecalmness,"thatthisgirlhasgottobesenthometo-day—notto-nightnorto-morrow,but to-day?Ican'tdoanything forher.Youknow, I'm the janitorandcorresponding secretaryof theDown-and-OutClub.Ithoughtyoucouldmakeanewspaperstoryoutofitandwin out a piece ofmoney on general results. But, anyhow, don't you see thatshe'sgottogetbackhomebeforenight?"

AndthenIbegantofeelthatdull,leaden,soul-depressingsensationknownasthesenseofduty.Whyshouldthatsensefallupononeasaweightandaburden?IknewthatIwasdoomedthatdaytogiveupthebulkofmystoreofhard-wrungcointothereliefofthisAdaLowery.ButIsworetomyselfthatTripp'swhiskeydollarwouldnotbeforthcoming.Hemightplayknight-errantatmyexpense,buthe would indulge in no wassail afterward, commemoratingmyweakness andgullibility.InakindofchillyangerIputonmycoatandhat.

Tripp,submissive,cringing,vainlyendeavoringtoplease,conductedmeviathestreet-carstothehumanpawn-shopofMotherMcGinnis.Ipaidthefares.Itseemed that the collodion-scented Don Quixote and the smallest minted coinwerestrangers.

Tripppulledthebellatthedoorofthemouldyred-brickboarding-house.Atitsfainttinklehepaled,andcrouchedasarabbitmakesreadytospringawayat

thesoundofahunting-dog.Iguessedwhatalifehehadled,terror-hauntedbythecomingfootstepsoflandladies.

"Givemeoneofthedollars—quick!"hesaid.

Thedooropenedsixinches.MotherMcGinnisstoodtherewithwhiteeyes—theywerewhite, I say—andayellow face,holding togetherather throatwithonehandadingypinkflanneldressing-sack.Trippthrustthedollarthroughthespacewithoutaword,anditboughtusentry.

"She'sintheparlor,"saidtheMcGinnis,turningthebackofhersackuponus.

In the dim parlor a girl sat at the cracked marble centre-table weepingcomfortablyandeatinggum-drops.Shewasaflawlessbeauty.Cryinghadonlymade her brilliant eyes brighter.When she crunched a gum-drop you thoughtonlyofthepoetryofmotionandenviedthesenselessconfection.Eveattheageof fiveminutesmust have been a ringer forMissAdaLowery at nineteen ortwenty.Iwasintroduced,andagum-dropsufferedneglectwhilesheconveyedtomeanaïveinterest,suchasapuppydog(aprizewinner)mightbestowuponacrawlingbeetleorafrog.

Tripptookhisstandbythetable,withthefingersofonehandspreaduponit,as anattorneyor amasterof ceremoniesmighthave stood.Buthe looked themaster of nothing. His faded coat was buttoned high, as if it sought to becharitabletodeficienciesoftieandlinen.

I thought of a Scotch terrier at the sight of his shifty eyes in the gladebetweenhis tangledhairandbeard.ForoneignoblemomentIfeltashamedofhaving been introduced as his friend in the presence of so much beauty indistress. But evidently Trippmeant to conduct the ceremonies, whatever theymightbe.IthoughtIdetectedinhisactionsandposeanintentionoffoistingthesituation upon me as material for a newspaper story, in a lingering hope ofextractingfrommehiswhiskeydollar.

"Myfriend" (I shuddered), "Mr.Chalmers," saidTripp, "will tellyou,MissLowery,thesamethatIdid.He'sareporter,andhecanhandoutthetalkbetterthan I can.That'swhy I brought himwithme." (OTripp,wasn't it the silver-tonguedoratoryouwanted?)"He'swisetoalotofthings,andhe'lltellyounow

what'sbesttodo."

Istoodononefoot,asitwere,asIsatinmyricketychair.

"Why—er—Miss Lowery," I began, secretly enraged at Tripp's awkwardopening,"Iamatyourservice,ofcourse,but—er—asIhaven'tbeenapprizedofthecircumstancesofthecase,I—er—"

"Oh," saidMiss Lowery, beaming for amoment, "it ain't as bad as that—there ain't any circumstances. It's the first time I've ever been in New YorkexceptoncewhenIwasfiveyearsold,andIhadnoideaitwassuchabigtown.AndImetMr.—Mr.Sniponthestreetandaskedhimaboutafriendofmine,andhebroughtmehereandaskedmetowait."

"I advise you,Miss Lowery," said Tripp, "to tellMr. Chalmers all. He's afriendofmine" (Iwasgettingused to it by this time), "andhe'll giveyou therighttip."

"Why, certainly," saidMiss Ada, chewing a gum-drop toward me. "Thereain'tanythingtotellexceptthat—well,everything'sfixedformetomarryHiramDoddnextThursdayevening.Hihasgottwohundredacresoflandwithalotofshore-front,andoneofthebesttruck-farmsontheIsland.ButthismorningIhadmyhorsesaddledup—he'sawhitehorsenamedDancer—andIrodeovertothestation. I told 'emathome Iwasgoing to spend thedaywithSusieAdams. Itwasastory,Iguess,butIdon'tcare.AndIcametoNewYorkonthetrain,andImetMr.—Mr.FliponthestreetandaskedhimifheknewwhereIcouldfindG—G—"

"Now, Miss Lowery," broke in Tripp, loudly, and with much bad taste, Ithought,asshehesitatedwithherword,"youlikethisyoungman,HiramDodd,don'tyou?He'sallright,andgoodtoyou,ain'the?"

"OfcourseIlikehim,"saidMissLoweryemphatically."Hi'sallright.Andofcoursehe'sgoodtome.Soiseverybody."

I could have sworn itmyself. ThroughoutMissAdaLowery's life allmenwouldbetogoodtoher.Theywouldstrive,contrive,struggle,andcompetetoholdumbrellasoverherhat,checkhertrunk,pickupherhandkerchief,andbuyforhersodaatthefountain.

"But,"wentonMissLowery,"lastnightIgottothinkingaboutG—George,andI—"

Downwent thebrightgoldheadupondimpled,claspedhandson the table.SuchabeautifulAprilstorm!Unrestrainedlyshesobbed.IwishedIcouldhavecomfortedher.ButIwasnotGeorge.AndIwasgladIwasnotHiram—andyetIwassorry,too.

By-and-by the shower passed. She straightened up, brave and half-waysmiling.Shewouldhavemadeasplendidwife, forcryingonlymadehereyesmorebrightandtender.Shetookagum-dropandbeganherstory.

"IguessI'materriblehayseed,"shesaidbetweenherlittlegulpsandsighs,"butIcan'thelpit.G—GeorgeBrownandIweresweetheartssincehewaseightand I was five. When he was nineteen—that was four years ago—he leftGreenburg andwent to the city.He saidhewasgoing to be a policemanor arailroad president or something.And then hewas coming back forme. But Ineverheardfromhimanymore.AndI—I—likedhim."

Another flow of tears seemed imminent, but Tripp hurled himself into thecrevasseanddammedit.Confoundhim,Icouldseehisgame.Hewastryingtomakeastoryofitforhissordidendsandprofit.

"Goon,Mr.Chalmers," saidhe, "and tell the ladywhat's theproper caper.That'swhatItoldher—you'dhandittoherstraight.Spielup."

I coughed, and tried to feel less wrathful toward Tripp. I saw my duty.CunninglyIhadbeeninveigled,butIwassecurelytrapped.Tripp'sfirstdictumtomehadbeenjustandcorrect.TheyoungladymustbesentbacktoGreenburgthatday.Shemustbearguedwith,convinced,assured,instructed,ticketed,and

returnedwithout delay. I hatedHiram and despisedGeorge; but dutymust bedone. Noblesse oblige and only five silver dollars are not strictly romanticcompatibles, but sometimes they can be made to jibe. It was mine to be SirOracle, and then pay the freight. So I assumed an air thatmingled Solomon'swiththatofthegeneralpassengeragentoftheLongIslandRailroad.

"Miss Lowery," said I, as impressively as I could, "life is rather a queerproposition, after all." There was a familiar sound to these words after I hadspoken them, and I hoped Miss Lowery had never heard Mr. Cohan's song."Thosewhomwefirst loveweseldomwed.Ourearlier romances, tingedwiththe magic radiance of youth, often fail to materialize." The last three wordssounded somewhat tritewhen they struck the air. "But those fondly cherisheddreams,"Iwenton,"maycastapleasantafterglowonourfuturelives,howeverimpracticableandvaguetheymayhavebeen.Butlifeisfullofrealitiesaswellasvisionsanddreams.Onecannotliveonmemories.MayIask,MissLowery,ifyouthinkyoucouldpassahappy—thatis,acontentedandharmoniouslifewithMr.—er—Dodd—ifinotherwaysthanromanticrecollectionsheseemsto—er—fillthebill,asImightsay?"

"Oh,Hi'sallright,"answeredMissLowery."Yes,Icouldgetalongwithhimfine.He'spromisedmeanautomobileandamotor-boat.Butsomehow,whenitgotsoclosetothetimeIwastomarryhim,Icouldn'thelpwishing—well,justthinking about George. Something must have happened to him or he'd havewritten.Onthedayheleft,heandmegotahammerandachiselandcutadimeintotwopieces.Itookonepieceandhetooktheother,andwepromisedtobetruetoeachotherandalwayskeepthepiecestillwesaweachotheragain.I'vegotmineathomenowinaring-boxin thetopdrawerofmydresser.IguessIwassilly tocomeupherelookingforhim.Ineverrealizedwhatabigplaceitis."

AndthenTrippjoinedinwithalittlegratinglaughthathehad,stilltryingtodraginalittlestoryordramatoearnthemiserabledollarthathecraved.

"Oh, theboysfromthecountryforgeta lotwhentheycometothecityandlearnsomething.IguessGeorge,maybe,isonthebum,orgotropedinbysomeothergirl,ormaybegone to thedogsonaccountofwhiskeyor theraces.YoulistentoMr.Chalmersandgobackhome,andyou'llbeallright."

But now the time was come for action, for the hands of the clock weremovingclosetonoon.FrowninguponTripp,Iarguedgentlyandphilosophicallywith Miss Lowery, delicately convincing her of the importance of returninghomeatonce.AndIimpresseduponherthetruththatitwouldnotbeabsolutelynecessarytoherfuturehappinessthatshementiontoHithewondersorthefactofhervisittothecitythathadswalloweduptheunluckyGeorge.

Shesaidshehadleftherhorse(unfortunateRosinante)tiedtoatreeneartherailroadstation.TrippandIgaveher instructions tomount thepatientsteedassoonasshearrivedandridehomeasfastaspossible.ThereshewastorecounttheexcitingadventureofadayspentwithSusieAdams.Shecould"fix"Susie—Iwassureofthat—andallwouldbewell.

Andthen,beingsusceptibletothebarbedarrowsofbeauty,Iwarmedtotheadventure.Thethreeofushurriedtotheferry,andthereIfoundthepriceofatickettoGreenburgtobebutadollarandeightycents.Iboughtone,andared,red rose with the twenty cents for Miss Lowery. We saw her aboard herferryboat,andstoodwatchingherwaveherhandkerchiefatusuntil itwas thetiniestwhitepatch imaginable.And thenTrippandI facedeachother,broughtbacktoearth,leftdryanddesolateintheshadeofthesombreveritiesoflife.

Thespellwroughtbybeautyandromancewasdwindling.I lookedatTrippandalmost sneered.He lookedmore careworn, contemptible, anddisreputablethanever.Ifingeredthetwosilverdollarsremaininginmypocketandlookedathimwith the half-closed eyelids of contempt.Hemustered up an imitation ofresistance.

"Can't you get a story out of it?" he asked, huskily. "Some sort of a story,evenifyouhavetofakepartofit?"

"Notaline,"saidI."IcanfancythelookonGrimes'faceifIshouldtrytoputoveranyslushlikethis.Butwe'vehelpedthelittleladyout,andthat'llhavetobeouronlyreward."

"I'msorry," saidTripp,almost inaudibly. "I'msorryyou'reoutyourmoney.Now,itseemedtomelikeafindofabigstory,youknow—thatis,asortofthingthatwouldwriteupprettywell."

"Let'strytoforgetit,"saidI,withapraiseworthyattemptatgayety,"andtakethenextcar'crosstown."

I steeledmyself againsthisunexpressedbutpalpabledesire.He shouldnotcoax, cajole,orwring fromme thedollarhecraved. Ihadhadenoughof thatwild-goosechase.

Tripp feebly unbuttoned his coat of the faded pattern and glossy seams toreach for something that had once been a handkerchief deep down in someobscureandcavernouspocket.AshedidsoIcaughttheshineofacheapsilver-platedwatch-chainacrosshisvest,andsomethingdanglingfromitcausedmetostretchforthmyhandandseizeitcuriously.Itwasthehalfofasilverdimethathadbeencutinhalveswithachisel.

"What!"Isaid,lookingathimkeenly.

"Ohyes,"heresponded,dully."GeorgeBrown,aliasTripp.What'stheuse?"

Barring the W. C. T. U., I'd like to know if anybody disapproves of myhaving produced promptly from my pocket Tripp's whiskey dollar andunhesitatinglylayingitinhishand.

THEHIGHERPRAGMATISM

I

Where to go for wisdom has become a question of serious import. Theancients are discredited; Plato is boiler-plate; Aristotle is tottering; MarcusAurelius is reeling; Æsop has been copyrighted by Indiana; Solomon is too

solemn;youcouldn'tgetanythingoutofEpictetuswithapick.

Theant,whichformanyyearsservedasamodelofintelligenceandindustryin theschool-readers,hasbeenproven tobeadoddering idiotandawasteroftime and effort. The owl to-day is hooted at. Chautauqua conventions haveabandonedcultureandadopteddiabolo.Graybeardsgiveglowingtestimonialstothe venders of patent hair-restorers. There are typographical errors in thealmanacspublishedbythedailynewspapers.Collegeprofessorshavebecome—

Butthereshallbenopersonalities.

To sit in classes, to delve into the encyclopedia or the past-performancespage,willnotmakeuswise.Asthepoetsays,"Knowledgecomes,butwisdomlingers."Wisdomisdew,which,whileweknowitnot,soaksintous,refreshesus, andmakes us grow. Knowledge is a strong stream of water turned on usthroughahose.Itdisturbsourroots.

Then, letusrathergatherwisdom.Buthowtodosorequiresknowledge.Ifweknowa thing,weknowit;butveryoftenwearenotwise to it thatwearewise,and—

Butlet'sgoonwiththestory.

II

OnceuponatimeIfoundaten-centmagazinelyingonabenchinalittlecitypark.Anyhow,thatwastheamountheaskedmeforwhenIsatonthebenchnexttohim.Hewasamusty,dingy,andtatteredmagazine,withsomequeerstoriesboundinhim,Iwassure.Heturnedouttobeascrap-book.

"Iamanewspaperreporter,"Isaidtohim,totryhim."Ihavebeendetailedtowrite up some of the experiences of the unfortunate ones who spend theireveningsinthispark.MayIaskyoutowhatyouattributeyourdownfallin—"

I was interrupted by a laugh from my purchase—a laugh so rusty and

unpractisedthatIwassureithadbeenhisfirstformanyaday.

"Oh, no, no," said he. "You ain't a reporter. Reporters don't talk that way.Theypretend tobeoneofus,andsay they've justgot inon theblindbaggagefromSt.Louis.Icantellareporteronsight.Usparkbumsgettobefinejudgesofhumannature.Wesitherealldayandwatchthepeoplegoby.Icansizeupanybodywhowalkspastmybenchinawaythatwouldsurpriseyou."

"Well,"Isaid,"goonandtellme.Howdoyousizemeup?"

"I should say," said the student of human nature with unpardonablehesitation,"thatyouwas,say,inthecontractingbusiness—ormaybeworkedinastore—orwasa sign-painter.Youstopped in thepark to finishyourcigar, andthought you'd get a little free monologue out of me. Still, you might be aplastereroralawyer—it'sgettingkindofdark,yousee.Andyourwifewon'tletyousmokeathome."

Ifrownedgloomily.

"But, judging again," went on the reader of men, "I'd say you ain't got awife."

"No," said I, rising restlessly. "No, no, no, I ain't. But Iwill have, by thearrowsofCupid!Thatis,if—"

My voice must have trailed away and muffled itself in uncertainty anddespair.

"I see you have a story yourself," said the dusty vagrant—impudently, itseemedtome."Supposeyoutakeyourdimebackandspinyouryarnforme.I'minterested myself in the ups and downs of unfortunate ones who spend theireveningsinthepark."

Somehow,thatamusedme.Ilookedatthefrowsyderelictwithmoreinterest.Ididhaveastory.Whynottell it tohim?Ihadtoldnoneofmyfriends.Ihadalways been a reserved and bottled-up man. It was psychical timidity orsensitiveness—perhapsboth.And I smiled tomyself inwonderwhen I felt animpulsetoconfideinthisstrangerandvagabond.

"Jack,"saidI.

"Mack,"saidhe.

"Mack,"saidI,"I'lltellyou."

"Doyouwantthedimebackinadvance?"saidhe.

Ihandedhimadollar.

"Thedime,"saidI,"wasthepriceoflisteningtoyourstory."

"Rightonthepointofthejaw,"saidhe."Goon."

Andthen, incredibleas itmayseemto the lovers in theworldwhoconfidetheirsorrowsonlytothenightwindandthegibbousmoon,Ilaidbaremysecrettothatwreckofallthingsthatyouwouldhavesupposedtobeinsympathywithlove.

I told him of the days and weeks andmonths that I had spent in adoringMildredTelfair.Ispokeofmydespair,mygrievousdaysandwakefulnights,mydwindlinghopesanddistressofmind.Ievenpicturedtothisnight-prowlerherbeautyanddignity, thegreat swayshehad insociety,and themagnificenceofher life as the elder daughter of an ancient racewhoseprideoverbalanced thedollarsofthecity'smillionaires.

"Whydon'tyoucoptheladyout?"askedMack,bringingmedowntoearthanddialectagain.

Iexplainedtohimthatmyworthwassosmall,myincomesominute,andmyfearssolargethatIhadn'tthecouragetospeaktoherofmyworship.Itoldhimthat inherpresenceIcouldonlyblushandstammer,and thatshe lookeduponmewithawonderful,maddeningsmileofamusement.

"Shekindofmovesintheprofessionalclass,don'tshe?"askedMack.

"TheTelfairfamily—"Ibegan,haughtily.

"Imeanprofessionalbeauty,"saidmyhearer.

"Sheisgreatlyandwidelyadmired,"Ianswered,cautiously.

"Anysisters?"

"One."

"Youknowanymoregirls?"

"Why,several,"Ianswered."Andafewothers."

"Say," saidMack, "tellme one thing—can you hand out the dope to othergirls?Canyou chin 'em andmakematinée eyes at 'em and squeeze 'em?YouknowwhatImean.You're justshywhenitcomesto thisparticulardame—theprofessionalbeauty—ain'tthatright?"

"Inawayyouhaveoutlinedthesituationwithapproximatetruth,"Iadmitted.

"Ithoughtso,"saidMack,grimly."Now,thatremindsmeofmyowncase.I'lltellyouaboutit."

Iwas indignant, but concealed it.Whatwas this loafer's case or anybody'scasecomparedwithmine?Besides,Ihadgivenhimadollarandtencents.

"Feelmymuscle,"saidmycompanion,suddenly,flexinghisbiceps.Ididsomechanically.The fellows in gyms are always asking you to do that.His armwasashardascast-iron.

"Fouryearsago,"saidMack,"IcouldlickanymaninNewYorkoutsideoftheprofessionalring.Yourcaseandmineisjustthesame.IcomefromtheWestSide—betweenThirtiethandFourteenth—Iwon'tgivethenumberonthedoor.IwasascrapperwhenIwas ten,andwhenIwas twentynoamateur in thecitycouldstandupfourroundswithme.'Safact.YouknowBillMcCarty?No?Hemanaged the smokers for some of them swell clubs. Well, I knocked outeverything Bill brought up beforeme. I was amiddle-weight, but could traindown toawelterwhennecessary. Iboxedallover theWestSideatboutsandbenefitsandprivateentertainments,andwasneverputoutonce.

"But,say,thefirsttimeIputmyfootintheringwithaprofessionalIwasnomorethanacannedlobster.Idunnohowitwas—Iseemedtoloseheart.IguessI

got toomuch imagination. Therewas a formality and publicness about it thatkindofweakenedmynerve.Ineverwonafightinthering.Light-weightsandallkindsofscrubsusedtosignupwithmymanagerandthenwalkupandtapmeonthewristandseemefall.TheminuteIseenthecrowdandalotofgentsineveningclothesdowninfront,andseenaprofessionalcomeinsidetheropes,Igotasweakasginger-ale.

"Ofcourse,itwasn'tlongtillIcouldn'tgetnobackers,andIdidn'thaveanymorechancestofightaprofessional—ormanyamateurs,either.Butlemmetellyou—Iwasasgoodasmostmeninside theringorout. Itwas just thatdumb,deadfeelingIhadwhenIwasupagainstaregularthatalwaysdonemeup.

"Well,sir,afterIhadgotoutofthebusiness,Igotamightygrouchon.Iusedtogoroundtownlickingprivatecitizensandallkindsofunprofessionalsjusttopleasemyself. I'd lick cops in dark streets and car-conductors and cab-driversand draymen whenever I could start a row with 'em. It didn't make anydifferencehowbig theywere,orhowmuchscience theyhad, Igotawaywith'em.IfI'donlyjusthavehadtheconfidenceintheringthatIhadbeatingupthebestmenoutsideofit,I'dbewearingblackpearlsandheliotropesilksocksto-day.

"Oneevening Iwaswalkingalongnear theBowery, thinkingabout things,when along comes a slumming-party. About six or seven they was, all inswallowtails,andthesesilkhatsthatdon'tshine.Oneofthegangkindofshovesmeoffthesidewalk.Ihadn'thadascrapinthreedays,andIjustsays,'De-light-ed!'andhitshimbackoftheear.

"Well,wehadit.ThatJohnnieputupasdecentalittlefightasyou'dwanttoseeinthemovingpictures.Itwasonasidestreet,andnocopsaround.Theotherguyhadalotofscience,butitonlytookmeaboutsixminutestolayhimout.

"Someof theswallowtailsdraggedhimupagainstsomestepsandbegantofanhim.Anotheroneof'emcomesovertomeandsays:

"'Youngman,doyouknowwhatyou'vedone?'

"'Oh,beatit,'saysI. 'I'vedonenothingbutalittlepunching-bagwork.TakeFreddybacktoYaleandtellhimtoquitstudyingsociologyonthewrongsideof

thesidewalk.'

"'Mygoodfellow,'sayshe,'Idon'tknowwhoyouare,butI'dliketo.You'veknockedoutReddyBurns,thechampionmiddle-weightoftheworld!HecametoNewYorkyesterday,totrytogetamatchonwithJimJeffries.Ifyou—'

"ButwhenIcomeoutofmyfaint Iwas layingon thefloor inadrug-storesaturatedwitharomaticspiritsofammonia.IfI'dknownthatwasReddyBurns,I'dhavegotdowninthegutterandcrawledpasthiminsteadofhandinghimonelikeIdid.Why,ifI'deverbeeninaringandseenhimclimbingovertheropes,I'dhavebeenalltothesal-volatile.

"So that's what imagination does," concludedMack. "And, as I said, yourcaseandmineissimultaneous.You'llneverwinout.Youcan'tgoupagainsttheprofessionals.Itellyou,it'saparkbenchforyoursinthisromancebusiness."

Mack,thepessimist,laughedharshly.

"I'mafraidIdon'tseetheparallel,"Isaid,coldly."Ihaveonlyaveryslightacquaintancewiththeprize-ring."

The derelict touched my sleeve with his forefinger, for emphasis, as heexplainedhisparable.

"Everyman," said he,with somedignity, "has got his lamps on somethingthatlooksgoodtohim.Withyou,it'sthisdamethatyou'reafraidtosayyoursayto.Withme,itwastowinoutinthering.Well,you'lllosejustlikeIdid."

"WhydoyouthinkIshalllose?"Iaskedwarmly.

"'Cause," said he, "you're afraid to go in the ring. You dassen't stand upbeforeaprofessional.Yourcaseandmineisjustthesame.You'reaamateur;andthatmeansthatyou'dbetterkeepoutsideoftheropes."

"Well,Imustbegoing,"Isaid,risingandlookingwithelaboratecareatmywatch.

WhenIwastwentyfeetawaythepark-benchercalledtome.

"Muchobliged for thedollar,"hesaid. "And for thedime.Butyou'llneverget'er.You'reintheamateurclass."

"Serves you right," I said to myself, "for hobnobbing with a tramp. Hisimpudence!"

But,asIwalked,hiswordsseemedtorepeatthemselvesoverandoveragaininmybrain.IthinkIevengrewangryattheman.

"I'll showhim!" I finally said, aloud. "I'll showhim that I can fightReddyBurns,too—evenknowingwhoheis."

Ihurriedtoatelephone-boothandranguptheTelfairresidence.

Asoft,sweetvoiceanswered.Didn'tIknowthatvoice?Myhandholdingthereceivershook.

"Isthatyou?"saidI,employingthefoolishwordsthatformthevocabularyofeverytalkerthroughthetelephone.

"Yes,thisisI,"camebacktheanswerinthelow,clear-cuttonesthatareaninheritanceoftheTelfairs."Whoisit,please?"

"It'sme,"saidI,lessungrammaticallythanegotistically."It'sme,andI'vegotafewthingsthatIwanttosaytoyourightnowandimmediatelyandstraighttothepoint."

"Dearme,"saidthevoice."Oh,it'syou,Mr.Arden!"

Iwonderedifanyaccentonthefirstwordwasintended;Mildredwasfineatsayingthingsthatyouhadtostudyoutafterward.

"Yes,"saidI."Ihopeso.Andnowtocomedowntobrasstacks."I thoughtthatratheravernacularism,ifthereissuchaword,assoonasIhadsaidit;butIdidn'tstoptoapologize."Youknow,ofcourse, thatI loveyou,andthatIhavebeeninthatidioticstateforalongtime.Idon'twantanymorefoolishnessaboutit—thatis,ImeanIwantananswerfromyourightnow.Willyoumarrymeornot?Holdthewire,please.Keepout,Central.Hello,hello!Willyou,orwillyounot?"

ThatwasjusttheuppercutforReddyBurns'chin.Theanswercameback:

"Why,Phil,dear,ofcourseIwill!Ididn'tknowthatyou—thatis,youneversaid—oh, come up to the house, please—I can't say what I want to over the'phone.Youaresoimportunate.Butpleasecomeuptothehouse,won'tyou?"

WouldI?

IrangthebelloftheTelfairhouseviolently.Somesortofahumancametothedoorandshooedmeintothedrawing-room.

"Oh,well,"saidItomyself,lookingattheceiling,"anyonecanlearnfromanyone.ThatwasaprettygoodphilosophyofMack's,anyhow.Hedidn't takeadvantageofhisexperience,butIgetthebenefitofit.Ifyouwanttogetintotheprofessionalclass,you'vegotto—"

I stopped thinking then. Some onewas coming down the stairs.My kneesbegan to shake. I knew thenhowMackhad feltwhenaprofessionalbegan toclimbovertheropes.

IlookedaroundfoolishlyforadoororawindowbywhichImightescape.Ifithadbeenanyothergirlapproaching,Imightn'thave—

Butjustthenthedooropened,andBess,Mildred'syoungersister,camein.I'dneverseenherlooksomuchlikeaglorifiedangel.Shewalkedstraighttiptome,and—and—

I'd never noticed before what perfectly wonderful eyes and hair ElizabethTelfairhad.

"Phil,"shesaid,intheTelfair,sweet,thrillingtones,"whydidn'tyoutellmeabout it before? I thought it was sister you wanted all the time, until youtelephonedtomeafewminutesago!"

IsupposeMackandIalwayswillbehopelessamateurs.But,asthethinghasturnedoutinmycase,I'mmightygladofit.

BEST-SELLER

I

One day last summer I went to Pittsburgh—well, I had to go there onbusiness.

Mychair-carwasprofitablywell filledwithpeopleof thekindoneusuallysees on chair-cars. Most of them were ladies in brown-silk dresses cut withsquare yokes, with lace insertion, and dotted veils, who refused to have thewindowsraised.Thentherewastheusualnumberofmenwholookedasiftheymightbeinalmostanybusinessandgoingalmostanywhere.SomestudentsofhumannaturecanlookatamaninaPullmanandtellyouwhereheisfrom,hisoccupationandhisstations in life,bothflagandsocial;but Inevercould.TheonlywayIcancorrectlyjudgeafellow-travelleriswhenthetrainisheldupbyrobbers, or when he reaches at the same time I do for the last towel in thedressing-roomofthesleeper.

Theportercameandbrushedthecollectionofsootonthewindow-sillofftotheleftkneeofmytrousers.Iremoveditwithanairofapology.Thetemperaturewaseighty-eight.Oneof thedotted-veiled ladiesdemanded theclosingof twomoreventilators,andspokeloudlyofInterlaken.IleanedbackidlyinchairNo.7, and lookedwith the tepidest curiosityat the small,black,bald-spottedheadjustvisibleabovethebackofNo.9.

SuddenlyNo.9hurledabooktothefloorbetweenhischairandthewindow,and,looking,Isawthatitwas"TheRose-LadyandTrevelyan,"oneofthebest-sellingnovelsofthepresentday.AndthenthecriticorPhilistine,whicheverhewas,veeredhischair toward thewindow,andIknewhimatonce forJohnA.Pescud, of Pittsburgh, travelling salesman for a plate-glass company—an old

acquaintancewhomIhadnotseenintwoyears.

Intwominuteswewerefaced,hadshakenhands,andhadfinishedwithsuchtopicsasrain,prosperity,health,residence,anddestination.Politicsmighthavefollowednext;butIwasnotsoill-fated.

IwishyoumightknowJohnA.Pescud.Heisofthestuffthatheroesarenotoftenluckyenoughtobemadeof.Heisasmallmanwithawidesmile,andaneye that seems tobe fixedupon that little red spot on the endof yournose. Ineversawhimwearbutonekindofnecktie,andhebelievesincuff-holdersandbutton-shoes.HeisashardandtrueasanythingeverturnedoutbytheCambriaSteelWorks;andhebelievesthatassoonasPittsburghmakessmoke-consumerscompulsory,St.PeterwillcomedownandsitatthefootofSmithfieldStreet,andlet somebodyelseattend to thegateup in thebranchheaven.Hebelieves that"our"plate-glassisthemostimportantcommodityintheworld,andthatwhenamanisinhishometownheoughttobedecentandlaw-abiding.

Duringmyacquaintancewithhim in theCityofDiurnalNight Ihadneverknownhisviewsonlife,romance,literature,andethics.Wehadbrowsed,duringourmeetings,onlocaltopics,andthenparted,afterChateauMargaux,Irishstew,flannel-cakes, cottage-pudding, and coffee (hey, there!—with milk separate).NowIwas togetmoreofhis ideas.Bywayoffacts,he toldmethatbusinesshadpickedupsince thepartyconventions,and thathewasgoing togetoffatCoketown.

II

"Say,"saidPescud,stirringhisdiscardedbookwiththetoeofhisrightshoe,"didyoueverreadoneofthesebest-sellers?ImeanthekindwheretheheroisanAmericanswell—sometimesevenfromChicago—whofallsinlovewitharoyalprincess fromEuropewho is travelling under an alias, and follows her to herfather'skingdomorprincipality?Iguessyouhave.They'reallalike.Sometimesthis going-away masher is a Washington newspaper correspondent, andsometimeshe isaVanSomething fromNewYork,oraChicagowheat-broker

worthy fiftymillions.Buthe'salways ready tobreak into theking rowofanyforeigncountrythatsendsovertheirqueensandprincessestotrythenewplushseatsontheBigFourortheB.andO.Theredoesn'tseemtobeanyotherreasoninthebookfortheirbeinghere.

"Well, this fellowchases the royal chair-warmerhome, as I said, and findsoutwhosheis.Hemeetsheronthecorsoorthestrasseoneeveningandgivesustenpagesofconversation.Sheremindshimofthedifferenceintheirstations,and that gives him a chance to ring in three solid pages about America'suncrownedsovereigns.Ifyou'dtakehisremarksandset'emtomusic,andthentakethemusicawayfrom'em,they'dsoundexactlylikeoneofGeorgeCohan'ssongs.

"Well, you know how it runs on, if you've read any of 'em—he slaps theking'sSwissbody-guardsaroundlikeeverythingwhenevertheygetinhisway.He'sagreatfencer,too.Now,I'veknownofsomeChicagomenwhowereprettynotoriousfences,butIneverheardofanyfencerscomingfromthere.Hestandson the first landing of the royal staircase inCastle Schutzenfestensteinwith agleaming rapier in his hand, and makes a Baltimore broil of six platoons oftraitorswhocometomassacrethesaidking.Andthenhehastofightduelswithacoupleofchancellors,andfoilaplotbyfourAustrianarchdukestoseizethekingdomforagasoline-station.

"But thegreatscene iswhenhis rival for theprincess'hand,CountFeodor,attacks him between the portcullis and the ruined chapel, armed with amitrailleuse, a yataghan, and a couple of Siberian bloodhounds. This scene iswhat runs thebest-seller into the twenty-nintheditionbefore thepublisherhashadtimetodrawacheckfortheadvanceroyalties.

"The American hero shucks his coat and throws it over the heads of thebloodhounds, gives the mitrailleuse a slap with his mitt, says 'Yah!' to theyataghan,andlandsinKidMcCoy'sbeststyleonthecount'slefteye.Ofcourse,we have a neat little prize-fight right then and there. The count—in order tomakethegopossible—seemstobeanexpertattheartofself-defence,himself;andherewehavetheCorbett-Sullivanfightdoneoverintoliterature.ThebookendswiththebrokerandtheprincessdoingaJohnCecilClaycoverunderthelinden-treesontheGorgonzolaWalk.Thatwindsupthelove-storyplentygoodenough.ButInoticethatthebookdodgesthefinalissue.Evenabest-sellerhas

sense enough to shy at either leaving aChicagograinbrokeron the throneofLobsterpotsdamorbringingoverarealprincesstoeatfishandpotatosaladinanItalianchaletonMichiganAvenue.Whatdoyouthinkabout'em?"

"Why,"saidI,"Ihardlyknow,John.There'sasaying:'Lovelevelsallranks,'youknow."

"Yes,"saidPescud,"but thesekindof love-storiesare rank—onthe level. Iknowsomethingaboutliterature,evenifIaminplate-glass.Thesekindofbooksarewrong,andyetInevergointoatrainbutwhattheypile 'emuponme.NogoodcancomeoutofaninternationalclinchbetweentheOld-Worldaristocracyandoneofus freshAmericans.Whenpeople in real lifemarry, theygenerallyhunt up somebody in their own station.A fellow usually picks out a girl thatwenttothesamehigh-schoolandbelongedtothesamesinging-societythathedid.Whenyoungmillionairesfallinlove,theyalwaysselectthechorus-girlthatlikesthesamekindofsauceonthelobsterthathedoes.Washingtonnewspapercorrespondentsalwaysmanywidowladiestenyearsolderthanthemselveswhokeepboarding-houses.No,sir,youcan'tmakeanovelsoundrighttomewhenitmakes one ofC.D.Gibson's bright youngmengo abroad and turn kingdomsupside down just because he's a Taft American and took a course at agymnasium.Andlistenhowtheytalk,too!"

Pescudpickedupthebest-sellerandhuntedhispage.

"Listenatthis,"saidhe."TrevelyanischinningwiththePrincessAlwynaatthebackendofthetulip-garden.Thisishowitgoes:

"'Saynotso,dearestandsweetestofearth'sfairestflowers.WouldIaspire?Youareastarsethighabovemeinaroyalheaven;Iamonly—myself.YetIamaman,andIhaveahearttodoanddare.Ihavenotitlesavethatofanuncrownedsovereign;butIhaveanarmandaswordthatyetmightfreeSchutzenfestensteinfromtheplotsoftraitors.'

"ThinkofaChicagomanpackingasword,andtalkingaboutfreeinganythingthatsoundedasmuchlikecannedporkasthat!He'dbemuchmorelikelytofighttohaveanimportdutyputonit."

"I think I understand you, John," said I. "You want fiction-writers to be

consistentwith their scenesandcharacters.Theyshouldn'tmixTurkishpashaswith Vermont farmers, or English dukes with Long Island clam-diggers, orItaliancountesseswithMontanacowboys,orCincinnatibreweryagentswiththerajahsofIndia."

"Orplainbusinessmenwitharistocracyhighabove 'em,"addedPescud."Itdon't jibe.Peoplearedivided intoclasses,whetherweadmit itornot, and it'severybody'simpulsetosticktotheirownclass.Theydoit,too.Idon'tseewhypeoplegotoworkandbuyhundredsofthousandsofbookslikethat.Youdon'tseeorhearofanysuchdidoesandcapersinreallife."

III

"Well,John,"saidI,"Ihaven't readabest-seller ina longtime.MaybeI'vehadnotionsabout themsomewhat likeyours.But tellmemoreaboutyourself.Gettingalongallrightwiththecompany?"

"Bully," said Pescud, brightening at once. "I've hadmy salary raised twicesince I saw you, and I get a commission, too. I've bought a neat slice of realestateoutintheEastEnd,andhaverunupahouseonit.Nextyearthefirmisgoing to sell me some shares of stock. Oh, I'm in on the line of GeneralProsperity,nomatterwho'selected!"

"Metyouraffinityyet,John?"Iasked.

"Oh,Ididn'ttellyouaboutthat,didI?"saidPescudwithabroadergrin.

"O-ho!" I said. "So you've taken time enough off from your plate-glass tohavearomance?"

"No,no,"saidJohn."Noromance—nothinglikethat!ButI'lltellyouaboutit.

"Iwasonthesouth-bound,goingtoCincinnati,abouteighteenmonthsago,whenIsaw,acrosstheaisle,thefinest-lookinggirlI'deverlaideyeson.Nothing

spectacular,youknow,butjustthesortyouwantforkeeps.Well,Ineverwasupto the flirtation business, either handkerchief, automobile, postage-stamp, ordoor-step,andshewasn'tthekindtostartanything.Shereadabookandmindedherbusiness,whichwastomaketheworldprettierandbetterjustbyresidingonit.Ikeptonlookingoutofthesidedoorsofmyeyes,andfinallythepropositiongot out of the Pullman class into a case of a cottage with a lawn and vinesrunningover theporch. Inever thoughtof speaking toher,but I let theplate-glassbusinessgotosmashforawhile.

"ShechangedcarsatCincinnati,andtookasleepertoLouisvilleovertheL.and N. There she bought another ticket, and went on through Shelbyville,Frankfort,andLexington.Along there Ibegan tohaveahard timekeepingupwithher.Thetrainscamealongwhentheypleased,anddidn'tseemtobegoinganywhereinparticular,excepttokeeponthetrackandtherightofwayasmuchaspossible.Then theybegan to stop at junctions insteadof towns, and at lasttheystoppedaltogether.I'llbetPinkertonwouldoutbidtheplate-glasspeopleformyservicesanytimeiftheyknewhowImanagedtoshadowthatyounglady.Icontrived tokeepoutofhersightasmuchasIcould,but Inever lost trackofher.

"ThelaststationshegotoffatwasawaydowninVirginia,aboutsix in theafternoon.Therewereaboutfiftyhousesandfourhundredniggersinsight.Therestwasredmud,mules,andspeckledhounds.

"Atalloldman,withasmoothfaceandwhitehair,lookingasproudasJuliusCæsarandRoscoeConklingon thesamepost-card,was there tomeether.Hisclotheswerefrazzled,butIdidn'tnoticethattilllater.Hetookherlittlesatchel,andtheystartedovertheplank-walksandwentuparoadalongthehill. Ikeptalongapiecebehind 'em,tryingtolooklikeIwashuntingagarnetringinthesandthatmysisterhadlostatapicnicthepreviousSaturday.

"Theywentinagateontopofthehill.ItnearlytookmybreathawaywhenIlookedup.UpthereinthebiggestgroveIeversawwasatremendoushousewithroundwhitepillarsaboutathousandfeethigh,andtheyardwassofullofrose-bushes and box-bushes and lilacs that you couldn't have seen the house if ithadn'tbeenasbigastheCapitolatWashington.

"'Here's where I have to trail,' says I to myself. I thought before that she

seemed tobe inmoderatecircumstances,at least.Thismustbe theGovernor'smansion,ortheAgriculturalBuildingofanewWorld'sFair,anyhow.I'dbettergobacktothevillageandgetpostedbythepostmaster,ordrugthedruggistforsomeinformation.

"In the village I found a pine hotel called the BayViewHouse. The onlyexcuseforthenamewasabayhorsegrazinginthefrontyard.Isetmysample-casedown,andtriedtobeostensible.ItoldthelandlordIwastakingordersforplate-glass.

"'I don't want no plates,' says he, 'but I do need another glass molasses-pitcher.'

"By-and-byIgothimdowntolocalgossipandansweringquestions.

"'Why,' says he, 'I thought everybody knowed who lived in the big whitehouseon thehill. It'sColonelAllyn, thebiggestmanand the finest quality inVirginia,oranywhereelse.They'retheoldestfamilyintheState.Thatwashisdaughter thatgotoff the train.She'sbeenuptoIllinois toseeheraunt,whoissick.'

"I registered at the hotel, and on the third day I caught the young ladywalkinginthefrontyard,downnexttothepalingfence.Istoppedandraisedmyhat—therewasn'tanyotherway.

"'Excuseme,'saysI,'canyoutellmewhereMr.Hinklelives?'

"ShelooksatmeascoolasifIwasthemancometoseeabouttheweedingofthegarden,butIthoughtIsawjustaslighttwinkleoffuninhereyes.

"'NooneofthatnamelivesinBirchton,'saysshe. 'Thatis,'shegoeson, 'asfarasIknow.Isthegentlemanyouareseekingwhite?'

"Well,thattickledme.'Nokidding,'saysI.'I'mnotlookingforsmoke,evenifIdocomefromPittsburgh.'

"'Youarequiteadistancefromhome,'saysshe.

"'I'dhavegoneathousandmilesfarther,'saysI.

"'Notifyouhadn'twakedupwhenthetrainstartedinShelbyville,'saysshe;andthensheturnedalmostasredasoneoftherosesonthebushesintheyard.Iremembered I had dropped off to sleep on a bench in the Shelbyville station,waitingtoseewhichtrainshetook,andonlyjustmanagedtowakeupintime.

"And then I toldherwhy Ihadcome, as respectful andearnest as I could.AndItoldhereverythingaboutmyself,andwhatIwasmaking,andhowthatallIaskedwasjusttogetacquaintedwithherandtrytogethertolikeme.

"Shesmilesalittle,andblushessome,buthereyesnevergetmixedup.Theylookstraightatwhatevershe'stalkingto.

"'Ineverhadanyonetalklikethistomebefore,Mr.Pescud,'saysshe.'Whatdidyousayyournameis—John?'

"'JohnA.,'saysI.

"'And you camemighty nearmissing the train at Powhatan Junction, too,'saysshe,withalaughthatsoundedasgoodasamileage-booktome.

"'Howdidyouknow?'Iasked.

"'Menareveryclumsy,'saidshe.'Iknewyouwereoneverytrain.Ithoughtyouweregoingtospeaktome,andI'mgladyoudidn't.'

"Thenwehadmoretalk;andatlastakindofproud,seriouslookcameonherface,andsheturnedandpointedafingeratthebighouse.

"'TheAllyns,'saysshe,'havelivedinElmcroftforahundredyears.Weareaproud family. Look at that mansion. It has fifty rooms. See the pillars andporchesandbalconies.Theceilingsinthereception-roomsandtheball-roomaretwenty-eightfeethigh.Myfatherisalinealdescendantofbeltedearls.'

"'Ibeltedoneof 'emonceintheDuquesneHotel,inPittsburgh,'saysI, 'andhe didn't offer to resent it. He was there dividing his attentions betweenMonongahelawhiskeyandheiresses,andhegotfresh.'

"'Ofcourse,'shegoeson,'myfatherwouldn'tallowadrummertosethisfootinElmcroft.IfheknewthatIwastalkingtooneoverthefencehewouldlock

meinmyroom.'

"'Wouldyouletmecomethere?'saysI.'WouldyoutalktomeifIwastocall?For,'Igoeson,'ifyousaidImightcomeandseeyou,theearlsmightbebeltedorsuspendered,orpinnedupwithsafety-pins,asfarasIamconcerned.'

"'Imustnottalktoyou,'shesays,'becausewehavenotbeenintroduced.Itisnotexactlyproper.SoIwillsaygood-bye,Mr.—'

"'Saythename,'saysI.'Youhaven'tforgottenit.'

"'Pescud,'saysshe,alittlemad.

"'Therestofthename!'Idemands,coolascouldbe.

"'John,'saysshe.

"'John—what?'Isays.

"'JohnA.,'saysshe,withherheadhigh.'Areyouthrough,now?'

"'I'mcomingtoseethebeltedearlto-morrow,'Isays.

"'He'llfeedyoutohisfox-hounds,'saysshe,laughing.

"'If he does, it'll improve their running,' says I. 'I'm something of a huntermyself.'

"'Imustbegoinginnow,'saysshe.'Ioughtn'ttohavespokentoyouatall.Ihope you'll have a pleasant trip back to Minneapolis—or Pittsburgh, was it?Good-bye!'

"'Good-night,' says I, 'and it wasn't Minneapolis. What's your name, first,please?'

"Shehesitated.Thenshepulledaleafoffabush,andsaid:

"'MynameisJessie,'saysshe.

"'Good-night,MissAllyn,'saysI.

"Thenextmorningateleven,sharp,Irangthedoor-bellofthatWorld'sFairmain building.After about three-quarters of an hour an old niggerman abouteightyshowedupandaskedwhat Iwanted. Igavehimmybusinesscard,andsaidIwantedtoseethecolonel.Heshowedmein.

"Say, did you ever crack open a wormy English walnut? That's what thathousewas like. Therewasn't enough furniture in it to fill an eight-dollar flat.Someoldhorsehairloungesandthree-leggedchairsandsomeframedancestorson thewallswereall thatmet theeye.ButwhenColonelAllyncomes in, theplaceseemedtolightup.Youcouldalmosthearabandplaying,andseeabunchofold-timersinwigsandwhitestockingsdancingaquadrille.Itwasthestyleofhim,althoughhehadonthesameshabbyclothesIsawhimwearatthestation.

"Foraboutninesecondshehadme rattled,and Icamemightyneargettingcoldfeetandtryingtosellhimsomeplate-glass.ButIgotmynervebackprettyquick.He askedme to sit down, and I told him everything. I told him how Ifollowedhisdaughter fromCincinnati, andwhat Idid it for, andall aboutmysalaryandprospects,andexplainedtohimmylittlecodeofliving—tobealwaysdecent and right in your home town; andwhenyou're on the road, never takemorethanfourglassesofbeeradayorplayhigherthanatwenty-five-centlimit.At first I thoughthewasgoing to throwmeoutof thewindow,but I keptontalking. Pretty soon I got a chance to tell him that story about the WesternCongressman who had lost his pocket-book and the grass widow—yourememberthatstory.Well,thatgothimtolaughing,andI'llbetthatwasthefirstlaughthoseancestorsandhorsehairsofashadheardinmanyaday.

"Wetalkedtwohours.ItoldhimeverythingIknew;andthenhebegantoaskquestions,andItoldhimtherest.AllIaskedofhimwastogivemeachance.IfIcouldn'tmakeahitwiththelittlelady,I'dclearout,andnotbotheranymore.Atlasthesays:

"'TherewasaSirCourtenayPescudin the timeofCharlesI, if I rememberrightly.'

"'Iftherewas,'saysI,'hecan'tclaimkinwithourbunch.We'vealwayslivedinandaroundPittsburgh.I'vegotanuncleinthereal-estatebusiness,andoneintrouble somewhereout inKansas.Youcan inquire about anyof the rest of usfromanybodyinoldSmokyTown,andgetsatisfactoryreplies.Didyoueverrun

acrossthatstoryaboutthecaptainofthewhalerwhotriedtomakeasailorsayhisprayers?'saysI.

"'ItoccurstomethatIhaveneverbeensofortunate,'saysthecolonel.

"SoItoldittohim.Laugh!Iwaswishingtomyselfthathewasacustomer.WhatabillofglassI'dsellhim!Andthenhesays:

"'Therelatingofanecdotesandhumorousoccurrenceshasalwaysseemedtome, Mr. Pescud, to be a particularly agreeable way of promoting andperpetuating amenities between friends.With your permission, Iwill relate toyouafox-huntingstorywithwhichIwaspersonallyconnected,andwhichmayfurnishyousomeamusement.'

"Sohe tells it. It takes fortyminutesby thewatch.Did I laugh?Well, say!WhenIgotmyfacestraighthecalls inoldPete, thesuperannuateddarky,andsendshimdowntothehoteltobringupmyvalise.ItwasElmcroftformewhileIwasinthetown.

"TwoeveningslaterIgotachancetospeakawordwithMissJessiealoneontheporchwhilethecolonelwasthinkingupanotherstory.

"'It'sgoingtobeafineevening,'saysI.

"'He'scoming,'saysshe.'He'sgoingtotellyou,thistime,thestoryabouttheoldnegro and thegreenwatermelons. It always comesafter theone about theYankeesand thegamerooster.Therewasanother time,' shegoeson, 'thatyounearlygotleft—itwasatPulaskiCity.'

"'Yes,'saysI,'Iremember.MyfootslippedasIwasjumpingonthestep,andInearlytumbledoff.'

"'Iknow,'saysshe.'And—andI—Iwasafraidyouhad,JohnA.Iwasafraidyouhad.'

"Andthensheskipsintothehousethroughoneofthebigwindows."

IV

"Coketown!"dronedtheporter,makinghiswaythroughtheslowingcar.

Pescudgatheredhishatandbaggagewiththeleisurelypromptnessofanoldtraveller.

"Imarriedherayearago,"saidJohn."ItoldyouIbuiltahouseintheEastEnd. The belted—Imean the colonel—is there, too. I find himwaiting at thegatewheneverIgetbackfromatriptohearanynewstoryImighthavepickedupontheroad."

I glanced out of the window. Coketown was nothing more than a raggedhillside dotted with a score of black dismal huts propped up against drearymounds of slag and clinkers. It rained in slanting torrents, too, and the rillsfoamedandsplasheddownthroughtheblackmudtotherailroad-tracks.

"Youwon'tsellmuchplate-glasshere,John,"saidI."Whydoyougetoffatthisend-o'-the-world?"

"Why," said Pescud, "the other day I took Jessie for a little trip toPhiladelphia, and comingback she thought she saw somepetunias in a pot inoneofthosewindowsovertherejustlikesomesheusedtoraisedownintheoldVirginiahome.SoIthoughtI'ddropoffhereforthenight,andseeifIcoulddigupsomeofthecuttingsorblossomsforher.Hereweare.Good-night,oldman.Igaveyoutheaddress.Comeoutandseeuswhenyouhavetime."

Thetrainmovedforward.Oneofthedottedbrownladiesinsistedonhavingwindowsraised,nowthattherainbeatagainstthem.Theportercamealongwithhismysteriouswandandbegantolightthecar.

Iglanceddownwardandsawthebest-seller.Ipickeditupandsetitcarefullyfartheralongonthefloorofthecar,wheretherain-dropswouldnotfalluponit.And then, suddenly, I smiled, and seemed to see that life has nogeographicalmetesandbounds.

"Good-luck to you, Trevelyan," I said. "Andmay you get the petunias for

yourprincess!"

RUSINURBE

Consideringmeninrelationtomoney,therearethreekindswhomIdislike:menwhohavemoremoney than theycan spend;menwhohavemoremoneythan they do spend; andmenwho spendmoremoney than they have.Of thethreevarieties,IbelieveIhavetheleastlikingforthefirst.But,asaman,IlikedSpencerGrenvilleNorthprettywell,althoughhehadsomethingliketwoortenorthirtymillions—I'veforgottenexactlyhowmany.

I did not leave town that summer. I usuallywent down to a village on thesouthshoreofLong Island.Theplacewassurroundedbyduck-farms,and theducksanddogsandwhippoorwillsandrustywindmillsmadesomuchnoisethatI could sleep as peacefully as if I were in my own flat six doors from theelevated railroad inNewYork.But that summer Ididnotgo.Remember that.OneofmyfriendsaskedmewhyIdidnot.Ireplied:

"Because,oldman,NewYorkisthefinestsummerresortintheworld."Youhaveheardthatphrasebefore.ButthatiswhatItoldhim.

Iwaspress-agent that year forBinkly&Bing, the theatricalmanagers andproducers.Ofcourseyouknowwhatapress-agentis.Well,heisnot.Thatisthesecretofbeingone.

BinklywastouringFranceinhisnewC.&N.Williamsoncar,andBinghadgonetoScotlandtolearncurling,whichheseemedtoassociateinhismindwithhottongsratherthanwithice.Beforetheyleft theygavemeJuneandJuly,onsalary, for my vacation, which act was in accord with their large spirit ofliberality. But I remained in New York, which I had decided was the finest

summerresortin—

ButIsaidthatbefore.

OnJulythe10th,NorthcametotownfromhiscampintheAdirondacks.Tryto imagineacampwithsixteen rooms,plumbing,eiderdownquilts, abutler, agarage,solidsilverplate,andalong-distancetelephone.Ofcourseitwasinthewoods—ifMr.Pinchotwants topreserve the forests lethimgiveeverycitizentwo or ten or thirty million dollars, and the trees will all gather around thesummercamps,astheBirnamwoodscametoDunsinane,andbepreserved.

North came to see me in my three rooms and bath, extra charge for lightwhenusedextravagantlyorallnight.Heslappedmeontheback(Iwouldratherhavemyshinskickedanyday),andgreetedmewithout-doorobstreperousnessand revolting good spirits. Hewas insolently brown and healthy-looking, andoffensivelywelldressed.

"Justrandownforafewdays,"saidhe,"tosignsomepapersandstufflikethat.My lawyerwiredme to come.Well, you indolent cockney,what areyoudoing in town? I took a chance and telephoned, and they said youwere here.What'sthematterwiththatUtopiaonLongIslandwhereyouusedtotakeyourtypewriterandyourvillainoustempereverysummer?Anythingwrongwiththe—er—swans,weren'tthey,thatusedtosingonthefarmsatnight?"

"Ducks," said I. "The songs of swans are for luckier ears. They swim andcurve theirnecks inartificial lakeson theestatesof thewealthy todelight theeyesofthefavoritesofFortune."

"Also inCentral Park," saidNorth, "to delight the eyes of immigrants andbummers.I'veseenemtherelotsoftimes.Butwhyareyouinthecitysolateinthesummer?"

"NewYorkCity,"Ibegantorecite,"isthefinestsum—"

"No,youdon't,"saidNorth,emphatically."Youdon'tspringthatoldoneonme. I know you know better. Man, you ought to have gone up with us thissummer. The Prestons are there, and TomVolney and theMonroes and LuluStanfordandtheMissKennedyandherauntthatyoulikedsowell."

"IneverlikedMissKennedy'saunt,"Isaid.

"I didn't say you did," saidNorth. "We are having the greatest timewe'veever had. The pickerel and trout are so ravenous that I believe they wouldswallowyourhookwithaMontanacopper-mineprospectusfastenedonit.Andwe'veacoupleofelectriclaunches;andI'll tellyouwhatwedoeverynightortwo—we towa rowboatbehindeachonewith abigphonographandaboy tochangethediscsin'em.Onthewater,andtwentyyardsbehindyou,theyarenotso bad. And there are passably good roads through the woods where we gomotoring.Ishippedtwocarsupthere.AndthePinecliffInnisonlythreemilesaway.YouknowthePinecliff.Somegoodpeoplearetherethisseason,andwerunovertothedancestwiceaweek.Can'tyougobackwithmeforaweek,oldman?"

I laughed. "Northy," said I—"if I may be so familiar with a millionaire,becauseIhateboththenamesSpencerandGrenville—yourinvitationismeantkindly,but—thecityinthesummer-timeforme.Here,whilethebourgeoisieisaway, Ican liveasNero lived—barring, thankheaven, thefiddling—while thecityburnsatninety in theshade.The tropicsand thezoneswaituponme likehandmaidens. I sit under Florida palms and eat pomegranates while Boreashimself,electricallyconjuredup,blowsuponmehisArcticbreath.Asfortrout,youknow,yourself,thatJean,atMaurice's,cooksthembetterthananyoneelseintheworld."

"Beadvised,"saidNorth."Mychefhaspinchedtheblueribbonfromthelot.He lays some slices of bacon inside the trout,wraps it all in corn-husks—thehusksofgreencorn,youknow—buriestheminhotashesandcoversthemwithlivecoals.Webuildfiresonthebankofthelakeandhavefishsuppers."

"Iknow,"saidI."Andtheservantsbringdowntablesandchairsanddamaskcloths, and you eat with silver forks. I know the kind of camps that youmillionaireshave.Andtherearechampagnepailssetabout,disgracingthewildflowers,and,nodoubt,MadameTetrazzinitosingintheboatpavilionafterthetrout."

"Ohno,"saidNorth,concernedly,"wewereneverasbadasthat.Wedidhaveavarietytroupeupfromthecitythreeorfournights,buttheyweren'tstarsbyasfar as light can travel in the same length of time. I always like a few home

comfortsevenwhenI'mroughingit.Butdon't tellmeyouprefertostayinthecity during summer. I don't believe it. If you do, why did you spend yoursummersthereforthelastfouryears,evensneakingawayfromtownonanighttrain,andrefusingtotellyourfriendswherethisArcadianvillagewas?"

"Because,"saidI,"theymighthavefollowedmeanddiscoveredit.Butsincethen I have learned that Amaryllis has come to town. The coolest things, thefreshest,thebrightest,thechoicest,aretobefoundinthecity.Ifyou'venothingonhandthiseveningIwillshowyou."

"I'm free," said North, "and I have my light car outside. I suppose, sinceyou'vebeenconvertedtothetown,thatyourideaofruralsportistohavealittlewhirlbetweenbicyclecopsinCentralParkandthenamugofstickyaleinsomestuffyrathskellerunderafanthatcan'tstirupasmanyrevolutionsinaweekasNicaraguacaninaday."

"We'llbeginwiththespinthroughthePark,anyhow,"Isaid.Iwaschokingwiththehot,staleairofmylittleapartment,andIwantedthatbreathofthecooltobracemeforthetaskofprovingtomyfriendthatNewYorkwasthegreatest—andsoforth.

"Wherecanyoufindairanyfresherorpurerthanthis?"Iasked,aswespedintoCentral'sboskiestdell.

"Air!"saidNorth,contemptuously."Doyoucallthisair?—thismuggyvapor,smellingofgarbageandgasolinesmoke.Man,IwishyoucouldgetonesniffoftherealAdirondackarticleinthepinewoodsatdaylight."

"I have heard of it," said I. "But for fragrance and tang and a joy in thenostrilsIwouldnotgiveonepuffofseabreezeacrossthebay,downonmylittleboatdockonLongIsland,fortenofyourturpentine-scentedtornadoes."

"Thenwhy," askedNorth, a little curiously, "don't you go there instead ofstayingcoopedupinthisGreaterBakery?"

"Because,"saidI,doggedly,"IhavediscoveredthatNewYorkisthegreatestsummer—"

"Don'tsaythatagain,"interruptedNorth,"unlessyou'veactuallygotajobas

GeneralPassengerAgentoftheSubway.Youcan'treallybelieveit."

Iwenttosometroubletotrytoprovemytheorytomyfriend.TheWeatherBureauand the seasonhadconspired tomake theargumentworthyof anableadvocate.

The city seemed stretched on a broiler directly above the furnaces ofAvernus.Therewasakindoftepidgayetyafootandawheelintheboulevards,mainlyevincedbylanguidmenstrollingaboutinstrawhatsandeveningclothes,androwsofidletaxicabswiththeirflagsup,lookinglikeablockadedFourthofJulyprocession.Thehotelskeptupaspeciousbrilliancyandhospitableoutlook,but inside one saw vast empty caverns, and the footrails at the bars gleamedbrightly from long disacquaintance with the sole-leather of customers. In thecross-townstreets thestepsof theoldbrownstonehouseswere swarmingwith"stoopers,"thatmotleyracehailingfromsky-lightroomandbasement,bringingout their straw door-step mats to sit and fill the air with strange noises andopinions.

NorthandIdinedonthetopofahotel;andhere,forafewminutes,IthoughtIhadmadeascore.Aneastwind,almostcool,blewacrosstherooflessroof.Acapable orchestra concealed in a bower of wistaria played with sufficientjudgmenttomaketheartofmusicprobableandtheartofconversationpossible.

Some ladies in reproachless summer gowns at other tables gave animationand color to the scene.And an excellent dinner,mainly from the refrigerator,seemed to successfully back my judgment as to summer resorts. But Northgrumbled all during the meal, and cursed his lawyers and prated so of hisconfoundedcampinthewoodsthatIbegantowishhewouldgobackthereandleavemeinmypeacefulcityretreat.

After dining we went to a roof-garden vaudeville that was being muchpraised. There we found a good bill, an artificially cooled atmosphere, colddrinks,promptservice,andagay,well-dressedaudience.Northwasbored.

"Ifthisisn'tcomfortableenoughforyouonthehottestAugustnightforfiveyears," I said, a little sarcastically, "you might think about the kids down inDelancey and Hester streets lying out on the fire-escapes with their tongueshangingout,tryingtogetabreathofairthathasn'tbeenfriedonbothsides.The

contrastmightincreaseyourenjoyment."

"Don'ttalkSocialism,"saidNorth."IgavefivehundreddollarstothefreeicefundonthefirstofMay.I'mcontrastingthesestale,artificial,hollow,wearisome'amusements'withtheenjoymentamancangetinthewoods.Youshouldseethefirsandpinesdoskirt-dancesduringastorm;andliedownflatanddrinkoutofamountainbranchattheendofaday'strampafterthedeer.That'stheonlywaytospendasummer.Getoutandlivewithnature."

"Iagreewithyouabsolutely,"saidI,withemphasis.

For one moment I had relaxed my vigilance, and had spoken my truesentiments.Northlookedatmelongandcuriously.

"Then why, in the name of Pan and Apollo," he asked, "have you beensingingthisdeceitfulpæantosummerintown?"

IsupposeIlookedmyguilt.

"Ha,"saidNorth,"Isee.MayIaskhername?"

"AnnieAshton," said I, simply. "She playedNannette inBinkley&Bing'sproductionof'TheSilverCord.'Sheistohaveabetterpartnextseason."

"Takemetoseeher,"saidNorth.

MissAshton livedwith hermother in a small hotel. Theywere out of theWest,andhadalittlemoneythatbridgedtheseasons.Aspress-agentofBinkley&BingIhadtriedtokeepherbeforethepublic.AsRobertJamesVandiverIhadhoped towithdraw her; for if ever onewasmade to keep companywith saidVandiverandsmellthesaltbreezeonthesouthshoreofLongIslandandlistentotheducksquackinthewatchesofthenight,itwastheAshtonsetforthabove.

Butshehadasoulaboveducks—abovenightingales;aye,evenabovebirdsofparadise.Shewasverybeautiful,withquietways,andseemedgenuine.Shehadbothtasteandtalentforthestage,andshelikedtostayathomeandreadandmakecapsforhermother.ShewasunvaryinglykindandfriendlywithBinkley&Bing'spress-agent.SincethetheatrehadclosedshehadallowedMr.Vandiverto call in an unofficial rôle. I had often spoken to her of my friend, Spencer

GrenvilleNorth;andso,asitwasearly,thefirstturnofthevaudevillebeingnotyetover,welefttofindatelephone.

MissAshtonwouldbeverygladtoseeMr.VandiverandMr.North.

We found her fitting a new cap on hermother. I never saw her lookmorecharming.

Northmadehimselfdisagreeablyentertaining.Hewasagoodtalker,andhadawaywithhim.Besides,hehadtwo,ten,orthirtymillions,I'veforgottenwhich.Iincautiouslyadmiredthemother'scap,whereuponshebroughtoutherstoreofadozenor two,andI tookacourse inedgingsandfrills.EventhoughAnnie'sfingers had pinked, or ruched, or hemmed, or whatever you do to 'em, theypalled uponme.And I could hearNorth drivelling toAnnie about his odiousAdirondackcamp.

Twodaysafter that IsawNorth inhismotor-carwithMissAshtonandhermother.Onthenextafternoonhedroppedinonme.

"Bobby,"saidhe,"thisoldburgisn'tsuchabadpropositioninthesummer-time,afterall.SinceI'vekeenknockingarounditlooksbettertome.Therearesomefirst-ratemusicalcomediesandlightoperasontheroofsandintheoutdoorgardens.And if youhunt up the right places and stick to soft drinks, you cankeepaboutascoolhereasyoucaninthecountry.Hangit!whenyoucometothink of it, there's nothing much to the country, anyhow. You get tired andsunburnedandlonesome,andyouhavetoeatanyoldthingthatthecookdishesuptoyou."

"Itmakesadifference,doesn'tit?"saidI.

"Itcertainlydoes.Now,Ifoundsomewhitebaityesterday,atMaurice's,withanewsaucethatbeatsanythinginthetroutlineIevertasted."

"Itmakesadifference,doesn'tit?"Isaid.

"Immense.Thesauceisthemainthingwithwhitebait."

"Itmakesadifference,doesn't it?" Iasked, lookinghimstraight in theeye.Heunderstood.

"Lookhere,Bob,"hesaid,"Iwasgoingtotellyou.Icouldn'thelpit.I'llplayfairwithyou,butI'mgoingintowin.Sheisthe'oneparticular'forme."

"All right," said I. "It's a fair field.Thereareno rights foryou toencroachupon."

OnThursdayafternoonMissAshtoninvitedNorthandmyselftohaveteainher apartment. He was devoted, and she was more charming than usual. ByavoidingthesubjectofcapsImanagedtogetawordortwointoandoutofthetalk.MissAshtonaskedmeinamake-conversationaltonesomethingaboutthenextseason'stour.

"Oh," said I, "Idon't knowabout that. I'mnotgoing tobewithBinkley&Bingnextseason."

"Why,Ithought,"saidshe,"thattheyweregoingtoputtheNumberOneroadcompanyunderyourcharge.Ithoughtyoutoldmeso."

"Theywere,"saidI,"but theywon't.. I'll tellyouwhatI'mgoingtodo.I'mgoingtothesouthshoreofLongIslandandbuyasmallcottageIknowthereontheedgeof thebay.AndI'llbuyacatboatanda rowboatandashotgunandayellowdog.I'vegotmoneyenoughtodoit.AndI'llsmellthesaltwindalldaywhenitblowsfromtheseaandthepineodorwhenitblowsfromtheland.And,ofcourse,I'llwriteplaysuntilIhaveatrunkfullof'emonhand.

"AndthenextthingandthebiggestthingI'lldowillbetobuythatduck-farmnextdoor.Fewpeopleunderstandducks. I canwatch 'em forhours.TheycanmarchbetterthananycompanyintheNationalGuard,andtheycanplay'followmyleader'betterthantheentireDemocraticparty.Theirvoicesdon'tamounttomuch,butIliketohear'em.Theywakeyouupadozentimesanight,butthere'sahomelysoundabouttheirquackingthatismoremusicaltomethanthecryof'Fresh strawber-rees!' under your window in the morning when you want tosleep.

"And,"Iwenton,enthusiastically,"doyouknowthevalueofducksbesidestheir beauty and intelligence and order and sweetness of voice? Picking theirfeathersgivesyouanunfailingandnever-ceasingincome.OnafarmthatIknowthefeathersweresoldfor$400inoneyear.Thinkofthat!Andtheonesshipped

tothemarketwillbringinmoremoneythanthat.Yes,Iamfortheducksandthesaltbreezecomingoverthebay.I thinkIshallgetaChinamancook,andwithhimand thedogand thesunsets forcompanyIshalldowell.Nomoreof thisdull,baking,senseless,roaringcityforme."

MissAshtonlookedsurprised.Northlaughed.

"Iamgoingtobeginoneofmyplaystonight,"Isaid,"soImustbegoing."AndwiththatItookmydeparture.

AfewdayslaterMissAshtontelephonedtome,askingmetocallatfourintheafternoon.

Idid.

"You have been very good tome," she said, hesitatingly, "and I thought Iwouldtellyou.Iamgoingtoleavethestage."

"Yes," said I, "I suppose you will. They usually do when there's somuchmoney."

"Thereisnomoney,"shesaid,"orverylittle.Ourmoneyisalmostgone."

"But I am told," said I, "that he has something like two or ten or thirtymillions—Ihaveforgottenwhich."

"Iknowwhatyoumean,"shesaid."IwillnotpretendthatIdonot.IamnotgoingtomarryMr.North."

"Thenwhyareyouleavingthestage?"Iasked,severely."Whatelsecanyoudotoearnaliving?"

Shecameclosertome,andIcanseethelookinhereyesyetasshespoke.

"Icanpickducks,"shesaid.

Wesoldthefirstyear'sfeathersfor$350.

APOORRULE

I have always maintained, and asserted time to time, that woman is nomystery;thatmancanforetell,construe,subdue,comprehend,andinterprether.That she is a mystery has been foisted by herself upon credulous mankind.WhetherIamrightorwrongweshallsee.As"Harper'sDrawer"usedtosayinbygone years: "The following good story is told ofMiss ––––,Mr. ––––,Mr.––––,andMr.––––."

We shall have to omit "Bishop X" and "the Rev. ––––," for they do notbelong.

InthosedaysPalomawasanewtownonthelineoftheSouthernPacific.Areporterwouldhavecalledita"mushroom"town;but itwasnot.Palomawas,firstandlast,ofthetoadstoolvariety.

Thetrainstoppedthereatnoonfortheenginetodrinkandforthepassengersboth to drink and to dine. There was a new yellow-pine hotel, also a woolwarehouse,andperhapsthreedozenboxresidences.Therestwascomposedoftents,cowponies,"black-waxy"mud,andmesquite-trees,allboundroundbyahorizon.Palomawasanabout-to-becity.Thehousesrepresentedfaith;thetentshope;thetwice-a-daytrain,bywhichyoumightleave,creditablysustainedtherôleofcharity.

The Parisian Restaurant occupied the muddiest spot in the town while itrained,andthewarmestwhenitshone.Itwasoperated,owned,andperpetratedbyacitizenknownasOldManHinkle,whohadcomeoutofIndianatomakehisfortuneinthislandofcondensedmilkandsorghum.

Therewasafour-room,unpainted,weather-boardedboxhouseinwhichthefamilylived.Fromthekitchenextendeda"shelter"madeofpolescoveredwithchaparralbrush.Underthiswasatableandtwobenches,eachtwentyfeetlong,theproductofPalomahomecarpentry.Herewassetforththeroastmutton,thestewed apples, boiled beans, soda-biscuits, puddinorpie, and hot coffee of theParisianmenu.

MaHinkleandasubordinateknowntotheearsas"Betty,"butdeniedtotheeyesight,presidedat the range.PaHinklehimself,with salamandrous thumbs,servedthescaldingviands.DuringrushhoursaMexicanyouth,whorolledandsmoked cigarettes between courses, aided him inwaiting on the guests.As iscustomaryatParisianbanquets,Iplacethesweetsattheendofmywordymenu.

IleenHinkle!

Thespelling iscorrect, for Ihaveseenherwrite it.Nodoubtshehadbeennamed by ear; but she so splendidly bore the orthography that Tom Moorehimself(hadheseenher)wouldhaveendorsedthephonography.

Ileenwasthedaughterofthehouse,andthefirstLadyCashiertoinvadetheterritory southof aneast-and-west linedrawn throughGalvestonandDelRio.Shesatonahighstoolinaroughpinegrand-stand—orwasitatemple?—undertheshelteratthedoorofthekitchen.Therewasabarbed-wireprotectioninfrontof her,with a little arch underwhich you passed yourmoney.Heaven knowswhythebarbedwire;foreverymanwhodinedParisianlytherewouldhavediedinherservice.Herdutieswerelight;eachmealwasadollar;youputitunderthearch,andshetookit.

IsetoutwiththeintenttodescribeIleenHinkletoyou.Instead,ImustreferyoutothevolumebyEdmundBurkeentitled:APhilosophicalInquiryintotheOrigin ofOur Ideas of the Sublime andBeautiful. It is an exhaustive treatise,dealing first with the primitive conceptions of beauty—roundness andsmoothness,Ithinktheyare,accordingtoBurke.Itiswellsaid.Rotundityisapatentcharm;asforsmoothness—themorenewwrinklesawomanacquires,thesmoothershebecomes.

Ileen was a strictly vegetable compound, guaranteed under the PureAmbrosia andBalm-of-GileadActof theyearof the fall ofAdam.Shewasafruit-stand blonde—strawberries, peaches, cherries, etc. Her eyes were wideapart,andshepossessedthecalmthatprecedesastormthatnevercomes.Butitseemstomethatwords(atanyrateper)arewastedinanefforttodescribethebeautiful. Like fancy, "It is engendered in the eyes." There are three kinds ofbeauties—Iwasforeordainedtobehomiletic;Icanneversticktoastory.

Thefirstisthefreckle-faced,snub-nosedgirlwhomyoulike.Thesecondis

MaudAdams. The third is, or are, the ladies inBouguereau's paintings. IleenHinklewas the fourth.Shewas themayoressofSpotlessTown.Therewere athousandgoldenapplescomingtoherasHelenoftheTroylaundries.

The Parisian Restaurant was within a radius. Even from beyond itscircumferencemen rode in to Paloma towin her smiles. They got them.Onemeal—one smile—one dollar. But, with all her impartiality, Ileen seemed tofavorthreeofheradmirersabovetherest.Accordingtotherulesofpoliteness,Iwillmentionmyselflast.

The firstwasanartificialproductknownasBryanJacks—aname thathadobviouslymetwith reverses. Jackswas theoutcomeofpavedcities.Hewasasmallmanmadeof somematerial resembling flexible sandstone.HishairwasthecolorofabrickQuakermeeting-house;hiseyeswere twincranberries;hismouthwasliketheapertureunderadrop-letters-heresign.

HekneweverycityfromBangortoSanFrancisco,thencenorthtoPortland,thence S. 45E. to a given point in Florida.He hadmastered every art, trade,game, business, profession, and sport in the world, had been present at, orhurrying on his way to, every headline event that had ever occurred betweenoceanssincehewasfiveyearsold.Youmightopentheatlas,placeyourfingeratrandomuponthenameofatown,andJackswouldtellyouthefrontnamesofthreeprominentcitizensbeforeyoucouldcloseitagain.HespokepatronizinglyandevendisrespectfullyofBroadway,BeaconHill,Michigan,Euclid,andFifthavenues,and theSt.LouisFourCourts.Comparedwithhimasacosmopolite,the Wandering Jew would have seemed a mere hermit. He had learnedeverythingtheworldcouldteachhim,andhewouldtellyouaboutit.

IhatetoberemindedofPollok's"CourseofTime,"andsodoyou;buteverytimeIsawJacksIwould thinkof thepoet'sdescriptionofanotherpoetby thename of G. G. Byron who "Drank early; deeply drank—drank draughts thatcommonmillionsmighthavequenched;thendiedofthirstbecausetherewasnomoretodrink."

That fitted Jacks, except that, instead of dying, he came to Paloma,whichwasaboutthesamething.Hewasatelegrapherandstation-andexpress-agentatseventy-fivedollarsamonth.Whyayoungmanwhokneweverythingandcoulddo everythingwas content to serve in such an obscure capacity I never could

understand,althoughheletoutahintoncethatitwasasapersonalfavortothepresidentandstockholdersoftheS.P.Ry.Co.

Onemore lineofdescription,and I turn Jacksover toyou.Heworebrightblueclothes,yellowshoes,andabowtiemadeofthesameclothashisshirt.

MyrivalNo.2wasBudCunningham,whoseserviceshadbeenengagedbyaranch near Paloma to assist in compelling refractory cattle to keepwithin theboundsofdecorumandorder.BudwastheonlycowboyoffthestagethatIeversaw who looked like one on it. He wore the sombrero, the chaps, and thehandkerchieftiedatthebackofhisneck.

TwiceaweekBudrode in fromtheValVerdeRanch tosupat theParisianRestaurant.Herodeamany-high-handedKentuckyhorseatatremendouslyfastlope,whichanimalhewouldreinupsosuddenlyunderthebigmesquiteatthecornerofthebrushshelterthathishoofswouldploughcanalsyardslongintheloam.

JacksandIwereregularboardersattherestaurant,ofcourse.

ThefrontroomoftheHinkleHousewasasneatalittleparlorastherewasintheblack-waxycountry.Itwasallwillowrocking-chairs,andhome-knit tidies,andalbums,andconchshellsinarow.Andalittleuprightpianoinonecorner.

HereJacksandBudandI—orsometimesoneortwoofus,accordingtoourgood-luck—usedtositofeveningswhenthetideoftradewasover,and"visit"MissHinkle.

Ileenwasagirlofideas.Shewasdestinedforhigherthings(iftherecanbeanythinghigher)thantakingindollarsalldaythroughabarbed-wirewicket.Shehadreadandlistenedandthought.Herlookswouldhaveformedacareerforaless ambitious girl; but, rising superior to mere beauty, she must establishsomethinginthenatureofasalon—theonlyoneinPaloma.

"Don'tyouthinkthatShakespearewasagreatwriter?"shewouldask,withsuch a pretty little knit of her arched brows that the late Ignatius Donnelly,himself,hadheseenit,couldscarcelyhavesavedhisBacon.

Ileenwasoftheopinion,also,thatBostonismoreculturedthanChicago;that

RosaBonheurwasoneof thegreatest ofwomenpainters; thatWesterners aremorespontaneousandopen-heartedthanEasterners;thatLondonmustbeaveryfoggy city, and thatCaliforniamust be quite lovely in the springtime.And ofmanyotheropinionsindicatingakeepingupwiththeworld'sbestthought.

These, however, were but gleaned from hearsay and evidence: Ileen hadtheoriesofherown.One,inparticular,shedisseminatedtousuntiringly.Flatteryshedetested.Franknessandhonestyofspeechandaction,shedeclared,werethechiefmental ornaments ofman andwoman. If ever she could like anyone, itwouldbeforthosequalities.

"I'mawfullyweary,"shesaid,oneevening,whenwethreemusketeersofthemesquitewerein the littleparlor,"ofhavingcomplimentsonmylookspaidtome.IknowI'mnotbeautiful."

(BudCunninghamtoldmeafterwardthatitwasallhecoulddotokeepfromcallingheraliarwhenshesaidthat.)

"I'monlyalittleMiddle-Westerngirl,"wentonIleen,"whojustwantstobesimpleandneat,andtriestohelpherfathermakeahumbleliving."

(OldManHinklewasshippingathousandsilverdollarsamonth,clearprofit,toabankinSanAntonio.)

Bud twistedaround inhischairandbent the rimofhishat, fromwhichhecouldneverbepersuadedtoseparate.Hedidnotknowwhethershewantedwhatshe said she wanted or what she knew she deserved.Many a wiser man hashesitatedatdeciding.Buddecided.

"Why—ah,MissIleen,beauty,asyoumightsay,ain'teverything.Notsayin'thatyouhaven'tyourshareofgoodlooks,Ialwaysadmiredmorethananythingelseaboutyouthenice,kindwayyoutreatyourmaandpa.Anyonewhat'sgoodtotheirparentsandisakindofhome-bodydon'tspeciallyneedtobetoopretty."

Ileengavehimoneofher sweetest smiles. "Thankyou,Mr.Cunningham,"shesaid."IconsiderthatoneofthefinestcomplimentsI'vehadinalongtime.I'dsomuchratherhearyousaythatthantohearyoutalkaboutmyeyesandhair.I'mgladyoubelievemewhenIsayIdon'tlikeflattery."

Our cue was there for us. Bud hadmade a good guess. You couldn't loseJacks.Hechimedinnext.

"Sure thing,Miss Ileen," he said; "the good-lookers don't always win out.Now, you ain't bad looking, of course—but that's nix-cum-rous. I knew a girlonceinDubuquewithafacelikeacocoanut,whocouldskinthecattwiceonahorizontal barwithout changing hands.Now, a girlmight have theCaliforniapeachcropmashedtoamarmaladeandnotbeable todothat. I'veseen—er—worselookersthanyou,MissIleen;butwhatIlikeaboutyouisthebusinesswayyou'vegotofdoingthings.Coolandwise—that'sthewinningwayforagirl.Mr.Hinkle told me the other day you'd never taken in a lead silver dollar or apluggedonesinceyou'vebeenonthejob.Now,that'sthestuffforagirl—that'swhatcatchesme."

Jacksgothissmile,too.

"Thankyou,Mr.Jacks,"saidIleen."IfyouonlyknewhowIappreciateanyone's being candid and not a flatterer! I get so tired of people tellingme I'mpretty.Ithinkitistheloveliestthingtohavefriendswhotellyouthetruth."

ThenIthoughtIsawanexpectantlookonIleen'sfaceassheglancedtowardme. I hadawild, sudden impulse todare fate, and tell herof all thebeautifulhandiwork of the Great Artificer she was themost exquisite—that she was aflawlesspearlgleamingpureandsereneinasettingofblackmudandemeraldprairies—thatshewas—a—acorker;andasformine,Icarednotifshewereascruel as a serpent's tooth to her fond parents, or if she couldn't tell a pluggeddollar fromabridlebuckle, if Imight sing,chant,praise,glorify, andworshipherpeerlessandwonderfulbeauty.

ButIrefrained.Ifearedthefateofaflatterer.IhadwitnessedherdelightatthecraftyanddiscreetwordsofBudandJacks.No!MissHinklewasnotonetobebeguiledbytheplated-silvertongueofaflatterer.SoIjoinedtheranksofthecandidandhonest.AtonceIbecamemendaciousanddidactic.

"Inallages,MissHinkle,"saidI,"inspiteofthepoetryandromanceofeach,intellect in woman has been admired more than beauty. Even in Cleopatra,herself,menfoundmorecharminherqueenlymindthaninherlooks."

"Well,Ishouldthinkso!"saidIleen."I'veseenpicturesofherthatweren'tsomuch.Shehadanawfullylongnose."

"IfImaysayso,"Iwenton,"youremindmeofCleopatra,MissIleen."

"Why,mynoseisn'tsolong!"saidshe,openinghereyeswideandtouchingthatcomelyfeaturewithadimpledforefinger.

"Why—er—Imean,"saidI—"Imeanastomentalendowments."

"Oh!"saidshe;andthenIgotmysmilejustasBudandJackshadgottheirs.

"Thankeveryoneofyou,"shesaid,very,verysweetly,"forbeingso frankandhonestwithme.That'sthewayIwantyoutobealways.Justtellmeplainlyandtruthfullywhatyouthink,andwe'llallbethebestfriendsintheworld.Andnow,becauseyou'vebeensogoodtome,andunderstandsowellhowIdislikepeoplewhodonothingbutpaymeexaggeratedcompliments,I'llsingandplayalittleforyou."

Ofcourse,weexpressedourthanksandjoy;butwewouldhavebeenbetterpleasedifIleenhadremainedinherlowrocking-chairfacetofacewithusandletusgazeuponher.ForshewasnoAdelinaPatti—notevenonthefarewellestofthediva'sfarewelltours.Shehadacooinglittlevoicelikethatofaturtle-dovethatcouldalmostfill theparlorwhenthewindowsanddoorswereclosed,andBettywasnotrattlingthelidsofthestoveinthekitchen.ShehadagamutthatIestimateatabouteightinchesonthepiano;andherrunsandtrillssoundedliketheclothesbubblinginyourgrandmother'sironwash-pot.BelievethatshemusthavebeenbeautifulwhenItellyouthatitsoundedlikemusictous.

Ileen's musical taste was catholic. She would sing through a pile of sheetmusicontheleft-handtopofthepiano,layingeachslaughteredcompositiononthe right-hand top. The next evening she would sing from right to left. Herfavorites were Mendelssohn, and Moody and Sankey. By request she alwayswoundupwith"SweetViolets"and"WhentheLeavesBegintoTurn."

Whenwe left at ten o'clock the three of uswould go down to Jacks' littlewoodenstationandsitontheplatform,swingingourfeetandtryingtopumponeanotherforclewsastowhichwayMissIleen'sinclinationsseemedtolean.That

isthewayofrivals—theydonotavoidandgloweratoneanother;theyconveneandconverseandconstrue—strivingbytheartpolitictoestimatethestrengthoftheenemy.

One day there came a dark horse to Paloma, a young lawyerwho at onceflauntedhisshingleandhimselfspectacularlyuponthetown.HisnamewasC.Vincent Vesey. You could see at a glance that he was a recent graduate of asouthwestern law school.His PrinceAlbert coat, light striped trousers, broad-brimmedsoftblackhat,andnarrowwhitemuslinbowtieproclaimedthatmoreloudlythananydiplomacould.VeseywasacompoundofDanielWebster,LordChesterfield, Beau Brummell, and Little Jack Horner. His coming boomedPaloma.Thenextdayafterhearrivedanadditiontothetownwassurveyedandlaidoffinlots.

Ofcourse,Vesey, to furtherhisprofessional fortunes,mustminglewith thecitizenryandoutliersofPaloma.And,aswellaswith thesoldiermen,hewasbound to seek popularity with the gay dogs of the place. So Jacks and BudCunninghamandIcametobehonoredbyhisacquaintance.

The doctrine of predestinationwould have been discredited had not VeseyseenIleenHinkleandbecomefourthinthetourney.Magnificently,heboardedattheyellowpinehotelinsteadofattheParisianRestaurant;buthecametobeaformidable visitor in the Hinkle parlor. His competition reduced Bud to aninspiredincreaseofprofanity,droveJackstoanoutburstofslangsoweirdthatitsoundedmorehorriblethanthemosttrenchantofBud'simprecations,andmademedumbwithgloom.

ForVeseyhad the rhetoric.Words flowed fromhim likeoil fromagusher.Hyperbole, compliment, praise, appreciation, honeyed gallantry, goldenopinions,eulogy,andunveiledpanegyricviedwithoneanotherforpre-eminenceinhisspeech.WehadsmallhopesthatIleencouldresisthisoratoryandPrinceAlbert.

Butadaycamethatgaveuscourage.

About dusk one evening I was sitting on the little gallery in front of theHinkle parlor,waiting for Ileen to come,when I heard voices inside. She hadcomeintotheroomwithherfather,andOldManHinklebegantotalktoher.I

hadobservedbeforethathewasashrewdman,andnotunphilosophic.

"Ily," said he, "I notice there's three or four young fellers that have beencallin'toseeyouregularforquiteawhile.Isthereanyoneof'emyoulikebetterthananother?"

"Why,pa,"sheanswered,"Ilikeallof'emverywell.IthinkMr.CunninghamandMr.JacksandMr.Harrisareveryniceyoungmen.Theyaresofrankandhonestineverythingtheysaytome.Ihaven'tknownMr.Veseyverylong,butIthinkhe'saveryniceyoungman,he'ssofrankandhonestineverythinghesaystome."

"Now,that'swhatI'mgittin'at,"saysoldHinkle."You'vealwaysbeensayin'you like people what tell the truth and don't go humbuggin' you withcomplimentsandbogustalk.Now,supposeyoumakeatestofthesefellers,andseewhichoneof'emwilltalkthestraightesttoyou."

"Buthow'llIdoit,pa?"

"I'lltellyouhow.Youknowyousingalittlebit,Ily;youtookmusic-lessonsnearly two years inLogansport. Itwasn't long, but itwas allwe could affordthen.And your teacher said you didn't have any voice, and itwas awaste ofmoney to keep on.Now, suppose you ask the fellerswhat they think of yoursingin',andseewhateachoneof'emtellsyou.Themanthat'lltellyouthetruthaboutit'llhaveamightylotofnerve,and'lldototieto.Whatdoyouthinkoftheplan?"

"Allright,pa,"saidIleen."Ithinkit'sagoodidea.I'lltryit."

Ileen and Mr. Hinkle went out of the room through the inside doors.Unobserved, I hurried down to the station. Jacks was at his telegraph tablewaitingforeighto'clocktocome.ItwasBud'snightintown,andwhenherodeinIrepeatedtheconversationtothemboth.Iwasloyaltomyrivals,asalltrueadmirersofallIleensshouldbe.

Simultaneously the threeofusweresmittenbyanuplifting thought.SurelythistestwouldeliminateVeseyfromthecontest.He,withhisunctuousflattery,wouldbedriven from the lists.Wellwe remembered Ileen's loveof frankness

and honesty—how she treasured truth and candor above vain compliment andblandishment.

Linking arms,we did a grotesque dance of joy up and down the platform,singing"MuldoonWasaSolidMan"atthetopofourvoices.

Thateveningfourofthewillowrocking-chairswerefilledbesidestheluckyone that sustained the trim figure of Miss Hinkle. Three of us awaited withsuppressedexcitementtheapplicationofthetest.ItwastriedonBudfirst.

"Mr.Cunningham," said Ileen,with her dazzling smile, after she had sung"When the Leaves Begin to Turn," "what do you really think of my voice?Franklyandhonestly,now,asyouknowIwantyoutoalwaysbetowardme."

Budsquirmed inhischairathischance to show the sincerity thatheknewwasrequiredofhim.

"Tellyouthetruth,MissIleen,"hesaid,earnestly,"youain'tgotmuchmorevoice than aweasel—just a little squeak, you know.Of course,we all like tohearyousing,forit'skindofsweetandsoothin'afterall,andyoulookmostasmightywell sittin' on the piano-stool as you do faced around.But as for realsingin'—Ireckonyoucouldn'tcallitthat."

I looked closely at Ileen to see ifBudhadoverdone his frankness, but herpleasedsmileandsweetlyspokenthanksassuredmethatwewereontherighttrack.

"Andwhatdoyouthink,Mr.Jacks?"sheaskednext.

"Takeitfromme,"saidJacks,"youain'tintheprimadonnaclass.I'veheard'emwarble ineverycity in theUnitedStates;and I tellyouyourvocaloutputdon'tgo.Otherwise,you'vegotthegrandoperabunchsenttothesoapfactory—in looks, Imean; for thehighscreechersgenerally look likeMaryAnnonherThursday out. But nix for the gargle work. Your epiglottis ain't a real side-stepper—itsfootworkain'tgood."

WithamerrylaughatJacks'criticism,Ileenlookedinquiringlyatme.

IadmitthatIfalteredalittle.Wastherenotsuchathingasbeingtoofrank?

PerhapsIevenhedgedalittleinmyverdict;butIstayedwiththecritics.

"I am not skilled in scientific music, Miss Ileen," I said, "but, frankly, Icannot praise very highly the singing-voice that Nature has given you. It haslongbeenafavoritecomparisonthatagreatsingersingslikeabird.Well,thereare birds and birds. Iwould say that your voice remindsme of the thrush's—throatyandnotstrong,norofmuchcompassorvariety—butstill—er—sweet—in—er—its—way,and—er—"

"Thank you,Mr.Harris," interruptedMissHinkle. "I knew I could dependuponyourfranknessandhonesty."

AndthenC.VincentVeseydrewbackonesleevefromhissnowycuff,andthewatercamedownatLodore.

Mymemorycannotdojustice tohismasterly tribute to thatpriceless,God-giventreasure—MissHinkle'svoice.Heravedoveritintermsthat,iftheyhadbeenaddressedtothemorningstarswhentheysangtogether,wouldhavemadethatstellarchoirexplodeinameteoricshowerofflamingself-satisfaction.

He marshalled on his white finger-tips the grand opera stars of all thecontinents, from Jenny Lind to Emma Abbott, only to depreciate theirendowments.Hespokeof larynxes,ofchestnotes,ofphrasing,arpeggios,andotherstrangeparaphernaliaofthethroatyart.Headmitted,asthoughdriventoacorner, thatJennyLindhadanoteor twointhehighregister thatMissHinklehad not yet acquired—but—"!!!"—that was a mere matter of practice andtraining.

And,asaperoration,hepredicted—solemnlypredicted—acareerinvocalartforthe"comingstaroftheSouthwest—andoneofwhichgrandoldTexasmaywellbeproud,"hithertounsurpassedintheannalsofmusicalhistory.

Whenweleftatten,Ileengaveeachofusherusualwarm,cordialhandshake,entrancing smile, and invitation to call again. I could not see that one wasfavoredaboveorbelowanother—butthreeofusknew—weknew.

We knew that frankness and honesty had won, and that the rivals nownumberedthreeinsteadoffour.

DownatthestationJacksbroughtoutapintbottleoftheproperstuff,andwecelebratedthedownfallofablatantinterloper.

Fourdayswentbywithoutanythinghappeningworthyofrecount.

On the fifth, Jacks and I, entering the brush arbor for our supper, saw theMexicanyouth, insteadof a divinity in a spotlesswaist and anavy-blue skirt,takinginthedollarsthroughthebarbed-wirewicket.

Werushedintothekitchen,meetingPaHinklecomingoutwithtwocupsofhotcoffeeinhishands.

"Where'sIleen?"weasked,inrecitative.

PaHinklewasakindlyman."Well,gents,"saidhe,"itwasasuddennotionshetook;butI'vegotthemoney,andIletherhaveherway.She'sgonetoacorn—aconservatoryinBostonforfouryearsfortohavehervoicecultivated.Now,excusemetopass,gents,forthiscoffee'shot,andmythumbsistender."

That night there were four instead of three of us sitting on the stationplatformandswingingourfeet.C.VincentVeseywasoneofus.Wediscussedthingswhiledogsbarkedatthemoonthatrose,asbigasafive-centpieceoraflourbarrel,overthechaparral.

Andwhatwediscussedwaswhetherit isbetter tolietoawomanortotellherthetruth.

Andasallofuswereyoungthen,wedidnotcometoadecision.

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