[
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nBy the Same Author\nTHE AVENGING PARROT\nTHE BLACK PIGEON\nMURDER BACKSTAIRS\nTHE PENNY PRINCESS\nSAINT AND SINNER\nDAUGHTERS OF MIDAS\nRIVAL WIVES\nGIRL ALONE\nBy ANNE AUSTIN\nTHE WHITE HOUSE, PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO\nCopyright, 1930, by ANNE AUSTIN\nPRINTED AND BOUND IN THE UNITED STATES\nBY THE WHITE BOOK HOUSE, CHICAGO\nCONTENTS\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER I\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER II\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER III\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER IV\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER V\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER VI\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER VII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER VIII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER IX\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER X\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XI\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XIII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XIV\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XV\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XVI\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XVII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XVIII\n  \u00b7 CHAPTER XIX\nCHAPTER I\nThe long, bare room had never been graced by a picture or a curtain. Its\nonly furniture was twenty narrow iron cots. Four girls were scrubbing\nthe warped, wide-planked floor, three of them pitifully young for the\nhard work, the baby of them being only six, the oldest nine. The fourth,\nwho directed their labors, rising from her knees sometimes to help one\nof her small crew, was just turned sixteen, but she looked in her short,\nskimpy dress of faded blue and white checked gingham, not more than\ntwelve or thirteen.\n\u201cSal-lee,\u201d the six-year-old called out in a coaxing whine, as she\nsloshed a dirty rag up and down in a pail of soapy water, \u201cplay-act for\nus, won\u2019t you, Sal-lee? \u2019Tend like you\u2019re a queen and I\u2019m your little\ngirl. I\u2019d be a princess, wouldn\u2019t I, Sal-lee?\u201d\nThe child sat back on her thin little haunches, one small hand plucking\nat the skimpy skirt of her own faded blue and white gingham, an exact\nreplica, except for size, of the frocks worn by the three other\nscrubbers. \u201cI\u2019ll \u2019tend like I\u2019ve got on a white satin dress, Sal-lee\u2014\u201d\nSally Ford lifted a strand of fine black hair that had escaped from the\ntight, thick braid that hung down her narrow back, tucked it behind a\nwell-shaped ear, and smiled fondly upon the tiny pleader. It was a\nmiracle-working smile. Before the miracle, that small, pale face had\nlooked like that of a serious little old woman, the brows knotted, the\nmouth tight in a frown of concentration.\nBut when she smiled she became a pretty girl. Her blue eyes, that had\nlooked almost as faded as her dress, darkened and gleamed like a pair of\nperfectly matched sapphires. Delicate, wing-like eyebrows, even blacker\nthan her hair, lost their sullenness, assumed a lovely, provocative\narch. Her white cheeks gleamed. Her little pale mouth, unpuckered of its\nfrown, bloomed suddenly, like a tea rose opening. Even, pointed, narrow\nteeth, to fit the narrowness of her delicate, childish jaw, flashed into\nthat smile, completely destroying the picture of a rather sad little old\nwoman which she might have posed for before.\n\u201cAll right, Betsy!\u201d Sally cried, jumping to her feet. \u201cBut all of you\nwill have to work twice as hard after I\u2019ve play-acted for you, or\nStone-Face will skin us alive.\u201d\nHer smile was reflected in the three oldish little faces of the children\nsquatting on the floor. The rags with which they had been wiping up\nsurplus water after Sally\u2019s vigorous scrubbing were abandoned, and the\nthree of them, moving in unison like mindless sheep, clustered close to\nSally, following her with adoring eyes as she switched a sheet off one\nof the cots.\n\u201cThis is my ermine robe,\u201d she declared. \u201cThelma, run and shut the\ndoor.... Now, this is my royal crown,\u201d she added, seizing her long,\nthick braid of black hair. Her nimble, thin fingers searched for and\nfound three crimped wire hairpins which she secreted in the meshes of\nthe plait. In a trice her small head was crowned with its own\nmagnificent glory, the braid wound coronet-fashion over her ears and low\nupon her broad, white forehead.\n\u201cSay, \u2018A royal queen am I,\u2019\u201d six-year-old Betsy shrilled, clasping her\nhands in ecstasy. \u201cAnd don\u2019t forget to make up a verse about me,\nSal-lee! I\u2019m a princess! I\u2019ve got on white satin and little red shoes,\nain\u2019t I, Sal-lee?\u201d\nSally was marching grandly up and down the barrack-like dormitory,\nholding Betsy\u2019s hand, the train of her \u201cermine robe\u201d upheld by the two\nother little girls in faded gingham, and her dramatically deepened voice\nwas chanting \u201cverses\u201d which she had composed on other such occasions and\nto which she was now adding, when the door was thrown open and a booming\nvoice rang out:\n\u201cSally Ford! What in the world does this mean? On a _Saturday_ morning!\u201d\nThe two little \u201cpages\u201d dropped the \u201cermine robe\u201d; the little \u201cprincess\u201d\nshrank closer against the \u201cqueen,\u201d and all four, Sally\u2019s voice leading\nthe chorus, chanted in a monotonous sing-song: \u201cGood morning, Mrs.\nStone. We hope you are well.\u201d It was the good morning salutation which,\nat the matron\u2019s orders, invariably greeted her as she made her morning\nrounds of the state orphanage.\n\u201cGood morning, children,\u201d Mrs. Stone, the head matron of the asylum\nanswered severely but automatically. She never spoke except severely,\nunless it happened that a trustee or a visitor was accompanying her.\n\u201cAs a punishment for playing at your work you will spend an hour of your\nSaturday afternoon playtime in the weaving room. And Betsy, if I find\nyour weaving all snarled up like it was last Saturday I\u2019ll lock you in\nthe dark room without any supper. You\u2019re a great big girl, nearly six\nand a half years old, and you have to learn to work to earn your board\nand keep. As for you, Sally\u2014well I\u2019m surprised at you! I thought I could\ndepend on you better than this. Sixteen years old and still acting like\na child and getting the younger children into trouble. Aren\u2019t you\nashamed of yourself, Sally Ford?\u201d\n\u201cYes, Mrs. Stone,\u201d Sally answered meekly, her face that of a little old\nwoman again; but her hands trembled as she gathered up the sheet which\nfor a magic ten minutes had been an ermine robe.\n\u201cNow, Sally,\u201d continued the matron, moving down the long line of iron\ncots and inspecting them with a sharp eye, \u201cdon\u2019t let this happen again.\nI depend on you big girls to help me discipline the little ones. And by\nthe way Sally, there\u2019s a new girl. She just came this morning, and I\u2019m\nhaving Miss Pond send her up to you. You have an empty bed in this\ndormitory, I believe.\u201d\n\u201cYes, Mrs. Stone,\u201d Sally nodded. \u201cChristine\u2019s bed.\u201d There was nothing in\nher voice to indicate that she had loved Christine more than any child\nshe had ever had charge of.\n\u201cI suppose this new child will be snapped up soon,\u201d Mrs. Stone\ncontinued, her severe voice striving to be pleasant and conversational,\nfor she was fond of Sally, in her own way. \u201cShe has yellow curls, though\nI suspect her mother, who has just died and who was a stock company\nactress, used peroxide on it. But still it\u2019s yellow and it\u2019s curly, and\nwe have at least a hundred applications on file for little girls with\ngolden curly hair.\n\u201cThelma,\u201d she whirled severely upon the eight-year-old child, \u201cwhat\u2019s\nthis in your bed?\u201d Her broad, heavy palm, sweeping expertly down the\nsheet-covered iron cot, had encountered something, a piece of broken\nblue bottle.\n\u201cIt\u2014it\u2019s mine,\u201d Thelma quivered, her tongue licking upward to catch the\nfirst salty tear. \u201cI traded my broken doll for it. I look through it and\nit makes everything look pretty and blue,\u201d she explained desperately, in\nthe institutional whine. \u201cOh, please let me keep it, Mrs. Stone!\u201d\nBut the matron had tossed the bit of blue glass through the nearest\nwindow. \u201cYou\u2019d cut yourself on it, Thelma,\u201d she justified herself in her\nstern voice. \u201cI\u2019ll see if I can find another doll for you in the next\nbox of presents that comes in. Now, don\u2019t cry like a baby. You\u2019re a\ngreat big girl. It was just a piece of broken old bottle. Well, Sally,\nyou take charge of the new little girl. Make her feel at home. Give her\na bath with that insect soap, and make a bundle of her clothes and take\nthem down to Miss Pond.\u201d\nShe lifted her long, starched skirt as she stepped over one of the\nscrubber\u2019s puddles of water, then moved majestically through the door.\nClara, the nine-year-old orphan, stuck out her tongue as the white skirt\nswished through the door, then turned upon Sally, her little face sharp\nand ugly with hatred.\n\u201cMean old thing! Always buttin\u2019 in! Can\u2019t let us have no fun at all!\nSome other kid\u2019ll find Thelma\u2019s sapphire and keep it offen her\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t a sapphire,\u201d Sally said dully, her brush beginning to describe\nnew semi-circles on the pine floor. \u201cIt\u2019s like she said\u2014just a piece of\nbroken old bottle. And she said she\u2019d try to find you a doll, Thelma.\u201d\n\u201cYou _said_ it was a sapphire, Sally. You said it was worth millions and\nmillions of dollars. It _was_ a sapphire, long as you said it was,\nSally!\u201d Thelma sobbed, as grieved for the loss of illusion as for the\nloss of her treasure.\n\u201cI reckon I\u2019m plumb foolish to go on play-acting all the time,\u201d Sally\nFord said dully.\nThe three little girls and the 16-year-old \u201cmother\u201d of them scrubbed in\nsilence for several minutes, doggedly hurrying to make up for lost time.\nThen Thelma, who could never nurse grief or anger, spoke cheerfully:\n\u201cReckon the new kid\u2019s gettin\u2019 her phys\u2019cal zamination. When _I_ come\ninto the \u2019sylum you had to nearly boil me alive. \u2019N Mrs. Stone cut off\nall my hair clean to the skin. \u2019N \u2019en nobody wouldn\u2019t \u2019dopt me \u2019cause I\nlooked like sich a scarecrow. But I got lotsa hair now, ain\u2019t I,\nSal-lee?\u201d\n\u201cOh, somebody\u2019ll be adopting you first thing you know, and then I won\u2019t\nhave any Thelma,\u201d Sally smiled at her.\n\u201cSay, Sal-lee\u201d Clara wheedled, \u201cwhy didn\u2019t nobody ever \u2019dopt you? _I_\nthink you\u2019re awful pretty. Sometimes it makes me feel all funny and\ncry-ey inside, you look so awful pretty. When you\u2019re play-actin\u2019,\u201d she\namended honestly. Sally Ford moved the big brush with angry vigor, while\nher pale face colored a dull red. \u201cI ain\u2019t\u2014I mean, I\u2019m not pretty at\nall, Clara. But thank you just the same. I used to want to be adopted,\nbut now I don\u2019t. I want to hurry up and get to be eighteen so\u2019s I can\nleave the asylum and make my own living. I want\u2014\u201d but she stopped\nherself in time. Not to these open-mouthed, wide-eared children could\nshe tell her dream of dreams.\n\u201cBut why _wasn\u2019t_ you adopted, Sal-lee?\u201d Betsy, the baby of the group,\ninsisted. \u201cYou been here forever and ever, ain\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cSince I was four years old,\u201d Sally admitted from between lips held\ntight to keep them from trembling. \u201cWhen I was little as you, Betsy, one\nof the big girls told me I was sickly and awf\u2019ly tiny and scrawny when I\nwas brought in, so nobody wanted to adopt me. They don\u2019t like sickly\nbabies,\u201d she added bitterly. \u201cThey just want fat little babies with\ncurly hair. Seems to me like the Lord oughta made all orphans pretty,\nwith golden curly hair.\u201d\n\u201cI know why Sally wasn\u2019t \u2019dopted,\u201d Thelma clamored for attention. \u201cI\nheard Miss Pond say it was a sin and a shame the way old Stone-Face has\nkept Sally here, year in and year out, jist \u2019cause she\u2019s so good to us\nlittle kids. Miss Pond said Sally is better\u2019n any trained nurse when us\nkids get sick and that she does more work than any \u2018big girl\u2019 they ever\nhad here. That\u2019s why you ain\u2019t been \u2019dopted, Sally.\u201d\n\u201cI know it,\u201d Sally confessed in a low voice. \u201cBut I couldn\u2019t be mean to\nthe babies, just so they\u2019d want to get rid of me and let somebody adopt\nme. Besides,\u201d she added, \u201cI\u2019m scared of people\u2014outside. I\u2019m scared of\nall grown-up people, especially of adopters,\u201d she blurted miserably. \u201cI\ncan\u2019t sashay up and down before \u2019em and act cute and laugh and pretend\nlike I\u2019ve got a sweet disposition and like I\u2019m crazy about \u2019em. I don\u2019t\nlook pretty a bit when the adopters send for me. I can\u2019t play-act then.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re bashful, Sal-lee,\u201d Clara told her shrewdly. \u201cI\u2019m not\nbashful\u2014much, except when visitors come and we have to show off our\ncompany manners. I hate visitors! They whisper about us, call us \u2018poor\nlittle things,\u2019 and think they\u2019re better\u2019n us.\u201d\nThe floor of the big room had been completely scrubbed, and was giving\nout a moist odor of yellow soap when Miss Pond, who worked in the office\non the first floor of the big main building, arrived leading a reluctant\nlittle girl by the hand.\nTo the four orphans in faded blue and white gingham the newcomer looked\nunbelievably splendid, more like the \u201cprincess\u201d that Betsy had been\nimpersonating than like a mortal child. Her golden hair hung in\nprecisely arranged curls to her shoulders. Her dress was of pink crepe\nde chine, trimmed with many yards of cream-colored lace. There were pink\nsilk socks and little white kid slippers. And her pretty face, though it\nwas streaked with tears, had been artfully coated with white powder and\ntinted, on cheeks and lips, with carmine rouge.\n\u201cThis is Eloise Durant, girls,\u201d said Miss Pond, who was incurably\nsentimental and kind to orphans. \u201cShe\u2019s feeling a little homesick now\nand I know you will all try to make her happy. You\u2019ll take charge of\nher, won\u2019t you, Sally dear?\u201d\n\u201cYes, Miss Pond,\u201d Sally answered automatically, but her arms were\nalready yearning to gather the little bundle of elegance and tears and\nhomesickness.\n\u201cAnd Sally,\u201d Miss Pond said nervously, lowering her voice in the false\nhope that the weeping child might not hear her, \u201cMrs. Stone says her\nhair must be washed and then braided, like the other children\u2019s. Eloise\ntells us it isn\u2019t naturally curly, that her mother did it up on kid\ncurlers every night. Her aunt\u2019s been doing it for her since her\nmother\u2014died.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to be an orphan,\u201d the newcomer protested passionately, a\nwhite-slippered foot flying out suddenly and kicking Miss Pond on the\nshin.\nIt was then that Sally took charge. She knelt, regardless of frantic,\nkicking little feet, and put her arms about Eloise Durant. She began to\nwhisper to the terror-stricken child, and Miss Pond scurried away, her\nkind eyes brimming with tears, her kind heart swelling with impractical\nplans for finding luxurious homes and incredibly kind foster parents for\nall the orphans in the asylum\u2014but especially for those with golden curly\nhair and blue eyes. For Miss Pond was a born \u201cadopter,\u201d with all the\ntypical adopter\u2019s prejudices and preferences.\nWhen scarcely two minutes after the noon dinner bell had clanged\ndeafeningly, hundreds of little girls and big girls in faded blue and\nwhite gingham came tumbling from every direction, to halt and form a\ndecorous procession just outside the dining hall doors, Sally and her\nnew little charge were among them. But only the sharp eyes of the other\norphans could have detected that the child who clung forlornly to\nSally\u2019s hand was a newcomer. The golden curls had disappeared, and in\ntheir place were two short yellow braids, the ends tied with bits of old\nshoe-string. The small face, scrubbed clean of its powder and rouge, was\nas pale as Sally\u2019s. And instead of lace-trimmed pink crepe de chine,\nsilk socks and white kid slippers, Eloise was clad, like every other\norphan, in a skimpy gingham frock, coarse black stockings and heavy\nblack shoes.\nAnd when the marching procession of orphans had distributed itself\nbefore long, backless benches, drawn up to long, narrow pine tables\ncovered with torn, much-scrubbed white oilcloth, Eloise, coached in that\nritual as well as in many others sacred in the institution, piped up\nwith all the others, her voice as monotonous as theirs:\n\u201cOur heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this food and for all the other\nblessings Thou giveth us.\u201d\nSally Ford, keeping a watchful, pitying eye on her new charge, who was\nonly nibbling at the unappetizing food, found herself looking upon the\nfamiliar scene with the eyes of the frightened little new orphan. It was\na game that Sally Ford often played\u2014imagining herself someone else,\nseeing familiar things through eyes which had never beheld them before.\nBecause Eloise was a \u201cnew girl,\u201d Sally was permitted to keep her at her\nside after the noon dinner. It was Sally who showed her all the\nbuildings of the big orphanage, pointed out the boys\u2019 dormitories,\nseparated from the girls\u2019 quarters by the big kitchen garden; showed her\nthe bare schoolrooms, in which Sally herself had just completed the\nthird year of high school. It was Sally who pridefully showed her the\nmeagerly equipped gymnasium, the gift of a miraculously philanthropic\nsession of the state legislature; it was Sally who conducted her through\nthe many rooms devoted to hand crafts suited to girls\u2014showing off a bit\nas she expertly manipulated a hand loom.\nEloise\u2019s hot little hand clung tightly to Sally\u2019s on the long trip of\ninspection of her new \u201chome.\u201d But her cry, hopeless and monotonous now,\neven taking on a little of the institutional whine, was still the same\nheartbroken protest she had uttered upon her arrival in the dormitory:\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to be an orphan! I don\u2019t want to be an orphan, Sal-lee!\u201d\n\u201cIt ain\u2019t\u2014I mean, isn\u2019t\u2014so bad,\u201d Sally comforted her. \u201cSometimes we have\nlots of fun. And Christmas is awf\u2019ly nice. Every girl gets an orange and\na little sack of candy and a present. And we have turkey for dinner, and\nice cream.\u201d\n\u201cMy mama gave me candy every day,\u201d Eloise whimpered. \u201cHer men friends\nbrung it to her\u2014boxes and boxes of it, and flowers, too. God was mean to\nlet her die, and make an orphan outa me!\u201d\nAnd because Sally herself had frequently been guilty of the same sinful\nthought, she hurried Eloise, without rebuking her, to the front lawn\nwhich always made visitors exclaim, \u201cWhy, how pretty! And so homelike!\nAren\u2019t the poor things fortunate to have such a beautiful home?\u201d\nFor the front lawn, upon which no orphan was allowed to set foot except\nin company with a lawnmower or a clipping shears, _was_ beautiful. Now,\nin early June, it lay in the sun like an immense carpet, studded with\nround or star-shaped beds of bright flowers. From the front, the\nbuilding looked stately and grand, too, with its clean red bricks and\nits big, fluted white pillars. They were the only two orphans in sight,\nexcept a pair of overalled boys, their tow heads bare to the hot sun,\ntheir lean arms, bare to the shoulders in their ragged shirts, pushing\nsteadily against whirring lawnmowers.\n\u201cOh, nasturtiums!\u201d Eloise crowed, the first happy sound she had made\nsince entering the orphanage.\nShe broke from Sally\u2019s grasp, sped down the cement walk, then plunged\ninto the lush greenness of that vast velvet carpet, entirely unconscious\nthat she was committing one of the major crimes of the institution.\nSally, after a stunned moment, sped after her, calling out breathlessly:\n\u201cDon\u2019t dast to touch the flowers, Eloise! We ain\u2019t allowed to touch the\nflowers! They\u2019d skin us alive!\u201d\nBut Eloise had already broken the stem of a flaming orange and red\nnasturtium and was cuddling it against her cheek.\n\u201cPut it back, honey,\u201d Sally begged, herself committing the unpardonable\nsin of walking on the grass. \u201cThere isn\u2019t any place at all you could\nhide it, and if you carried it in your hand you\u2019d get a licking sure.\nBut don\u2019t you cry, Eloise. Sally\u2019ll tell you a fairy story in play hour\nthis afternoon.\u201d\nThe two, Sally\u2019s heart already swelling with the sweet pain of having\nfound a new child to mother, Eloise\u2019s tear-reddened eyes sparkling with\nanticipation, were hurrying up the path that led around the main\nbuilding to the weaving rooms in which Sally was to work an extra hour\nas punishment for her morning\u2019s \u201cplay-acting,\u201d when Clara Hodges came\nshrieking from behind the building:\n\u201cSal-lee! Sal-lee Ford! Mrs. Stone wants you. In the office!\u201d she added,\nher voice dropping slightly on a note of horror.\n\u201cWhat for?\u201d Sally pretended grown up unconcern, but her face, which had\nbeen pretty and glowing a moment before, was dull and institutional and\nsullen again.\n\u201cThey\u2019s a man\u2014a farmer man\u2014talking to Stone-Face,\u201d Clara whispered, her\neyes furtive and mean as they darted about to see if she were overheard.\n\u201cOh, Sal-lee, don\u2019t let \u2019em \u2019dopt you! We wouldn\u2019t have nobody to\nplay-act for us and tell us stories! Please, Sal-lee! Make faces at him\nwhen Stone-Face ain\u2019t lookin\u2019 so\u2019s he won\u2019t like you!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m too big to be adopted,\u201d Sally reassured her. \u201cNobody wants to adopt\na 16-year-old girl. Here, you take Eloise to the weaving room with you.\u201d\nHer voice was that of a managing, efficient, albeit loving mother, but\nwhen she turned toward the front steps of the main building her feet\nbegan to drag heavily, weighted with a fear which was reflected in her\ndarkling blue eyes, and in the deepened pallor of her cheeks. But, oh,\nmaybe it wasn\u2019t that! Why did she always have to worry about that\u2014now\nthat she was sixteen? Why couldn\u2019t she expect something perfectly\nlovely\u2014like\u2014like a father coming to claim his long-lost daughter? Maybe\nthere\u2019d be a mother, too\u2014\nThe vision Sally Ford had conjured up fastened wings to her feet. She\nwas breathless, glowing, when she arrived at the closed door of the\ndread \u201coffice.\u201d\nWhen Sally Ford opened the door of the office of the orphan asylum,\nradiance was wiped instantly from her delicate face, as if she had been\nstricken with sudden illness. For her worst fear was realized\u2014the fear\nthat had kept her awake many nights on her narrow cot, since her\nsixteenth birthday had passed. She cowered against the door, clinging to\nthe knob as if she were trying to screw up her courage to flee from the\ndisaster which fate, in bringing about her sixteenth birthday, had\npitilessly planned for her, instead of the boon of long-lost relatives\nfor which she had never entirely ceased to hope.\n\u201cSally!\u201d Mrs. Stone, seated at the big roll-top desk, called sharply.\n\u201cSay \u2018How do you do?\u2019 to the gentleman.... The girls are taught the\nfinest of manners here, Mr. Carson, but they are always a little shy\nwith strangers.\u201d\n\u201cHowdy-do, Mr. Carson,\u201d Sally gasped in a whisper.\n\u201cI believe this is the girl you asked for, Mr. Carson,\u201d Mrs. Stone went\non briskly, in her pleasant \u201ccompany voice,\u201d which every orphan could\nimitate with bitter accuracy.\nThe man, a tall, gaunt, middle-aged farmer, nodded, struggled to speak,\nthen hastily bent over a brass cuspidor and spat. That necessary act\nperformed, he eyed Sally with a keen, speculative gaze. His lean face\nwas tanned to the color and texture of brown leather, against which a\ncoating of talcum powder, applied after a close shave of his black\nbeard, showed ludicrously.\n\u201cYes, mum, that\u2019s the girl, all right. Seen her when I was here last\nJune. Wouldn\u2019t let me have her then, mum, you may recollect.\u201d\nMrs. Stone smiled graciously. \u201cYes, I remember, Mr. Carson, and I was\nvery sorry to disappoint you, but we have an unbreakable rule here not\nto board out one of our dear little girls until she is sixteen years\nold. Sally was sixteen last week, and now that school is out, I see no\nreason why she shouldn\u2019t make her home with your family for the\nsummer\u2014or longer if you like. The law doesn\u2019t compel us to send the\ngirls to school after they are sixteen, you know.\u201d\n\u201cYes\u2019m, I\u2019ve looked into the law,\u201d the farmer admitted. Then he turned\nhis shrewd, screwed-up black eyes upon Sally again. \u201cStrong, healthy\ngirl, I reckon? No sickness, no bad faults, willing to work for her\nboard and keep?\u201d\nHe rose, lifting his great length in sections, and slouched over to the\ngirl who still cowered against the door. His big-knuckled brown hands\nfastened on her forearms, and when she shrank from his touch he nodded\nwith satisfaction. \u201cGood big muscles, even if she is a skinny little\nrunt. I always say these skinny, wiry little women can beat the fat ones\nall hollow.\u201d\n\u201cSally is strong and she\u2019s marvelous with children. We\u2019ve never had a\nbetter worker than Sally, and since she\u2019s been raised in the Home, she\u2019s\nused to work, Mr. Carson, although no one could say we are not good to\nour girls. I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll find her a willing helper on the farm. Did\nyour wife come into town with you this afternoon?\u201d\n\u201cHer? In berry-picking time?\u201d Mr. Carson was plainly amazed. \u201cNo, mum, I\ncome in alone. My daughter\u2019s laid up today with a summer cold, or she\u2019d\nbe in with me, nagging me for money for her finery. But you know how\ngirls are, mum. Now, seeing as how my wife\u2019s near crazy with work, what\nwith the field hands to feed and all, and my daughter laid up with a\ncold, I\u2019d like to take this girl here along with me. You know me, mum.\nReckon I don\u2019t have to wait to be investigated no more.\u201d\nMrs. Stone was already reaching for a pen. \u201cPerfectly all right, Mr.\nCarson. Though it does put me in rather a tight place. Sally has been\ntaking care of a dormitory of nineteen of the small girls, and it is\ngoing to upset things a bit, for tonight anyway. But I understand how it\nis with you. You\u2019re going to be in town attending to business for an\nhour or so, I suppose, Mr. Carson? Sally will have to get her things\ntogether. You could call for her about five, I suppose?\u201d\n\u201cYes, mum, five it is!\u201d The farmer spat again, rubbed his hand on his\ntrousers, then offered it to Mrs. Stone. \u201cAnd thank you, mum, I\u2019ll take\ngood care of the young-un. But I guess she thinks she\u2019s a young lady\nnow, eh, miss?\u201d And he tweaked Sally\u2019s ear, his fingers feeling like\nsand-paper against her delicate skin.\n\u201cTell Mr. Carson, Sally, that you\u2019ll appreciate having a nice home for\nthe summer\u2014a nice country home,\u201d Mrs. Stone prompted, her eye stern and\ncommanding.\nAnd Sally, taught all her life to conceal her feelings from those in\nauthority and to obey implicitly, gulped against the lump in her throat\nso that she could utter the lie in the language which Mrs. Stone had\nchosen.\nThe matron closed the door upon herself and the farmer, leaving Sally a\nquivering, sobbing little thing, huddled against the wall, her nails\ndigging into the flesh of her palms. If anyone had asked her: \u201cSally,\nwhy is your heart broken? Why do you cry like that?\u201d she could not have\nanswered intelligently. She would have groped for words to express that\nquality within her that burned a steady flame all these years,\nunquenchable, even under the soul-stifling, damp blanket of charity. She\nknew dimly that it was pride\u2014a fierce, arrogant pride, that told her\nthat Sally Ford, by birth, was entitled to the best that life had to\noffer.\nAnd now\u2014her body quivered with an agony which had no name and which was\nthe more terrible for its namelessness\u2014she was to be thrust out into the\nworld, or that part of the world represented by Clem Carson and his\nfamily. To eat the bitter bread of charity, to slave for the food she\nput into her stomach, which craved delicacies she had never tasted; to\nbe treated as a servant, to have the shame of being an orphan, a child\nnobody wanted, continuously held up before her shrinking, hunted\neyes\u2014that was the fate which being sixteen had brought upon Sally Ford.\nEvery June they came\u2014farmers like Clem Carson, seeking \u201chired girls\u201d\nwhom they would not have to pay. Carson himself had taken three girls\nfrom the orphanage.\nRena Cooper, who had gone to the Carson farm when Sally was thirteen,\nhad come back to the Home in September, a broken, dispirited thing\u2014Rena,\nwho had been so gay and bright and saucy. Annie Springer had been his\nchoice the next year, and Annie had never come back. The story that\ndrifted into the orphanage by some mysterious grapevine had it that\nAnnie had found a \u201cfellow\u201d on the farm, a hired man, with whom she had\nwandered away without the formality of a marriage ceremony.\nThe third summer, when he could not have Sally, he had taken Ruby\nPresser, pretty, sweet little Ruby, who had been in love with Eddie\nCobb, one of the orphaned boys, since she was thirteen or fourteen years\nold. Eddie had run away from the Home, after promising Ruby to come back\nfor her and marry her when he was grown-up and making enough money for\ntwo to live on.\nRuby had gotten into mysterious trouble on the Carson farm\u2014the\n\u201cgrapevine\u201d never supplied concrete details\u2014and Ruby had run away from\nthe farm, only to be caught by the police and sent to the reformatory,\nthe particular hell with which every orphan was threatened if she dared\ndisobey even a minor rule of the Home. Delicate, sweet little Ruby in\nthe reformatory\u2014that evil place where \u201cincorrigibles\u201d poisoned the minds\nof good girls like Ruby Presser, made criminals of them, too.\nSally, remembering, as she cowered against the door of the orphanage\noffice, was suddenly fiercely glad that Ruby had thrown herself from a\nfifth-floor window of the reformatory. Ruby, dead, was safe now from\ncharity and evil and from queer, warped, ugly girls who whispered\nterrible things as they huddled on the cots of their cells.\n\u201cOh, Sally, dear, what is the matter?\u201d A soft, sighing voice broke in on\nSally\u2019s grief and fear, a bony hand was laid comfortingly on Sally\u2019s\ndark head.\n\u201cMr. Carson, that farmer who takes a girl every summer, is going to take\nme home with him tonight,\u201d Sally gulped.\n\u201cBut that will be nice, Sally!\u201d Miss Pond gushed. \u201cYou will have a real\nhome, with plenty to eat and maybe some nice little dresses to wear, and\nmake new friends\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYes, Miss Pond,\u201d Sally nodded, held thrall by twelve years of enforced\nacquiescence. \u201cBut, oh, Miss Pond, I\u2019d been hoping it was\u2014my father\u2014or\nmy mother, or somebody I belong to\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhy, Sally, you haven\u2019t a father, dear, and your mother\u2014But, mercy me,\nI mustn\u2019t be running on like this,\u201d Miss Pond caught herself up hastily,\na fearful eye on the closed door.\n\u201cMiss Pond,\u201d Sally pleaded, \u201cwon\u2019t you please, please tell me something\nabout myself before I go away? I know you\u2019re not allowed to, but oh,\nMiss Pond, please! It\u2019s so cruel not to know anything! Please, Miss\nPond! You\u2019ve always been so sweet to me\u2014\u201d\nThe little touch of flattery did it, or maybe it was the pathos in those\nwide, blue eyes.\n\u201cIt\u2019s against the rules,\u201d Miss Pond wavered. \u201cBut\u2014I know how you feel,\nSally dear. I was raised in the Home myself, not knowing\u2014. I can\u2019t get\nyour card out of the files now; Mrs. Stone might come and catch me. But\nI\u2019ll make some excuse to come up to the locker room when you\u2019re getting\nyour things together. Oh\u2014\u201d she broke off. \u201cI was just telling Sally how\nnice it will be for her to have a real home, Mrs. Stone.\u201d\nMrs. Stone closed the door firmly, her eyes stern upon Sally. \u201cOf course\nit will be nice. And Sally must be properly appreciative. I did not at\nall like your manner to Mr. Carson, Sally. But run along now and pack.\nYou may take your Sunday dress and shoes, and one of your every-day\nginghams. Mr. Carson will provide your clothes. His daughter is about\nyour age, and he says her last year\u2019s dresses will be nicer than\nanything you\u2019ve ever had.\u201d\n\u201cYes, Mrs. Stone,\u201d Sally ducked her head and sidled out of the door, but\nbefore it closed she exchanged a fleet, meaningful look with Miss Pond.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to _know_!\u201d Sally whispered to herself, as she ran down the\nlong, narrow corridor. \u201cI\u2019m going to know! About my mother!\u201d And color\nswept over her face, performing the miracle that changed her from a\ncolorless little orphan into a near-beauty.\nBecause she was leaving the orphanage for a temporary new home on the\nCarson farm, Sally was permitted to take her regular Saturday night bath\nthat afternoon. In spite of her terror of the future, the girl who had\nnever known any home but a state orphan asylum felt a thrill of\nadventure as she splashed in a painted tin tub, gloriously alone,\nunhurried by clamorous girls waiting just outside.\nThe cold water\u2014there was no hot water for bathing from April first to\nOctober first\u2014made her skin glow and tingle. As she dried herself on a\nragged wisp of grayish-white Turkish toweling, Sally surveyed her slim,\nwhite body with shy pride. Shorn of the orphanage uniform she might have\nbeen any pretty young girl budding into womanhood, so slim and rounded\nand pinky-white she was.\n\u201cI guess I\u2019m kinda pretty,\u201d Sally whispered to herself, as she thrust\nher face close to the small, wavery mirror that could not quite succeed\nin destroying her virginal loveliness. \u201cSweet sixteen and\u2014never been\nkissed,\u201d she smiled to herself, then bent forward and gravely laid her\npink, deliciously curved lips against the mirrored ones.\nThen, in a panic lest she be too late to see kind Miss Pond, she jerked\non the rest of her clothing.\n\u201cDear Sally, how sweet you look!\u201d Miss Pond clasped her hands in\nadmiration as Sally slipped, breathless, into the locker-room that\ncontained the clothes of all the girls of her dormitory.\n\u201cDid you bring the card that tells all about me\u2014and my mother?\u201d Sally\nbrushed the compliment aside and demanded in an eager whisper.\n\u201cNo, dearie, I was afraid Mrs. Stone might want it to make an entry\nabout Mr. Carson\u2019s taking you for the summer, but I copied the data. You\ngo ahead with your packing while I tell you what I found out,\u201d Miss Pond\nanswered nervously, but her pale gray eyes were sparkling with pleasure\nin her mild little escapade.\nSally unlocked her own particular locker with the key that always hung\non a string about her neck, but almost immediately she whirled upon Miss\nPond, her eyes imploring. \u201cIt won\u2019t take me a minute to pack, Miss Pond.\nPlease go right on and tell me!\u201d\n\u201cWell, Sally, I\u2019m afraid there isn\u2019t much to tell.\u201d Miss Pond smoothed a\nfolded bit of paper apologetically. \u201cThe record says you were brought\nhere May 9, 1912, just twelve years ago, by a woman who said you were\nher daughter. She gave your birthday as June 2, 1908, and her name as\nMrs. Nora Ford, a widow, aged 28\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, she\u2019s young!\u201d Sally breathed ecstatically. Then her face clouded,\nas her nimble brain did a quick sum in mental arithmetic. \u201cBut she\u2019d be\nforty now, wouldn\u2019t she? Forty seems awfully old\u2014\u201d\n\u201cForty is comparatively young, Sally!\u201d Miss Pond, who was looking\nregretfully back upon forty herself, said rather tartly. \u201cBut let me\nhurry on. She gave poverty and illness as her reasons for asking the\nstate to take care of you. She said your father was dead.\u201d\n\u201cOh, poor mother!\u201d A shadow flitted across Sally\u2019s delicate face; quick\ntears for the dead father and the ill, poverty-stricken mother filmed\nher blue eyes.\n\u201cThe state accepted you provisionally, and shortly afterward sent an\ninvestigator to check up on her story,\u201d Miss Pond went on. \u201cThe\ninvestigator found that the woman, Mrs. Ford, had left the city\u2014it was\nStanton, thirty miles from here\u2014and that no one knew where she had gone.\nFrom that day to this we have had no word from the woman who brought you\nhere. She was a mystery in Stanton, and has remained a mystery until\nnow. I\u2019m sorry, Sally, that I can\u2019t tell you more.\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally\u2019s sharp cry was charged with such pain and disappointment\nthat Miss Pond took one of the little clenched fists between her own\nthin hands, not noticing that the slip of paper fluttered to the floor.\n\u201cShe didn\u2019t write to know how I was, didn\u2019t care whether I lived or\ndied! I wish I hadn\u2019t asked! I thought maybe there was somebody, someone\nwho loved me\u2014\u201d\n\u201cRemember she was sick and poor, Sally. Maybe she went to a hospital\nsuddenly and\u2014and died. But there was no report in any papers of the\nstate of her death,\u201d Miss Pond added conscientiously. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t\ngrieve, Sally. You\u2019re nearly grown up. You\u2019ll be leaving us when you\u2019re\neighteen, unless you want to stay on as an assistant matron or as a\nteacher\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, no, no!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019ll pack now, Miss Pond. And thank you a\nmillion times for telling me, even if it did hurt.\u201d\nIn her distress Miss Pond trotted out of the locker-room without a\nthought for the bit of paper on which she had scribbled the memorandum\nof Sally\u2019s pitifully meager life history. But Sally had not forgotten\nit. She snatched it from the floor and pinned it to her \u201cbody waist,\u201d a\nvague resolution forming in her troubled heart.\nWhen five o\u2019clock came Sally Ford was waiting in the office for Clem\nCarson, her downcast eyes fixed steadily upon the small brown paper\nparcel in her lap, color staining her neck and cheeks and brow, for Mrs.\nStone, stiffly, awkwardly but conscientiously, was doing her\ninstitutional best to arm the state\u2019s charge for her first foray into\nthe outside world.\n\u201cAnd so, Sally, I want you to remember to\u2014to keep your body pure and\nyour mind clean,\u201d Mrs. Stone summed up, her strong, heavy face almost as\nred as Sally\u2019s own. \u201cYou\u2019re too young to go out with young men, but\nyou\u2019ll be meeting the hired hands on the farm. You\u2014you mustn\u2019t let them\ntake liberties of any kind with you. We try to give you girls in the\nHome a sound religious and moral training, and if\u2014if you\u2019re led astray\nit will be due to the evils in your own nature and not to lack of proper\nChristian training. You understand me, Sally?\u201d she added severely.\n\u201cYes, Mrs. Stone,\u201d Sally answered in a smothered voice.\nSally\u2019s hunted eyes glanced wildly about for a chance of escape and\nlighted upon the turning knob of the door. In a moment Clem Carson was\nedging in, his face slightly flushed, a tell-tale odor of whisky and\ncloves on his breath.\n\u201cLittle lady all ready to go?\u201d he inquired with a suspiciously jovial\nlaugh, which made Sally crouch lower in her chair. \u201cLooking pretty as a\npicture, too! With two pretty girls in my house this summer, reckon I\u2019ll\nhave to stand guard with a shotgun to keep the boys away.\u201d\nWord had gone round that Sally Ford was leaving the Home for the summer,\nand as Clem Carson and his new unpaid hired girl walked together down\nthe long cement walk to where his car was parked at the curb, nearly\nthree hundred little girls, packed like a herd of sheep in the\nwire-fenced playground adjoining the front lawn, sang out goodbys and\ngood wishes.\n\u201cGoodby Sal-lee! Hope you have a good time!\u201d\n\u201cGoodby, Sal-lee! Write me a letter, Sal-lee!\u201d \u201cGoodby, goodby!\u201d\nSally, waving her Sunday handkerchief, craned her neck for a last sight\nof those blue-and-white-ginghamed little girls, the only playmates and\nfriends she had in the world. There were tears in her eyes, and,\nqueerly, for she thought she hated the Home, a stab of homesickness\nshooting through her heart. How safe they were, there in the playground\npen! How simple and sheltered life was in the Home, after all! Suddenly\nshe knew, somehow, that it was the last time she would ever see it, or\nthe children.\nWithout a thought for the iron-clad \u201cKeep off the grass\u201d rule, Sally\nturned and ran, fleetly, her little figure as graceful as a fawn\u2019s, over\nthe thick velvet carpet of the lawn. When she reached the high fence\nthat separated her from the other orphans, she spread her arms, as if\nshe would take them all into her embrace.\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget me, kids!\u201d she panted, her voice thick with tears. \u201cI\u2014I\nwant to tell you I love you all, and I\u2019m sorry for every mean thing I\never did to any of you, and I hope you all get adopted by rich papas and\nmamas and have ice cream every day! Goodby, kids! Goodby!\u201d\n\u201cKiss me goodby, Sal-lee!\u201d a little whining voice pleaded.\nSally stooped and pressed her lips, through the fence opening, against\nthe babyish mouth of little Eloise Durant, the newest and most forlorn\norphan of them all.\n\u201cMe, too, Sal-lee! Me, too! We won\u2019t have nobody to play-act for us\nnow!\u201d Betsy wailed, pressing her tear-stained face against the wire.\nCHAPTER II\nA little later, when Sally was seated primly beside Clem Carson, jolting\nrapidly down the road that led past the orphanage toward the business\ndistrict of the city, the farmer nudged her in the ribs and chuckled:\n\u201cYou\u2019re quite a kissing-bug, ain\u2019t you, Sally? How about a little kiss\nfor your new boss?\u201d\nSally had shrunk as far away from Clem Carson as the seat of the\n\u201cflivver\u201d permitted, phrases from Mrs. Stone\u2019s embarrassed, vague,\nterrifying warnings boiling and churning in her mind: \u201cKeep your body\npure\u201d\u2014\u201cmustn\u2019t let men take any liberties with you\u201d\u2014\u201cyou\u2019re a big girl\nnow, things you ought to know\u201d\u2014\u201cif you\u2019re led astray, it will be due to\nevils in your own nature\u201d\u2014\nShe suddenly loathed herself, her budding, curving young body that she\nhad taken such innocent delight in as she bathed for her journey. She\nwanted to shrink and shrink and shrink, until she was a little girl\nagain, too young to know \u201cthe facts of life,\u201d as Mrs. Stone, blushing\nand embarrassed, had called the half-truths she had told Sally. She\nwanted to climb over the door of the car, drop into the hot dust of the\nroad, and run like a dog-chased rabbit back into the safety of the Home.\nThere were no men there\u2014no queer, different male beings who would want\nto \u201ctake liberties\u201d\u2014\n\u201cMy land! Scared of me?\u201d Clem Carson chuckled. \u201cYou poor little chicken!\nDon\u2019t mind me, Sally. I don\u2019t mean no harm, teasing you for a kiss. Land\nalive! I got a girl of my own, ain\u2019t I? Darned proud of her, too, and\nI\u2019d cut the heart outa any man that tried to take advantage of her.\nAin\u2019t got no call to be scared of me, Sally.\u201d\nShe smiled waveringly, shyness making her lips stiff, but she relaxed a\nlittle, though she kept as far away from the man as ever. In spite of\nher dread of the future and her bitter disappointment over Miss Pond\u2019s\ndisclosures as to her mother, she was finding the trip to the farm an\nadventure. In the twelve years of her life in the State Orphans\u2019 Asylum\nshe had never before left the orphanage unaccompanied by droves of other\nsheep-like, timid little girls, and unchaperoned by sharp-voiced,\neagle-eyed matrons.\nShe felt queer, detached, incomplete, like an arm or a leg dissevered\nfrom a giant body; she even had the panicky feeling that, like such a\ndismembered limb, she would wither and die away from that big body of\nwhich she had been a part for so long. But it was pleasant to bump\nswiftly along the hot, dusty white road, fringed with odorous, flowering\nweeds. Houses became less and less frequent; few children ran barefoot\nalong the road, scurrying out of the path of the automobile.\nOccasionally a woman, with a baby sprawling on her hip, appeared in the\ndoorway of a roadside shack and shaded her eyes with her hand as she\nsquinted at the car.\nAs the miles sped away Carson seemed to feel the need of impressing upon\nher the fact that her summer was not to be one of unalloyed pleasure. He\nsketched the life of the farm, her own work upon it, as if to prepare\nher for the worst. \u201cMy wife\u2019s got the reputation of being a hard woman,\u201d\nhe told her confidentially. \u201cBut she\u2019s a good woman, good clean through.\nShe works her fingers to the bone, and she can\u2019t abide a lazy, trifling\ngirl around the place. You work hard, Sally, and speak nice and\nrespectful-like, and you two\u2019ll get on, I warrant.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Sally stammered.\n\u201cWell, Sally,\u201d he told her at last, \u201chere\u2019s your new home. This lane\nleads past the orchards\u2014I got ten acres in fruit trees, all of \u2019em\nbearing\u2014and the gardens, then right up to the house. Pretty fine place,\nif I do say so myself. I got two hundred acres in all, quite a sizeable\nfarm for the middle west. Don\u2019t them orchards look pretty?\u201d\nSally came out of her frightened reverie, forced her eyes to focus on\nthe beautiful picture spread out on a giant canvas before her. Then she\ngave an involuntary exclamation of pleasure. Row after row of fruit\ntrees, evenly spaced and trimmed to perfection, stretched before her on\nthe right. The child in her wanted to spring from the seat of the car,\nrun ecstatically from tree to tree, to snatch sun-ripened fruit.\n\u201cYou have a good fruit crop,\u201d she said primly.\n\u201cThere\u2019s the house.\u201d The farmer pointed to the left. \u201cSix rooms and a\ngarret. My daughter, Pearl, dogged the life out of me until I had\nelectric lights put in, and a fancy bathtub. She even made me get a\nradio, but it comes in right handy in the evenings, specially in winter.\nMy daughter, Pearl, can think of more ways for me to spend money than I\ncan to earn it,\u201d he added with a chuckle, so that Sally knew he was\nproud of Pearl, proud of her urban tastes.\nThe car swept up to the front of the house; Clem Carson\u2019s hand on the\nhorn summoned his women folks.\nThe house, which seemed small to Sally, accustomed to the big buildings\nof the orphanage, was further dwarfed by the huge red barns that towered\nat the rear. The house itself was white, not so recently painted as the\nlordly barns, but it was pleasant and homelike, the sort of house which\nSally\u2019s chums at the orphanage had pictured as an ideal home, when they\nhad let their imaginations run away with them.\nSally herself, born with a different picture of home in her mind, had\nromanced about a house which would have made this one look like\nservants\u2019 quarters, but now that it was before her she felt a thrill of\npleasure. At least it was a home, not an institution.\nA woman, big, heavy-bosomed, sternly corseted beneath her snugly\nfitting, starched blue chambray house dress, appeared upon the front\nporch and stood shading her eyes against the western sun, which revealed\nthe thinness of her iron-gray hair and the deep wrinkles in her tanned\nface.\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you drive around to the back?\u201d she called harshly. \u201cThis\nyoung-up ain\u2019t company, to be traipsin\u2019 through my front room. Did you\nbring them rubber rings for my fruit jars?\u201d\n\u201cYou betcha!\u201d Clem Carson refused to be daunted in Sally\u2019s presence.\n\u201cHow\u2019s Pearl, Ma? Cold any better? I brought her some salve for her\nthroat and some candy.\u201d\n\u201cShe\u2019s all right,\u201d Mrs. Carson shouted, as if the car were a hundred\nyards away. \u201cAnd why you want to be throwin\u2019 your money away on patent\nmedicine salves is more\u2019n I can see! I can make a better salve any day\nouta kerosene and lard and turpentine. Reckon you didn\u2019t get any\ncar\u2019mels for me! Pearl\u2019s all you think of.\u201d\n\u201cGot you half a pound of car\u2019mels,\u201d Carson shouted, laughing. \u201cI\u2019ll\ndrive the new girl around back.\n\u201cMa\u2019s got a sharp tongue, but she don\u2019t mean no harm,\u201d Carson chuckled,\nas he swung the car around the house.\nWhen it shivered to a stop between the barns and the house, the farmer\nlifted out a few bundles which had crowded Sally\u2019s feet, then threw up\nthe cover of the hatch in the rear of the car, revealing more bundles.\nCarson was loading her arms with parcels when he saw a miracle wrought\non her pale, timid face.\n\u201cLord! You look pretty enough to eat!\u201d Clem Carson ejaculated, but he\nsaw then that she was not even aware that he was speaking to her.\nIn one of the few books allowed for Sunday reading in the orphanage\u2014a\nbeautiful, thick book with color-plate illustrations, its name, \u201cStories\nfrom the Bible,\u201d lettered in glittering gold on a back of heavenly\nblue\u2014Sally had found and secretly worshiped the portrait of her ideal\nhero. It was a vividly colored picture of David, forever fixed in\nstrong, beautiful grace, as he was about to hurl the stone from his\nslingshot to slay the giant, Goliath. She had dreamed away many hours of\nher adolescence and early young girlhood, the big book open on her knee\nat the portrait of the Biblical hero, and it had not seemed like\nsacrilege to adopt that sun-drenched, strong-limbed but slender boy as\nthe personification of her hopes for romance.\nAnd now he was striding toward her\u2014the very David of \u201cStories from the\nBible.\u201d True, the sheepskin raiment of the picture was exchanged for a\nblue shirt, open at the throat, and for a pair of cheap, earth-soiled\n\u201cjeans\u201d trousers; but the boy-man was the same, the same! As he strode\nlightly, with the ease of an athlete or the light-footedness of a god,\nthe sun flamed in his curling, golden-brown hair. He was tall, but not\nso tall as Clem Carson, and there were power and ease and youth in every\nmotion of his beautiful body.\n\u201cDid you get the plowshare sharpened, Mr. Carson? I\u2019ve been waiting for\nit, but in the meantime I\u2019ve been tinkering with that little hand cider\npress. We ought to do a good business with it if we set up a cider stand\non the state road, at the foot of the lane.\u201d\nJoy deepened the sapphire of Sally\u2019s eyes, quivered along the curves of\nher soft little mouth. For his voice was as she had dreamed it would\nbe\u2014vibrant, clear, strong, with a thrill of music in it.\n\u201cSure I got it sharpened, Dave,\u201d Carson answered curtly. \u201cYou oughta get\nin another good hour with the cultivator before dark. You run along in\nthe back door there, Sally. Mrs. Carson will be needing you to help her\nwith supper.\u201d\nThe change in Carson\u2019s voice startled her, made her wince. Why was he\nangry with her\u2014and with David, whose gold-flecked hazel eyes were\nsmiling at her, shyly, as if he were a little ashamed of Carson for not\nhaving introduced them? But, oh, his name was David! David! It had had\nto be David.\nIn the big kitchen, dominated by an immense coal-and-wood cook stove,\nSally found Mrs. Carson busy with supper preparations. Her daughter,\nPearl, drifted about the kitchen, coughing at intervals to remind her\nmother that she was ill.\nPearl Carson, in that first moment after Sally had bumped into her at\nthe door, had seemed to the orphaned girl to be much older than she, for\nher plump body was voluptuously developed and overdecked with finery.\nThe farmer\u2019s daughter wore her light red hair deeply marcelled. The\nnatural color in her broad, plump cheeks was heightened by rouge,\napplied lavishly over a heavy coating of white powder.\nHer lavender silk crepe dress was made very full and short of skirt, so\nthat her thick-ankled legs were displayed almost to the knee. It was\nbefore the day of knee dresses for women and Sally, standing there\nawkwardly with her own bundle and the parcels which Carson had thrust\ninto her arms, blushed for the extravagant display of unlovely flesh.\nBut Pearl Carson, if not exactly pretty, was not homely, Sally was\nforced to admit to herself. She looked more like one of her father\u2019s\nhealthy, sorrel-colored heifers than anything else, except that the\nheifer\u2019s eyes would have been mild and kind and slightly melancholy,\nwhile Pearl Carson\u2019s china-blue eyes were wide and cold, in an insolent,\ncontemptuous stare.\n\u201cI suppose you\u2019re the new girl from the Orphans\u2019 Home,\u201d she said at\nlast. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d\n\u201cSa-Sally Ford,\u201d Sally stammered, institutional shyness blotting out her\nradiance, leaving her pale and meek.\n\u201cPearl, you take Sally up to her room and show her where to put her\nthings. Did you bring a work dress?\u201d Mrs. Carson turned from inspecting\na great iron kettle of cooking food on the stove.\n\u201cYes\u2019m,\u201d Sally gulped. \u201cBut I only brought two dresses\u2014my every-day\ndress and this one. Mrs. Stone said you\u2019d\u2014you\u2019d give me some of\nP-Pearl\u2019s.\u201d\nShe flushed painfully, in humiliation at having to accept charity and in\ndoubt as to whether she was to address the daughter of the house by her\nChristian name, without a \u201chandle.\u201d\nPearl, switching her short, lavender silk skirts insolently, led the way\nup a steep flight of narrow stairs leading directly off the kitchen to\nthe garret. The roof, shaped to fit the gables of the house, was so low\nthat Sally\u2019s head bumped itself twice on their passage of the dusty,\ndark corridor to the room she was to be allowed to call her own.\n\u201cNo, not that door!\u201d Pearl halted her sharply. \u201cThat\u2019s where David Nash,\none of the hired men, sleeps.\u201d\nSally wanted to stop and lay her hand softly against the door which his\nhand had touched, but she did not dare. \u201cI\u2014I saw him,\u201d she faltered.\n\u201cOh, you did, did you?\u201d Pearl demanded sharply. \u201cWell, let me tell you,\nyoung lady, you let David Nash alone. He\u2019s mine\u2014see? He\u2019s not just an\nordinary hired hand. He\u2019s working his way through State A. & M. He\u2019s a\nstar, on the football team and everything. But don\u2019t you go trying any\nfunny business on David, or I\u2019ll make you wish you hadn\u2019t!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2014I didn\u2019t even speak to him,\u201d Sally hastened to reassure Pearl, then\nhated herself for her humbleness.\n\u201cHere\u2019s your room. It\u2019s small, and it gets pretty hot in here in the\nsummer, but I guess it\u2019s better\u2019n you\u2019re used to, at that,\u201d Pearl\nCarson, a little mollified, swung open a flimsy pine door.\nSally looked about her timidly, her eyes taking in the low, sagging cot\nbed, the upturned pine box that served as washstand, the broken rocking\nchair, the rusty nails intended to take the place of a clothes closet;\nthe faded, dirty rag rug on the warped boards of the floor; the tiny\nwindow, whose single sash swung inward and was fastened by a hook on the\nwall.\n\u201cI\u2019ll bring you some of my old dresses,\u201d Pearl told her. \u201cBut you\u2019d\nbetter hurry and change into your orphanage dress, so\u2019s you can help\nMama with the supper. She\u2019s been putting up raspberries all day and\nshe\u2019s dead tired. I guess Papa told you you\u2019d have to hustle this\nsummer. This ain\u2019t a summer vacation\u2014for you. It is for me. I go to\nschool in the city in the winter. I\u2019m second year high, and I\u2019m only\nsixteen,\u201d she added proudly. \u201cWhat are you?\u201d\nSally, who had been nervously untying her brown paper parcel, bent her\nhead lower so that she should not see the flare of hate in those pale\nblue eyes which she knew would follow upon her own answer. \u201cI\u2019m\u2014I\u2019m\nthird year high.\u201d She did not have the courage to explain that she had\njust finished her third year, that she would graduate from the\norphanage\u2019s high school next year.\n\u201cThird year?\u201d Pearl was incredulous. \u201cOh, of course, the orphanage\nschool! _My_ school is at least two years higher than yours. We prepare\nfor college.\u201d\nSally nodded; what use to say that the orphanage school was a regular\npublic school, too, that it also prepared for college? And that Sally\nherself had dreamed of working her way through college, even as David\nNash was doing?\nEight o\u2019clock was the supper hour on the farm in the summertime, when\nevery hour of daylight had to be spent in the orchards and fields. When\nthe long dining table, covered with red-and-brown-checked oilcloth, was\nfinally set, down to the last iron-handled knife, Sally was faint with\nhunger, for supper was at six at the orphanage.\nSally had peeled a huge dishpan of potatoes, had shredded a giant head\nof pale green cabbage for coleslaw, had watched the pots of cooking\nstring beans, turnips and carrots; had rolled in flour and then fried\ngreat slabs of round steak\u2014all under the critical eye of Mrs. Carson,\nwho had found herself free to pick over the day\u2019s harvest of\nblackberries for canning.\n\u201cI suppose we\u2019ll have to let Sally eat at the table with us,\u201d Pearl\ngrumbled to her mother, heedless of the fact that Sally overheard. \u201cIn\nthe city a family wouldn\u2019t dream of sitting down to table with the\nservants. I\u2019m sick of living on a farm and treating the hired help like\nmembers of the family.\u201d\n\u201cI thought you liked having David Nash sit at table with us,\u201d Mrs.\nCarson reminded her.\n\u201cWell, David\u2019s different. He\u2019s a university student and a football\nhero,\u201d Pearl defended herself. \u201cBut the other hired men and the Orphans\u2019\nHome girl\u2014\u201d\nClem Carson appeared in the kitchen doorway. \u201cSupper ready?\u201d\n\u201cYes, Papa. Thanks for the candy, but I do wish you\u2019d get it in a box,\nnot in a paper sack,\u201d Pearl pouted. \u201cI\u2019ll ring the bell. Hurry up and\nwash before the others come in.\u201d\nWhile Clem Carson was pumping water into a tin wash basin, just inside\nthe kitchen door, Pearl swung the big copper dinner bell, standing on\nthe narrow back porch, her lavender silk skirt fluttering about her\nthick legs.\nSally fled to the dining room then, ashamed to have David Nash see her\nin the betraying uniform of the orphanage.\nShe had obediently set nine places at the long table, not knowing who\nall of those nine would be, but she found out before many minutes\npassed. Clem Carson sat at one end of the table, Mrs. Carson at the\nother. And before David and the other hired men appeared, a tiny, bent\nlittle old lady, with kind, vague brown eyes and trembling hands, came\nshuffling in from somewhere to seat herself at her farmer son\u2019s right\nhand. Sally learned later that everyone called her Grandma, and that she\nwas Clem Carson\u2019s widowed mother. Immediately behind the little old lady\ncame a big, hulking, loose-jointed man of middle age, with a slack,\ngrinning mouth, a stubble of gray beard on his receding chin, a vacant,\nidiotic smile in his pale eyes.\nAt sight of Sally, shrinking timidly against the chair which was to be\nhers, the half-wit lunged toward her like a playful, overgrown puppy.\nOne of his clammy hands, pale because they could not be trusted with\nfarm work, reached out and patted her cheek.\n\u201cPur-ty girl, pur-ty sister,\u201d he articulated slowly, a light of pleasure\ngleaming in the pale vacancy of his eyes.\n\u201cNow, now, Benny, be good, or Ma\u2019ll send you to bed without your\nsupper,\u201d the little old lady spoke as if he were a naughty child of\nthree. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t mind him, Sally. He won\u2019t hurt you. I hope you\u2019ll\nlike it here on the farm. It\u2019s real pretty in the summertime.\u201d\nThe two nondescript hired men had taken their places, slipping into\ntheir chairs silently and apologetically. David Nash had changed his\nblue work shirt and \u201cjeans\u201d trousers for a white shirt, dark blue\npolka-dotted tie, and a well-fitting but inexpensive suit of brown\nhomespun. Sally, squeezed between the vague little old grandmother and\nthe vacant-eyed half-wit, beyond whom the two hired men sat, found\nherself directly across from David Nash, beside whom Pearl Carson sat,\nher chair drawn more closely than necessary.\n\u201cMy, you look grand, Davie!\u201d Pearl confided in a low, artificially sweet\nvoice. \u201cMy cold\u2019s lots better. Papa\u2019ll let us drive in to the city to\nthe movies if you ask him real nice.\u201d\nIt was then that Sally Ford, who had experienced so many new emotions\nthat day, felt a pang that made every other heartache seem mild by\ncomparison. And two girls, one a girl alone in the world, the other\npampered and adored by her family, held their breath as they awaited\nDavid Nash\u2019s reply.\n\u201cSorry, but I can\u2019t tonight,\u201d David Nash answered Pearl Carson\u2019s\ninvitation courteously but firmly. \u201cIt would be \u2019way after nine when we\ngot to town, and we wouldn\u2019t get back until nearly midnight\u2014no hours for\na farm hand to be keeping. Besides, I\u2019ve got to study, long as I can\nkeep awake.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re always studying when I want you to take me somewhere,\u201d Pearl\npouted. \u201cI don\u2019t see why you can\u2019t forget college during your summer\nvacation. Go get some more hot biscuits, Sally,\u201d she added sharply.\nExcept for Pearl\u2019s chatter and David\u2019s brief, courteous replies, the\nmeal was eaten in silence, the hungry farmer and his hired men hunching\nover their food, wolfing it, disposing of such vast quantities of fried\nsteak, vegetables, hot biscuits, home-made pickles, preserves, pie and\ncoffee that Sally was kept running between kitchen and dining room to\nreplenish bowls and plates from the food kept warming on the stove. In\nspite of her own hunger she ate little, restrained by timidity, but\nafter her twelve years of orphanage diet the meal seemed like a banquet\nto her.\nNo one spoke to her, except Mrs. Carson and Pearl, to send her on trips\nto the kitchen, but it did not occur to her to feel slighted. It was\nless embarrassing to be ignored than to be plied with questions.\nSometimes she raised her fluttering eyelids to steal a quick glance at\nDavid Nash, and every glance deepened her joy that he was there, that he\nsat at the same table with her, ate the same food, some of which she had\ncooked. His superiority to the others at that table was so strikingly\nevident that he seemed god-like to her. His pride, his poise, his\ngolden, masculine beauty, his strength, his evident breeding, his\nambition, formed such a contrast to the qualities of the orphaned boys\nshe had known that it did not occur to her to hope that he would notice\nher. But once when her blue eyes stole a fleeting glimpse of his face\nshe was startled to see that his eyes were regarding her soberly,\nsympathetically.\nHe smiled\u2014a brief flash of light in his eyes, an upward curl to his\nwell-cut lips. She was so covered with a happy confusion that she did\nnot hear Mrs. Carson\u2019s harsh nasal voice commanding her to bring more\nbutter from the cellar until the farmer\u2019s wife uttered her order a\nsecond time.\nIn spite of the prodigious amount of food eaten, the meal was quickly\nover. It was not half-past eight when Clem Carson scraped back his\nchair, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve.\n\u201cNow, Sally, I\u2019ll leave you to clear the table and wash up,\u201d Mrs. Carson\nsaid briskly. \u201cI\u2019ve got to measure and sugar my blackberries for\ntomorrow\u2019s jam-making. A farmer\u2019s wife can\u2019t take Sunday off this time\no\u2019 year, and have fruit spoil on her hands.\u201d\nWhile Sally was stacking the soiled supper plates on the dining table,\nthe telephone rang three short and one long ring, and Pearl, who had\nbeen almost forcibly holding David Nash in conversation, sprang to\nanswer it. The instrument was fastened to the dining room wall. Pearl\nstood lolling against it, a delighted smile on her face, her fingers\npicking at the torn wallpaper.\n\u201cUn-hunh!... Sure!... Oh, that\u2019ll be swell, Ross! I was just wishing for\nsome excitement!... How many\u2019s coming? Five?... Oh, you hush! Sure,\nwe\u2019ll dance! We got a grand radio, you know\u2014get Chicago and.... All\nright, hurry up! And, oh, say, Ross, you might pick up another girl.\nSadie Pratt, or somebody. I got a sweetie of my own. Un-hunh! David\nNash, a junior from A. & M., is staying with us this summer. Didn\u2019t you\nknow?... Am I? I\u2019ll tell the world! You just wait till you see him, and\nthen _you\u2019ll_ want to jump in the river!... Aw, quit your kidding!...\nWell, hurry! \u2019Bye!\u201d\nBefore the one-sided conversation was concluded, David Nash had quietly\nleft the room by way of the kitchen door. When Sally staggered in with\nher armload of soiled dishes she found David at the big iron sink,\npouring hot water from a heavy black teakettle into a granite dishpan.\n\u201cThought I\u2019d help,\u201d he said in a low voice, to keep Pearl from\noverhearing. \u201cYou must be tired and bewildered, and washing up for nine\npeople is no joke. Give me the glasses first,\u201d he added casually as he\nreached for the wire soap shaker that hung on a nail above the sink.\n\u201cOh, please,\u201d Sally gasped in consternation. \u201cI can do them. It won\u2019t\ntake me any time. Why, at the Home, six of us girls would wash dishes\nfor three hundred. They wouldn\u2019t like it,\u201d she added in a terrified\nwhisper, her eyes fluttering first toward the dining room door, then\ntoward the big pantry where Mrs. Carson was picking over her\nblackberries.\n\u201cI like to wash dishes,\u201d David said firmly, and that settled it, at\nleast so far as he was concerned.\nSally was trotting happily between table and cupboard when Pearl came\nin, stormy-eyed, sullen-mouthed.\n\u201cWell, I must say, you\u2019re a quick worker\u2014and I don\u2019t mean on dishes!\u201d\nshe snapped at Sally. \u201cSo this is the way you have to study, Mr. David\nNash! But I suppose she pulled a sob story on you and just roped you in.\nYou\u2019d better find out right now, Miss Sally Ford, that you can\u2019t shirk\nyour work on his farm. That\u2019s not what Papa got you for\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI insisted on helping with the dishes, Pearl,\u201d David interrupted the\nbitter tirade in his firm, quiet way. \u201cWant to get a dish cloth and help\ndry them?\u201d There was a twinkle in his eyes and he winked ever so\nslightly at Sally.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to dress. Five or six of the bunch are coming over to dance to\nthe radio music. Did you hear what I said about you?\u201d Pearl answered,\nher shallow blue eyes coquetting with David.\n\u201cAbout me?\u201d David pretended surprise. \u201cIs that all, Sally? Well, I\u2019ll go\non up to my room and study awhile, if I can stay awake.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to dance with me\u2014with us,\u201d Pearl wailed, her flat voice\nharsh with disappointment. \u201cI told Ross Willis to bring another partner\nfor himself, because I was counting on you\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAwfully sorry, but I\u2019ve got to study. I thought I told you at supper\nthat I had to study,\u201d David reminded her mildly, but there was the steel\nof determination in his casual voice.\nPearl flung out of the room then, her face twisted with the first\ngrimaces of crying.\n\u201cWe\u2019d better wash out and rinse these dish cloths,\u201d David said\nimperturbably, but his gold-flecked eyes and his strong, characterful\nmouth smiled at Sally. \u201cMy mother taught me that\u2014and a good many other\nthings.\u201d\nA little later, under cover of the swishing of water in the granite dish\npan, David spoke in a low voice to the girl who worked so happily at his\nside:\n\u201cTake it as easy as you can. They\u2019ll work you to death if you let them.\nAnd\u2014if you need any help, _day or night_,\u201d he emphasized the words\nsignificantly, so that once again a pulse of fear throbbed in Sally\u2019s\nthroat, \u201cjust call on me. Remember, I\u2019m an orphan myself. But it\u2019s\neasier for a boy. The world can be mighty hard on a girl alone.\u201d\n\u201cThank you,\u201d Sally trembled, her voice scarcely a whisper, for Mrs.\nCarson was moving heavily in the pantry nearby.\nFifteen minutes later, as Sally was sweeping the big kitchen, shouts of\nlaughter and loud, gay words told her that the party of farm girls and\nboys had arrived. With David gone to his garret room to study, Sally\nsuddenly felt very small and forlorn, very much what he had called her\u2014a\ngirl alone.\nThe sounds of boisterous gayety penetrated to every corner of the small\nhouse, but they echoed most loudly in Sally\u2019s heart. For she was sixteen\nwith all the desires and dreams of any other girl of sixteen. And she\nloved parties, although she had never been to a small, intimate one in a\nprivate home in all her life.\nShe leaned on her broom, trembling, desire to have a good time fighting\nwith her institution-bred timidity. Then she looked down at her\ndress\u2014the blue-and-white-checked gingham, faded, dull, that she had worn\nfor months at the orphanage. If they should come into the kitchen\u2014any of\nthose laughing, gay girls and boys\u2014and find her in the uniform of state\ncharity they would despise her, never dream of asking her to come in, to\ndance\u2014\nHer hands suddenly gripped her broom fiercely. Within a minute she had\nfinished her last task of the evening, had brushed the crumbs and dust\ninto the black tin dust pan, emptied it into the kitchen range. Then,\nbreathless with haste, afraid that timidity would overtake her, she ran\nup the back stairs to the garret.\nHer cold little hands trembled with eagerness as she jerked her work\ndress over her head and arrayed her slight body in the lace-trimmed\nwhite lawn \u201cSunday dress\u201d which she had worn earlier in the day on her\ntrip from the orphanage. Excitedly, she slapped her pale, faintly\nflushed cheeks to make them more red, then bit her lips hard in lieu of\nlipstick.\nWhen she tiptoed down the dark hall of the garret she found David Nash\u2019s\ndoor ajar, caught a glimpse of the university student-farmhand bent over\na pine table crowded with books.\nShe crept on to the head of the narrow, steep stairs, and there her\ncourage failed her. The dance music, coming in full and strong over the\nradio, had just begun, and she could hear the shuffle of feet on the\nbare floor of the living room. How had she thought for one minute that\nshe could brave those alien eyes, intrude, uninvited, upon Pearl\u2019s\nparty? Hadn\u2019t Pearl made it cruelly clear that she despised her,\nresented her, because of David\u2019s interest in her?\n\u201cWant to dance?\u201d\nShe had been leaning over the narrow pine banister, but she straightened\nthen, a hand going to her heart, for it was David standing near her in\nthe dark, and his voice was very kind.\nCHAPTER III\nAt 11 o\u2019clock that Saturday night Sally Ford blew out the flame in the\nsmall kerosene lamp\u2014the electric light wires had not been brought to the\ngarret\u2014and then knelt beside the low cot bed to pray, as she had been\ntaught to do in the orphanage.\nAfter she had raced mechanically through her childish \u201cNow-I-lay-me,\u201d\nshe lifted her small face, that gleamed pearly-white in the faint\nmoonlight, and, clasping her thin little hands tightly, spoke in a low,\npassionate voice directly to God, whom she imagined bending His majestic\nhead to listen:\n\u201cOh, thank you, God, for making David like me, and for letting me dance\nwith him. And if dancing is a sin, please forgive me, God, for I didn\u2019t\nmean any harm. And please make Pearl not hate me so much just because\nDavid is sweet to me. She has so many friends and a father and mother\nand a grandmother and a nice home and so many pretty clothes, while I\nhaven\u2019t anything. Make her feel kinder toward me, dear God, and I\u2019ll\nwork so hard and be so good! And please, God, keep my heart and body\npure, like Mrs. Stone says.\u201d\nLying in bed, covered only with the scant nightgown she had brought from\nthe orphanage, Sally did not feel the oppressive heat nor the hardness\nand lumpiness of her cornshuck mattress. For she was reliving the hour\nshe had spent in the Carson living room, sponsored by a stern-faced\nDavid who seemed determined to force Pearl and her giggling, chattering\nfriends to accept the timid little orphan as an equal.\nShe felt again the pain in her heart at their veiled insults, their\ndeliberate snubs, the concentrated fury that gleamed at her from Pearl\u2019s\npale blue eyes. But again, as during that hour, the hurt was healed by\nthe blessed fact of David\u2019s championship. She lay very still to\nrecapture the bliss of David\u2019s arm about her waist, as he whirled her\nlightly in a fox trot, the music for which came so mysteriously from a\nlittle box with dials and a horn like a phonograph. She heard again his\nprecious compliment, spoken loudly enough for Pearl to hear: \u201cYou\u2019re the\nbest dancer I ever danced with, Sally. I\u2019m going to ask you to the\nJunior Prom next year.\u201d\nOf course he had danced with Pearl, too, and the other girls, who had\nmade eyes at him and angled for compliments on their own dancing. When\nhe danced with Pearl, her husky young body pressed closely against his,\nher fingertips audaciously brushed the golden crispness of his hair. She\nhad even tried to dance cheek-to-cheek with David, but he had held her\nback stiffly.\nThe other boys\u2014Ross Willis and Purdy Bates\u2014had not asked Sally to dance\nwith them, after Pearl had whispered half-audible, fierce commands; but\ntheir rudeness had no power to still the little song of thanksgiving\nthat trilled in her heart, for always David came back to her, looking\nglad and relieved, and it was with her that David sat between dances,\ntalking steadily and entertainingly, to hide her shy silences.\nShe sighed in memory, a quivering sigh of pure pleasure, when she lived\nagain the minutes in the kitchen when she and David had washed glasses\nand plates, while the others danced in the parlor. They had not\nreturned, but together had slipped up the back stairs to the garret,\nDavid bidding her a cheerful good-night as he turned into his own room\nto study for an hour before going to bed.\nShe had learned, during those talks with David, that he was twenty years\nold, that he had completed two years\u2019 work in the State Agricultural and\nMechanical College; that he was working summers on farms as much for the\npractical experience as for the money earned, for his ambition was to be\na scientific farmer, so that he might make the most of the farm which he\nwould some day inherit from his grandfather. His grandfather\u2019s place\nadjoined the Carson farm, but it was being worked \u201con shares\u201d by a large\nfamily of brothers, who had no need for David\u2019s labor in the summer. She\nknew, too, from his modest replies to questions asked by Ross Willis and\nPurdy Bates, that David was a star athlete, that he had already won his\nletter in football and that he had been boxing champion of the sophomore\nclass.\n\u201cBut he likes _me_,\u201d Sally exulted. \u201cHe likes me better than Pearl or\nBessie Coates or Sue Mullins. I suppose,\u201d she added honestly, \u201che\u2019s\nsorry for me because I\u2019m an orphan and Pearl has it \u2018in\u2019 for me, but I\ndon\u2019t care why he\u2019s nice to me, just so he is.\u201d\nThe radio music stopped at half-past eleven. Soon afterward Sally heard\nthe shouted good-nights of Pearl\u2019s guests: \u201cWe had a swell time, Pearl!\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget, Pearl! Our house tomorrow night!\u201d \u201cSee you at Sunday\nSchool, Pearl, and bring David with you! Some sheik! Oh, Mama! But watch\nout for that baby-faced orphan, Pearl! She\u2019s got her cap set for him and\nshe\u2019ll beat your time, if you don\u2019t look out!\u201d\nSally felt her face flame with shame and anger. Why did girls and boys\nhave to be so nasty-minded, she asked herself on a sob. Why couldn\u2019t\nthey let her and David be friends without thinking things like that?\nWhy, David was so\u2014so wonderful! He wouldn\u2019t \u201clook\u201d at a frightened\nlittle girl from an orphans\u2019 home! No girl was good enough for David\nNash, she told herself fiercely.\nThe next morning Pearl failed to entice David into going to church and\nSunday School with her, and Sally was left alone to prepare the big\nSunday dinner\u2014Mrs. Carson having gone to church in spite of her Saturday\ndetermination not to. David came smiling into the kitchen, immaculate in\na white shirt and well-fitting gray flannel trousers, a book in his\nhand, a pipe in his mouth.\n\u201cMind if I study out here on the kitchen-porch?\u201d he asked Sally, his\nhazel eyes brimming with friendliness. \u201cI like company and my garret\nroom\u2019s hot as an inferno.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019d love to have you,\u201d Sally told him shyly. \u201cI\u2019ll try not to make any\nnoise with the cooking utensils.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t mind noise,\u201d he laughed. \u201cFact is, I wish you\u2019d sing. I\u2019ll\nbet you can sing like a bird. Your voice sings even when you\u2019re talking.\nAnd any woman\u2014\u201d a delicate compliment that\u2014\u201ccan work better when she\u2019s\nsinging.\u201d\nAnd so Sally sang. She sang Sunday School songs, because it was Sunday.\nIt was sweet to be alone in the kitchen, with David so near, his crisp,\ngolden-brown head bent over his book, smoke spiraling lazily from his\npipe. The old grandmother, looking very tiny and old-fashioned in\nrustling black taffeta, had gone to church, too, leading her middle-aged\nhalf-wit son by the hand. Benny had strained at his mother\u2019s hand,\ntrying to get loose so that he could kiss Sally and show her his bright\nred necktie, at which the fingers of his free hand plucked excitedly. As\nshe remembered those vacant, grinning eyes, that slack, grinning mouth,\nSally\u2019s song changed to a heart-felt paean of thanksgiving:\n    \u201cCount your blessings!\n      Name them one by one.\n    Count your many blessings\u2014\n      See what God hath done!\u201d\nOh, she _was_ blessed! She had a good mind; sometimes she was pretty;\nshe could dance and sing; children liked her\u2014and David, David! Poor\nhalf-wit Benny, whose only blessings were a dim little old mother and a\nnew red necktie! But wasn\u2019t a mother\u2014even an old, old mother, whose own\neyes were vague, such a big blessing that she made up for nearly\neverything else that God could give?\nBut she resolutely banished the ache in her heart\u2014an ache that\ncontracted it sharply every time she thought of the mother she had never\nknown\u2014and began to sing again:\n    \u201cI think when I read that sweet story of old,\n      When Jesus was here among men,\n    How He called little children as lambs to His fold\u2014\u201d\nThe opening and closing of the door startled her. David was there,\nsmiling at her.\n\u201cWon\u2019t you sing \u2018Always\u2019 for me, Sally? It\u2019s a new song, just out. It\ngoes something like this\u2014\u201d And he began to hum, breaking into words now\nand then: \u201cI\u2019ll be loving you\u2014always! Not for just an hour, not for just\na day, not\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSo this is why you wouldn\u2019t go to church with me!\u201d a shrill voice,\npassionate with anger, broke into the singing lesson.\nThey had not heard her, in their absorption in the song and in each\nother, but Pearl had come into the house through the front door, and was\nconfronting them now in the doorway between dining room and kitchen.\n\u201cI thought you two were up to something!\u201d she cried. \u201cIt\u2019s a good thing\nI came home when I did, or I reckon there wouldn\u2019t be any Sunday dinner.\nDo you know why I came home, Sally Ford?\u201d she demanded, advancing into\nthe kitchen, her hands on her hips, her fingers digging spasmodically\ninto the flesh that bulged under the silk.\n\u201cNo,\u201d Sally gasped, retreating until she was halted by the kitchen\ntable. \u201cI\u2019m cooking dinner, Pearl. It\u2019ll be ready on time\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t you \u2018Pearl\u2019 me!\u201d the infuriated girl screamed. \u201cYou mealy-mouthed\nlittle hypocrite! I\u2019ll tell you why I came home! I couldn\u2019t find my\ndiamond bar-pin that Papa gave me for a Christmas present last year, and\nI remembered when I was in Sunday School that I saw you stoop and pick\nup something in the parlor last night. You little thief! Give it back to\nme or I\u2019ll phone for the sheriff!\u201d\nSally stared at Pearl, color draining out of her cheeks and out of her\nsapphire eyes, until she was a pale shadow of the girl who had been\nglowing and sparkling under the sun of David\u2019s affectionate interest.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t seen your diamond bar-pin, Pearl,\u201d she said at last. \u201cHonest,\nI haven\u2019t!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re lying! I saw you stoop and pick something up in front of the\nsofa last night. I was crazy not to think of my bar-pin then, but I\nremembered all right this morning, when it was gone off this dress, the\nsame dress I was wearing last night. See, David!\u201d she appealed shrilly\nto the boy, who was looking at her with narrowed eyes. \u201cIt was pinned\nright here! You can see where it was stuck in! Look!\u201d\nDavid said nothing, but a slow, odd smile curled his lips without\nreaching those level, narrowed eyes of his.\n\u201cWhat are you looking at me like that for?\u201d Pearl screamed. \u201cI won\u2019t\n_have_ you looking at me like that! Stop it!\u201d\nSlowly, his eyes not leaving Pearl\u2019s face for a moment, David thrust his\nright hand into his pocket. When he withdrew it, something lay on his\npalm\u2014a narrow bar of filigreed white gold, set with a small, square-cut\ndiamond. Still without speaking, he extended his hand slowly toward\nPearl, but she drew back, her eyes popping with surprise and\u2014yes, Sally\nwas sure of it\u2014fear.\n\u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d she gasped.\n\u201cDo you really want me to tell you?\u201d David spoke at last, his voice\nqueer and hard.\n\u201cNo!\u201d Pearl shuddered. \u201cNo! Does she\u2014does _she_ know?\u201d\n\u201cNo, she was telling the truth when she said that she hadn\u2019t seen the\npin,\u201d David answered, flipping the pin contemptuously to the kitchen\ntable. \u201cBut next time I think you\u2019d better put it away in your own room.\nAnd Pearl, you really must try to overcome this absentmindedness of\nyours. It may get you into trouble sometime.\u201d\nPearl shivered, seemed to shrink visibly under her fussy pink georgette\ndress.\n\u201cOh!\u201d she wailed suddenly, her face crumpling up in a spasm of weeping.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll hate me now! And you used to like me, before _she_ came! You\u2014oh,\nI hate you! Quit looking at me like that!\u201d\n\u201cHadn\u2019t you better go back to church?\u201d David suggested mildly. \u201cTell\nyour mother you found your pin just where you\u2019d left it,\u201d that\ncontemptuous smile deepening on his lips.\n\u201cYou won\u2019t tell Papa, will you?\u201d Pearl whimpered, as she turned toward\nthe door. \u201cAnd you won\u2019t tell _her_?\u201d She could not bear to utter\nSally\u2019s name.\n\u201cNo, I won\u2019t tell,\u201d David assured her. \u201cBut I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll make up to\nSally for having been mistaken about the pin.\u201d\n\u201cShe\u2019s all you think of!\u201d Pearl cried, then, sobbing wildly, she ran out\nthe kitchen door.\n\u201cGuess I\u2019d better not bother you any longer, or they\u2019ll be blaming me if\ndinner is late,\u201d David said casually, but he paused long enough to pat\nthe little hand that was clenching the table.\nSally was so puzzled by the strangeness of the scene she had witnessed,\nso tormented by brief glimpses of something near the truth, so weak from\nreaction, so stirred by gratitude to David, that she was making poor\nheadway with dinner when Clem Carson, who had not gone to church, came\nin from the barns, dressed in overalls in defiance of the day.\n\u201cGot a sick yearlin\u2019 out there,\u201d he grumbled. \u201cA blue-ribbon heifer calf\nthat Dave\u2019s grandpa persuaded me to buy. I don\u2019t believe in this\nblue-ribbon stock. Always delicate\u2014got to be nursed like a baby. I give\nher a whopping dose of castor oil and she slobbered all over me.\u201d\nHe took the big black iron teakettle from the stove and filled the\ngranite wash basin half full of the steaming water. As he lathered his\nhands until festoons of soap bubbles hung from them, he cocked an\nappraising eye at Sally, who was busily rolling pie crust on a yellow\npine board.\n\u201cDave been hanging around the kitchen this morning, ain\u2019t he?\u201d\nSally\u2019s hands tightened on the rolling pin and her eyes fluttered\nguiltily as she answered, \u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\u201cBetter not encourage him, if you know which side your bread\u2019s buttered\non,\u201d the farmer advised laconically. \u201cI reckon you know by this time\nthat Pearl\u2019s picked him out and that things is just about settled\nbetween \u2019em. Fine match, too. He\u2019ll own his granddad\u2019s place some\nday\u2014next farm to this one, and the young folks will be mighty well\nfixed. I reckon Dave\u2019s pretty much like any other young\nwhippersnapper\u2014ready to cock an eye at any pretty girl that comes along,\nbefore he settles down, but it don\u2019t mean anything. Understand?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Sally murmured.\n\u201cI reckon any fool could see that Pearl\u2019s mighty near the apple of my\neye,\u201d Carson went on, as he dried his hands vigorously on the\nSunday-fresh roller towel. \u201cAnd if she took a notion that maybe some\nother girl from the orphanage would suit us better, why I don\u2019t know as\nI could do anything else but take you back. And I\u2019d hate that. You\u2019re a\nnice, pretty little thing, real handy in the kitchen, but, yes sir, I\u2019d\nhave to tell the matron that you just didn\u2019t suit.... Well, I got to get\nback to that yearlin\u2019.\u201d\nSomehow Sally managed to finish cooking the big Sunday dinner before the\nfamily returned from church. Out of deference for the day she decided to\nchange from her faded gingham to her white dress before serving dinner.\nSurely she had a right to look decent! Clem Carson couldn\u2019t construe her\nhumble \u201cdressing up\u201d as a bid for David\u2019s attention.\nIn her little garret room she scrubbed her face and hands, pinned the\nheavy braid of soft black hair about her head, and then reached under\nher low cot bed for her small bundle of clothes, in which was rolled her\nonly pair of fine-ribbed white lisle stockings. As she drew out the\nbundle she discovered immediately that other hands than her own had\ntouched it; the stockings had been unrolled and then rerolled clumsily,\nnot at all in her own neat fashion. Then suddenly full comprehension\ncame to her. The pieces of the puzzle settled miraculously into shape.\nIt was here, in this bundle, that David had found the bar-pin. Somehow\nhe had seen Pearl slip into the room that morning, had guessed that her\nsecret visit boded no good for Sally; had spied on her, and then later\nhad retrieved the bar-pin from the bundle in which Pearl had hidden it.\nIf David had not seen\u2014But she could not go on with the thought.\nTrembling so that her teeth chattered she dressed herself as decently as\nher orphanage wardrobe permitted, and then went downstairs to \u201cdish up\u201d\nthe dinner she had prepared.\nImmediately after dinner David went across fields to call on his\ngrandfather, a grouchy, sick old man who almost hated the boy because he\nwould soon own the lands which he himself had loved so passionately. He\ndid not return for supper, and at breakfast on Monday there was not time\nfor more than a smile and a cheerful \u201cGood morning,\u201d which Sally, with\nClem Carson\u2019s eyes upon her, hardly dared return.\nSally wondered if David had been warned, too, for as the days passed she\nseldom saw him alone for as much a minute. Perhaps he was being careful\nfor her sake, suspecting Carson\u2019s antagonism, or perhaps, in spite of\nthe shameful trick in which he had caught her, he really cared for\nPearl. Evenings he sat for a short time in the living room or on the\nfront porch, Pearl beside him, chattering animatedly; but he was always\nin his room studying by ten o\u2019clock, a blessed fact which made her own\nisolation in her little garret room more easy to bear.\nOn Thursday morning at ten o\u2019clock David appeared at the kitchen door,\nan axe in his hands.\n\u201cWill you turn the grindstone for me while I sharpen this axe blade,\nSally?\u201d he asked casually, but his eyes gave her a deep, significant\nlook that made her heart flutter.\nMrs. Carson, standing over her bubbling preserving kettles, grumbled an\nassent, and Sally flew out of the kitchen to join him.\nThe grindstone, a huge, heavy stone wheel turned by a pedal arrangement,\nwas set up near the first of the great red barns. While Sally poured\nwater at intervals upon the stone, David held the blade against it, and\nunder cover of the whirring, grating noise he talked to her in a low\nvoice.\n\u201cEverything all right, Sally?\u201d\n\u201cFine!\u201d she faltered. \u201cI get awful tired, but there\u2019s lots to eat\u2014such\ngood things to eat\u2014and Pearl\u2019s given me some dresses that are nicer than\nany I ever had before, except they\u2019re too big for me\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIsn\u2019t she fat?\u201d David grinned at her, and she was reminded again how\nyoung he was, although he seemed so very grown-up to her. \u201cShe wouldn\u2019t\nbe so fat if she worked a tenth as hard as you do.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t mind,\u201d Sally protested, her eyes misting with tears at his\nthoughtfulness for her. \u201cI\u2019ve got to earn my board and keep. Besides,\nthere\u2019s such an awful lot to be done, with the preserving and the\ncanning and the cooking and everything. Mrs. Carson works even harder\nthan I do.\u201d\nDavid\u2019s eyes flashed with indignation and a suspicion of contempt for\nthe meek little girl opposite him. \u201cYou\u2019re earning five times as much as\nyour board and room and a few old clothes that Pearl doesn\u2019t want is\nworth. It makes me so mad\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSal-lee! Ain\u2019t that axe ground yet? Time to start dinner! I can\u2019t leave\nthis piccalilli I\u2019m making,\u201d Mrs. Carson shouted from the kitchen door.\n\u201cWait, Sally,\u201d David commanded. \u201cWouldn\u2019t you like to take a walk with\nme after supper tonight? I\u2019ll help you with the dishes. You never get\nout of the house, except to the garden. You haven\u2019t even seen the fields\nyet. I\u2019d like to show you around. The moon\u2019s full tonight\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, I can\u2019t!\u201d Sally gasped with the pain of refusal. \u201cPearl\u2014Mr.\nCarson\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI want you to come,\u201d David said steadily, his eyes commanding her.\n\u201cAll right,\u201d Sally promised recklessly, her cheeks pink with excitement,\nher eyes soft and velvety, like dark blue pansies.\nSally was eager as a child, when she joined David Nash in that part of\nthe lane that skirted the orchard. Although it was nearly nine o\u2019clock\nit was not yet dark; the sweet, throbbing peace of a June twilight,\ndisturbed only by a faint breeze that whispered through the leaves of\nthe fruit trees, brooded over the farm.\n\u201cI hurried\u2014as fast\u2014as I could!\u201d she gasped. \u201cGrandma Carson ripped up\nthis dress for me this afternoon and while you and I were washing dishes\nMrs. Carson stitched up the seams. Wasn\u2019t that sweet of her? Do you like\nit, David? It was awful dirty and I washed it in gasoline this\nafternoon, while I was doing Pearl\u2019s things.\u201d\nShe backed away from him, took the full skirt of the made-over dress\nbetween the thumb and forefinger of each hand, and made him a curtsey.\n\u201cYou look like a picture in it,\u201d David told her gravely. \u201cWhen I saw\nPearl busting out of it I had no idea it was such a pretty dress.\u201d\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t have kept it on tonight if Pearl hadn\u2019t already left for the\nparty at Willis\u2019s. Was she terribly mad at you because you wouldn\u2019t go?\u201d\nDavid shrugged his broad shoulders, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.\n\u201cLet\u2019s talk about something pleasant. Want a peach, Sally?\u201d\nAnd Sally ate the peach he gave her, though she had peeled so many for\ncanning those last few days that she had thought she never wanted to see\nanother peach. But this was a special peach, for David had chosen it for\nher, had touched it with his own hands.\nThey walked slowly down the fruit-scented lane together, Sally\u2019s\nshoulder sometimes touching David\u2019s coatsleeve, her short legs striving\nto keep step with his long ones.\nShe listened, or appeared to listen, drugged with content, her fatigue\nand the smarting of her gasoline-reddened hands completely forgotten.\n\u201cWe got a good stand of winter wheat and oats. There\u2019s the wheat. See\nhow it ripples in the breeze? Look! You can see where it\u2019s turning\nyellow. Pretty soon its jade-green dress will be as yellow as gold, and\nalong in August I\u2019ll cut it. That\u2019s oats, over there\u201d; and he pointed to\na distant field of foot-high grain.\n\u201cIt\u2019s so pretty\u2014all of it,\u201d Sally sighed blissfully. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t\nthink, just to look at a farm, that it makes people mean and cross and\nstingy and ugly, would you? Looks like growing things for people to eat\nought to make us happy.\u201d\n\u201cFarmers don\u2019t see the pretty side; they\u2019re too busy. And too worried,\u201d\nDavid told her gravely. \u201cI\u2019m different. I live in the city in the winter\nand I can hardly wait to get to the farm in the summer. But it\u2019s not my\nworry if the summer is wet and the wheat rusts. I\u2019ll be happy to own a\npiece of land some day, though, even if I own all the worries, too. I\u2019m\ngoing to be a scientific farmer, you know.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019d love to live on a farm,\u201d Sally agreed, with entire innocence. \u201cBut\nevery evening at twilight I\u2019d go out and look at my growing things and\nsee how pretty a picture they made, and try to forget all the\nback-breaking work I\u2019d put in to make it so pretty.\u201d\nThey were walking single file now, in the soft, mealy loam of a field,\nDavid leading the way. She loved the way his tall, compact body moved\u2014as\ngracefully and surely as a woman\u2019s. She had the feeling that they were\ntwo children, who had slipped away from their elders. She had never\nknown anyone like David, but she felt as if she had known him all her\nlife, as if she could say anything to him and he would understand. Oh,\nit was delicious to have a friend!\n\u201cThere\u2019s the cornfield where I\u2019ve been plowing,\u201d David called back to\nher. \u201cA fine crop. I\u2019ve given it its last plowing this week. It\u2019s what\nfarmers call \u2018laid by.\u2019 Nothing to do now but to let nature take her\ncourse.\u201d\nIt was so dark now that the corn looked like glistening black swords,\ncurved by invisible hands for a phantom combat. And the breeze rustled\nthrough them, bringing to the beauty-drunk little girl a cargo of\nmingled odors of earth, ripe fruit and greenness thrusting up from the\nmoist embrace of the ground to the kiss of the sun.\n\u201cLet\u2019s sit here on the ground and watch the moon come up,\u201d David\nsuggested, his voice hushed with the wonder of the night and of the\nbeauty that lay about them. \u201cThe earth is soft, and dry from the sun. It\nwon\u2019t soil your pretty dress.\u201d\nSally obeyed, locking her slender knees with her hands and resting her\nchin upon them.\n\u201cTired, Sally? They work you too hard,\u201d David said softly, as he seated\nhimself at a little distance from her. \u201cI suppose you\u2019ll be glad to get\nback to the\u2014Home in the fall.\u201d\nSally\u2019s dream-filled eyes, barely discernible in the dark, turned toward\nhim, and her voice, hushed but determined, spoke the words that had been\nthrobbing in her brain for four days:\n\u201cI\u2019m not going back to the Home\u2014ever. I\u2019m going to run away.\u201d\n\u201cGood for you!\u201d David applauded. Then, with sudden seriousness: \u201cBut\nwhat will you do? A girl alone, like you? And won\u2019t they try to bring\nyou back? Isn\u2019t there a law that will let them hunt you like a\ncriminal?\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes. The state\u2019s my legal guardian until I\u2019m eighteen, and I\u2019m only\nsixteen. In some states it\u2019s twenty-one,\u201d Sally answered, fright\ncreeping back into her voice. \u201cBut I\u2019m going to do it anyway. I\u2019d rather\ndie than go back to the orphanage for two more years. You don\u2019t know\nwhat it\u2019s like,\u201d she added with sudden vehemence, and a sob-catch in her\nthroat.\n\u201cTell me, Sally,\u201d David urged gently.\nAnd Sally told him\u2014in short, gasping sentences, roughened sometimes by\ntears\u2014of the life of orphaned girls.\n\u201cWe have enough to eat to keep from starving and they give us four new\ndresses a year,\u201d Sally went on recklessly, her long-dammed-up emotion\nreleased by his sympathy and understanding, though he said so little.\n\u201cAnd they don\u2019t actually beat us, unless we\u2019ve done something pretty\nbad; but oh, it\u2019s the knowing that we\u2019re orphans and that the state\ntakes care of us and that nobody cares whether we live or die that makes\nit so hard to bear! From the time we enter the orphanage we are made to\nfeel that everyone else is better than we are, and it\u2019s not right for\nchildren, who will be men and women some day, with their livings to\nmake, to feel that way!\u201d\n\u201cYes, an inferiority complex is a pretty bad handicap,\u201d David\ninterrupted gently.\n\u201cI know about inferiority complexes,\u201d Sally took him up eagerly. \u201cI\u2019ve\nread a lot and studied a lot. We have a branch of the public library in\nthe orphanage, but we\u2019re only allowed to take out one book a week. I\u2019ll\ngraduate from high school next June\u2014if I go back! But I won\u2019t go back!\u201d\n\u201cBut Sally, Sally, what could you do?\u201d David persisted. \u201cYou haven\u2019t any\nmoney\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNo,\u201d Sally acknowledged passionately. \u201cI\u2019ve never had more than a\nnickel at one time to call my own! Think of it, David! A girl of\nsixteen, who has never had more than a nickel of her own in her life!\nAnd only a nickel given to me by some soft-hearted, sentimental visitor!\nBut I can work, and if I can\u2019t find anything to do, I\u2019d rather starve\nthan go back.\u201d\nDavid\u2019s hand, concealed by the darkness, was upon hers before she knew\nthat it was coming.\n\u201cPoor Sally! Brave, high-hearted little Sally!\u201d David said so gently\nthat his words were like a caress. \u201cCharity hasn\u2019t broken your spirit\nyet, child. Just try to be patient for a while longer. Promise me you\nwon\u2019t do anything without telling me first. I might be able to help\nyou\u2014somehow.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2014I can\u2019t promise, David,\u201d she confessed in a strangled voice. \u201cI might\nhave to go away\u2014suddenly\u2014from here\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you mean, Sally?\u201d David\u2019s hand closed in a hurting grip over\nhers. \u201cHas Pearl\u2014Mr. Carson\u2014? Tell me what you mean!\u201d\n\u201cWhen I promised to come walking with you tonight I knew that Mr. Carson\nwould try to take me back to the orphanage, if he found out. But\u2014I\u2014I\nwanted to come. And I\u2019m not sorry.\u201d\n\u201cDo you mean that he threatened you?\u201d David asked slowly, amazement\ndragging at his words. \u201cBecause of Pearl\u2014and me?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d she whispered, hanging her head with shame. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to\nknow, ever, that you\u2019d been in any way responsible. He\u2014he says it\u2019s\npractically settled between you and\u2014and Pearl, and that\u2014that I\u2014oh, don\u2019t\nmake me say any more!\u201d\nDavid groaned. She could see the muscles spring out like cords along his\njaw. \u201cListen, Sally,\u201d he said at last, very gently, \u201cI want you to\nbelieve me when I say that I have never had the slightest intention of\nmarrying Pearl Carson. I have not made love to her. I\u2019m too young to get\nmarried. I\u2019ve got two years of college ahead of me yet, but even if I\nwere older and had a farm of my own, I wouldn\u2019t marry Pearl\u2014\u201d\nCHAPTER IV\n\u201cCome out of that corn!\u201d A loud, harsh voice cut across David\u2019s\nlow-spoken speech, made them spring guiltily apart. \u201cI ain\u2019t going to\nstand for no such goings-on on my farm!\u201d\nClem Carson had prowled like an angry, frustrated animal, through the\nfields until he had spied them out.\nDavid and Sally had been sitting at the end of the corn field, in plain\nsight of anyone who cared to spy upon them. When Clem Carson\u2019s harsh\nbellow startled them out of their innocent confidences David jumped to\nhis feet, offering a hand to Sally, who was trembling so that she could\nscarcely stand.\n\u201cWe\u2019re not in the corn, Mr. Carson,\u201d David called, his voice vibrating\nwith indignation. \u201cI\u2019ll have to ask you to apologize for what you said,\nsir. There\u2019s no harm in two young people watching the moon rise at ten\no\u2019clock.\u201d\nCarson came striding out of the corn. David, feet planted rather far\napart, looked as if he were braced for attack, and the farmer, after an\ninvoluntary shrinking toward the shelter of the corn, advanced again, an\napologetic smile on his brown face.\n\u201cReckon I spoke hasty,\u201d he conceded, \u201cbut Jim said he seen you two\nyoung-uns sneaking off into the corn and it got my dander up. I\u2019m\nresponsible to the orphanage for Sally, and I don\u2019t aim to have her\ngoing back in disgrace. Better get back to the house, Sally, and go to\nbed, seeing as how you\u2019ve got to be up at half-past four in the morning.\nYou stay back a minute, Dave. I want to have a little talk with you.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m taking Sally to the house, Mr. Carson,\u201d David said grimly.\nOn the walk back to the house there was no opportunity for David to\nreassure the frightened, trembling girl, for Carson plowed doggedly\nalong behind them as they walked single file between the rows of corn.\nWhen they reached the kitchen, where Mrs. Carson was setting great pans\nof yeast bread to rise on the back of the range, Sally ran to the\nstairs, not pausing for a good-night.\nTen or fifteen minutes later, while she was sitting on the edge of her\ncot-bed, she heard David\u2019s firm step on the back stairs, and knew that\nhe had cut short the farmer\u2019s \u201clittle talk\u201d with him. Reckless of\nconsequences she slipped out of her door, which she had left ajar, and\ncrept along the dark hall to David\u2019s door.\nHe did not see her at first, for she was only a faint blur in the dark,\nbut at her whispered \u201cDavid!\u201d he paused, his hands groping for hers.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right, honey,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI told him point-blank if he\nsent you back to the Home I\u2019d leave, too. And that will hold him,\nbecause he can\u2019t do without me at this busy season. He couldn\u2019t get\nanother hand right now for love or money, and he knows it. Go to sleep\nnow, and don\u2019t worry.\u201d\nThe next morning at breakfast it was plainly evident that David had said\none or two other things to Clem Carson, and that he in turn had passed\nthem on to Pearl. For Pearl\u2019s eyes bore traces of tears shed during the\nnight, and the high color of anger burned in her plump cheeks. Carson\u2019s\nanger and chagrin at losing all his hopes of David as a son-in-law and\nof acquiring, through his marriage to Pearl, the neighboring farm for\nhis daughter, expressed itself in heavy \u201cjoshing,\u201d each word tipped with\nvenom:\n\u201cWell, well, how\u2019s our Sally this morning? What do you know about this,\nMa?\u2014our little \u2018Orphunt Annie\u2019 is stepping out! Yes, sir, she ain\u2019t\nletting no grass grow under her feet! Caught herself a feller, she has!\u201d\n\u201cEat your breakfast, Clem, and let Sally alone,\u201d Mrs. Carson commanded\nimpatiently. \u201cShe\u2019s old enough to have a feller if she wants one.\u201d\nTears of gratitude to the woman she had thought so stern gushed into\nSally\u2019s eyes, so that she could not see to butter the hot biscuit she\nheld in her shaking hands.\n\u201cShe\u2019s cut you out, Pearl, beat your time all hollow! And looking as\nmeek and mild as a Jersey heifer all the time! I tell you, Ma, it takes\nthese buttery-mouthed little angels to put over the high-jinks!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I wouldn\u2019t have looked at a hired man,\u201d Pearl cried angrily,\ntossing her head. \u201cSally\u2019s welcome to him. But I can\u2019t say I admire\n_his_ taste.\u201d\nSally\u2019s eyes, drowned in tears, fluttered toward David.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think you\u2019re going pretty far, Mr. Carson?\u201d David asked\nabruptly.\n\u201cNo offense, no offense,\u201d Carson protested hastily, with a chuckle that\nhe meant to sound conciliatory. \u201cI\u2019m a man that likes his joke, and it\ndoes strike me as funny that a fine, upstanding college man like you,\ndue to come into property some day, should cotton to a scared little\nrabbit of an orphan like Sally here\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019ll do, Clem!\u201d Mrs. Carson interrupted sharply. \u201cGet ahead with\nyour breakfast and clear out, all of you! Sally and me have got a big\nday\u2019s work ahead of us. Pearl, I want you to drive to Capital City for\nsome more Mason jars for me. I\u2019m all out.\u201d\nLater, when Sally was washing dishes, Pearl bounced into the kitchen,\ndressed for her trip to the city, her arms full of soiled white shoes,\nstockings and silk underwear.\n\u201cSally,\u201d she said, her voice like a whip-lash, \u201cI want you to clean\nthese shoes for me today and wash out these stockings and underwear. See\nthat you do a good job, or you\u2019ll have to do it over.\u201d\nSally, raking the suds from the dishpan off her arms and hands, accepted\nthe pile of garments dumbly, but resentment gushed hotly in her throat.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got enough work laid out for Sally to keep her busy every minute\ntoday,\u201d Mrs. Carson rebuked Pearl sharply. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you do your own\ncleaning, Pearl?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I\u2019ve got a luncheon date and a matinee in town today, and I\nneed these things for tonight. I\u2019m going to a party at the Mullins\u2019\nGoodby, Mom. Two dozen jars enough?\u201d\nWhen Sally was again bent over the dishpan she heard the little old\ngrandmother\u2019s uncertain, quavering voice:\n\u201cIt ain\u2019t fair, Debbie, the way you let Pearl run over Sally. She\u2019s a\nnice, polite-spoken little girl, the best worker I ever see.\u201d\n\u201cI know, Ma,\u201d Mrs. Carson answered in so kind a voice that fresh tears\nswam in Sally\u2019s eyes. \u201cPearl\u2019s been spoiled. But I\u2019m too busy now to\ntake it out of her. I wonder, Ma, if you couldn\u2019t rip up them other two\ndresses that Pearl gave Sally? The child really ain\u2019t got a thing to\nwear. If you\u2019ll just rip the seams, I\u2019ll stitch \u2019em myself at night, if\nI ain\u2019t too tired.\u201d\nSally whirled from the dishpan, stooped swiftly and laid her lips for an\ninstant upon Mrs. Carson\u2019s hand. Then, flushing vividly, she ran back to\nthe kitchen sink, seized the big flour-sack dish towel and began to\npolish a glass with intense energy.\nAlthough Mrs. Carson made no comment on Sally\u2019s shy caress, the girl\nfelt that from that moment the farmer\u2019s wife was her friend, undeclared\nbut staunch.\nKnowing that any day might prove to be her last on the farm, for Carson\nnever let slip an opportunity to threaten her by innuendo with the\ndisgrace of being sent back to the Home, Sally found a ray of comfort in\nthe fact that Grandma Carson, probably because she felt sorry for Sally,\nconstantly hectored as she was by the jealous, vicious-tongued Pearl,\nwas slowly but surely completing the necessary alterations upon the\nother two dresses that Pearl had given her.\nThe vague-eyed, kindly little old woman finished the alterations on\nSaturday morning, and Sally sped to her garret room with them, there to\ntry them on and gloat over them. Then, her eyes darting now and then to\nthe closed door, she hastily made a bundle of the three new dresses and\nhid it under the cornshuck mattress of her bed. Maybe it would be\nstealing to take the dresses if she had to run away, but she couldn\u2019t\nhope to escape in the orphanage uniform\u2014\nEarly Saturday afternoon Mrs. Carson announced that she had to go into\nthe city to do some shopping. The farmer suggested that Pearl drive her\nin, since he himself was to be busy setting up the cider mill in a shack\nhe had built at the foot of the lane, where it ran into the state\nhighway.\n\u201cAnd you might as well take the Dodge and let Ma and Benny go in with\nyou. They haven\u2019t seen a picture show for a month,\u201d Carson suggested.\nThe thought of seeing a movie overcame Sally\u2019s timidity. \u201cWould there be\nroom for me, Mrs. Carson? I could help you with your shopping, help\ncarry things\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why not,\u201d Mrs. Carson answered. \u201cI got a lot of trotting\naround to do and it\u2019s mighty hot\u2014\u201d\n\u201cMama, if she goes, I won\u2019t go a step,\u201d Pearl burst out shrilly. \u201cI\nwon\u2019t have her tagging after us all afternoon, making eyes at every man\nthat speaks to me!\u201d\n\u201cPearl, Pearl, I\u2019m afraid you\u2019re spoiled rotten!\u201d Mrs. Carson shook her\nhead sadly. \u201cI\u2019ll bring you a pair of them fiber silk stockings, Sally,\nto wear to church tomorrow night with your flowered taffeta,\u201d she\noffered brusquely, by way of consolation.\nWhen the car had swept down the lane and Sally was left alone in the\nhouse, she busied herself furiously in an effort to dissipate her\nloneliness and disappointment, and a fear that grew upon her with the\nrealization that Carson had not accompanied his family to town. The two\nhired men had left the farm for Capital City, immediately after the noon\nmeal, wages in their pockets, bent on an afternoon and evening of city\npleasures. On the entire farm there was no one but herself, Carson and\nDavid. And where was David? If she needed him terribly, would he fail\nher?\nAs the afternoon wore on, and still Carson did not appear, Sally\u2019s\ngratitude for Mrs. Carson\u2019s inarticulate kindness sent her on a flying\ntrip to the orchard to gather enough hard, sour apples to make pies for\nsupper. Carson, she began to hope, was so busy setting up the cider mill\nthat he would have no time to take her back to the orphanage, even if he\nwanted to. Maybe she was safe for a while; she would not run away just\nyet, for if she ran away she would never see David again\u2014\nIt was fun to have the whole big kitchen to herself. Humming under her\nbreath, she cut chilled lard into well-sifted flour, using the full\namount that Mrs. Carson\u2019s pie crust called for. At the orphanage the pie\ncrust was tough and leathery, because the matron would not permit the\ncook to use enough lard. What joy it was to cook on a prosperous farm,\nwhere there was an abundance of every good thing to eat! If only she\ncould stay the whole summer through! She could stand the hard work....\nAs she piled the sliced apples thickly into the crimped pie crust, she\nthought wistfully of Mrs. Carson, who was kind to her although she was a\nhard taskmistress.\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d Sally reflected sadly, dusting around nutmeg over the thickly\nsugared apples, \u201cif I could stay on here, Mrs. Carson would want to\nadopt me. But of course Pearl and Mr. Carson wouldn\u2019t let her. They hate\nme because David likes me and won\u2019t marry Pearl. And I like David better\nthan anybody in the world,\u201d she confessed to herself, as the pink in her\ncheeks deepened. \u201cBut I would love to have a mother, even if it was only\na ready-made mother. I wonder why some girls have everything, and others\nnothing? Why should Pearl have a mother who just spoils her past all\nenduring? Pearl isn\u2019t good\u2014she isn\u2019t even good to her mother.\u201d\nWhen her three big apple pies were in the oven, she washed the bread\nbowl in which she had mixed her pie crust; washed and dried vigorously\nthe big yellow pine board and rolling pin, and restored them to their\nproper places. Then, feeling very useful and virtuous, she set the table\nfor supper, singing little scraps of popular songs which she had heard\nover the radio during her week on the farm.\nBy that time her pies were baked to a deep, golden brown, with little\nglazed blisters across their top crusts.\n\u201cIf I do say it myself,\u201d she said, in her little old-woman way, her head\ncocked sideways as she surveyed her handiwork, \u201cthose are real pies. I\nhope Mrs. Carson will be surprised and pleased.\u201d\nThen, because she was very tired and the late afternoon sun was making\nan inferno of the kitchen, Sally climbed the steep back stairs to the\ngarret, intending to take a cooling sponge bath and a short nap before\nthe family returned, hungry for supper. She was about to pass David\u2019s\ndoor when his voice halted her:\n\u201cThat you, Sally? I\u2019ve been enjoying your singing, even if I did spend\nmore time listening than studying.\u201d\nShe went involuntarily toward him. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were up here,\nDavid,\u201d she told him. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I interrupted your studying. I wouldn\u2019t\nhave sung if I\u2019d known you were up here.\u201d\nThe boy was seated at a small pine table, covered with books and papers,\nbut as she advanced hesitatingly into the room he rose.\n\u201cCome on in,\u201d he invited hospitably. \u201cWouldn\u2019t you like to see my books?\nSome of them are fascinating\u2014full of pictures of prize stock and model\nchicken farms and champion egg-laying hens and things like that. Look,\u201d\nhe commanded snatching up a book as if eager to detain her. \u201cHere\u2019s a\npicture of a cow that my grandfather owns. She holds the state record\nfor butter-fat production. Her name\u2019s Beauty Bess\u2014look!\u201d\nSally, without a thought as to the impropriety of being in a man\u2019s\nbedroom, slipped into the chair he was holding for her and bent her\nlittle braid-crowning head gravely over her book.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to stock the farm with nothing but pedigreed animals when\nit\u2019s mine,\u201d David told her, enthusiastically. \u201cLook, here\u2019s the kind\u2014\u201d\nAnd he bent low over her, so that his arm was about her shoulder as he\nriffled the pages of the book, seeking the picture he wanted her to see.\nA sudden gust of wind, presaging a summer shower, slammed the door shut,\nbut the two were so absorbed they did not hear the faint click of the\nlock. Nor did they hear, a little later, the sound of the stealthy,\nfutile turning of the knob, the retreat of carefully muted footsteps.\nDavid was bending low over Sally, his cheek almost touching hers,\nexcitedly expounding the merits of crop rotation, and pointing out\ntext-book confirmation of his theories, when sudden, evil words shocked\ntheir attention from the fascinations of the agricultural text-book:\n\u201cCaught you at last! Thought you was mighty slick, didn\u2019t you?\u2014locking\nthe door! I\u2019ve a good mind to whip you every step of the way back to the\norphan asylum, you lying, nasty little\u2014\u201d Carson\u2019s voice, hoarse with\nanger and exultation over his coming revenge upon the girl who had dared\njeopardize his daughter\u2019s happiness, stopped with a gasp upon the evil\nword he had spat out, for his shoulders, as he tried to wriggle into the\nroom from the small window, were stuck in the too-narrow frame.\nIf the wind had not been roaring about the house, banging branches of\nshade trees against the sloping roof upon which David\u2019s window looked,\nthey would necessarily have heard his approach, but as it was they were\ntotally unprepared for the sight of his head and shoulders and breast,\nframed in the window, his glittering black eyes fixed upon them with\nevil exultation.\nSally struggled to her feet as David leaped toward the window. She had a\nfleeting glimpse of his rage-distorted young face, his lips snarled back\nfrom his teeth.\n\u201cDavid! Don\u2019t, David!\u201d she cried, her voice a high, thin wail of\nterror\u2014terror for David, not for Carson.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not fit to live, Carson,\u201d David\u2019s young voice broke in its rage,\nbut there was no faltering in the power behind the blow which crashed\ninto the farmer\u2019s face.\nSally, sinking to her knees in her terror, heard the rending sound of\nflimsy timber giving way, then the more awful noise of a big body\nsliding rapidly down the roof. She half fainted then, so that when David\ntried to lift her to her feet she swayed dizzily against him, her eyes\ndazed, her ashen lips hanging slackly.\n\u201cCan you hear me, Sally?\u201d David\u2019s voice, a little tremulous with awe at\nthat which he had done, came like a series of loud claps in her ears.\nShe clung to him weakly, her eyes glancing fearfully from the window to\nhis set, pale young face. Then she nodded slowly, like a child awakening\nfrom a nightmare.\n\u201cI think I\u2019ve killed him, Sally. He hasn\u2019t made a sound since he crashed\nto the ground.\u201d David\u2019s hazel eyes were as wide as hers, and almost as\nfrightened.\n\u201cYou did\u2014that\u2014for me?\u201d Sally whispered. \u201cOh, David, what are we going to\ndo?\u201d She began to cry then, in little, frightened whimpers, but her blue\neyes, swimming in tears, never left his face.\nThe boy squared his shoulders as if to prepare them for a great burden,\nand in that instant he seemed to grow older. Color came slowly back to\nhis bronzed cheeks, but his lips shook a little as he answered:\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to run away, Sally, before the family comes home. I hate to\nleave him\u2014down there\u2014if he\u2019s only hurt. But I\u2019ll be damned if I stay\nhere and get us both sent to jail just to ease a pain that that beast,\nif he isn\u2019t dead, may be having! Oh, God, I hope I didn\u2019t kill him! I\njust went crazy when he called you that name\u2014Will you come, Sally, or do\nyou want to stay and face them with me? Whatever\u2019s best for you\u2014\u201d\nSally Ford did not hesitate for a moment. Her blue eyes were full of\ntrust and adoration as she answered: \u201cI\u2019ll go with you, David. I knew\nI\u2019d have to run away. I\u2019m all packed.\u201d\n\u201cAll right.\u201d David spoke rapidly. \u201cI\u2019ll fix up a small bundle, too. You\nget your things and leave the house as quickly as possible. Cut across\nthe orchard to the cornfield and wait for me where we were sitting the\nother night. I\u2019ll join you almost by the time you get there. But I want\nyou to leave first, just in case they come back before I can get away.\nNow, run!\u201d\nSally obeyed, somehow forcing her muscles to carry out David\u2019s commands,\nbut the tears were coming so fast that she bumped unseeingly into apple\nand peach trees as she ran through the orchard, the brown paper parcel\nof clothes clutched tightly to her bosom. Twice she dashed the tears\nfrom her eyes, glanced fearfully about, and listened, but she saw and\nheard nothing. The sun was getting low in the west, slanting in golden,\ndust-laden beams through the rows of apple trees.\nWhen she reached the shelter of the corn stalks she went more slowly,\nfor her heart was pounding sickeningly. Just before she reached the end\nof the field she paused, opened her bundle with shaking hands, drew out\nthe dark blue linen dress and put it on over the blue-and-white gingham\nuniform of the orphanage. She was re-tying her bundle when she caught\nthe faint sound of footsteps running toward her between rows of corn.\nDavid was hatless. His eyes were wide, unsmiling, but his lips managed\nan upturning of the corners to reassure her.\n\u201cSorry\u2014to be\u2014so long,\u201d he panted. \u201cBut I telephoned a doctor that Carson\nhad been\u2014hurt\u2014and asked him to come over. I didn\u2019t answer when he asked\nwho was calling. Told him Carson had slipped from the roof.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m awfully glad you did, David. It was like you. Shall we go now?\u201d\nDavid looked down at her in wonder, and his eyes and lips were very\ntender. \u201cWhat a brave kid you are, Sally! What a darn _nice_ little\nthing you are! But I\u2019ve been thinking hard, honey. We can\u2019t run away\ntogether\u2014far, that is. I\u2019ll have to take you back to the Home.\u201d\n\u201cNo, David, no, no! I can\u2019t go back to the orphanage! I\u2019d rather die!\u201d\nSally gasped.\nDavid dropped his bundle, took her hands and held them tightly. \u201cI can\u2019t\nrun away from this thing I\u2019ve done, Sally. I\u2019m sorry. I thought I could.\nI\u2019m going to give myself up, after I\u2019ve seen you safely back to the\nHome. I\u2019ll explain to your Mrs. Stone, make her believe\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally breathed in a gust of despair. Then, stooping swiftly, she\nsnatched up her bundle and began to run down a corn row. She ran with\nthe fleetness of a terror-stricken animal, and David watched her for a\nlong moment, his eyes dark with pity and uncertainty. Then he gave\nchase, his long legs clearing the distance between them with miraculous\nspeed. He caught up with her just as she was at the edge of the\ncornfield, recklessly about to plunge into the lane that led to the\nCarson house.\n\u201cWait, Sally!\u201d he panted, grasping her shoulder. \u201cYou can\u2019t run away\nalone like this\u2014Oh Lord!\u201d he groaned suddenly. \u201cThere they come! Don\u2019t\nyou hear the car turning in from the road? Come back, Sally!\u201d\nHe did not wait for her to obey, but lifted her into his arms, for she\nhad gone limp with terror, and ran, crouching low so that the cornstalks\nwould hide them.\n\u201cLie flat on the ground,\u201d David said sternly, as he set her gently upon\nher feet. \u201cWe can\u2019t leave here now. The place will be swarming with\npeople. But when it\u2019s dark we\u2019ll slip away, across fields. Thank God,\nthere\u2019ll be no moon.\u201d\nHe flattened his own body upon the soft earth, close against the thick,\nsturdy cornstalks. They did not talk much for they were listening,\nlistening for faint sounds coming from the farmhouse which would\nindicate that the dreadful discovery had been made.\nLong minutes passed and nothing had happened. Then the muffled roar of\nanother motor, turning into the lane from the state highway, told them\nthat the doctor to whom David had telephoned was arriving. It seemed\nhours before a scream floated from the house to the cornfield.\n\u201cPearl!\u201d Sally whispered, shivering. \u201cThey hadn\u2019t found him. The doctor\ntold them. Oh, David!\u201d\nHis hand tightened so hard upon hers that she winced. A little later\nthey heard Mrs. Carson\u2019s harsh voice calling, calling\u2014\u201cSally! Sal-lee!\nSally Ford!\u201d\nSally bowed her head upon David\u2019s hand then, and wept a little,\nshuddering. \u201cShe was\u2014good to me. She\u2014she liked me, David. Oh, I hope\nshe\u2019ll know I didn\u2019t mean her any harm, ever!\u201d\nThe next hour, during which the sun set and twilight settled like a soft\ngray dust upon the cornfield, passed somehow. Several cars arrived;\nmen\u2019s voices shouted unintelligible words. Twice Pearl screamed\u2014\nBut no one came down the corn rows looking for them. \u201cThey won\u2019t dream\nwe\u2019re still so near the house,\u201d David assured her in his low, comforting\nvoice.\nWhen it was quite dark, David spoke again: \u201cWe\u2019ll make a break for it\nnow, Sally. I know this part of the country well. My grandfather\u2019s farm\nadjoins this one, with only a fence between the two hay meadows. We can\ncut across his farm, giving the house and barns a wide berth. Then we\u2019ll\nstrike a bit of timberland that belongs to old man Cosgrove. That will\nbring us out on a little-traveled road that leads to Stanton, twenty-two\nmiles away. Think you can make it, Sally?\u201d\nShe hugged her bundle tight to her breast and reached for his hand,\nwhich he had withdrawn as he rose to his feet. \u201cOf course,\u201d she answered\nsimply. \u201cI\u2019m not afraid, David.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re a plucky kid,\u201d David said gruffly. \u201cI\u2019ll lead the way. Let me\nknow if I set too fast a pace.\u201d\nBuoyed up by his praise, Sally trotted almost happily at his heels. She\nrefused to let her mind dwell on the horrors of the day, or to reach out\ninto the future. Indeed, her imagination was incapable of picturing a\nfuture for a Sally Ford whose life was not regulated by orphanage\nroutine. She held only the present fast in her mind, passionately\ngrateful for the strong, swiftly striding figure before her, unwilling\nfor this strange night-time adventure to end.\n\u201cThirsty, Sally?\u201d David\u2019s voice called out of the darkness.\nSuddenly she knew that she was both thirsty and hungry, for she had not\neaten since the twelve o\u2019clock dinner. A cool breeze was rustling the\nleaves of the trees, and under that whispering rustle came the cool,\nsweet murmur of a brook. She crouched beside David on the bank of the\ntiny stream and thirstily drank from his cupped hands. Then he dipped\nhis handkerchief in the water and gently swabbed her face, his hands as\ntender as Sally had fancied a mother\u2019s must be.\nThe going was more dogged, less mysteriously thrilling when they had at\nlast reached the dirt road that was eventually to lead them to Stanton,\na town of four or five thousand inhabitants, the town in which the woman\nwho had brought her twelve years ago to the orphanage had lived. Days\nbefore Sally had memorized the address before destroying the bit of\npaper on which Miss Pond, out of the kindness of her heart, had copied\nSally\u2019s record from the orphanage files.\nHalf a dozen times during the apparently interminable trudge toward\nStanton David abruptly called a halt, drawing Sally off the road and\nover reeling, drunken-looking fences into meadows or fields for a\nterribly needed rest. Once, with his head in her lap, her fingers\nsmoothing his crisp chestnut curls from his sweat-moistened brow, he\nwent to sleep, and she knew that she would not have awakened him even to\nsave herself from the orphanage.\nDawn was bedecking the east with tattered pink banners when the boy and\ngirl, staggering with weariness and faint with hunger, caught their\nfirst glimpse of Stanton, a pretty little town snugly asleep in the hush\nthat belongs peculiarly to early Sunday morning. Only the dutiful\ncrowing of backyard roosters and the occasional baying of a hound broke\nthe stillness.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to have food,\u201d David said abruptly, as they hesitated\nforlornly on the outskirts of the little town. \u201cAnd yet I suppose the\nalarm has been given and the constables are on the lookout for us. We\nmight stop at a house that has no telephone\u2014they wouldn\u2019t be likely to\nhave heard about Carson\u2014but I don\u2019t like to arouse anyone this early on\nSunday morning. There\u2019s an eating house next to the station that stays\nopen all night, to serve train crews and passengers, but more than\nlikely the station agent has been told to keep a lookout for us.\u201d\nAs he spoke a train whistled shrilly. The two wayfarers stood not a\nhundred yards from the railroad tracks where they crossed the dirt road.\nSally instinctively turned to flee, but David restrained her.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t hide from everyone, Sally,\u201d he said gently. \u201cI think our best\nbet is to act as if we had had nothing to hide. Remember, we\u2019ve done no\nwrong. If Carson is dead, he brought his death upon himself. He deserved\nwhat he got.\u201d\nTrustingly, Sally gave him her hand, stood very small and erect beside\nhim as the big engine thundered down the tracks toward them. Her face\nwas drawn with fatigue but her eyes managed a smile for David. His did\nnot reflect that brave smile, for they were fixed upon the oncoming\ntrain.\n\u201cBy George, Sally, it\u2019s a carnival train! Look! \u2018Bybee\u2019s Bigger and\nBetter Show.\u2019 I\u2019d forgotten the carnival was coming. Look over there!\nThere\u2019s one of their signs!\u201d\nAn enormous poster, pasted upon a billboard, showed a nine-foot giant\nand a 30-inch dwarf, the little man smoking a huge cigar, seated cockily\nin the palm of the giant\u2019s vast hand. Big red type below the picture\nannounced: \u201cBybee\u2019s Bigger and Better Show\u2014Stanton, June 9 and 10. One\nhundred performers, largest menagerie in any carnival on the road\ntoday.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose they\u2019re going to spend Sunday here,\u201d David remarked. Then he\nturned toward Sally, beheld the miracle of her transformed face. \u201cWhy,\nchild, you want to go to the carnival, don\u2019t you? Poor little Sally!\u201d\nHis voice was so tender, so whimsical, so sympathetic, that tears filmed\nover the brilliance of her sapphire eyes. \u201cI went to a circus once,\u201d she\nsaid with the eager breathlessness of a child. \u201cThe governor\u2014he was\nrunning for office again\u2014sent tickets for all the orphans. And, oh it\nwas wonderful, David! We all planned to run away from the orphanage and\njoin the circus. We talked about it for weeks, but\u2014we didn\u2019t run away.\nThe girls didn\u2019t, I mean, but one of the big boys at the orphanage did\nand Ruby Presser, the girl he was sweet on, got a postcard from him from\nNew York when the circus was in winter quarters. His name was Eddie Cobb\nand\u2014oh, the train\u2019s stopping, David! Look!\u201d\n\u201cYes.\u201d David shaded his eyes and squinted down the railroad track. \u201cThis\nis a spur of the main road, a siding, they call it. I suppose the\ncarnival cars will stay here today\u2014\u201d\nBut for once Sally was not listening to him. She was running toward the\ncars, from which the engine had been uncoupled, and as she ran she\ncalled shrilly, joyously, to a young man who had dropped catlike from\nthe top of a car to the ground:\n\u201cEddie! Eddie Cobb! Eddie!\u201d\nCHAPTER V\nTo Sally it was all like a dream, a fantastic, lovely dream\u2014except that\nin dreams you are never permitted to eat the feast that your hunger\nmakes so real. And not even in a dream could she have imagined anything\nso good as the thick, furry, dark-brown buckwheat cakes, plastered with\ngolden butter and swimming in maple syrup.\nAnd Eddie Cobb\u2019s voice seemed real enough, although the things he was\ntelling her and David in the hastily erected cook tent certainly had\ndream-like qualities. And David, sighing with satisfaction over his\nthird plateful of hot cakes, was gloriously real. So was the long,\nrough-pine counter at which they ate, and behind which the big negro\ncook sang songs as he worked before a huge smoky oil stove. Tables\nscattered throughout the tent and covered with worn oilcloth reminded\nher of the refectory of the orphanage which now seemed so far away in\nthe past of her childhood. She drew her wondering eyes from their\nexploration of the cook tent, focussed them on Eddie Cobb\u2019s freckled,\ngood-natured face, listened to what he was telling them:\n\u201cThis is a pretty good outfit. We carry our own show train, even for the\nshort jumps, and the star performers and the big boss and the\nbarkers\u2014when they\u2019re flush\u2014eat in the dining car. Got a special cook for\nthe big bugs, waiters and everything. \u2019Course sometimes we can\u2019t get\nshow grounds clost enough to the railroad to use the cars much, but in\nthis burg we\u2019re lucky enough to get a lot pretty clost to a siding. The\nperformers will sleep in their berths, less\u2019n it gets too hot and they\nwant their tents pitched on the lot.\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you do in the carnival, Eddie?\u201d Sally asked respectfully.\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m helpin\u2019 Lucky Looey on the wheels. Gamblin\u2019 concessions, you\nknow,\u201d he enlarged grandly. \u201cLooey\u2019s got three kewpie dolls booths and\nI\u2019m in charge of one of \u2019em. Old Bybee\u2014Winfield Bybee\u2014owns the show and\ntravels with it\u2014not like most owners. He owns the concessions and lets\nconcessionaires operate \u2019em on percentage. He owns the freaks and the\ngirlie show and the high-diver and all the ridin\u2019 rackets\u2014ferris wheels,\nmerry-go-rounds, whips \u2019n everything. He\u2019ll be showin\u2019 up any minute now\nand I\u2019ll give you a knockdown to him.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re so good to us, Eddie,\u201d Sally glowed at him. \u201cDavid and I hadn\u2019t\nan idea what we should do, and we were so hungry we could have eaten\nfield corn off the stalks.\u201d\n\u201cYou looked all in,\u201d Eddie grinned at her. \u201cSo you run away, too, Sally.\nCouldn\u2019t stand the racket any longer, eh? Is David here a buddy you\npicked up on the road? Gosh! To think of little Sally Ford hoboing?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve taken advantage of your friendship for Sally, Cobb,\u201d\nDavid said. \u201cThe truth is, Cobb\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAw, make it Eddie. We\u2019re all buddies, ain\u2019t we?\u201d\n\u201cWell, the truth is, Eddie, that I\u2019m afraid I\u2019m a fugitive from justice.\nI wanted to take Sally back to the orphanage and give myself up for\nmurder\u2014\u201d\n\u201cGawd!\u201d Eddie ejaculated, paling. Then something like admiration\nglittered in his little black eyes. \u201cPut the soft pedal on, Dave. Don\u2019t\nlet nobody hear you\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t murder, Eddie,\u201d Sally interrupted eagerly, her hand going out\nto close on David\u2019s reassuringly. \u201cIt was\u2014an accident, in a way. Tell\nhim, David. Eddie will understand.\u201d\nThe cook tent was filling up, so David lowered his voice to a murmur as\nhe told Eddie Cobb, briefly but accurately, the story of his probably\nfatal attack upon Clem Carson.\n\u201cJees!\u201d Eddie breathed, when the recital was finished. \u201cI hope you\nfinished for him! If the old buzzard ain\u2019t dead\u2014and I\u2019ll bet he\nain\u2019t\u2014I\u2019d like to take a crack at him myself. You two kids stick with\nus. I\u2019ll tip off Bybee and I\u2019m a son-of-a-gun if he don\u2019t give you both\njobs. The concessions are always short of help\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, Eddie, if he only would!\u201d Sally gasped. Then sudden doubt clouded\nher bright face. \u201cBut Eddie, we\u2019d be so conspicuous with the carnival.\nThe police would lay hands on us as soon as we showed our faces\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNot if the Big Boss took you under his wing,\u201d Eddie reassured her. \u201cIn\nthe carnival the Big Boss is the law. I\u2019ll speak to him myself.\u201d\nThe carnival roustabouts\u2014big, rough-looking, powerful negroes in\nundershirts and soiled, nondescript trousers\u2014eyed the trio curiously as\nthey passed from one tent to another, Eddie gesticulating like a Cook\u2019s\nTour conductor.\n\u201cJees, Sally, I never expected to see any of you kids again,\u201d Eddie\ninterrupted his monologue, which was like Greek to his guests.\n\u201cHave you ever been sorry you ran away, Eddie?\u201d Sally asked, wistfully\ndesiring reassurance, for it was still impossible for her to picture\nlife independent of state charity.\nEddie snorted. \u201cI\u2019ve been seeing life, I have. New York and Chi and San\nLooey and all the big towns. But I reckon it\u2019s easier for a boy. I never\ndid want to go back, but I\u2019ve thought many a time I\u2019d like to see some\nof the kids.\u201d He blushed crimson under his big freckles. \u201cHow\u2014how\u2019s\nRuby, Sally? You know\u2014Ruby Presser? She still there? She must be\nseventeen now. She was two years younger\u2019n me. I sorta figger on\nmarryin\u2019 Ruby one of these days\u2014say, what\u2019s the matter?\u201d he broke off\nabruptly.\n\u201cRuby\u2014Ruby\u2019s dead, Eddie. Didn\u2019t you read about it in the papers?\u201d\n\u201cRuby\u2014dead? You\u2014you ain\u2019t kiddin\u2019 me, Sally? Ruby\u2014dead!\u201d\nSally\u2019s distressed blue eyes fluttered to David\u2019s face as if for help.\n\u201cRuby\u2014fell\u2014out of a fifth story window, Eddie\u2014last September,\u201d Sally\nadmitted in a choked voice.\n\u201cAfter she had spent the summer on the Carson farm, Eddie,\u201d David broke\nin quietly, significantly.\nSally closed her eyes so as not to see the conflict of rage and grief in\nEddie Cobb\u2019s boyish face.\n\u201cI hope to God you did kill him, David!\u201d Eddie burst out at last. \u201cIf\nyou didn\u2019t, I\u2019ll finish him!\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s all this, Eddie?\u201d a great bellow brought them all to startled\nattention. \u201cOld home week? Get to your work! Lucky\u2019s howling for you.\nWho the hell do you think\u2019s going to set out the dolls?\u201d\nEddie\u2019s importance was suddenly shattered. The big man, who seemed to\nSally to be as tall as the giant whom he advertised as a star\nattraction, came striding across the stubby, dusty lot. His enormous\nhead, topped with a wide-brimmed black felt hat in defiance of the\ntorrid June weather, showed a fringe of long-curling white hair which\nreached almost to the shoulders of his Prince Albert coat.\n\u201cI\u2019d like to speak to you a minute, sir,\u201d Eddie urged.\nAfter another frowning, considering up-and-down glance at David and\nSally, but particularly at Sally, the big man strode away with Eddie,\nout of earshot.\n\u201cIf the big man does take us, you won\u2019t be sorry, will you, David?\u201d\nSally whispered, clinging to David\u2019s hand.\n\u201cDear little Sally!\u201d David drew her close against him for a moment. They\nstood close to each other, Sally not caring if the interview between\nBybee and Eddie prolonged itself interminably, for David was there,\nthinking\u2014she could feel his thoughts\u2014\u201cDear little Sally\u201d\u2014\nBut after only a few minutes Winfield Bybee and Eddie came across the\nstubble toward them. Bybee spoke, gruffly:\n\u201cEddie here has been telling me that you two kids have got yourselves\ninto a peck of trouble, and want to hide out a bit. Well, I reckon a\ntraveling carnival is about the best place in God\u2019s world to hide.\nAnybody that wants to bother you will have to deal with Winfield Bybee,\nand I ain\u2019t yet turned any of my family over to a village constable.\nNow, Dave\u2014that your name?\u2014if you want to keep out of sight, reckon I\u2019d\nbetter let you help Buck, the cook on the privilege car.\n\u201cSometimes Buck gets too chummy with a bootlegger and his K. P. has to\nrustle the chow alone, but otherwise the boy\u2019s all right. And you,\nSally\u2014\u201d His keen eyes narrowed speculatively, took in the little flushed\nface, the big eyes sparkling. Then one of his big hands reached out and\nlifted the heavy braid of black hair that hung to her waist, weighed it,\nstudied it thoughtfully.\n\u201cRight this way, la-dees and gen-tle-men! Step right up and see Boffo,\nthe ostrich man, eat glass, nails, toothpicks, lead pipe, or what have\nyou! He chews \u2019em up and swallows \u2019em like a kid eats candy! Boffo\ndigests anything and everything from horseshoes to jack-knives! Any\ngentlemen present got a jack-knife for Boffo\u2019s dinner? Come on, folks!\nDon\u2019t be bashful! Don\u2019t let Boffo go hungry!\u201d\nThe spieler\u2019s voice went on and on, challenging, commanding, exhorting,\nbullying the gaping crowd of country people who surged after him like\nsheep. Admission to \u201cThe Palace of Wonders,\u201d a tent which housed a score\nof freaks and fakers, was 25 cents. It still seemed wonderful to Sally\nthat she was there without having paid admission, that she\u2014she, Sally\nFord, runaway ward of the state!\u2014was one of the many attractions which\nthe farmers and villagers had paid their hard-earned money to see.\nDimly through the crowd came the voice of the barker and ticket seller\nin his tall, red, scarred box outside the tent: \u201cAll right, all right!\nHere you are! Only a quarter\u201425 cents\u2014two bits\u2014to see the big show!\nPerformance just started! Step right up! All right, boys, this way!\nDon\u2019t let your girls call you a piker! Two bits pays for it all! See the\nhalf-man half-woman! See the girl nobody can lift! Try and lift her,\nboys! Little and pretty as a picture, but heavy as lead! All right, step\nright in! Don\u2019t crowd! Room for everybody! See Princess Lalla, the Harem\nCrystal Gazer! Sees all, knows all! See Pitty Sing, the smallest woman\nin the world\u2014\u201d\nIncredible! On Saturday, just two days ago, she had been peeling apples\nto make pies for the Carson family. Today she was a member of a carnival\ntroupe, under the protection of Winfield Bybee, owner of all these weird\ncreatures about whom the spieler was chanting. It was too unreal to be\ntrue.\nThere had been twelve solid hours of sleep. Then had come a marvelously\nsatisfying supper in the dining car, or \u201cprivilege\u201d car, with Bybee\nhimself introducing her to those astonishing people whom the spieler was\nnow exhibiting to the curious country people. The giant, a Hollander\nnamed Jan something-or-other, had bent from vast heights to take her\nhand; the tiny male midget, a Hawaiian billed merely as Noko, had\ngravely asked her, in a tiny, piping voice, if she would sew a button on\nhis miniature coat for him; the bearded \u201clady\u201d was a man, after all, a\nman with a naturally falsetto voice and tiny hands and feet. Boffo, the\nhuman ostrich, had disappointed her by being satisfied with a very\nordinary diet of corned beef and cabbage. The fat girl, who had confided\nto Sally that she only weighed 380 pounds, though she was billed as\n\u201ctipping the scales\u201d at 620, had patiently drunk glass after glass of\nmilk, until a gallon had been consumed\u2014all in the interest of keeping\nher weight up and adding to it.\nThen Bybee had taken her to his wife, a thin, hatchet-faced shrew of a\nwoman who seemed to suspect everything in petticoats of having designs\non her husband, and who in turn, seemed to feel equally sure that every\nman must envy him the possession of such a wonderful woman as his wife.\nHis deference toward her touched Sally even as it amused her.\nMrs. Bybee was too good a business woman, however, to let jealousy\ninterfere with her judgment where the show was concerned. She had\ndemurred a little, then had abruptly agreed to Bybee\u2019s plans for Sally.\nHours of sharp-tongued instruction from Mrs. Bybee had resulted in\nSally\u2019s being on the platform now, nervously awaiting her turn.\nThe crowd surged nearer to Sally\u2019s platform. The spieler was introducing\nthe giant now, and Jan was rising slowly from his enormous chair,\nunfolding his incredible length, standing erect at last, so that his\nhead touched and slightly raised the sloping canvas roof of the tent.\nShe wondered, as she gazed pityingly and a little fearfully at Jan, how\nit felt to be three feet taller than even the tallest of ordinary men,\nand as she wondered she gazed upward into Jan\u2019s face and caught\nsomething of an answer to her question. For Jan\u2019s great, hollow eyes,\nset in a skeleton of a face, were the saddest she had ever seen, but\npatiently sad, as if the little-boy soul that hid somewhere in that\nterribly abnormal body of his had resigned itself to eternal sorrow and\nloneliness.\nAt the request of the spieler Jan stalked, like a seven-league-boots\ncreature of a fairy tale, up and down the little platform, then, still\nsad-faced, patient, he folded up his amazing legs and relaxed in his\ngreat chair with a sigh. He was silently and indifferently offering\npostcard pictures of himself for sale when the barker turned toward\nSally, cajoling the crowd away from the giant:\n\u201cAnd here, la-dees and gen-tle-men, we have the most beautiful girl that\never escaped from a Turkish harem\u2014the Princess Lalla. Right here, folks!\nHere\u2019s a real treat for you! They may come bigger but they don\u2019t come\nprettier! I\u2019ve saved the Princess Lalla for the last because she\u2019s the\nbest. I know all you sheiks will agree with me\u2014\u201d Embarrassed snorts of\nlaughter interrupted him. \u201cThat\u2019s right, boys. And if the Princess Lalla\ndon\u2019t show up tonight I\u2019ll know that some good-looking Stanton boy has\neloped with her.\n\u201cStand up, Princess Lalla, and let these boys see what a Turkish\nprincess looks like! Don\u2019t crowd now, boys!\u201d\nSally slipped from her chair and advanced a pace or two toward the edge\nof the platform, her knees trembling so she could scarcely walk.\nIt did not seem possible to her that the glamorous, beautiful figure to\nwhom the spieler had made a deep and ironic salaam was Sally Ford. She\nwondered if all those people staring at her with wide, curious eyes or\nwith envy really believed she was the Princess Lalla, an escaped member\nof the harem of the Sultan of Turkey. She made herself see herself as\nthey saw her\u2014a slim, rounded, young-girl figure in fantastic purple\nsatin trousers, wrapped close about her legs from knee to ankle with\nropes of imitation pearls; a green satin tunic-blouse, sleeveless and\nembroidered with sequins and edged with gold fringe, half-revealing and\nhalf-concealing her delicate young curves; a provocative lace veil\ndimming and making mysterious the brilliance of her wide, childish eyes.\nShe wondered if any of the more skeptical would mutter that the\ngolden-olive tint of her face, neck and bare arms had come out of a can\nof burnt-sienna powder, applied thickly and evenly over a film of cold\ncream. The mock-jewel-wrapped ropes of her blue-black hair, however,\nwere real, and she felt their beauty as they lay against her slowly\nrising and falling breast.\nTo her gravely expressed doubts of the authenticity of her Turkish\ncostume Mrs. Bybee had replied curtly, contemptuously: \u201cMy Gawd! Who\nknows or cares whether Turkish dames dress like this? It\u2019s pretty, ain\u2019t\nit? Them women may wear turbans and what-nots for all I know, but that\nblack hair of yours ain\u2019t going to be covered up with no towel around\nyour head.\u201d\nAnd so, circling her brow and holding the scrap of black lace nose veil\nin place, was a crudely fashioned but gaudily pretty crown studded with\nimitation rubies and emeralds and diamonds as big as bird\u2019s eggs. Her\nfeet felt very tiny and strange in red sandals, whose pointed toes\nturned sharply upward and ended roguishly in fluffy silk pompoms.\n\u201cI declare, you make a lot better Princess Lalla than Minnie Brooks\ndid,\u201d Mrs. Bybee had commented after out-fitting Sally. \u201cShe took down\nwith appendicitis in Sioux City and we ain\u2019t had a crystal gazer\nsince\u2014one of the big hits of the show, too.\u201d\nBut the spieler was going on and on, giving her a fearful and wonderful\nhistory, endowing her with weird gifts\u2014\u201c... Yes, sir, folks, the\nPrincess Lalla sees all, knows all\u2014sees all in this magic crystal of\nhers. She sees past, present and future, and will reveal all to anyone\nwho cares to step up on this platform and be convinced. Just 25 cents,\nfolks, one lonely little quarter, and you\u2019ll have past, present and\nfuture revealed to you by the Turkish seeress, favorite fortune-teller\nof the Sultan of Turkey. Who\u2019ll be first, boys and girls? Step right\nup.\u201d\nAs he exhorted and harangued, the spieler, whom Sally had heard called\nGus, was busy arranging the little pine table, covered with black velvet\nembroidered in gold thread with the signs of the Zodiac. On the table\nstood a crystal ball, mounted on a tarnished gilt pedestal, and covered\nover with a black square. Gus whisked off the square and revealed the\n\u201cmagic crystal\u201d to the gaping crowd. Then, with another deep salaam, he\nconducted the \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d to her throne-like chair. She seated\nherself and cupped her brown-painted hands with their gilded nails over\nthe large glass bowl.\nA young man vaulted lightly upon the platform, followed by giggles and\nslangy words of encouragement. Sally\u2019s eyes, mercifully shielded by the\nblack lace veil, widened with terror. Her hands trembled so as they\nhovered over the crystal that she had an almost irresistible impulse to\ncover her face with them. Then she remembered that the black lace veil\nand the brown powder did that.\nFor the first to demand an exhibition of her powers as a seeress was\nRoss Willis, Pearl Carson\u2019s \u201cboy friend,\u201d Ross Willis who had not asked\nher to dance because she was the Carsons\u2019 \u201chired girl\u201d from the\norphanage.\nWhile Ross Willis, awkward and embarrassed, shuffled to the canvas chair\nwhich Gus, the spieler, whisked forward, Sally reflected that there was\nno need for her to remember any of the multitudinous instructions which\nMrs. Bybee had primed her for her job of \u201cseeress.\u201d\nShe curved her small, brown painted, gilded-nailed hands over the\ncrystal and bent her veiled face low. In a seductive, sing-song voice\nshe began to chant, bringing some of the words out hesitantly, as if\nEnglish had been recently learned and came hard to her \u201cTurkish\u201d lips:\n\u201cI zee ze beeg fields\u2014wheat fields, corn fields\u2014ees it not zo?\u201d She\nraised her shaded eyes coyly to the face of the young farmer. The crowd\npressed close, breathing hard, the odors of their perspiration coming up\non hot waves of summer air to the gayly dressed little figure on the\nplatform. \u201cYes\u2019m, I mean, sure, Princess,\u201d Ross Willis stuttered, and\nthe crowd laughed, pressed closer still. Two or three women waved\nquarters to attract the attention of Gus, the spieler, who stood behind\nher, to aid her if necessary.\n\u201cYou are\u2014what you call it?\u2014a farmer,\u201d Sally went on in her seductively\ndeepened voice. Oh, it was fun to \u201cplay-act\u201d and to be paid for it! \u201cYou\nva-ry reach young man. Va-ry beeg farm. You have mother, father, li\u2019l\nseester.\u201d Thank heaven, her ears had been keen that night of Pearl\u2019s\nparty, even if she had been inarticulate with shyness! \u201cYou ar-re in\nlove. I zee a gir-rl, a beeg, pretty gir-rl with red hair an\u2019 blue eyes.\nEes it not zo?\u201d Her little low laugh was a gurgle, which started a shout\nof laughter in the crowd.\n\u201cYeah, I reckon so,\u201d Ross Willis admitted, blushing more violently than\never.\n\u201cOh, you Pearl!\u201d a girl\u2019s voice shrilled from the crowd.\n\u201cYou mar-ry with thees gir-rl, have three va-ry nize childs,\u201d Sally went\non delightedly. After all, why shouldn\u2019t Pearl marry Ross Willis, since\nshe could not have David? \u201cZo! That ees all I zee,\u201d she concluded with\nsweet gravity. \u201cZee creestal she go dark now.\u201d\nRoss Willis thanked \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d awkwardly and dropped from the\nplatform to the grass-stubbled ground, entirely unaware that the\nmarvelous seeress was little Sally Ford.\nConfidence and mirth welled up in Sally. She began to believe in herself\nas \u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d just as she had always more than half-believed that\nshe was the queen or the actress whom she had impersonated in the old\ndays so recently ended forever, when she had \u201cplay-acted\u201d for the other\norphans.\nThe next seeker after knowledge of \u201cpast, present and future\u201d was not so\neasy, but not very hard either, for the applicant was a girl, a pretty,\nvery urban-looking girl, who wore a tiny solitaire ring on her\nengagement finger and who had been clinging to the arm of an obviously\nadoring young man. For the pretty girl Sally obligingly foretold a happy\nmarriage with a \u201cdark, tall young man, va-ry handsome\u201d; a long journey,\nand two children. The girl sparkled with pleasure, utterly unconscious\nof the fact that \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d had told her nothing of the past and\nvery little of the present.\nQuarters were thrust upon her thick and fast. Because of the brisk\ndemand for her services, Sally gave only the briefest of \u201creadings,\u201d and\nonly a few muttered angrily that it was a swindle. To a middle-aged\nfarmer she gave a bumper wheat crop, a new eight-cylinder car, a\nprospective son-in-law for the girl whom Sally had unerringly picked out\nas his unmarried daughter, and the promise of many splendid\ngrandchildren. To a freckled, open-faced, engaging youngster of ten,\nthrust upon the platform by his adoring mother, she grandly promised\nnothing less than the presidency of the United States, as well as riches\nand a beautiful wife.\nSome of her prophecies, such as twin babies for the newly married\ncouple, brought shouts of laughter from the crowd, and some of her vague\nguesses as to the past went very wide of the mark, as the applicants did\nnot hesitate to tell her\u2014the old maid, for instance, who looked so\nmotherly that Sally lavishly endowed her with a husband and three\nchildren; but nearly everyone who paid a quarter for what \u201cPrincess\nLalla\u201d could see in the magic crystal went away wondering and thrilled\nand satisfied.\nDuring the first lull between performances, Sally slipped out of the\n\u201cPalace of Wonders\u201d and daringly mingled with the crowds outside. It was\nall beautiful and wonderful to Sally, who had been to a circus only once\nin her life and never to a carnival before.\nBefore the tent which housed the big glass tank into which \u201cbathing\nbeauties\u201d dived and in which they ate bananas and drank soda-pop under\nwater, she encountered Winfield Bybee, enormous, majestic, benign, for\nit was a good crowd and a fine day, and money was pouring into his\npockets.\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d he grinned down at her, \u201cI hear from Gus that you\u2019re\nknocking \u2019em cold. Better run along in now, and you might see how many\nof the rubes you can make follow you into the Palace of Wonders. We\ndon\u2019t want to give \u2019em too much of a free show. And remember, girlie,\nfor every quarter Princess Lalla earns as a fortune-teller, little Sally\nFord gets a nickel for herself. Don\u2019t take many nickels to make a\ndollar.\u201d\n\u201cOh, Mr. Bybee, I\u2019m so happy I\u2019m about to burst,\u201d Sally confided to him\nin a rush of gratitude. \u201cBut\u2014do you think it\u2019s very wrong of me to\npretend to be a crystal gazer when really I can\u2019t see a thing in it to\nsave my life?\u201d\nBybee bellowed with laughter, so that the crowd veered suddenly toward\nthem. He stooped to whisper closer to her little brown-stained ear:\n\u201cDon\u2019t you worry, sister. As old P. T. Barnum used to say, \u2018There\u2019s a\nsucker born every minute,\u2019 and old Winfield Bybee knows that they like\nto be fooled. You just kid \u2019em along and send \u2019em away happy and I\nreckon the good Lord ain\u2019t going to waste any black ink on your record\ntonight. It\u2019s worth a quarter to be told a lot of nice things about\nyourself, ain\u2019t it?\u201d\nAs she tripped swiftly across the dusty lot toward the Palace of\nWonders, the crowd following her grew larger and larger. Becoming bolder\nbecause she felt that she was really \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d and not timid\nlittle Sally Ford, she deliberately flirted with the men who pressed\nclose upon her, even waved a little brown hand invitingly toward the big\ntent.\nWhen she reached the tent door, the barker leaned down from his booth,\nbehind which was set a small platform, and beckoned her to mount the\nnarrow steps. Smilingly she did so, and the barker introduced her:\n\u201cHere she is, boys\u2014the Princess Lalla of Con-stan-ti-no-ple, the\nprettiest girl that ever escaped from the Sultan\u2019s harem! Princess\nLalla, favorite crystal-gazer to the Sultan of Turkey before she escaped\nfrom his harem, will tell your fortunes, la-dees and gen-tle-men!\nPrincess Lalla sees all, knows all! Just one of the scores of\nattractions in the Palace of Wonders! Admission 25 cents, one quarter of\na dollar, two bits!\u201d\nSally bowed, her little brown hands spreading in an enchanting gesture;\nthen she skipped down the steps, the great ropes of black hair, wound\nwith strands of imitation pearls, flapping against the vivid green satin\ntunic.\nShe was very tired when the supper hour came, but the thought that she\nwould soon see David again lent wings to her sandaled feet. She was\nabout to hurry out of the Palace of Wonders, released at last by the\napparently indefatigable spieler, Gus, when a tiny, treble voice called\nto her:\n\u201cPrincess Lalla! Princess Lalla! Would you mind carrying me to the\ncars?\u201d\nSally, startled, looked everywhere about the tent that was almost\nemptied of spectators before it dawned on her that the tiny voice had\ncome from \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d \u201cthe smallest woman in the world,\u201d sitting in a\nchild\u2019s little red rocking chair on the platform.\nAll of Sally\u2019s passionate love for little things\u2014especially small\nchildren\u2014surged up in her heart. She skipped down the steps of her own\nparticular little platform and ran, with outstretched hands, to the\nmidget. \u201cPitty Sing\u201d was indeed a pretty thing, a very doll of a woman,\nthe flaxen hair on her small head marcelled meticulously, her little\nplump cheeks and pouting, babyish lips tinted with rouge. In her\nminiature hands she was holding a newspaper, which was so big in\ncomparison with her midget size that it served as a complete screen.\n\u201cOf course I\u2019ll carry you. I\u2019m so glad you\u2019ll let me,\u201d Sally glowed and\ndimpled. \u201cYou little darling, you!\u201d\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t baby me!\u201d Pitty Sing admonished her in a severe little\nvoice. \u201cI\u2019m old enough to be your mother, even if I\u2019m not big enough.\u201d\nAnd the tiny, plump hands began to fold the newspapers with great\ndefiniteness.\nSally\u2019s eyes, abashed, fluttered from the disapproving little face to\nthe paper. Odd that so tiny a thing could read\u2014but of course she was\ngrown up, even if she was only 29 inches tall\u2014\n\u201cOh, please!\u201d Sally gasped, going very pale under the brown powder. \u201cMay\nI see your paper for just a minute?\u201d\nFor her eyes had caught sight of a name which had been burned into her\nmemory, forever indelible\u2014the name of Carson.\nWhen Sally had carefully deposited the dignified little midget, \u201cPitty\nSing,\u201d in the infant-sided high-chair drawn up to a corner table in the\ndining car, she hurried to the box of a kitchen which took up the other\nend of the car, the newspaper trembling in her hand. She found David\nalone in the kitchen, slicing onions into a great pan of frying Swiss\nsteak. Onion-induced tears streamed down his cheeks, but at the sound of\nSally\u2019s urgent voice, he turned.\n\u201cOh, David, he wasn\u2019t killed!\u201d she cried, taking care to keep her voice\nlow. \u201cIt\u2019s in the paper\u2014look! But he says the most terrible things about\nus, and the police are looking for us\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHey, there, honey! Steady!\u201d David commanded gently, as he groped for a\nhandkerchief to wipe his streaming eyes. \u201cNow, let\u2019s see the paper.\nThank God I didn\u2019t commit murder\u2014what the devil!\u201d he interrupted\nhimself, as his eyes traveled hurriedly down the front page. \u201cBy heaven,\nI almost wish I had killed him! The dirty, lying skunk!\u201d\n\u201cFARMER ACCUSES HIRED MAN OF ASSAULT TO KILL\u201d was the streamer head-line\nacross the entire page. Below, two streamer lines of heavy italic type\ninformed the reader: \u201cCLEM CARSON SUFFERS BROKEN LEG FOR ATTEMPTING TO\nPROTECT ORPHANED GIRL FROM UNIVERSITY STUDENT WORKING ON FARM.\u201d\nThe \u201cstory,\u201d in small type, followed: \u201cClem Carson, prosperous farmer,\nliving eighteen miles from the capital city, is suffering from a broken\nleg, a broken nose and numerous cuts and bruises, sustained late\nSaturday afternoon when, Carson alleges, he broke into the garret\nbedroom of Miss Sally Ford, sixteen-year-old girl from the state\norphanage, who was working on the Carson farm for her board during the\nsummer vacation. According to Carson\u2019s story, told to reporters Sunday\nnight after a warrant for the arrest of Sally Ford and David Nash had\nbeen issued by the sheriff\u2019s office, the farmer had been suspicious for\nseveral days that one of his hired men, David Nash, A. & M. student\nduring the school year, was paying too marked attention to the young\ngirl, for whose safety Carson had pledged himself to the state.\n\u201cOn Saturday afternoon early the members of Mr. Carson\u2019s family,\nincluding his wife, brother, mother and daughter, had come to town for\nshopping, leaving Miss Ford alone in the house. The two other hired men\nhad also gone to the city, leaving Carson and young Nash at work on the\nfarm. Carson alleges that he saw Nash enter the house late Saturday\nafternoon and that when the young man did not return to his work in the\nbarn within a reasonable time, Carson left his own work to investigate,\nfearing for the safety of the girl under his protection.\n\u201cAfter unsuccessfully searching the main floor of the house, Carson\nalleges, he went to the garret, heard voices coming from Miss Ford\u2019s\nroom, tried the door and found it locked. He knocked, was refused\nadmittance, according to the story told the sheriff, then, determined to\nsave the girl from the man, he climbed to the roof of the porch and made\nhis way to the small window of the great room, from which he saw Miss\nFord and the Nash boy in a compromising position. When he tried to enter\nthe room through the window Carson alleges that he was brutally\nassaulted by young Nash, who, by the way, was boxing champion of the\nsophomore class at the A. & M. A smashing blow from young Nash\u2019s fist\nsent the farmer crashing through the window, and down the sloping roof\nto the ground.\n\u201cIn the fall, Carson\u2019s left leg was broken above the knee. He was still\nunconscious when Dr. John E. Salter, a physician living ten miles from\nthe Carson farm on the road to the capital, arrived at the deserted\nfarm, summoned by a mysterious male voice by telephone. The sheriff\u2019s\ntheory, as well as the doctor\u2019s, is that young Nash, fearful that he had\nseriously injured the farmer, summoned medical help before leaving with\nthe girl.\n\u201cA warrant for the arrest of David Nash has been issued by the sheriff,\ncharging the young student with assault with intent to kill and with\ncontributing to the delinquency of a minor. The warrant for Miss Ford\u2019s\narrest charges moral delinquency. Since she is a ward of the state until\nher eighteenth birthday, she is also liable to arrest on the simple\ncharge of running away from the farm on which the state orphanage\nauthorities had placed her for the summer.\u201d\nSally, trembling so that her teeth chattered, watched David as he read\nthe entire story. His young face became more and more grim as he read.\nWhen he had finished the shameful, hideously untrue account of what had\nreally been a piece of superb gallantry on his part, he crumpled the\npaper slowly between the fingers of his big hand as if that hand were\ncrushing out the life of the man who had lied so monstrously. Then,\nlifting a lid of the big coal range, he thrust the crumpled mass of\npaper into the flames.\n\u201cBut\u2014what are we going to do, David?\u201d Sally whispered, her eyes\nsearching his grim face piteously. \u201cThey\u2019ll send me to the reformatory\nif they catch me, and you\u2014you\u2014oh, David! They\u2019ll send you to prison for\nyears and years! I wish you\u2019d never laid eyes on me! I\u2019d rather die than\nhave you come to harm through me.\u201d\nShe sagged against the narrow shelf which served as a kitchen table,\nweeping forlornly.\n\u201cDon\u2019t cry, Sally,\u201d David pleaded gently. \u201cIt\u2019s not your fault. I\u2019d do\nit all over again if anyone else dared insult you. Oh, the devil! These\nonions are burning up! Skip along now and don\u2019t worry. I\u2019m cook tonight.\nBuck\u2019s on a spree. Keep a stiff upper lip, honey. In all that brown\npaint and that rig, you could walk into the sheriff\u2019s office and he\u2019d do\nnothing worse than ask you to read his palm.\u201d\n\u201cBut you, David, you!\u201d she protested, trying to choke off her sobs.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not disguised\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll stick to the kitchen. Nobody\u2019ll think of looking for me here.\u201d He\ngrinned at her cheerfully. \u201cRemember, Pop Bybee\u2019s on our side. He took\nus in when he thought I\u2019d killed a man. I don\u2019t suppose he\u2019ll turn on us\nnow, particularly since you\u2019re such a riot as Princess Lalla. I\u2019ve been\nhearing how big you\u2019re going over in the Palace of Wonders.\u201d\n\u201cHonestly, David?\u201d she brightened. \u201cDo you like me dressed up like\nthis?\u201d and she made him a little curtsey.\n\u201cYou sweet, sweet kid!\u201d he laughed at her tenderly. \u201cLike you like that?\nYou\u2019re adorable! But I like your own wild-rose complexion better. Now\nscoot or I\u2019ll be put in irons for spoiling the supper.\u201d\nSally fled, but not before she had blown him an audacious kiss from the\ntips of her gilded-nailed fingers.\nWinfield Bybee had entered the dining car during her talk with David and\nwas seated at his own table, his thin, hatchet-faced wife opposite him.\nWhen he saw his new \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d almost skipping down the aisle, her\neyes sparkling with joy at David\u2019s unexpected praise and tenderness, he\nmuttered something to Mrs. Bybee, then beckoned the fantastically clad\nlittle figure to his table.\n\u201cWould her royal highness honor me and Mrs. Bybee with her presence at\ndinner this evening?\u201d he boomed, his blue eyes twinkling.\nWhen she had seated herself, after a little flurry of thanks, Bybee\nleaned toward her and spoke in a confidential undertone: \u201cMe and the\nwife have seen that piece in the papers about you and Dave, Sally. What\nabout it? Who\u2019s lying? You and the boy\u2014or Carson?\u201d\nSally had turned the little black lace veil back upon the jeweled-gilt\ncrown, so that her big eyes showed like two round, polished sapphires\nset in bronze. Bybee, searching them with his keen, pale blue eyes,\ncould find in them no guile, no cloud of guilt.\n\u201cDavid and I told you the truth, Mr. Bybee,\u201d she said steadily, but her\nlips trembled childishly. \u201cYou believe us, don\u2019t you? David is good,\ngood!\u201d\n\u201cAll right,\u201d Bybee nodded his acceptance of her truthfulness. \u201cNow what\nwas that you was telling me and the wife about your mother?\u201d\nSally\u2019s heart leaped with hope. \u201cShe\u2014my mother\u2014lived here in Stanton,\nMr. Bybee. I have her address, the one she gave the orphanage twelve\nyears ago when she put me there. But Miss Pond, who works in the office\nat the Home, said they had investigated and found she had moved away\nright after she put me in the orphanage. But I thought\u2014I hoped\u2014I could\nfind out something while I\u2019m here. But I suppose it would be too\ndangerous\u2014I might get caught\u2014and they\u2019d send me to the reformatory\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHaven\u2019t I told you I\u2019m not going to let \u2019em bother you?\u201d Bybee chided\nher, beetling his brows in a terrific frown. \u201cNow, my idea is this\u2014\u201d\n\u201c_My_ idea, Winfield Bybee!\u201d his wife interrupted tartly. \u201cAlways taking\ncredit! That\u2019s you all over! _My_ idea, Sally, is for _me_ to scout\naround the neighborhood where your mother used to live and see if I can\npick up any information for you. Land knows a girl alone like you needs\nsome folks of her own to look after her. Wouldn\u2019t do for you to go\naround asking questions, but I\u2019ll make out like I\u2019m trying to find out\nwhere my long-lost sister, Mrs. Ford, is. What was her first name? Got\nthat, too?\u201d\n\u201cHer name was Nora,\u201d Sally said softly. \u201cMrs. Nora Ford, aged\ntwenty-eight then\u2014twelve years ago. Oh, Mrs. Bybee, you\u2019re both so good\nto me! Why are you so good to me?\u201d she added ingenuously.\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d Mrs. Bybee answered brusquely, \u201cit\u2019s because you\u2019re a sweet\nkid, without any dirty nonsense about you. That is,\u201d she added severely,\nher sharp grey eyes flicking from Sally\u2019s eager face to Bybee\u2019s, \u201cyou\u2019d\nbetter not let me catch you making eyes at this old Tom Cat of mine!\u201d\n\u201cNow, Ma,\u201d Bybee flushed and squirmed, \u201cdon\u2019t tease the poor kid. Can\u2019t\nyou see she\u2019s clear gone on this Dave chap of her\u2019s? She wouldn\u2019t even\nknow I was a man if I didn\u2019t wear pants. Don\u2019t mind her, Sally. She\u2019s\nyour friend, too, and she\u2019ll try to get on your ma\u2019s tracks tomorrow\nmorning before show time.\u201d\nCHAPTER VI\nHours more of \u201ccrystal-gazing,\u201d of giving lavish promises of \u201clong\njourneys,\u201d success, wealth, sweethearts, husbands, wives, bumper corn\nand wheat crops, babies\u2014until eleven o\u2019clock and the merciful dwindling\nof the carnival crowds permitted a weary little \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d to slip\nout of the \u201cPalace of Wonders\u201d tent, Pitty Sing, the midget woman,\ncradled in her arms like a baby. For Pitty Sing had promptly adopted\nSally as her human sedan chair, uncompromisingly dismissing black-eyed\nNita, the \u201cHula-Hula\u201d dancer, who had previously performed that service\nfor her.\n\u201cI don\u2019t like Nita a bit,\u201d the tiny treble voice informed Sally with\ngreat definiteness. \u201cI do like you, and I shall compensate you\ngenerously for your services. Nita has no proper respect for me, though\nI command\u2014and I say it without boasting, I hope\u2014twice the salary that\nthat indecent muscle-dancer does. And she always joggled me.\u201d\n\u201cPoor Pitty Sing!\u201d Sally soothed her, as she picked her way carefully\nover the grass stubble to the big dress tent which also served as\nsleeping quarters for the women performers of the \u201cPalace of Wonders.\u201d\n\u201cHaven\u2019t you anyone to look after you? Anyone belonging to you, I mean?\u201d\n\u201cWhy should I have?\u201d the indignant little piping voice demanded from\nSally\u2019s shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m a woman grown, as I\u2019ve reminded you before. I\u2019ve\nbeen paying Nita five dollars a week to carry me to and from the show\ntent for each performance. Of course there are a few other little things\nshe does for me, but if you\u2019d like to have the position I think we would\nget along very nicely.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure of it!\u201d Sally exalted, laying her cheek for an instant\nagainst the flaxen, marcelled little head. \u201cThank you, Pitty Sing, thank\nyou with all my heart!\u201d\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t call me \u2018Pitty Sing\u2019,\u201d the little voice commanded tartly.\n\u201cThe name does very well for exhibition purposes, but my name is Miss\nTanner\u2014Elizabeth Matilda Tanner.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m sorry!\u201d Sally protested, hurt and abashed. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean\u2014I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut you may call me Betty.\u201d The treble was suddenly sweet and sleepy\nlike a child\u2019s. One of the miniature hands fluttered out inadequately to\nhelp Sally part the flaps of the dress tent, which was deserted except\nfor the fat girl, already asleep and snoring stertorously.\nSally knelt to enable the midget to stand on the beaten down stubble\nwhich served as the only carpet of Sally\u2019s new \u201cdormitory.\u201d\n\u201cThank you, Sally,\u201d the midget piped, her eyes lifted toward Sally out\nof a network of wrinkles which testified that she was indeed a \u201cwoman\ngrown.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re a very nice little girl, and your David is one of the\nhandsomest men I ever saw.\u201d\n\u201c_Your David!_\u201d Sally\u2019s heart repeated the words, sang them, crooned\nover them, but she did not answer, except with one of her rare, sudden,\nsweet smiles.\n\u201cNita evidently thinks so, too,\u201d the weak little treble went on, as\n\u201cPitty Sing\u201d trotted toward her cot, looking like an animated doll. \u201cI\nmight as well warn you right now, Sally, that I don\u2019t trust that Nita\nperson as far as I can throw a bull by the horns.\u201d\nShe flung her dire pronouncement over a tiny, pink-silk shoulder as she\nknelt before a small metal trunk and reached into her bosom for a key\nsuspended around her neck on a chain. Sally\u2019s desire to laugh at the\npreposterous picture of the midget throwing a bull by the horns was\nthrottled by a new and particularly horrid fear.\n\u201cWhat\u2014do you mean, Betty?\u201d she gasped. \u201cHas Nita\u2014\u201d\n\u201c\u2014been vamping your David?\u201d tiny Miss Elizabeth Matilda Tanner finished\nher sentence for her. \u201cIt would not be Nita if she overlooked a prospect\nlike your David. It is entirely obvious that he is a person of breeding\nand family, even if he is helping Buck in the \u2018privilege\u2019 car kitchen.\nNita is always so broke that she has to eat her meals in the cook tent,\nbut she borrowed or stole the money today to eat in the privilege car,\nand she found it necessary to confer with your David on a purely\nfictitious dietetic problem, and then went boldly into the kitchen to\ntime the eggs he was boiling for her. That Nita!\u201d the tiny voice snorted\ncontemptuously. \u201cShe\u2019s as strong as a horse and has about as much need\nfor a special diet as an elephant has for galoshes. Oh, she\u2019s up to her\ntricks, not a doubt about that. I just thought I\u2019d warn you in time.\nNita\u2019s a man-eating tigress and once she\u2019s smelled blood\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThank you, Betty,\u201d Sally interrupted gently, as she knelt beside the\nmidget to help her with the lid of the trunk. \u201cBut David isn\u2019t _my_\nDavid, you know. He\u2019s\u2014he\u2019s just a friend who helped me out when I was in\nterrible trouble. If Nita likes David, and\u2014he\u2014likes her\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t be absurd!\u201d the midget scolded her, seating herself on a tiny\nstool to take off her baby-size shoes and stockings. \u201cOf course you\u2019re\nin love with him, and he\u2019s crazy about you\u2014a blind person could see\nthat. Will you untie this shoe-lace, please? My nightgown is in the tray\nof the trunk, and you\u2019ll find a nightcap there, too. I wear it,\u201d she\nexplained severely, on the defensive against ridicule, \u201cto protect my\nmarcel. Heaven knows it\u2019s hard enough to get a good curl in these hick\ntowns, with the rubes gaping at me wherever I go. Then please get my\nIbsen\u2014a little green leather book. I\u2019m reading \u2018Hedda Gabler\u2019 now. Have\nyou read it?\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes!\u201d Sally cried, delightedly. \u201cDo you like to read? Could I\nborrow it to read between shows? I\u2019ll take awfully good care of it\u2014\u201d\n\u201cCertainly I read!\u201d Miss Tanner informed her severely, climbing, with\nSally\u2019s help, into her low cot-bed. \u201cMy father, who had these little\nbooks made especially for me, was a university professor. I have\ncompleted the college course, under his tutelage. If he had not died I\nshould not be here,\u201d and her little eyes were suddenly bitter with\nloneliness and resentment against the whimsy of a Providence that\nelected to make her so different from other women.\nSally found the miniature book, small enough to fit the midget\u2019s hand,\nand gave it to her, then stooped and kissed the little faded, wrinkled\ncheek and set about the difficult and unaccustomed task of removing her\nmake-up. Beside her cot bed she found a small tin steamer trunk,\nstencilled in red paint with the magic name, \u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d She\nstared at it incredulously for a long minute, then untwisted the wire\nholding duplicate keys.\nWhen she threw back the lid she found a shiny black tin make-up box,\ncontaining the burnt-sienna powder Mrs. Bybee had used in making her up\nfor the first day\u2019s performances; a big can of theatrical cold cream;\nsquares of soft cheesecloth for removing make-up; two new towels;\nmascara, lip rouge, white face powder, a utilitarian black comb and\nbrush; tooth paste and tooth brush.\n\u201cOh, these kind people!\u201d she whispered to herself, and bent her head\nupon the make-up box and wept grateful tears. Then, smiling at herself\nand humming a little tune below her breath, she lifted the tray and\nfound\u2014not the tell-tale dresses which Pearl Carson had given her and\nwhich had been minutely described by the police in the newspaper account\nof the near-tragedy on the Carson farm\u2014but two new dresses, cheap but\npretty, the little paper ticket stitched into the neck of each showing\nthe size to be correct\u2014fourteen.\nShe was still kneeling before her trunk, blinded with tears of\ngratitude, when a coarse, nasal voice slashed across the dress tent:\n\u201cWell, strike me dumb, if it ain\u2019t the Princess Lalla in person, not a\nmovie! Don\u2019t tell me you\u2019re gonna bunk with us, your highness! I thought\nyou\u2019d be sawing wood in Pop Bybee\u2019s stateroom by this time! What\u2019s the\nmatter he ain\u2019t rocking you to sleep and giving you your nice little\nbottle?\u201d\nSally rose slowly, the new dresses slithering to the floor in stiff\nfolds. She batted the tears from her eyes with quick flutters of her\neyelids and then stared at the girl who stood at the tent flap, taunting\nher.\nShe saw a thin, tall girl, naked to the waist except for breastplates\nmade of tarnished metal studded with imitation jewels. About her lean\nhips and to her knees hung a skirt of dried grass, the regulation \u201chula\ndancer\u201d skirt.\n\u201cYou\u2019re\u2014Nita, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Sally\u2019s voice was small, placating. \u201cI\u2019m\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, I know who _you_ are! You\u2019re the orphan hussy the police are\nlookin\u2019 for!\u201d the harsh voice ripped out, as Nita swung into the tent,\nher grass skirts swishing like the hiss of snakes. \u201cFurthermore, you\u2019re\nPop Bybee\u2019s blue-eyed baby girl! And\u2014you\u2019re the baby-faced little\nshe-devil that stole my graft with that little midget! Well, Princess\nLalla, I guess we\u2019ve been introduced proper now, and we can skip\nformalities and get down to business. Hunh?\u201d And she bent menacingly\nover Sally, evil black eyes glittering into wide, frightened blue ones,\nher mouth an ugly, twisting, red loop of hatred.\nSally backed away, instinctively, from the snake-tongues of venom in\nthose black eyes. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019ve offended you, Miss\u2014Nita.\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIf you\u2019re not you will be! Want me to tip off the police? Well, then,\nif you don\u2019t, listen, because I want you to get this\u2014and get it good,\nall of it!\u201d\nFour girls, two of them thin to emaciation, one over-fat, the fourth as\nbeautifully shaped as a Greek statue, trailed dispiritedly into the\ndress tent, their hands groping to unfasten the snaps of their soiled\nsilk chorus-girl costumes.\nTheir heavily rouged and powdered faces were drawn with fatigue; their\neyes like burned holes in once-gay blankets. Sally had watched them\ndance, enviously, between her own performances, had heard the barker\nballyhooing them as: \u201cBybee\u2019s Follies Girls, straight from Broadway and\non their way back to join their pals in Ziegfeld\u2019s Follies.\u201d\nNow, weary unto death after eighteen performances, the \u201cFollies\u201d girls\nshuffled on aching feet to their cots and seated themselves with groans\nand dispirited curses, paying not the faintest attention to the tense\ntableau presented by Nita, the \u201cHula\u201d dancer, and the girl they knew as\n\u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d\nSally\u2019s frightened eyes fluttered from one to another of that\nbedraggled, pathetic quartet, but she might as well have appealed to the\ngaudily painted banners that fluttered over the deserted booths outside.\n\u201cWhat do you want, Nita?\u201d she whispered, moistening her dry lips and\ntwisting her little brown-painted hands together.\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you fast enough!\u201d Nita snarled, thrusting her face close to\nSally\u2019s. \u201cI want you to give that sheik of yours the gate\u2014get me? Ditch\nhim, shake him, and I don\u2019t mean maybe!\u201d\nFor the third time that day Sally was having David Nash, the only friend\nshe had ever made outside the orphanage, flung into her face as a\nsweetheart or worse. Winfield Bybee\u2019s casual words to his wife\u2014\u201cCan\u2019t\nyou see she\u2019s clear gone on that Dave chap of hers?\u201d\u2014had made her heart\nbeat fast with a queer, suffocating kind of pleasure, a pleasure she had\nnever before experienced in her life. Those words had somehow initiated\nher into young ladyhood, fraught with strange, lovely, privileges, among\nthem the right to be \u201cclear gone\u201d on a man\u2014a man like David! The\nmidget\u2019s \u201cyour David\u201d and \u201cOf course you\u2019re in love with him, and he\u2019s\ncrazy about you\u2014a blind person could see that,\u201d had sent her heart\nsoaring to heaven, like a toy balloon accidentally released from a\nchild\u2019s clutch.\nBut Nita\u2019s \u201cthat sheik of yours,\u201d Nita\u2019s venomously spat command, \u201cgive\nhim the gate, ditch him, shake him,\u201d aroused in her a sudden blind fury,\na fury as intense as Nita\u2019s.\n\u201cI\u2019ll do no such thing! David\u2019s mine, as long as he wants to be! You\nhave no right to dictate to me!\u201d\n\u201cIs that so?\u201d Nita straightened, hands digging into her hips, a toss of\nher ragged, badly curled blond head emphasizing her sarcasm. \u201cIs that\nso? Maybe you\u2019ll think I had some right when the cops tap you on the\nshoulder tomorrow! Too bad you and your David can\u2019t share a suite in the\ncounty jail together!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019d\u2014you\u2019d do that\u2014to David, too?\u201d Sally whispered over cold lips.\n\u201cI thought that\u2019d get under your skin,\u201d Nita laughed harshly. Then, as\nthough the interview was successfully concluded, from her standpoint,\nthe red-painted nails of her claw-like hands began to pick at the\nfastening of her grass skirt.\nSally was turning away blindly, feeling like a small, trapped animal,\nwhen a tiny, shrill voice came from the midget\u2019s cot:\n\u201cI heard every word you said, Nita! I think you must have gone crazy.\nThe heat affects some like this, but I never saw it strike a carnival\ntrouper quite so bad\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou shut up, you little double-crossing runt!\u201d Nita whirled toward the\nmidget\u2019s bed.\n\u201cI may be a runt,\u201d the midget\u2019s voice shrilled, \u201cbut I\u2019m in full\npossession of my faculties. And when I tell Winfield Bybee the threats\nyou\u2019ve made against this poor child, you\u2019ll find yourself stranded in\nStanton without even a grass skirt to earn a living with. And if the\ncarnival grapevine is still working, you\u2019ll find that no other show in\nthe country will take you on. It will be back to the hash joints for\nyou, Nita, and I for one think the carnival will be a neater, sweeter\nplace without you. Get your make-up off and get into bed, Sally. And\ndon\u2019t worry. Nita wouldn\u2019t have dared try to bluff a real trouper like\nthat.\u201d\n\u201cFor Gawd\u2019s sake, are you all going to jaw all night?\u201d a weary voice,\nwith a flat, southern drawl demanded indignantly. \u201cI\u2019ve got some\nimportant sleeping to do, if I\u2019m going to show tomorrow. Gawd, I\u2019m so\ntired my bones are cracking wide open.\u201d\n\u201cShut up yourself!\u201d Nita snarled, slouching down upon the camp stool\nbeside her trunk, to remove her make-up. \u201cYou hoofers don\u2019t know what\ntired means. If you had to jelly all day like I do! Oh, Gawd! What a\nlife! What a life! You\u2019re right, Midge! It sure gets you\u2014eighteen shows\na day and this hell-fired heat.\u201d\nIt was Nita\u2019s surrender, or at least her pretended surrender, to the law\nof the carnival\u2014live and let live; ask no questions and answer none.\nIn the thick silence that followed Sally tremblingly seated herself\nbefore her trunk and smeared her neck, face, arms and hands with\ntheatrical cold cream. She was conscious that other weary girls drifted\nin\u2014\u201cthe girl nobody can lift,\u201d the albino girl, whose pink eyes were\nshaded with big blue goggles; the two diving girls, looking as if their\ndiet of soda pop and bananas eaten under water did not agree with them.\nBut she was aware of them, rather than saw them. Stray bits of their\nconversation forced through her own conflicting thoughts and emotions\u2014\n\u201cWhere\u2019s my rabbit foot? Gawd, I\u2019ve lost my rabbit foot! That means a\nrun of bad luck, sure\u2014\u201d\n\u201c\u2014\u2019n I says, \u2018Blow, you crazy rube. Whaddye take me for?\u2019\u201d\n\u201cGood pickings! If this keeps up I\u2019ll be able to grab my cakes in the\nprivilege car\u2014sold fifty-eight postcards today\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhaddye know? Gus the barker\u2019s fell something fierce for the new kid.\n\u2019N they say Pop Bybee\u2019s got her on percentage, as well as twelve bucks\nper and cakes. Some guys has all the luck\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWho\u2019s the sheik in the privilege car? Don\u2019t look like no K. P. to me.\nBoy howdy! Hear you already staked your claim, Nita. Who is he?\nMillionaire\u2019s son gettin\u2019 an eyeful of life in raw?\u201d\nShe knew that Nita did not answer, at least not in words. Gradually talk\ndied down; weary bodies stretched their aching length upon hard, sagging\ncots. Someone turned out the sputtering gas jet that had ineffectually\nilluminated the dress tent. Groans subsided into snores or whistling,\nadenoidal breathing. A sudden breeze tugged at the loose sides of the\ntent, slapping the canvas loudly against the wooden stakes that held it\ndown.\nAlthough she was so tired that her muscles quivered and jerked\nspasmodically, Sally found that she could not sleep. As if her mind were\na motion-picture screen, the events of the day marched past, in very bad\nsequence, like an unassembled film. She saw her own small figure\nflitting across the screen fantastically clad in purple satin trousers\nand green jacket, her face and arms brown as an Indian\u2019s, her eyes\nshielded by a little black lace veil. Crowds of farmers, their wives,\ntheir children; small-town business men, their wives and giggling\ndaughters and goggle-eyed sons, avid for a glimpse of the naughtiness\nwhich the barker promised behind the tent flap of the \u201cgirlie show,\u201d\npressed in upon her, receded, pressed again, thrust out quarters,\ndemanded magic visions of her\u2014\nDavid, his eyes streaming with onion tears, smiling at her. David\nreading that dreadful newspaper story\u2014David of yesterday, saying, \u201cDear\nlittle Sally!\u201d pressing her against him for a blessed minute\u2014\nAnd Nita, her eyes rabid with sudden, ugly passion\u2014passion for\nDavid\u2014Nita threatening her, threatening David\u2014\nDavid, David! The movie stopped with a jerk, then resolved itself into\nan enormous \u201cclose-up\u201d of David Nash, his eyes smiling into hers with\ninfinite gentleness and tenderness.\n\u201cDoes he think I\u2019m just a little girl, too young to\u2014to be in love or to\nbe loved?\u201d she asked herself, audacious in the dark. \u201cIf\u2014if he was at\nall in love with me\u2014but oh, he couldn\u2019t be!\u2014would he be so friendly and\neasy with me? Wouldn\u2019t he be embarrassed, and blush, and\u2014and things like\nthat? Oh, I\u2019m just being silly! He doesn\u2019t think of me at all except as\na little girl who\u2019s in trouble. A girl alone, as he calls me.\u201d\nThen a new memory banished even the \u201cclose-up\u201d of David on the screen of\nher mind\u2014a memory called up by those words\u2014\u201cgirl alone.\u201d She felt that\nshe ought to weep with shame and contrition because she had so long\nhalf-forgotten Mrs. Bybee\u2019s promise to make inquiries about her\nmother\u2014the mother who had given her to the orphanage twelve years\nbefore, leaving behind her only a meager record\u2014\u201cMrs. Nora Ford, aged\ntwenty-eight.\u201d\nSo little in those words with which to conjure up a mother! She would be\nforty now, if\u2014if she were still alive! Suddenly all her twelve years of\norphanhood, of longing for a mother, even for a mother who would desert\nher child and go away without a word, rushed over Sally like an\navalanche of bruising stones. Every hurt she had sustained during all\nthose twelve motherless years throbbed with fresh violence; drew hard\ntears that dripped upon the lumpy cotton pillow beneath her tossing\nhead.\nWhen the paroxysm of weeping had somewhat subsided she crept out of her\ncot and knelt beside it and prayed.\nThen she crept back into bed, unconscious that the midget was still\nawake and had seen her dimly in the darkness. Strangely free of her\nburdens, Sally lay for a long time before sleep claimed her, trying to\nremember all the instructions about crystal-gazing that Mrs. Bybee had\nheaped upon her. And in her childish conscience there was no twinge or\nremorse that she was to go on the next day, deceiving the public, as\n\u201cPrincess Lalla, favorite crystal-gazer of the Sultan of Turkey.\u201d\nThe next morning\u2014the carnival\u2019s second and last day in Stanton\u2014Sally\noverslept. She did not awaken until a tiny hand tugged impatiently at\nher hair. Her dark blue eyes flew wide in startled surprise, then\nrecognition of her surroundings and of \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d the midget, dawned\nin them slowly.\n\u201cYou looked so pretty asleep that I hated to awaken you,\u201d the midget\ntold her. \u201cBut it\u2019s getting late, and I want my breakfast. I\u2019m dressed.\u201d\nThe little woman wore a comically mature-looking dress of blue linen,\nmade doll-size, by a pattern which would have suited a woman of forty.\nSally impulsively took the tiny face between her hands and laid her lips\nfor an instant against the softly wrinkled cheek. Then she sprang out of\nbed, careful not to \u201cjoggle\u201d the midget, who had been so emphatic about\nher distaste for being joggled.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a bucket of water and a tin basin,\u201d Miss Tanner told her\nbrusquely, to hide the pleasure which Sally\u2019s caress had given her. \u201cAll\nthe other girls have gone to the cook tent, so you can dress in peace.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t thank you properly last night for taking my part against\nNita,\u201d Sally said shyly, as she hastily drew on her stockings. \u201cBut I do\nthank you, Betty, with all my heart. I was so frightened\u2014for David\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat I said to Nita will hold her for a while.\u201d Betty Tanner nodded\nwith satisfaction. \u201cBut I don\u2019t trust her. She\u2019ll do something underhand\nif she thinks she can get away with it. But don\u2019t worry. Once the\ncarnival gets out of this state, you and your David will be pretty safe.\nI don\u2019t think the police will bother about extradition, even if Nita\nshould tip them off. In the meantime, I\u2019ll break the first law of\ncarnival and try to learn something of Nita\u2019s past. I\u2019ve seen her turn\npale more than once when a detective or a policeman loomed up\nunexpectedly and seemed to be giving her the once-over. Oh, dear, I\u2019m\ngetting to be as slangy as any of the girls,\u201d she mourned.\nAfter Sally had splashed in the tin basin and had combed and braided her\nhair, she hesitated for a long minute over the two new dresses that had\nmysteriously found their way into the equally mysterious new tin trunk.\nShe caught herself up at the thought. Of course they were not\nmysterious. \u201cPop\u201d and Mrs. Bybee had provided them, out of the infinite\nkindness of their hearts. Were they always so kind to the carnival\u2019s new\nrecruits? Gratitude welled up in her impressionable young heart;\noverflowed her lips in song, as she dressed herself in the little white\nvoile, splashed with tiny blue and yellow wild flowers.\nLast night\u2019s breeze had brought with it a light, cooling shower, and\nstill lingered under the hot caress of the June sun. Sally sang, at\nBetty\u2019s request, as she sped across vacant lots to the show train\nresting engineless on a spur track. At the sound of her fresh, young\nvoice, caroling an old song of summertime and love, David Nash thrust\nhis head out of the little high window in the box of a kitchen at the\nend of the dining car, and waved an egg-beater at her, lips and teeth\nand eyes flashing gay greetings to her.\n\u201cBetter tell your David how Nita\u2019s been carrying on,\u201d the midget piped\nfrom Sally\u2019s shoulder.\nSong fled from Sally\u2019s throat and heart. \u201cNo,\u201d she shook her head. She\ncouldn\u2019t be a tattle-tale. If the orphanage had taught her nothing else\nit had taught her not to be a tale-bearer. Besides, to talk of Nita and\nher threats would make it necessary to tell David all that Nita had\nsaid, and at the thought Sally\u2019s cheeks went scarlet. It might kill his\nfriendship for her to let him know that others\u2014apparently all the\ncarnival folk\u2014had labeled that friendship \u201clove.\u201d Why couldn\u2019t they let\nher and David alone? Why snatch up this beautiful thing, this precious\nfriendship, and maul it about, sticking labels all over it until it was\nruined?\nShe had placed the midget in her own little high chair at her own\nparticular table in the privilege car and was hurrying down the car\nbound for the cook tent and her own breakfast when Winfield Bybee and\nhis wife entered. Mrs. Bybee was dressed as if for a journey of\nimportance.\nWinfield Bybee boomed out a greeting to Sally, tilting his head to peer\ninto her smiling blue eyes.\n\u201cAll dolled up and looking pretty enough to eat,\u201d he chuckled. \u201cAin\u2019t\nthat a new dress?\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes, and it fits perfectly,\u201d Sally glowed. \u201cThanks so very much for\nthe trunk and the dresses, Mrs. Bybee,\u201d she added, tactfully addressing\nthe showman\u2019s wife. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019ll pay you back out of my salary as I make it\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d Mrs. Bybee demanded sternly, her eyes\nflashing from Sally\u2019s flushed face to her husband\u2019s. \u201cI never bought you\nany dresses or a trunk. Now, you looka here, Winfield Bybee! I\u2019m a woman\nof few words, and of a long-suffering disposition, but even a saint\nknows when she\u2019s got a stomachful! I swallowed your mealy-mouthed\npalaverin\u2019 about this poor little orphan, but if you\u2019re sneaking around\nand buying her presents behind my back, I\u2019ll turn her right over to the\nstate and not lose a wink of sleep, and let me tell you this, Winfield\nBybee\u2014\u201d Her words were a rushing torrent, heated to the boiling point by\njealousy and suspicion.\nSally tried to speak, to interrupt her, but she might as well have tried\nto stop the Niagara. Under the force of the torrent Sally at last bowed\nher head, shrinking against the wall of the car, the very picture of\ndetected guilt. The carnival owner gasped and waved his arms helplessly,\ntried to pat his wife\u2019s hands and had his own slapped viciously for his\npains. When at last Mrs. Bybee paused for breath, and to mop her\nperspiring face with her handkerchief, Bybee managed to get in his\ndefense, doggedly, his bluster wilted under his wife\u2019s tongue lashing:\n\u201cYou\u2019re crazy, Emma! I didn\u2019t buy her any presents. I never saw that\ndress before in my life. I don\u2019t know what you or she\u2019s talking about. I\ndidn\u2019t buy her anything! I\u2014oh, good Lord!\u201d He tried to put his arms\nabout his wife, his face so strutted with blood that Sally felt a faint\nwonder, through her misery, that apoplexy did not strike him down.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, Sally?\u201d David came striding out of the kitchen, a\nbutcher knife in one hand and a slab of breakfast bacon in the other.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, David,\u201d she whispered forlornly. \u201cI\u2014I was just thanking\nMrs. Bybee for this dress and another one and a trunk I found in the\ndress tent with my name on it\u2014\u2018Princess Lalla\u2019\u2014\u201d she stammered over the\nname\u2014\u201cand Mrs. Bybee says she didn\u2019t give them to me.\u201d\n\u201cHe thought he\u2019d put something over on me, and me all dressed up like a\nmissionary to go look for her precious mother. I guess her mother wasn\u2019t\nany better than she should have been and this little soft-soap artist\ntakes after her,\u201d Mrs. Bybee broke in stridingly, but her angry eyes\nlost something of their conviction under David\u2019s level gaze.\n\u201cI bought the things for Sally, Mrs. Bybee,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI should\nhave told her, or put my card in. Unfortunately I didn\u2019t have one with\nme,\u201d he added with a boyish grin.\n\u201cOh!\u201d Anger spurted out of Mrs. Bybee\u2019s jealous heart like air let out\nof a balloon. \u201cReckon I\u2019m just an old fool! God knows I don\u2019t see why I\nshould care what this old woman-chaser of a husband of mine does, but\u2014I\ndo! If you\u2019re ever in love, Sally, you\u2019ll understand a foolish old woman\na little better. Now, young man, you take that murderous looking knife\nand that bacon back into the kitchen and scramble a couple of eggs for\nme. And I guess you can give Pop a rasher of that bacon, even if it is\nagainst the doctor\u2019s orders.\u201d\nAnd the showman, beaming again and throwing \u201cGood mornings\u201d right and\nleft, marched down the aisle, his arm triumphantly about his repentant\nwife\u2019s shoulders.\nSally watched them for a moment, a lovely light of tenderness and\nunderstanding playing over her sensitive face. Then she turned to David,\nwho had not yet obeyed Mrs. Bybee\u2019s command. They smiled into each\nother\u2019s eyes, shyly, and the flush that made Sally\u2019s face rosy was\nreflected in the boy\u2019s tanned cheeks.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, David, I didn\u2019t dream it was\u2014you. Thank you, David.\u201d She\ncould not keep from repeating his name, dropping it like a caress at the\nend of almost every sentence she addressed to him, as if her lips kissed\nthe two slow, sweet syllables.\n\u201cI should have told you,\u201d David confessed in a low voice, slightly\nshaken with embarrassment and some other emotion which flickered behind\nthe smile in his gold-flecked hazel eyes. \u201cI\u2014I thought you\u2019d know. You\nneeded the things and I knew you didn\u2019t have any money. I\u2019ve got to get\nback into the kitchen,\u201d he added hastily, awkwardly. She had never seen\nhim awkward in her presence before, and she was daughter of Eve enough\nto rejoice. And in her shy joy her face blossomed with sudden rich\nbeauty that made Nita, the Hula dancer, who appeared in the doorway at\nthat moment, look old and tawdry and bedraggled, like the last ragged\nsunflower withering against a kitchen fence.\nBut not even Nita\u2019s flash of hatred and veiled warning could blight that\nsudden sweet blooming of Sally\u2019s beauty. She waved goodby to David,\ncarrying away with her as she sped to the cook tent the heart-filling\nsweetness and tenderness of his answering smile. She took out the memory\nof that smile and of his boyish flush and awkwardness a hundred times\nduring the morning, to look at in fresh wonder, as a child repeatedly\nunearths a bit of buried treasure to be sure that it is still there.\nWhen she bent her little head gravely over the crystal, after the\ncarnival had opened for the day, she saw in it not other people\u2019s\n\u201cfortunes\u201d but David\u2019s flushed face, David\u2019s shy, tender eyes, David\u2019s\nlips curled upward in a smile. And because she was so happy she lavished\nhappiness upon all those who thrust quarters upon Gus, the barker, for\n\u201cPrincess Lalla\u2019s\u201d mystic reading of \u201cpast, present and future.\u201d\nShe had almost forgotten, in her preoccupation with the miracle which\nhad happened to her\u2014for she knew now that she loved David, not as a\nchild loves, but as a woman loves\u2014that Mrs. Bybee was undoubtedly\nkeeping her promise to make inquiries about the woman who had given her\nname as Mrs. Nora Ford when she had committed Sally Ford to the care of\nthe state twelve years before. But she was sharply reminded and filled\nwith remorse for her forgetfulness when Gus, the barker, leaned close\nover her at the end of a performance to whisper:\n\u201cThe boss\u2019 ball-and-chain wants to see you in the boss\u2019 private car,\nkid. Better beat it over there before you put on the nose bag. Next show\nat one-fifteen, if we can bally-hoo a crowd by then. You can tell her\nthat Gus says you\u2019re going great!\u201d\nAs Sally ran across lots to the side-tracked carnival train, she buried\nher precious new memory of David under layers of anxiety and questions.\nIt would still be there when her question had been answered by Mrs.\nBybee, to comfort her if the showman\u2019s wife had been unsuccessful, to\nadd to her joy if some trace of her mother had been found.\n\u201cMaybe\u2014maybe I\u2019ll have a mother and a sweetheart, too,\u201d she marveled, as\nshe climbed breathless, into the coach which had been pointed out to her\nas the showman\u2019s private car.\nIt was not really a private car, for Bybee and his wife occupied only\none of the drawing rooms of the ancient Pullman car, long since retired\nfrom the official service of that company. The berths were occupied on\nlong jumps by a number of the stars of the carnival and by some of the\nmost affluent of the concessionaires and barkers, a few of the latter\nbeing part owners of such attractions as the \u201cgirlie show\u201d and the\n\u201cdiving beauties.\u201d When the carnival showed in a town for more than a\nday, however, the performers usually preferred to sleep in tents, rather\nthan in the stuffy, hot berths.\nSince the carnival was in full swing at that hour of the day, Sally\nfound the sleeping car deserted except for Mrs. Bybee, who called to her\nfrom the open door of drawing room A.\nThe carnival owner\u2019s wife was seated at a card table, which was covered\nwith stacks of coins and bills of all denominations. Her lean fingers\npushed the stacks about, counted them, jotted the totals on a sheet of\nlined paper.\n\u201cI\u2019m treasurer and paymaster for the outfit,\u201d she told Sally,\nsatisfaction glinting in her keen gray eyes. \u201cMe and Bill,\u201d and she\nlifted a big, blue-barreled revolver from the faded green plush of the\nseat and twirled it unconcernedly on her thumb.\n\u201cIs business good?\u201d Sally asked politely, as she edged fearfully into\nthe small room.\n\u201cMight be worse,\u201d Mrs. Bybee conceded grudgingly. \u201cSit down, child, I\u2019m\nnot going to shoot you. Well, I went calling this morning,\u201d she added\nbriskly, as she began to rake the stacks of coins into a large canvas\nbag.\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally breathed, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. \u201cDid\nyou\u2014find anything?\u201d\nMrs. Bybee knotted a stout string around the gathered-up mouth of the\nbag, rose from her seat, lifted the green plush cushion, revealing a\nsmall safe beneath the seat. When she had stowed the bag away and\ntwirled the combination lock, she rearranged the cushion and took her\nseat again, all without answering Sally\u2019s anxious question.\n\u201cReckon I\u2019m a fool to let anyone see where I keep the coin,\u201d she\nridiculed herself. \u201cBut after making a blamed fool of myself this\nmorning over them dresses your David give you, I guess I\u2019d better try to\ndo something to show you I trust you. You just keep your mouth shut\nabout this safe, and there won\u2019t be any harm done.\u201d\n\u201cOf course I won\u2019t tell,\u201d Sally assured her earnestly. \u201cBut, please, did\nyou find out anything?\u201d She felt that she could not bear the suspense a\nminute longer.\n\u201cYou let me tell this my own way, child,\u201d Mrs. Bybee reproved her.\n\u201cWell, you saw that missionary rig I had on this morning? It turned the\ntrick all right. Lucky for you, this ain\u2019t the fastest growing town in\nthe state, even if that billboard across from the station does say so. I\nfound the address you gave me, all right. Same number, same house.\nFour-or-five-room dump, that may have been a pretty good imitation of a\nCalifornia bungalow twelve years ago. All run-down now, with a swarm of\nkids tumbling in and out and sticking out their tongues at me when their\nma\u2019s back was turned. She said she\u2019d lived there two years; moved here\nfrom Wisconsin. Didn\u2019t know a soul in Stanton when she moved here, and\nhadn\u2019t had time to get acquainted with a new baby every fourteen\nmonths.\u201d\n\u201cPoor thing!\u201d Sally murmured, finding pity in her heart for the\nbedraggled drudge Mrs. Bybee\u2019s words pictured so vividly. But those\ntoo-numerous babies had a mother. What she wanted to know was\u2014did she,\nSally Ford, have a mother?\nThen a memory, so long submerged that she did not realize that it\nexisted in her subconscious mind, pushed up, spilled out surprisingly:\n\u201cThere was a big oak tree in the corner of the yard. I used to swing.\nSomeone pushed the swing\u2014someone\u2014\u201d she fumbled for more, but the memory\nfailed.\n\u201cIt\u2019s still there, and there\u2019s still a swing,\u201d Mrs. Bybee admitted. \u201cOne\nof those dirty-faced little brats was climbing up and down the ropes\nlike a monkey. Well, I reckon that\u2019s where you used to live, right\nenough. I asked this woman\u2014name of Hickson\u2014if any of her neighbors had\nlived there many years, and she pointed to the house next door and said\n\u2018Old Lady Bangs\u2019 owned the house and had lived there for more\u2019n twenty\nyears. This old Mrs. Bangs\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBangs!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cBangs! It was Gramma Bangs who swung me! I\nremember now! Gramma Bangs. She made me a rag doll with shoe-button eyes\nand I cried every night for a long time after I went to the orphanage\nbecause mama hadn\u2019t brought my doll. Did you see Gramma Bangs? Oh, Mrs.\nBybee, if I could go to see her again!\u201d\nMrs. Bybee\u2019s stern, long, hatchet-shaped face had softened marvelously,\nbut at Sally\u2019s eager request she shook her head emphatically.\n\u201cNot with the police looking for you and Dave. Yes, I saw her. She\u2019s all\ncrippled up with rheumatism and was tickled to death to see Nora Ford\u2019s\nsister. That\u2019s who I said I was, you know. But it pretty near got me\ninto trouble. The old lady took it for granted I knew a lot of things\nabout you that I didn\u2019t know, and wouldn\u2019t have told me just what I\u2019d\ncome to find out if I hadn\u2019t used my bean in stringing her along. I had\nto go mighty easy asking her about you, since it was my \u2018sister\u2019 I was\nsupposed to be so het up over finding, but lucky for you she\u2019d been\nreading the papers and knew that you were in trouble.\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally moaned, covering her hot face with her little brown-painted\nhands. \u201cThen Gramma Bangs thinks I\u2019m a bad girl\u2014oh! Did you tell her I\u2019m\nnot?\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you take me for\u2014a blamed fool?\u201d Mrs. Bybee demanded heatedly.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t let on I\u2019d ever seen you in my life. But it was something she\nlet spill when she was talking about you and this story in the papers\nthat give me the low-down on the whole thing.\u201d\n\u201cOh, what?\u201d Sally implored, almost frantic with impatience.\n\u201cWell, she said, \u2018You can\u2019t blame Nora for putting Sally in the\norphanage when the money stopped coming, seeing as how she was sick and\nneeding an operation and everything. But it pret\u2019 near broke her\nheart\u2019\u2014that\u2019s what the old dame said\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut\u2014I don\u2019t understand,\u201d Sally protested, her sapphire eyes clouding\nwith bewilderment. \u201cThe money? Did she mean my\u2014father?\u201d\n\u201cI thought that at first, too.\u201d Mrs. Bybee nodded her bobbed gray head\nwith satisfaction. \u201cBut lucky I didn\u2019t say so, or I\u2019d have give the\nwhole show away. I just \u2018yes, indeeded\u2019 her, and she went on. Reckon she\nthought I might be taking exceptions to the way she\u2019d been running on\nabout how pitiful it was for \u2019that dear little child\u2019 to be put in an\norphans\u2019 home, so she tried to show me that my \u2018sister\u2019 had done the\nonly thing she could do under the circumstances.\n\u201cPretty soon it all come out. \u2018Nora,\u2019 she said, \u2018told me not to breathe\na word to a soul, but seeing as how you\u2019re her sister and probably know\nall about it, I reckon it won\u2019t do no harm after all these years.\u2019 Then\nshe told me that Nora Ford had no more idea\u2019n a jack rabbit whose baby\nyou was\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThen she wasn\u2019t my mother!\u201d Sally cried out in such a heartbroken voice\nthat Mrs. Bybee reached across the card table and patted her hands,\ndirty diamonds twinkling on her withered fingers.\n\u201cNo, she wasn\u2019t your mother,\u201d the showman\u2019s wife conceded with brusque\nsympathy. \u201cBut I can\u2019t see as how it leaves you any worse off than you\nwas before. One thing ought to comfort you\u2014you know it wasn\u2019t your own\nmother that turned you over to an orphanage and then beat it, leaving no\naddress. Seems like,\u201d she went on briskly, \u201cfrom what old lady Bangs\ntold me, that Nora Ford had been hired to take you when she was a maid\nin a swell home in New York, and she had to beat it\u2014that was part of the\nagreement\u2014so there never would be any scandal on your real mother. She\ndidn\u2019t know whose kid you was\u2014so the old lady says\u2014and when the money\norders stopped coming suddenly she didn\u2019t have the least idea how to\ntrace your people. She supposed they was dead\u2014and I do, too. So it looks\nlike you\u2019d better make up your mind to being an orphan\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut, oh, Mrs. Bybee!\u201d Sally cried piteously, her eyes wide blue pools\nof misery and shame. \u201cMy real mother must have been\u2014bad, or she wouldn\u2019t\nhave been ashamed of having me! Oh, I wish I hadn\u2019t found out!\u201d And she\nlaid her head down on her arms on the card table and burst into tears.\n\u201cDon\u2019t be a little fool!\u201d Mrs. Bybee admonished her severely. \u201cReckon it\nain\u2019t up to you, Sally Ford, to set yourself up in judgment on your\nmother, whoever she was.\u201d\n\u201cBut she sent me away,\u201d Sally sobbed brokenly. \u201cShe was ashamed of me,\nand then forgot all about me. Oh, I wish I\u2019d never been born!\u201d\n\u201cI reckon every kid\u2019s said that a hundred times before she\u2019s old enough\nto have good sense,\u201d Mrs. Bybee scoffed. \u201cNow, dry up and scoot to the\ndress tent to put some more make-up on your face. The show goes on. And\ntake it from me, child, you\u2019re better off than a lot of girls that join\nup with the carnival. You\u2019re young and pretty and you\u2019ve got a boy\nfriend that\u2019d commit murder for you and pret\u2019 near did it, and you\u2019ve\ngot a job that gives you a bed and cakes, and enough loose change to buy\nyourself some glad rags by the time we hit the Big Town\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThe Big Town?\u201d Sally raised her head, interest dawning unwillingly in\nher grieving blue eyes. \u201cYou mean\u2014New York?\u201d\n\u201cSure I mean New York. We go into winter quarters there in November, and\nif you stick to the show I may be able to land you a job in the chorus.\nGod knows you are pretty enough\u2014just the type to make every six-footer\nwant to fight any other man that looks at you.\u201d\n\u201cOh, you\u2019re good to me!\u201d Sally blinked away the last of her tears, which\nhad streaked her brown make-up. \u201cI\u2019ll stick, if the police don\u2019t get\nme\u2014and David. And,\u201d she paused at the door, her eyes shy and sweet,\n\u201cthank you so very much for trying to help me find my\u2014my mother.\u201d\nAs she sped down the aisle of the car in her noiseless little red\nsandals she was startled to see what looked like a sheaf of yellow,\ndried grass whisked through the closing door of the women\u2019s dressing\nroom. Then comprehension dawned. \u201cI wonder,\u201d she took time from the\ncontemplation of her desolating disappointment to muse, \u201cwhat Nita is\ndoing here. I wonder if she followed me\u2014if she heard anything I wouldn\u2019t\nwant Nita to know about my mother. But I\u2019ll tell David. Will he despise\nme because my mother was\u2014bad?\u201d\nCHAPTER VII\nIt was a sad, listless little \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d who cupped tiny brown\nhands about a crystal ball and pretended to read \u201cpast, present and\nfuture\u201d in its mysterious depths as the afternoon crowd of the\ncarnival\u2019s last day in Stanton milled about the attractions in the\nPalace of Wonders. There was the crack of an unsuspected whip in the\nvoice of Gus, the barker, as he bent over her after his oft-repeated\nspiel:\n\u201cSnap into it, kid! These rubes is lousy with coin and we\u2019ve got to get\nour share. You\u2019re crabbin\u2019 the act somethin\u2019 fierce\u2019s afternoon. Step on\nit!\u201d\nSally made a valiant effort to obey, but her crystal-gazing that\nafternoon was not a riotous success. She made one or two bad blunders,\nthe worst of which caused a near-panic.\nFor she was so absorbed in her own disappointment and in contemplating\nthe effect of her news upon David, when she should tell him that she was\nan illegitimate child of a woman who had abandoned her, that her eyes\nand intuition were not so keen as they had been.\nAlthough there had been a sharp-faced shrew of a wife clinging to his\narm before he vaulted upon the platform for a \u201creading,\u201d she\nmechanically told a meek little middle-aged man that he was in love with\na \u201czo beau-ti-ful girl wiz golden hair\u201d and that he would \u201cmarry wiz\nher.\u201d\nAfter the poor husband had been snatched from the platform by his\nfuriously jealous wife and given a most undignified paddling with her\nhastily removed shoe\u2014an \u201cadded attraction\u201d which proved vastly\nentertaining to the carnival crowd but which caused a good many quarters\nto find their hasty way back into handbags and trouser pockets\u2014Sally\nfelt her failure so keenly that she leaned backward in an effort to be\ncautious.\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, kid, snap out of it before the next show!\u201d Gus pleaded,\nmopping his dripping brow with a huge purple-bordered white silk\nhandkerchief. \u201cI\u2019m part owner of this tent, you know, and you\u2019re hittin\u2019\nme where I live. Come on, \u2019at\u2019s a good girl! Forget it\u2014whatever\u2019s eatin\u2019\non you! This ain\u2019t a half-bad world\u2014not a-tall! What if that sheik of\nyours is trailin\u2019 Nita around? Reckon he\u2019s just after her grouch bag\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHer\u2014grouch bag?\u201d Sally seized upon the unfamiliar phrase in order to\nput off as long as possible full realization of the heart-stopping news\nhe was giving her so casually.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right. You\u2019re still a rube, ain\u2019t you? A grouch bag is a show\nbusiness way of sayin\u2019 a performer\u2019s got a wad salted down to blow with\nor buy a chicken farm or, if it\u2019s a hard-on-the-eyes dame like Nita, to\ncatch a man with. Nita\u2019s got a roll big enough to choke a boa\nconstrictor. I seen her countin\u2019 it one night when she thought she was\nsafe. She was, too. I wouldn\u2019t warm up to that Jane if she was the last\nbroad in the world. Now, listen, kid, you have a good, hard cry in the\ndress tent before the next show and you\u2019ll feel like a new woman. That\u2019s\nme all over! Never tell a wren to turn off the faucet! Nothin\u2019 like a\ngood cry. I ain\u2019t been married four times for nothin\u2019.\u201d\nSally waited to hear no more. She rushed out of the Palace of Wonders, a\nfrantic, fantastic little figure in purple satin trousers and\ngold-braided green jacket, her red-sandled feet spurning the\ngrass-stubbled turf that divided the show tent from the dress tent. And\nbecause she was almost blinded with the tears which Gus, the barker, had\nsagely recommended, she collided with another figure in the \u201calley.\u201d\n\u201cLook where you\u2019re going, you little charity brat, you \u2014\u2014\u201d And Nita\u2019s\nharsh, metallic voice added a word which Sally Ford had sometimes seen\nscrawled in chalk on the high board fence that divided the boys\u2019\nplayground from the girls\u2019 at the orphanage.\nSo Nita had listened! She had been eavesdropping when Mrs. Bybee had\ntold Sally the shameful things she had learned from Gramma Bangs about\nSally\u2019s birth.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t call me that!\u201d Sally gasped, rage flaming over her,\ntransforming her suddenly from a timid, brow-beaten child of charity\ninto a wildcat.\nBefore Nita, the Hula dancer, could lift a hand to defend herself, a\nsmall purple-and-green clad fury flung itself upon her breast; gilded\nnails on brown-painted fingers flashed out, were about to rip down those\npainted, sallow cheeks like the claws of the wildcat she had become when\npowerful hands seized her by the shoulders and dragged her back.\n\u201cWhat t\u2019ell\u2019s going on here?\u201d Gus, the barker, panted as Sally struggled\nfuriously, still insane with rage at the insult Nita had flung at her.\n\u201cBetter keep this she-devil out of my sight, Gus, or I\u2019ll cut her heart\nout!\u201d Nita panted, adjusting the grass skirt, which Sally\u2019s furious\nonslaught had torn from the dancer\u2019s hips, exposing the narrow red satin\ntights which ended far above her thin, unlovely knees.\n\u201cI\u2019m surprised at you, Sally,\u201d Gus said severely, but his small eyes\ntwinkled at her. \u201cNext time you\u2019re having a friendly argument with this\ngrass-skirt artist, for Gawd\u2019s sake settle it by pulling her hair. The\nshow\u2019s gotta go on and some of these rubes like her map. Don\u2019t ask me\nwhy. I ain\u2019t good at puzzles.\u201d\nSally smiled feebly, the passing of her rage having left her feeling\nrather sick and foolish. Gus\u2019s arm was still about her shoulders, in a\npaternal sort of fondness, as Nita switched away, her grass skirt\nhissing angrily.\n\u201cKinda foolish of you, Sally, to pick a fight with that dame. She\ncould-a ruint this pretty face of yours. She\u2019s a bad mama, honey, and\nyou\u2019d better make yourself scarce when she\u2019s around. And say, kid\u2014take a\ntip from old Gus: no sheik ain\u2019t worth fightin\u2019 for. I been fought over\nmyself considerable in my time, and believe me, while two frails was\nfightin\u2019 for me I was lookin\u2019 for another one.\u201d\nSally felt shriveled with shame. \u201cI wasn\u2019t fighting her because of\u2014of\nDavid,\u201d she muttered, digging the toe of one little red sandal into the\ndusty grass of the show lot. \u201cNita called me a\u2014a nasty name. You\u2019d have\nfought, too!\u201d\n\u201cSure! but not with a dame like Nita, if I was you! You ain\u2019t no match\nfor her. Now, you trot along to the dress tent and rest or cry or say\nyour prayers or anything you want to\u2014except fight!\u2014till show time again.\nAnd for God\u2019s sake, don\u2019t turn your back when Nita\u2019s around!\u201d\nSally did not see the Hula dancer again that afternoon, for Nita\nbelonged to the \u201cgirlie show,\u201d which had a tent all its own. To\nencourage her in her confidence as a crystal-gazer, or rather to bolster\nup the faith of the skeptical audience, which had somehow become wise to\nthe fact that \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d had \u201cpulled some bones,\u201d Gus, the barker,\narranged for four or five \u201cschillers\u201d\u2014employes of the carnival, both men\nand women, dressed to look like members of the audience\u2014to have their\nfortunes told.\nSally, tipped off by a code signal of Gus\u2019s, let her imagination run\nriot as she read the magic crystal for the \u201cschillers,\u201d and to\neverything she told them they nodded their heads or slapped their thighs\nin high appreciation, loudly proclaiming that \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d was a\nwow, a witch, the grandest little fortune-teller in the world. Business\npicked up amazingly; quarters were thrust upon Gus with such speed that\nhe had to form a line of applicants for \u201cpast, present and future\u201d upon\nSally\u2019s platform.\nShe did not see David at supper, while she ate in the cook tent after\nhaving carried \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d the midget, to the privilege car. Buck, the\nnegro chef of the privilege car grinned at her, but David was nowhere to\nbe seen. Was he \u201ctrailin\u2019 Nita,\u201d as Gus, the barker, had called it?\nJealousy laid a hand of pain about her heart, such a sort of pain that\nshe wanted, childishly, to stop and examine it. It claimed instant\nfellowship in her heart with that other so-new emotion\u2014love. She wanted\nall afternoon, until Gus had stopped her heart for a beat or two with\nhis casual reference to David and Nita, to fly to David for comfort, to\npour out her news to him. She had heard, in anticipation, his softly\nspoken, tender \u201cDear little Sally! Don\u2019t mind too much. We have each\nother.\u201d So far had her imagination run away with her!\nIt was the last evening of the carnival in Stanton, and money rolled\ninto the pockets of the concessionaires and the showmen.\n\u201cLast chance to see the tallest man on earth and the littlest woman!\nLast chance, folks!\u201d\nIt was already a little old to Sally\u2014the spieler\u2019s ballyhoo. She could\nhave repeated it herself. Glamor was fading from the carnival. The\ndancing girls were not young and beautiful, as they had seemed at first;\nthey had never danced on Broadway in Ziegfeld\u2019s Follies; they never\nwould. They were oldish-young women who sneered at the \u201crubes\u201d and had\ncalluses on the bottoms of their aching feet from dancing on rough board\nplatforms.\nJust before the last show Sally wandered out into the midway from the\nPalace of Wonders, money in her hand which Pop Bybee had advanced to\nher. But it was lonely \u201cplaying the wheels\u201d all by herself, and although\nEddie Cobb fixed it so that she won a big Kewpie doll with pink maline\nskirts and saucy, marcelled red hair, there was little thrill in its\npossession. When a forlornly weeping little girl stopped her tears to\ngape covetously at the treasure, Sally gave it up without a pang, and\nwandered on to the salt water taffy stand, where one of her precious\nnickels went for a small bag of the tooth-resisting sweet.\nShe no longer minded or noticed the crowd that collected and followed\nher\u2014wherever she went; she had become used to it already. The crowd did\nnot interest her, for it did not hold David, who was forced to hide\nignominiously in the show train, for fear the heavy hand of a local\nconstable would close menacingly over his shoulder. At the thought Sally\nshuddered and flung away her taffy. They would be leaving Stanton\ntonight, leaving danger behind them. It had not occurred to her to ask\nwhere the show train was going. But it was going away, away. David could\ncome out of hiding. Bybee had said the authorities in other states\nwouldn\u2019t be interested in a couple of minors who had done nothing worse\nthan \u201cbust a farmer\u2019s leg and beat it\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat kinda burg is the capital?\u201d she was startled to hear a hot-dog\nconcessionaire call to the ticket-seller for the ferris wheel.\n\u201cPretty good pickin\u2019s,\u201d the ticket-seller answered. \u201cWe run into a spell\nof bad weather there last year and it was a Jonah town, but it looks\ngood this season. The Kidder says he has to plank down half a grand for\nthe lot\u2014the dirty bums\u2014them city councillors.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to the capital next?\u201d Sally leaned over the counter to ask\nthe hot-dog man.\n\u201cSure, kid. Didn\u2019t you know? I heard you come from that burg. Old home\nweek for Eddie, too. You and him going out to give the old homestead the\nonce-over?\u201d\nSally did not wait to answer. Although it was almost time for the last\nshow the little red sandals flew toward the side-tracked show train\u2014and\nDavid. Her jealousy, even her just-realized love for him, were\nforgotten. There was only fear\u2014fear of iron bars and shameful uniforms,\niron bars which would cage David\u2019s superb young body and break his\nspirit; fear of the reformatory, in which she would again become a\ndull-eyed unit in a hopeless army, but branded now with a shameful\nscarlet letter which she did not deserve.\nThey couldn\u2019t go to the capital city where they were both known; they\nwould have to run away again, walk all night through the dark, fugitives\nfrom \u201cjustice.\u201d\n\u201cPoor kid!\u201d David consoled her after her first almost hysterical\noutburst. \u201cI can\u2019t talk to you now, and you shouldn\u2019t be here. You\u2019ve\ngot to go back for your last performance. The show has to go on. They\u2019ve\nbeen decent to us, and we can\u2019t throw them over without warning.\u201d\n\u201cBut David, we\u2019ve got to run away again!\u201d Sally whimpered, clinging to\nboth his arms, bare to the shoulders in anticipation of his work in\nhelping to load the carnival for its thirty-mile drag to the capital.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t go back to Capital City! We\u2019ll be caught! Listen, David\u2014\u201d\n\u201cGo back to your show tent,\u201d David commanded her sternly. \u201cI\u2019ll be\nworking pretty late helping to load up, but I\u2019ll whistle a bar from\n\u2018Always\u2019 under your Pullman window. We all sleep on the train tonight,\nand pull out for Capital City some time before morning. We pick up the\nengine at three o\u2019clock, I believe. Plenty of time then to decide what\nto do.\u201d He shook her a little to make her stop shivering and whimpering\nwith fear. \u201cBuck up, honey! I\u2019m not going to let the police get you;\nneither is Pop Bybee. Dear little Sally!\u201d and he stooped from his great\nheight to brush the tip of her short, brown-powdered nose with his lips.\nDuring the last performance in the Palace of Wonders a village\nconstable, his star shining importantly from the lapel of his Palm Beach\nsuit, sauntered leisurely through the tent, eyeing the freaks with\nskeptical amusement and asking all the Smart-Aleck questions which the\nmore timid members of the carnival crowd longed to ask and did not dare.\n\u201cBet you wouldn\u2019t let me put any of that glass you\u2019re eatin\u2019 in my\ncoffee,\u201d he guffawed to the ostrich man whom Gus, the barker, was\nballyhooing at the moment. \u201cI\u2019m on to all you guys. Rock candy, ain\u2019t\nit?\u201d\n\u201cSure, officer,\u201d Gus interrupted his spiel to answer deferentially.\n\u201cWon\u2019t you have a little snack with the human ostrich? I particularly\nrecommend these nails. Boffo eats only the choicest sixpenny nails; will\naccept no substitutes. And if a nail\u2019s rusty, out with it! Sort of an\nepicure, Boffo is! Have a handful of glass and nails with Boffo,\nofficer! Bighearted, that Boffo!\u201d\nThe constable refused hastily and the crowd roared with delight. The\ndiscomfited officer of the law ambled over to make his disparaging\ninspection of Jan, the giant from Holland.\n\u201cPull up your pants legs and let me see your stilts,\u201d the constable\nordered authoritatively. \u201cI ain\u2019t the sucker you guys think I am. I\u2019m on\nto your tricks\u2014been going to carnivals man and boy for fifty years.\u201d\nWith his eyes as remote and sad and patient as if he had not heard or\nunderstood a word of the constable\u2019s insult, Jan obeyed, rolling his\ntrousers to the knees. When the Doubting Thomas representative of the\nlaw had pinched the pale, putty-colored flesh of Jan\u2019s pitifully thin\ncalves and found them to be flesh-and-blood indeed, he passed on, red of\nface, furious at the snorts of laughter which filled the tent.\n\u201cWhat if he takes a notion to wash my face?\u201d Sally shivered, bending\nlow, in an attitude of mystic concentration, over the crystal which she\nwas pretending to read for a farmer\u2019s wife who had no interest in Boffo,\nthe human ostrich, but who did have perfect faith in the powers of\n\u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d \u201cWhat if he is just pretending to be interested in the\nother freaks and is really looking for me? Has Nita dared to tip him off\nthat Sally Ford is here?\u201d\nBut her little sing-song voice droned on, predicting prosperity and\nhappiness and \u201ca journey by land and sea\u201d for the credulous farmer\u2019s\nwife.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s your real name, sister?\u201d the constable demanded loudly,\nofficiously, stamping up the steps that led to the little platform.\n\u201cPlease,\u201d Sally pleaded prettily, making her eyes wide and cloudy with\nmystic visions, \u201cdo not een-terr-upt! The veesion she will go away!\u201d\n\u201cYou let her alone, Sam Pelton!\u201d the farmer\u2019s wife commanded tartly. \u201cGo\non, Princess Lalla. I think you\u2019re just wonderful\u2014knowing about my\nmother being dead and even her name and all.\u201d\nAnd Sally continued the reading with Constable Pelton breathing audibly\nupon her neck as she bent her small head gravely over the crystal. When\nshe could think of nothing else to tell the highly pleased woman, she\nwas desperate. It seemed to her that everyone in the tent was looking at\nher, reading panic in her trembling fingers, in her fluttering eyelids.\n\u201cGimme a knockdown to my past, present and future, Sister,\u201d the\nconstable suggested with heavy sarcasm and jocularity. \u201cReckon an\nofficer of the law don\u2019t have to pay. And you\u2019d better make it a good\none, or I\u2019ll run you in for obtaining money under false pretenses. Come\non, now! Miz Holtzman has already give you a good tip-off, and I guess\nmy star speaks for itself. Knowing my name and my business, you oughta\nbe able to fake a pretty good line for me, but if you don\u2019t tell me my\nwife\u2019s name, how many kids I got, where I come from, and anything else\nI\u2019m a-mind to ask you, I\u2019ll make you a present of free board and lodging\nat the county\u2019s expense.\u201d\nUnknown to Sally, whose eyes were fixed, blind with fear, upon the\ncrystal tightly cupped in her ice-cold palms, Gus, the barker, had drawn\nnear enough to hear the constable\u2019s threats and demands.\n\u201cSure, officer!\u201d he boomed heartily, to Sally\u2019s amazement, \u201cjust ask the\nlittle lady anything you like. She sees all, knows all. Step right up,\nfolks, and hear Princess Lalla, favorite crystal-gazer to the Sultan of\nTurkey before she escaped from his harem, tell your fellow-townsman,\nConstable Sam Pelton, the truth, the whole truth and something besides\nthe truth\u2014a few things that are going to happen to him that Officer Sam\ndon\u2019t yet dream of! Step right up, folks! Don\u2019t be bashful! Step up and\nget an earful about your esteemed fellow-townsman and officer of the\nlaw\u2014\u201d\nSally felt the ice melting slowly in her veins. Dear Gus! He was\nstalling, gaining time, subtly frightening the constable, whose face had\ngone redder and redder, whose eyes glanced with furtive unease from the\ncrystal to the grinning faces of his \u201cfellow-townsmen,\u201d who apparently\nhad no great love for Constable Sam Pelton.\nThen that which Gus had arranged by means of a code signal took place.\nTwo \u201cschillers,\u201d hastily summoned by a carnival employe, suddenly broke\ninto loud curses and sharp, slapping blows which echoed in the instantly\nquiet tent.\n\u201cPick my pocket, would you?\u201d the raucous voice of a \u201cschiller\u201d demanded\nbetween slaps and punches. \u201cI seen you\u2014sneakin\u2019 your hand in my pocket!\u201d\nConstable Pelton, glad to be able to assert his authority, glad also,\npossibly, to escape a too intimate revelation of his past, bounded from\nthe platform, collared the fighting \u201cschillers,\u201d and dragged them\ntriumphantly away.\nWhen the last stragglers of the carnival crowd had been ushered rather\nunceremoniously from the tent, Sally rose from her chair and pattered\nswiftly to where Gus, the barker, stood talking with Pop Bybee, owner\nand manager of Bybee\u2019s Bigger and Better Carnival.\n\u201cThank you, Gus! I was scared nearly to death! It was wonderful the way\nyou stalled along till those two rubes\u2014\u201d she was already becoming\nfamiliar with carnival lingo\u2014\u201cgot into a fight. Wasn\u2019t it lucky for me\nthey did?\u201d she added naively.\n\u201cHell, kid!\u201d Gus grinned at her and tilted his derby more rakishly over\nhis left eye. \u201cIt was a frame-up. Them\u2019s our boys. The guy that\npretended to have his pocket picked will swear he made a mistake, and\nthe worst old Sam can do is to have \u2019em fined for disorderly conduct.\nI\u2019ll square it with \u2019em, and they\u2019ll be in Capital City by show-time\ntomorrow.\u201d\nPop Bybee chuckled richly, his bright, pale-blue eyes gleaming in the\nlobster-red expanse of his old face. \u201cDidn\u2019t I tell you, child, that the\nlaw couldn\u2019t touch you long as you stuck with the carnival? Dave tells\nme you\u2019re babbling about running away again because we\u2019re hitting the\ntrail for your home town tonight. You stick, Sally. Pop Bybee and Gus\nand the rest of us will take care of you.\u201d\nSally\u2019s lips parted to tell him of Nita\u2019s threat if she did not\nrelinquish her claim upon David\u2019s love and friendship, but before the\nfirst word tumbled out, the old inhibition against tattling, taught her\nin the stern school of life in an orphanage, restrained her.\n\u201cYou\u2019re all so good to me,\u201d she choked, then turned abruptly away to\nwhere \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d the midget, was impatiently awaiting her human\nsedan-chair.\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to influence you unduly,\u201d the midget piped in her prim,\nhigh little voice, \u201cbut Mr. Bybee and Gus are right. You are safer with\nthe carnival than anywhere else in the state, and if you ran away I\nshould be very sorry. I like you, Sally. I like you very much.\u201d\nThe dress tent was taken down by the \u201cwhite hopes\u201d almost before the\nwomen performers had had time to change from show clothes to nightgowns\nand kimonos. By twelve o\u2019clock the lot was as bare of tents and booths\nand ferris wheels and motordromes and \u201cwhips\u201d and merry-go-rounds as if\nthose mechanical symbols of joy and fun had never existed.\nAnd Sally lay on the lumpy, smelly mattress of her upper berth in the\nancient Pullman car, waiting for her David\u2019s whistled signal\u2014a bar of\n\u201cAlways.\u201d She was fully dressed.\nHer heart sang the words\u2014\u201cI\u2019ll be loving you\u2014always! Not for just an\nhour, not for just a day, not for just a year, but\u2014always!\u201d\nShe could have sent word to David by Gus or Pop Bybee that she had given\nup her frantic plan to run away; that he need not meet her in the\ndarkness of the pulsing, hot June night. But\u2014she had not\u2014\nIt came then\u2014clear and true, the whistled notes of the song which her\nheart sang to David\u2014\u201cI\u2019ll be loving you\u2014always!\u201d\nShe edged over the side of the berth, the toe of her slipper groping\nuntil it found the edge of the lower berth in which the midget was\nsleeping. When she was safe in the aisle she cast a fearful glance up\nand down the car, and noted with uneasy surprise that Nita\u2019s berth,\ndirectly opposite the midget\u2019s, was still unoccupied, the green curtains\nspread wide so that the grayish-white blur of the sheet and pillow was\nplainly discernible in the faint light from the one electric globe over\nthe door.\nBut she had no time now to worry about Nita or Nita\u2019s threats. David was\nawaiting her\u2014with the song still humming its sweet, extravagant promise\nin his heart. Or\u2014was it? Had he chosen the song idly? Had he meant\nanything by that teasing kiss on the tip of her nose, by his \u201cDear\nlittle Sally!\u201d\n\u201cBeing in love hurts something terrible,\u201d Sally shook her head at her\nown turbulent emotions, unconsciously employing the homely language of\nthe orphanage. \u201cBut even if he doesn\u2019t love me I\u2019m glad I love him.\nDavid, David!\u201d\nCHAPTER VIII\nThe night was eerie with voices from unseen bodies, or bodies\nhalf-revealed in the flare of gasoline torches, as the business of\nloading the carnival proceeded. Soft, rich voices from black men\u2019s\nthroats blended with the velvety softness of the late-June night:\n    \u201cOh, if Ah had wings like an angel,\n        Over these prison walls Ah would fly!\n      Ah would fly to the ahms of my poah dahlin\u2019,\n        An\u2019 theah Ah\u2019d be willin\u2019 to die.\u201d\nA lonesome, heart-breaking plaint. Sally shivered. Except for David and\nPop Bybee and Dan, the barker, she and David might have been behind\nprison bars tonight, learning the shame and misery that had created that\nsong.\nA white roustabout said something evil to her out of the corner of his\nmouth as she brushed past him on her way to join David. But she scarcely\nnoticed, for there was David, his shoulders looming immensely broad in\nthe dark coat he had donned in her honor. Her hands were out to him\nbefore he had reached her, and when he took them both and laid them\nsoftly against his breast, so that her leaping blood caught the rhythm\nof his strongly beating heart, she could scarcely restrain herself from\nraising her small body on tip-toe and lifting her face for his kiss.\nThey were shy at first, as they drifted away from the show train across\nthe vacant lot where the carnival had so recently vended trickery and\ntruth, freaks and fakes, color and light and noise and music. They\nwalked softly, slowly, Sally having the absurd feeling that if the grass\nstubble were tender, tiny flowers, her joy-light feet would not have\ncrushed them. Her fingers were intertwined with David\u2019s, and the\nelectric thrill of that contact seemed to be the motor force which\npropelled her body. Without a word as to direction, they drifted,\ncompletely in accord, toward a clump of trees which would some day, when\nStanton had become beauty-conscious, form the nucleus of a park.\nSally felt that she was in a spell woven of the beauty and\nbreathlessness of the night and of her inarticulate joy as, still\nwithout speaking, David took off his coat and spread it upon the ground\nthat sloped gently from the sturdy trunk of an oak tree. As he was\nstooping to spread the coat her hand hovered over his head, aching to\ntouch the dear, waving crispness of his hair, yet not daring\u2014quite. But\nwhen he straightened more suddenly than she had expected, his head\nfitted into the cup of her hovering hand before she could snatch it\naway.\nHe whirled upon her, sweeping her slight body to his breast with such\nfierceness and suddenness that her head swam.\n\u201cSally! Sally!\u201d Just that hoarse cry, muted, exultant.\nHer hands crept slowly up his breast, so loving every inch of the dear\nbody whose warmth came through the cloth of his shirt that they\nabandoned it reluctantly. When her hands were on his shoulders, clinging\nthere, she threw her head back upon the curve of his right arm, and\nsmiled up into his face. Her lips parting slowly to let out a little\ngasping sigh of joy.\nIn the silvery sheen with which the moon joyously and approvingly bathed\nthem their eyes, wide, dark, luminous, clung for an aeon of time,\nreckoned in the history of love. Then David, knowing that his unasked\nquestion had been gloriously answered, bent his head until his lips\ntouched hers.\nHe must have felt the slight stiffening of her body, the ardor in her\nsmall hands as they clung more fiercely to his shoulders. For he flung\nup his head, then turned it sharply away for a moment, as if ashamed for\nher to see the passion in his eyes. She took a drunken, uncertain step\naway from him, and his arms fell laxly from her body.\n\u201cWhat is it, David?\u201d she asked in a small, quavering voice, scarcely\nmore than a whisper.\n\u201cI shouldn\u2019t have done that!\u201d David reproached himself with boyish\nbitterness.\n\u201cBut David,\u201d Sally pleaded, in that small quaver, \u201cdon\u2019t you\u2014don\u2019t you\nlove me\u2014at all? I thought\u2014I\u2014\u201d Her hands fluttered toward him, then\ndropped hopelessly as he still stood sharply turned away from her.\n\u201cYes, I love you. That\u2019s the devil of it,\u201d David groaned from the\nshelter of his arm. \u201cI love you so much I can\u2019t think of anything else,\nnot even of our danger.\u201d\nShe crept closer to him, stroked timidly the clenched fist which hung at\nhis side. \u201cThen\u2014why, David? I\u2014I love you, too. You\u2014must\u2014have known. I\nlove you with all my heart.\u201d She stooped swiftly and laid her lips\nagainst his knuckles, which shone white as marble in the moonlight.\n\u201cDon\u2019t!\u201d he cried sharply. He lowered the arm that had sheltered his\nshamed, passionate eyes and looked at her humbly, his whole body\ndrooping. \u201cDon\u2019t you see, darling\u2014no, I mustn\u2019t call you that!\u2014don\u2019t you\nsee, Sally, that your\u2014caring\u2014only makes it worse? I wish I were the only\none that has to suffer. But you\u2019re so young\u2014oh, God!\u201d he cried in sudden\nanguish. \u201cYou\u2019re so pitifully young! Sixteen! I ought to be\nhorsewhipped!\u201d\nShe laughed shakily. \u201cI\u2019m getting older every day, David. Is it such a\ncrime to be young? You\u2019re young, too, David\u2014darling!\u201d The word was\ndropped shyly, on a tremulous whisper.\n\u201cThat\u2019s it!\u201d David cried wildly, fiercely under his breath. \u201cWe\u2019re both\nyoung! I\u2019m just half through college, and I haven\u2019t a cent to my name\nexcept what I earned those two weeks on Carson\u2019s farm. And I won\u2019t have\nany money except barely enough to live on\u2014I work my way through\ncollege\u2014until I\u2019ve finished school. And then it will be a long, hard\nstruggle to get a start, unless my grandfather dies by then and leaves\nme his farm. He\u2019s a miserly old man, darling. He thinks I\u2019m a fool to\nstudy scientific farming, won\u2019t give me a cent. I haven\u2019t wanted it\u2014till\nnow.\u201d\n\u201cAnd now, David?\u201d she prompted softly, her fingers closing caressingly\nabout the clenched hand which she must not kiss.\n\u201cI want to marry you, of course!\u201d David flung the confession at her\nsternly. \u201cI love you so much it\u2019s torture to think of your going on to\nNew York with the carnival. Oh, it\u2019s all so hopeless! We\u2019re in such a\nnasty jam, Sally, darling!\u201d He groaned, snatched up her hands, kissed\nthem hungrily, passionately, then dropped them as if the soft, sweet\nflesh stung his lips. \u201cDon\u2019t let me kiss you, Sally! For God\u2019s sake! I\ncan\u2019t stand it! And it\u2019s not fair to you to learn what love means,\nwhen\u2014when we can\u2019t go through with it.\u201d\n\u201cBut why can\u2019t we, David?\u201d she persisted, her love giving her amazing\nboldness. \u201cI\u2019ll never love anyone else. I\u2019ll wait for you, for years and\nyears. Until I\u2019m eighteen and you\u2019re twenty-three. You\u2019re almost\ntwenty-one, aren\u2019t you, David?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d he acknowledged. \u201cBut I\u2019m just a kid. Why, I\u2019m a minor yet!\u201d he\nreminded her with youth\u2019s bitter shame. \u201cAnd so are you. We couldn\u2019t\neven get married legally. And we\u2019re both\u2014wanted\u2014by the police. I can\u2019t\neven figure out how I\u2019m going to get back into A. & M. and finish my\ncourse. I couldn\u2019t let you marry a man wanted for attempted murder, even\nif I could support you. Oh, I guess I could make a bare living for us,\nbut I don\u2019t want that! Not for you! I want you to have everything lovely\nin the world. You\u2019ve had so little, so little! I want you to have silk\nand velvet to make you forget blue-and-white-checked gingham. I want\u2014\u201d\nhe was going on passionately when Sally interrupted with her soft\ndelicious little laugh.\n\u201cI want David,\u201d she said simply.\n\u201cAll right!\u201d he cried, flinging his arms wide in a gesture of utter\nabandonment. \u201cWe\u2019ll run away tonight. We\u2019ll keep going until we get out\nof the state. We\u2019ll lie about our ages. We\u2019ll find someone somewhere to\nmarry us, and we\u2019ll\u2014have each other if we have nothing else in the\nworld, Sally!\u201d\nHis exultant young voice and his arms demanded her, but she held back\nstrangely, while her face went ghastly white and old in the moonlight.\n\u201cI\u2014I forgot to tell you my news,\u201d she said dully, tonelessly, her hands\nflattened against her breast. \u201cMrs. Bybee found out something\nabout\u2014about my mother, about me.\u201d\nEcstasy was wiped from David\u2019s face, leaving it hurt and bewildered. \u201cSo\nyou\u2019re going to find her? Go back to her? I\u2014I suppose I\u2019m glad.\u201d\n\u201cNo,\u201d she shook her head drearily. \u201cI can\u2019t marry you or\u2014anyone, David.\nMy mother was not Mrs. Nora Ford. I don\u2019t know who she was! I don\u2019t even\nknow what my name really is\u2014if I have a name! Whoever my mother was she\nwas ashamed I\u2019d been born, she paid Mrs. Ford to take me away when I was\nan infant, away from New York, so\u2014so I wouldn\u2019t disgrace her. I\u2019m the\nugly name Nita called me today. I\u2019m\u2014I\u2019m\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re my Sally,\u201d David said gently, his arms gathering her in, holding\nher comfortingly against his breast, in a passionless embrace of utter\ntenderness. \u201cDo you think I would let that make any difference at all?\nIf anything could, it would make me love you more. But I love you now\nwith every bit of me. And we\u2019ll be married, Sally. What do I care about\nbeing a scientific farmer?\u201d But there was a note of bravado, of regret\nin his voice that did not escape her love attuned ears.\n\u201cNo, David,\u201d she whispered, her hands straying over his face as if\nmemorizing every dear line of it. \u201cWe\u2019ll wait. I can wait. I\u2019ve waited\ntwelve years to find my mother, and I didn\u2019t give up hope until today. I\nwould wait twice twelve years for you. I\u2019ll stick with the carnival if\nPop Bybee will let me, and if the police don\u2019t find us. Then when you\u2019re\nthrough college\u2014?\u201d\n\u201cBut I\u2019m damned if I can see how I\u2019m to get back!\u201d David burst out. \u201cWe\nare both trapped in this second-rate carnival\u2014and a first rate one would\nbe bad enough!\u201d\n\u201cWe won\u2019t have to stay after we get to New York,\u201d Sally interrupted\nreasonably. \u201cWe can start life again. This trouble will blow over. You\nmight even learn some other profession in the east\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to learn anything else, live anywhere else but in the\nmiddle west. It\u2019s my land. I love it. I want to serve it. But, oh,\nSally, let\u2019s not torture ourselves any more. I know I mustn\u2019t marry you\nunder this cloud, but let\u2019s be happy for a few minutes before we go back\nto the show train. No, don\u2019t, darling!\u201d as she lifted her arms. \u201cJust\nsit there on my coat and let me look at you. You\u2019re the most beautiful\nthing in the world. Lovely Sally!\u201d\nThey sat side by side, hands not touching but hearts reaching toward\neach other, and the minutes slipped silently away as David drank in her\nmoon-silvered young beauty, and she fed her love-hunger upon his\nViking-like handsomeness and strength. They were silently agreeing to go\nwhen a sharp, metallic voice materialized suddenly out of the hush of\nthe darkness.\n\u201cNo monkey-business now, Steve! I\u2019m warning you! If you double-cross me\nI\u2019ll cut your heart out! Fifty-fifty and\u2014\u201d\nThe rest was lost as the couple passed on, walking swiftly, two shadows\nthat seemed like one. The voice was Nita\u2019s.\nCHAPTER IX\nWhen Sally was awakened soon after dawn the next morning\u2014Wednesday\u2014by\nthe shouts and songs of the \u201cwhite hopes\u201d unloading the carnival on the\noutskirts of the Capital City, the question which had insisted on\nworming its way through the heavenly joy of knowing that David loved her\nsprang instantly to the foreground of her mind; who was \u201cSteve\u201d with\nwhom Nita had quarreled and bargained in the dark last night?\nSally and David had met or had had pointed out to them nearly every\nmember of the show troupe, and there was no Steve among them. Of course\nSteve might be one of the roughneck white roustabouts. But a star\nperformer, such as Nita considered herself, would hardly consort with\nsuch a man. The two classes\u2014simply did not mix, except in rare\ninstances. David of course was different. Everyone connected with the\ncarnival knew that he was a university student, working in the kitchen\nwith Buck only because he was hiding from the police.\nThen the thought of David dismissed Nita and her threats and her Steve.\nShe crawled out of her berth, scurried to the women\u2019s dressing room and\nhastily applied her show make-up. Pop Bybee had summoned her to the\nprivilege car on her return from her momentous walk with David the night\nbefore to caution her not to appear in Capital City, even in the dress\nor cook tent, without her \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d complexion, which she was to\napply with exceeding care so that the disguise might be impenetrable.\nBecause the carnival lot selected by \u201cthe Kidder,\u201d Pop Bybee\u2019s advance\nman and \u201cfixer,\u201d was in the heart of the city, and the railroad spur\nallotted to the show train on the outskirts of it, the cars would be\nabandoned by the carnival performers and employes, only Pop and Mrs.\nBybee continuing to occupy their drawing room in one of the Pullmans.\nSally, being told the arrangements, suspected that they stayed with the\ntrain to guard the safe under the green plush seat, the existence of\nwhich was known only to Sally. Mrs. Bybee took little interest in the\ncarnival itself, caring only for the heaviness of the canvas money bags,\nwhich were brought to her at the end of each day\u2019s business.\nIt was still not seven o\u2019clock when Sally joined the straggling\nprocession of performers headed for the cook tent and dress tent, a\nquarter of a mile from the show train. She knew very little of the city\nitself, since the orphanage was situated on its own farm in a thinly\nsettled suburb.\nThere was no glow of pride, no sense of home-coming as she trudged\nthrough the almost deserted streets, but every time she passed a\npoliceman idly swinging his \u201cbillie\u201d on a street corner she thanked Pop\nBybee in her heart that he had cautioned her to don her disguise. For\nbeyond a casually interested glance at her brown face and hands and her\nlong swinging braids of fine, lustrous black hair, the law did not seem\nto find her worthy of attention.\nIf only David could pass that cordon successfully! Probably he had gone\nto the carnival grounds. But Pop Bybee, true to his promise to protect\nthe boy, had decreed that he should become private chef and waiter to\nhimself and Mrs. Bybee, remaining cooped up all day in the privilege car\nof the show train.\nPoor David! Dear David! Her heart ached passionately for his loneliness,\nfor his magnificent body caged in a hot box of a kitchen, when it had\nbeen so gloriously free in fragrant, sun-kissed fields before she had\nmet him.\nWhy, he might almost as well be in jail! And he had done nothing but\nprotect a girl alone in the world from the cruel revenge of a man who\nhad promised the state to treat her as his own daughter.\nBut even though her heart throbbed with pain for David she could not be\nwholly sad, for he loved her, wanted to marry her, would even now be\nmarried to her if she had let him give up his ambitions for her.\nBy the time she had finished breakfast in the cook tent the carnival was\nnearly ready for business. Even the Ferris wheel\u2019s glittering immensity\nwas flung toward the sky, the basket seats hanging motionless in the\nstill, hot air. Banners advertising real and spurious wonders were being\ntacked upon scarred booths, endowing them with glamor: \u201cBybee\u2019s Follies\nGirls\u2014a dazzlingly beautiful chorus straight from Ziegfeld\u2019s Follies in\nNew York\u2014Six reasons why men leave home\u201d; \u201cBeautiful Babe, the Fattest\nGirl in the World! 620 pounds of rosy, cuddly girl flesh\u201d; \u201cThe Palace\nof Wonders\u2014Greatest Aggregation of Freaks in the World; also Princess\nLalla, from Constantinople, crystal-gazer, escaped member of the\nSultan\u2019s Harem; Sees all, knows all\u2014Past, Present and Future!\u201d\nSally wandered along the midway, waving a small brown hand to Eddie\nCobb, who was setting up his gambling wheel and gaudily dressed Kewpie\ndolls; exchanged predictions as to the day\u2019s business with two or three\ngood-natured concessionaires; won a gold-toothed smile from the\nhenna-haired girl who sold tickets for the tin rabbit races.\nBut she soon discovered that she was restless and lonely. The carnival\nhad no glamor in these early hours. Without the crowds there was no\nglamor; the crowds themselves, though they did not suspect it, furnished\nthe glamor with their naive credulity, their laughter, their free and\neasy spending, their susceptibility as a relief from the monotony of\ntheir lives, to the very spirit of carnival for which this draggled old\nhoyden of a show was named.\n\u201cThe kids would love it,\u201d Sally remembered suddenly, seeing in a\npainfully bright flash of memory the oldish, wistful little faces of\nBetsy and Thelma and Clara and all the other orphans who had until so\nrecently\u2014though it seemed years ago\u2014been her only friends and playmates.\n\u201cI wonder if Eloise Durant is terribly unhappy, or if she has found some\nother \u2018big girl\u2019 to pet her. I wonder if Betsy and Thelma and Clara miss\nmy play-acting.\u201d\nShe smiled at the picture of herself draped in a sheet and crowned with\nher own braids:\u2014an ermine cloak and a crown of gold adorning a queen!\n\u201cIf they could see me now! Play-acting all the time, all dressed up in\npurple satin trousers and a green satin jacket all glittery with gold\nbraid! I wish I had lots of money, so I could send them all tickets to\ncome to the carnival,\u201d her thoughts ran on, as homesickness for the\nplace she had hoped never to see again rose up, treacherous and\nunwelcome, to dim her joy in the glorious miracle of David\u2019s love.\n\u201cI suppose,\u201d she confessed forlornly, \u201cthat Mrs. Stone is the only\nmother I\u2019ll ever know. I wish I\u2019d always been good, so she wouldn\u2019t\nbelieve the awful things Clem Carson said about me. She thinks I\u2019m bad\nnow\u2014like my mother. I wonder,\u201d she was startled, her face flushing hotly\nunder the brown powder, \u201cif I am bad! They say it\u2019s in the blood. I\u2019m\ncrazy to have David kiss me, and\u2014and he had to ask me not to. Maybe\nDavid is afraid I\u2019m bad, too.\u201d\nThe thought was unbearable. She wanted to fly to David, to search his\ngold-flecked hazel eyes again, to see if he had lost any of his\n\u201crespect\u201d for her. But she wouldn\u2019t kiss him! She\u2019d bite her tongue out\nfirst! She was going to be good, good, prove to herself and David and\nall the world that \u201cit\u201d wasn\u2019t in her blood.\nBut all day, as the crowds gathered and money clinked merrily as it fell\ninto cash boxes, she longed for David; lived over every kiss he had\ngiven her, from the brushing of his lips against the tip of her nose to\nthat dizzying wedding of lips when their love had been confessed in the\nmoonlight.\nAnd because she was bemused with romance, thrilling with her own\nawakening to love, she made an almost riotous success of her\ncrystal-gazing that first day of the carnival in Capital City. Girls\nlaughed shyly and cuddled against their sweethearts provocatively as\nthey left the Palace of Wonders, determined to make \u201cPrincess Lalla\u2019s\u201d\nenchanting prophecies come true.\nAnd she was so seductively beautiful herself, asparkle with love as she\nwas, that three or four unaccompanied young men, seeking knowledge of\nthe present, past and future, suggested that she fulfil her own\nprophecies of a \u201czo beautiful brunette,\u201d until, embarrassed though\nflattered, she took refuge in assuming that all gentlemen prefer\nblondes.\nShe did not see David that night after the carnival had shut up shop,\nfor he could not leave the show train and only male performers, barkers\nand concessionaires were permitted to hang around the train. Sally\nunderstood from the midget, \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d that a nightly poker game\nattracted the men to the privilege car and that fist-fighting and even\ngun-play was no uncommon break in the monotony. Pop Bybee, genial until\nhe heard the rattle of poker chips, was the heaviest winner as a rule,\nmany a performer\u2019s salary finding its way back into the stateroom safe\nwithin a few hours after Mrs. Bybee had reluctantly handed it over.\nBy Thursday afternoon Sally\u2019s confidence in the efficacy of her disguise\nhad mounted perilously high. The policemen who strolled grandly through\nthe tents, proud of not having to pay for their fun, accorded her\nadmiration or good-natured skepticism but no suspicion.\nThe city papers had apparently lost interest in the hunt for David Nash,\nuniversity student and farm hand, wanted for assault with intent to kill\nand for moral delinquency, and in Sally Ford, runaway ward of the state\nand juvenile paramour of the youthful would-be murderer, as the papers\nhad previously described them.\nAt least there were no references to the case in either Wednesday\u2019s or\nThursday\u2019s papers, and Sally\u2019s heart was light with gratitude to David\nand Pop Bybee for having persuaded her to stick with the carnival. It\nwas rather fun to be on exhibition, reading the fortunes of the very\npolicemen who had been given her description and orders to \u201cget\u201d\nher\u2014much more fun than fleeing along state roads at night and hiding in\ncornfields by day, hungry, exhausted, afraid of her shadow and of the\nmore menacing shadow of the state reformatory.\n\u201cHel-lo! Hel-lo! Bless my soul! What have we here? A real live Turkish\nharem beauty, as I live!\u201d\nSally aroused herself from her apparently absorbing gazing into the\n\u201cmagic crystal\u201d and looked with wide, startled eyes at the man who had\naddressed her in an accent which at once marked him as an easterner of\nculture. She had seen pictures of men dressed like that, but had never\nquite believed in their authenticity.\nBut her eyes did not linger long on his slim, elegant, immaculate\nfigure, leaning lightly on a cane. His laughing, wise, cynical eyes\nchallenged her and invited her to share his amusement with him. But in\ntheir bold black depths was something else....\n\u201cQuite delicious, really!\u201d the man with the cultured, eastern accent\ndrawled, leaning more nonchalantly on his cane and twinkling his too\nwise, too bold black eyes at \u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d\n\u201cBut really now, I wouldn\u2019t say you\u2019re a freak, your highness. In fact,\nyou\u2019re quite the most delicious little morsel I\u2019ve seen since I left New\nYork. If I were a Ziegfeld scout I assure you I\u2019d be burbling your\npraises in a ruinously verbose telegram, and the devil take the expense.\nWould you mind lifting that scrap of black lace that is tantalizing me\nmost provokingly? I am tormented with the hope that your big eyes are\nreally the purple pansies they appear to be through your veil.\n\u201cNo?\u201d He shook his head with humorous resignation as Sally shook her\nhead in violent negation. \u201cWell, well! One can\u2019t have everything, and\nreally your arms and your adorable little hands and your Tanagra\nfigurine body should be quite enough\u2014as an appetizer. You don\u2019t happen\nto \u2018spell\u2019 the Hula dancer\u2014the ancient but still hopeful lady who has\njust been exercising her hips for my benefit\u2014do you? But I suppose that\nis too much to ask of Providence. Life is full of these bitter\ndisappointments, these nagging, unsatisfied desires\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPlease!\u201d Sally gasped, forgetting her carefully acquired accent which\nhad been bequeathed her, by way of Mrs. Bybee, by the erstwhile\n\u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d now in the hospital, minus her appendix, but still too\nweak to jeopardize Sally\u2019s job. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019m not permitted to talk to the\naudience\u2014\u201d\n\u201cChild, child!\u201d the New Yorker protested, raising a beautifully kept\nhand admonishingly. \u201cSpare me! I\u2019m always being met with signs like that\nin New York\u2014in elevators, busses, what-nots\u2014But since I am intrigued\nwith the music of your voice\u2014a very young and un-Turkish voice, if I may\nbe permitted to say so\u2014I shall be delighted to cross your little brown\npalm with silver, provided you will guarantee that your make-up does not\nrub off. I\u2019m deplorably finicky.\u201d\nSally, overwhelmed by his gift for monologue, uttered in a teasing,\nbantering, intimate voice of beautiful cadences, looked desperately\nabout her for help. But she was temporarily deserted by both audience\nand barker. Gus was at the moment ballyhooing Jan, the Holland giant,\nthe chief attraction of the Palace of Wonders. His recital of the vast\nquantities of food which the nine-foot-nine giant consumed daily never\nfailed to hold the crowd enthralled.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to wait till Gus, the barker, starts my performance,\u201d she\ntold him nervously, making no effort to deceive the blase New Yorker by\na tardy resumption of her \u201cTurkish\u201d accent. \u201cBut\u2014oh, please go away!\nDon\u2019t tease me! You\u2019ll spoil the show if you make Smart-Aleck remarks on\neverything I say and do.\u201d\n\u201cSmart-Aleck?\u201d The easterner raised his silky black brows, while his\nhumorous but cruel mouth, beneath a small, exact black mustache,\ntwitched with a rather rueful smile. \u201cChild, that is the unkindest cut\nof all! If I had been reared west of Fifth Avenue or a little farther\ndowntown I would undoubtedly phrase it as a nasty crack! But we\u2019ll let\nit pass.\u201d\nHe walked nonchalantly up the steps leading to her platform and stood\nbefore her, only the small, black-velvet-draped table with the crystal\nbetween them.\nWhen he spoke again, in his humorous drawl, with his bold black eyes\ntwinkling and challenging her, his words could not have been heard by\nanyone ten feet away: \u201cWill you permit me, your highness, to read the\ncrystal for you? I\u2019m really rather a wizard at it\u2014a wow, as they say on\nBroadway, though I assure you, your highness, that I\u2019m not a man to\nsuccumb to the insidiousness of slang. You must be rather tired of\ngazing, gazing, gazing into this intriguing but slightly flawed ball of\nglass\u2014\u201d and he touched it with a long, delicate finger, with a humorous\ncontemptuousness that suggested an intimate bond between the\nprofessional and the amateur\u2014himself and herself.\n\u201cPlease go away!\u201d Sally pleaded breathlessly. \u201cWhy do you want to make\nfun of me? I have to earn my living somehow\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDo you?\u201d he smiled, his brows going higher, while deep laugh wrinkles\nappeared suddenly in the clear olive of his lean cheeks. \u201cNow I\u2019m sure\nyou should let me read the crystal for you, for it is obvious that you\nhave not looked into the future at all!\u201d\nHe cupped his slim, beautiful hands about the crystal, his back bending\nin an arch as graceful as the arch of a cat\u2019s back. The posture brought\nhis face very near to hers, so that she saw the fine grain of his skin,\ncaught a faint, indefinable but enchanting odor from his sleek dark\nhair, almost as dark as her own.\nHe had dropped his hat upon the edge of the little table, and it too\nfascinated and repelled her, for its dove-gray richness insolently\nsuggested that its owner possessed boundless money and almost wickedly\nsure taste.\nBut every item of his dress told the same story, so she really should\nnot have picked on the hat particularly. But she did; she wanted to\nbrush it off the table, to see his flash of anger at its being soiled\nwith the dust from \u201crubes\u2019\u201d feet\u2014\n\u201cMarvelous!\u201d His voice became mockingly hushed and mysterious, as he\npretended to gaze into the very heart of the crystal. \u201cI see your whole\npast boiling away in this magic crystal\u2014slightly flawed, though it is!\u201d\n\u201cMy past!\u201d she shivered, forgetting that he was faking just as she did.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve run away from home, from poverty,\u201d he went on in that mocking,\ntoo beautiful voice, his black eyes shifting from the crystal to play\ntheir insolent, confident fire upon her wide-eyed face. \u201cAnd you\u2019ve run\naway from\u2014a man! Of course,\u201d he added lightly, \u201cyou\u2019ll always be running\naway from a man\u2014men\u2014every man that looks at you. You\u2019re absolutely\nirresistible, you know, child! But ah, at last you will find him\u2014the man\nfrom whom you will not run away! Now, shall I read the future for you?\u201d\n\u201cPlease, go away. Gus is coming!\u201d Sally pleaded through childishly\nquivering lips that would have showed ashen-pale if they had not been\nthickly overlaid with carmine.\n\u201cDear old Gus! I look forward to being pals with Gus, when I give him\nthe password. Now, the future\u2014ah, my dear, what a future! Broadway!\nBright lights! Music! And Princess Lalla in the chorus first, the most\nadorable little \u2018pony\u2019 of them all! I shall sit in the bald-headed row\nand toss roses to you, child, and whisper to the eggs next me that \u2018I\nknew her when\u2019\u2014when she was a delicious little fake Turkish princess,\nescaped from the Sultan\u2019s harem. And I see a man\u2014let me look closely\u2014a\ntall, dark man, rather handsome\u2014\u201d and he laughed insolently into her\neyes.\n\u201cLa-dees and gen-tle-men! Right this way, please! I want you all to meet\nPrincess Lalla, from Con-stan-ti-no-ple\u2014\u201d\nGus, the barker, was approaching with long, swift strides, the crowd\nmilling behind him, like sheep following a bellwether.\n\u201cI\u2019ll finish your future in our next seance.\u201d The New Yorker\nstraightened, smiled into her eyes unhurriedly, bowed mockingly, lifted\nhis hat, placed it on his sleek head, retrieved his cane which had been\nleaning against the crystal stand, and vaulted lightly to the ground.\nGus eyed him menacingly, suspiciously, but beamed when the easterner\npressed a bill into his hands and withdrew to the outskirts of the\ncrowd, where he evidently intended to listen to the spieler\u2019s\nintroduction of Princess Lalla.\nSally got through her performance somehow, burningly conscious of bold\nblack eyes regarding her admiringly. When she pattered down the steps\nand along the flattened stubble of the earth floor of the tent on her\nway to the dress tent to rest between shows, a slim, immaculate figure\ndetached itself from the crowd that was wandering reluctantly toward the\nexit.\n\u201cCook tent fare must grow rather monotonous,\u201d his low, drawling voice\nstopped her. \u201cI suggest relief\u2014supper with me after the last performance\ntonight. I am stopping at the governor\u2019s mansion, and have the use of\none of the official limousines. Credentials enough?\u201d He raised his\neyebrows whimsically but his detaining grasp of her arm was not nearly\nso gentle as his voice.\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019m not that kind of girl! Please let me go\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, spirit of H. L. Mencken, hear me!\u201d the New Yorker prayed. \u201cDo girls\nin the middle west really say that still? I wouldn\u2019t have believed it!\n\u2018I\u2019m not that kind of girl!\u2019\u201d he repeated, laughing delightedly. \u201cOf\ncourse you aren\u2019t, darling! No girl ever is! And heaven forbid that I\nshould be the sort of man\u2014fellow, you say out here?\u2014that you evidently\nbelieve I am! Now that we understand each other, I again suggest supper,\na long, cooling drive in the governor\u2019s choicest limousine\u2014the old boy\ndoes himself rather well in cars, at the expense of the state\u2014and a\ncontinuation of my extremely accurate reading of your future.\u201d\n\u201cNo!\u201d Sally flared, her timidity submerged in anger. \u201cLet me go this\nminute! I don\u2019t like you! I hate you! If you don\u2019t turn loose my arm,\nI\u2019ll\u2014I\u2019ll scream \u2018Hey rube\u2019\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat a dire threat!\u201d the New Yorker laughed with genuine amusement. \u201cAm\nI the rube? Is that your idea of a taunt so crushing that\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt means,\u201d Sally said with cold fury, \u201cthat every man connected with\nthe carnival will rush into this tent and\u2014and simply tear you to pieces!\nIt\u2019s the S O S signal of the circus and carnival, and it always works!\nNow\u2014will you let me go? I swear I\u2019ll scream \u2018Hey, rube!\u2019 if you don\u2019t\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAnd I had planned such a delicious supper,\u201d the New Yorker mourned\nmockingly as he slowly released her arm, as if reluctant to forego the\npleasure that rounded slimness and smoothness gave his highly educated\nfingers.\nSally cried a little in the dress tent, but she was too angry to give\nway utterly to tears. The thought which stung her pride most hurtingly\nwas that the New Yorker had seen something bad in her eyes, something of\nthe mother of whose shame she was a living witness.\n\u201cBut\u2014I guess I showed him!\u201d she told herself fiercely as she dabbed\nfresh brown powder on her tear-streaked face. \u201cHe won\u2019t dare bother me\nagain.\u201d\nBut he did dare. He was a nonchalant, smiling, insolent figure, leaning\non his cane, as she went through the next performance. She pretended not\nto see him, but never for a moment, as she well knew, did his cold black\neyes waver from their ironic but admiring contemplation of her\nenchanting little figure in purple satin trousers and green jacket.\nAnd at the late afternoon performance\u2014four o\u2019clock\u2014he was there again,\nhis fine, cruel, humorous mouth smiling at his own folly. She thought of\nappealing to Gus, the barker, to forbid him admission to the tent, but\nshe knew Gus was too good a business man to heed such a wasteful\nrequest. Besides, the barker seemed to like him, or at least to like\nimmensely the bill which invariably passed hands when the showman and\nthe glorified \u201crube\u201d met.\nThen suddenly, at ten minutes after four, the New Yorker ceased to have\nany significance at all to her, at least for the moment. He was wiped\nout completely in the flood of terror and joy that swept over her brain,\nmaking her so dizzy that she leaned against the crystal stand for\nsupport.\nFor tumbling into the tent of the Palace of Wonders came a horde of\nchildren, boys and girls, the girls dressed exactly alike in skimpy\nlittle white lawn dresses trimmed with five-cent lace, the boys in ugly\nsuits of stiff \u201cjeans.\u201d\nHer playmates from the orphanage had come to see \u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d\nlately Sally Ford, ward of the state and now fugitive from \u201cjustice.\u201d\nCHAPTER X\nSally\u2019s first impulse, when she saw the children of the orphanage come\ntumbling into the Palace of Wonders tent, was to flee. She was so\nconscious of being Sally Ford, whose rightful place was with those\nstaring, shy little girls in white lawn \u201cSunday\u201d dresses, that she\ncompletely forgot for one moment of pure terror that to them she would\nmerely be \u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d favorite crystal-gazer to the Sultan of\nTurkey before she escaped from his harem.\nCowering low in her high-backed gilded chair, in an effort to make\nherself as small and inconspicuous as possible\u2014a useless effort really,\nsince she was by far the prettiest and most romantic figure in the tent,\ndressed as she was in Oriental trappings\u2014she watched the children, whom\nshe knew so well, with a pang of homesickness.\nNot that she would want to be back with them! But they were her people,\nthe only chums she had ever known. How well she knew how they felt,\nliberated for one blessed afternoon from the bleak corridors of the\norphanage, catapulted by someone\u2019s generosity into fairyland. For to\nthem the carnival was fairyland. These romance-and-beauty-starved\norphans saw only glamor and wonder, believed with all their hearts every\nextravagant word that Gus, the barker, uttered in his stentorian bawl.\nSuddenly love and compassion filled her heart to over-flowing. She\nwanted to run down the steps that led to her little platform and gather\nClara and Thelma and Betsy to her breast. She felt so much older and\nwiser than she had been two weeks ago, when she had \u201cplay-acted\u201d for\nthem as they scrubbed the floor of the dormitory. How awed and admiring\nthey would be if, when their thin little bodies were pressed tight in\nher arms, she should whisper, \u201cIt\u2019s me\u2014Sally\u2014play-acting! It\u2019s me,\nkids!\u201d But of course she couldn\u2019t do it; she would be betraying not only\nherself but David, and she would rather die than that David should be\ncaught and punished for defending her against Clem Carson.\nAs the children milled excitedly in the tent, huddling together in\ngroups like sheep, holding each other\u2019s hands, giggling and whispering\ntogether as their awed eyes roamed from one \u201cfreak\u201d to another, Sally\nsearched their faces hungrily, jealously.\nThelma had cut a deep gash in her cheek; it would leave a scar.\nSix-year-old Betsy had a summer cold and no handkerchief; her cheeks\nwere painted poppy-red with fever, or perhaps it was only excitement.\nThere was a new little girl whom Sally had never seen before, such a\nhomely little runt of a girl, with enormous, hunted eyes and big\nfreckles on her putty-colored cheeks. Her snuff-colored hair had been\nclipped close to her scalp, so that her poor little round head looked\nlike the jaw of a man who has not shaved for three days.\nClara and Thelma were mothering her, importantly, each holding one of\nher little claw-hands, and shrilling explanations and information at\nher.\nBut where was Mrs. Stone\u2014\u201cold Stone-Face\u201d\u2014herself? Sally knew very well\nthat the children had not come alone.\nWhile Gus was discoursing grandiloquently upon the talents of Boffo, the\nhuman ostrich, Sally sat very prim and apparently composed, her watchful\neyes veiled by the scrap of black lace that reached to the tip of her\nadorable little nose. Undoubtedly the philanthropist was a man\u2014it was\nnearly aways a politician courting favor who won it cheaply and\nimpressively by \u201ctreating\u201d the orphans to a day at the circus or\ncarnival or to a movie. But if he were present, as the philanthropic\npolitician invariably was, Sally could not find him. That was odd, too,\nfor he was usually the most prominent person at such an affair, taking\ngreat pains that no reporters who might happen to be present should\noverlook him and his great kindness of heart.\nThen little old-maidish Miss Pond, sentimental little Miss Pond, who had\nbefriended Sally by telling her all she knew of the child\u2019s parentage,\ncame hurrying nervously into the tent. She had undoubtedly been detained\nat the ticket booth and was sure, judging from her anxious, nervous\nmanner, that the children had gotten into mischief during her brief\nabsence.\nThree or four of the little girls ran to cling to her hands, abjectly\ncourting notice as Sally had known they would. But with a few\nabsent-minded pats she shooed them away and bustled anxiously toward a\nwoman whom Sally had not noticed before, so complete had been her\nabsorption in the children.\nThe woman stood aloof near the platform of \u201cthe girl nobody can lift,\u201d\nlistening to Gus, the barker, with a slight, charming smile of amusement\non her beautiful mouth. When Miss Pond joined her timidly,\ndeferentially, the \u201clady,\u201d as Sally instinctively thought of her from\nthe first moment that she become aware of her, turned slightly, so that\n\u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d whose platform was quite near, got a complete and\nbreath-taking view of her beauty.\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally breathed ecstatically, her little brown-painted hands\nclasping each other tightly in her lap. \u201cOh, you\u2019re beautiful! You are\nlike a real princess, or a queen.\u201d But she did not say the words aloud.\nBehind the little black lace veil her sapphire eyes widened and glowed;\nher breath came quickly over her parted, carmined lips.\nThe woman, who seemed scarcely older than a girl but who, by her poise\nand a certain maturity in her face, gave Sally the impression that she\nwas a queen rather than a princess, had taken her hat off, as if the\nheat oppressed her. It was a smart, trim little thing of silvery-green\nfelt, that had cupped her small head like the green cup that holds a\nflower. And her face was the flower, a flower bursting into bloom with\nthe removal of the hat.\nSally had never in all her life seen hair like that\u2014shimmering waves of\npure gold, slightly rumpled by the removal of the hat, so that single\nthreads of it caught the light from the gas jet that burned day and\nnight in the rather dark tent. Her skin, pale with the heat of the day,\nwas creamy-white, lineless, smooth and rich, so that Sally\u2019s fingers\nlonged to touch it reverently. Surely it could not feel like other\nflesh; it was made of something finer and rarer than cells and blood,\ndermis and epidermis.\nHer small lovely mouth, soft and full-lipped as a child\u2019s, was tender\nand amused and proud, the mouth of a woman who has always been adored\nfor her beauty but whom adoration has not cheated of very human\nemotions. Sally wished that she could see the eyes more closely, for\neven while they were wide and laughing, sending out little sparkles of\ncolor and light, she thought there was a hint of sadness in them, of\nrestlessness, as if only a part of her attention was given to the\ncarnival and to the children.\nShe was very small and slight, shorter even than little Miss Pond, who\nhad to look down as she talked to her. But for all her adorable\nsmallness she carried herself with a certain arrogance. Every movement\nshe made as she and Miss Pond talked together and then joined the\nchildren was proud and graceful.\nShe was wearing a summer sports suit of silvery-green knitted silk,\nwhich showed to the best advantage the miniature, Venus proportions of\nher body. As she swung toward the children, nodding acquiescence to Miss\nPond\u2019s eager suggestions, little Eloise Durant, the child who had been\nthe \u201cnew girl\u201d of Sally\u2019s last day in the orphanage, catapulted herself\nfrom the huddling mass of children and impulsively seized her hand. The\nswift, cordial smile with which she greeted the child and released her\nhand as quickly as possible kept Sally from resenting the action. But\nEloise, still hypersensitive, knew that she had been delicately snubbed\nand hung back as Gus, the barker, herded the orphans toward Jan the\ngiant\u2019s platform.\nSally saw the tell-tale tremble of Eloise\u2019s babyish mouth, and her heart\nached with desire to comfort the child. Outwardly Eloise had become\nexactly like all the other little girls\u2014shy, bleating when the other\nlittle sheep bleated, obediently excited when they were excited, silent\nwhen they were silent\u2014but underneath she was still bewildered and\nunreconciled to the death of her mother, the cheap little stock-company\nactress who had evidently adored her child and been adored in return.\nBut someone else had seen Eloise\u2019s hurt, so unconsciously inflicted by\nthe lovely and arrogant lady. Betsy, the six-year-old, ran from the herd\nto take Eloise\u2019s hand, with an absurd and touching little gesture of\nmotherliness.\n\u201cCome on, Eloise,\u201d Sally heard Betsy cry in her shrill little voice.\n\u201cLet\u2019s just you and me look at the funny people. We can see the giant\nwhen the crowd moves on. I want to see \u2018Princess Lalla\u2019 more\u2019n anything.\nI want my fortune told. I want to ask her where Sally is\u2014you\nremember\u2014Sally Ford. That man says she \u2018sees all, knows all,\u2019 so he\nought to know where Sally is.\u201d\n\u201cThe big girls say she run away,\u201d Eloise answered, her eyes round with\nawe. \u201cThey say she did something awful bad and run away with a man\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSally didn\u2019t do nothing bad,\u201d Betsy retorted indignantly. \u201cShe\ncouldn\u2019t. She was the best \u2018big girl\u2019 in the Home. She play-acted for us\nlittle kids and\u2014oh!\u201d She stopped with a gasp, her eyes popping as she\ntook in the fantastic splendor of \u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d \u201cListen, Princess\nLalla,\u201d she mustered up courage to whisper coaxingly, \u201cdoes it cost a\nlot to get your fortune told? I\u2019ve only got a nickel that the New York\nlady gave me\u2014she give every one of us a dime, but I spent a nickel for\nsome salt water taffy\u2014\u201d\nSally could hardly restrain herself from crying out: \u201cOh, Betsy, it\u2019s\nme! Sally Ford! You don\u2019t have to spend your poor little nickel to find\nme! I\u2019m here!\u201d But she knotted her little brown hands more tightly and\nmanaged to smile with a princess-like indifference and weariness as she\ncooed in her \u201cTurkish\u201d accent:\n\u201cEeet costs noth-ing to get ze fortune told. Womens and mens must pay 25\ncents to learn past, pres-ent and future, but for you\u2014noth-ing! Come up\nhere by my side. I weel read the crystal.\u201d\nBetsy\u2019s eyes grew rounder and rounder; her little mouth fell open in\nastonishment. Then with a wild shout of joy she stumbled up the stairs\nand flung her arms about Sally crying and laughing:\n\u201cYou\u2019re not Princess Lalla! You\u2019re Sally Ford, play-acting! Oh, Sally,\nI\u2019m so glad I found you! Hey, kids! Kids! It\u2019s Sally Ford, play-acting!\u201d\nFor a terrible moment, long enough for Gus, the barker, to jump from\nJan\u2019s platform and come toward her on a run, Sally sat frozen with\nterror. She felt that Betsy\u2019s keen eyes had stripped her of her brown\nmake-up, of her fantastic clothes, of the protecting black veil, so that\nanyone who looked at her could see that she was indeed \u201cjust Sally Ford,\nplay-acting.\u201d\nShe wanted to rise from her gilded chair and run for her life\u2014and\nDavid\u2019s\u2014but she had lost all control of her muscles. Betsy was still\nclinging to her, her babyish hands shaking the slender shoulders under\nthe green satin jacket, when Gus bounded upon the platform and took the\nalmost hysterical child into his arms.\n\u201cHello, Tiddlywinks!\u201d he sang out jovially. \u201cHaving a good time at the\ncarnival? Listen, kiddie! I\u2019m going to give you a real treat! Yessir!\nYou know what you\u2019re going to do? Just guess!\u201d\nSally felt the blood begin to thaw in her frozen veins. Gus was standing\nby. Dear Gus! But Gus was too wise to give the child in his arms a\nchance to reply. He hurried on, his voice loud and cajoling:\n\u201cI\u2019m going to let you stand right up on the platform with the little\nlady midget\u2014her name\u2019s \u2018Pitty Sing\u2019\u2014and show all the other kids how much\nbigger you are than a grown-up lady. Yessir, she\u2019s a grown-up lady and\nshe\u2019s not nearly as big as you. Now what do you think of that?\u201d\nBetsy was torn between her love for Sally, whom she was convinced she\nhad found, and her pride in being chosen to stand beside the midget. She\nlooked doubtfully from Sally, whose eyes beneath the black lace veil\nwere lowered to her tightly locked hands, to the platform opposite,\nwhere \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d the midget, was stretching out a tiny hand\ninvitingly. The midget won, for the moment at least.\n\u201cI\u2019m six, going on seven, and I\u2019m a big girl,\u201d she confided to the\nbarker on whose shoulder she was riding in delightful conspicuousness.\nThe children, true to the herd instinct which had been so highly\ndeveloped in the orphanage, trooped after Gus and Betsy, even more\neasily diverted than she from their pop-eyed inspection of \u201cPrincess\nLalla.\u201d\nSally heard Thelma answer another child derisively: \u201cAw, Betsy\u2019s off her\nnut! Sure that ain\u2019t Sally! That\u2019s a Turkish princess from\nCon-stan-ti-no-ple. The man said so. \u2018Sides, Sally\u2019s white, and the\nprincess is brown\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAll right, children, right this way!\u201d Gus was ballyhooing loudly.\n\u201cPermit me to introduce \u2018Pitty Sing,\u2019 the smallest and prettiest little\nwoman in the world. Just 29 inches tall, 29 years old and 29 pounds\nheavy. Did I say \u2018heavy\u2019? Excuse me, Pitty Sing! I meant 29 pounds\nlight! Look at her, little ladies and gents! Ain\u2019t she cute? Her parents\nwere just as big as your papas and mamas\u2014\u201d\nHe remembered just too late that he was talking to orphans, and his\njolly face went dark red. But he recovered quickly, glanced about his\naudience, saw that Miss Pond was straying nervously toward Sally\u2019s\nplatform, as if halfway convinced that Betsy\u2019s childish intuition had\nbeen correct.\n\u201cOh, Miss Pond!\u201d he sang out ingratiatingly. \u201cI wonder if you\u2019d do me\nthe favor to step up on the platform. I believe Betsy is scared. Yessir,\nI believe she\u2019s scared half out of her skin!\u201d He laughed, stooped to\nchuck Betsy under the chin, then, with a courtly gesture, offered Miss\nPond his hand.\nSally looked on, her throat tight with fear and with tears of gratitude\ntoward Gus, as the barker, with a rapid fire of talk and joking, kept\nhis audience completely hypnotized. He jollied shy little Betsy into\ntaking the midget into her arms, like a baby or a big doll, and only\nSally, of all those who looked on, could guess how keenly the\nartificially smiling little atom of humanity was resenting this insult\nto her dignity.\nHe coaxed and flattered and flustered Miss Pond into standing beside\n\u201cPitty Sing,\u201d so that the children could see what a vast difference\nthere was in their height. And somehow he had attracted the attention of\na carnival employe, for before he had exhausted the possibilities of the\nmidget as a diversion, Winfield Bybee himself came striding into the\nPalace of Wonders, mounted the midget\u2019s platform and, after a moment\u2019s\nwhispered conference with Gus, made an announcement:\n\u201cChildren, I\u2019m old Pop Bybee; Winfield Bybee is the way it\u2019s wrote down\nin the Bible. I own this carnival and I want to tell you children that\nI\u2019m proud to have you as my guests. I love children, always did! Now,\nboys and girls, the Ferris wheel and the whip and the merry-go-rounds\nare waiting for you.\u201d\nHe was interrupted by a whoop of joy from the boys, in which the girls\njoined more timidly. \u201cIt won\u2019t cost you a cent. If your chaperon\u2014\u201d and\nhe turned to Miss Pond with a courtly bow\u2014\u201cwill do me the honor to\naccept these tickets, you\u2019ll all have a ride on the Ferris wheel, the\nwhip and the merry-go-round absolutely free. Don\u2019t crowd now, children,\nbut gather at the door of the tent. I thank you.\u201d\nWhen he sprang, rather stiffly, from the platform, he offered Miss Pond\nhis hand, then, with her arm pressed to his side, he escorted her with\npompous courtesy to the door of the tent, where the children were\nalready milling about, wild with excitement.\nIn her terror Sally had forgotten the golden-haired woman in the green\nsilk sports suit. Now that the danger was passing, miraculously averted\nby Gus and Pop Bybee, she started to draw a deep, trembling sigh of\nrelief, but it was choked in her throat by the discovery that she was\nbeing regarded intently by the beautiful woman, who was standing beside\nthe midget\u2019s platform.\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally thought in a new flutter of terror. \u201cShe heard Betsy call me\nSally Ford. She\u2019s going to question me. I wonder who she is. Maybe she\u2019s\na trustee\u2019s wife\u2014oh, she\u2019s coming! She\u2019s going to talk to me\u2014\u201d\nShe rose from her high-backed, gilded chair, trying to do so without\nhaste. Since the performance was ended she had every right to leave the\ntent, and she would do so, but she mustn\u2019t run. She mustn\u2019t give herself\naway\u2014\n\u201cHel-lo, Enid! I couldn\u2019t believe my eyes! What in the world are you\ndoing so far from Park Avenue?\u201d\nSally, forcing herself to walk with sedate leisureliness down the little\nwooden steps of the platform, saw the New Yorker who had been paying her\nhalf-mocking, half admiring attention all afternoon, stride swiftly and\ngracefully across the tent toward the golden-haired woman. So he too had\nwitnessed Betsy\u2019s hysterical identification! She had forgotten that he\nwas in the tent, watching her, smiling mockingly, biding his chance to\nask her again to go to supper with him after the last show that night.\nThe golden-haired woman halted, and Sally, out of the corner of her\nveil-protected eyes, saw an expression of startled surprise and then of\nannoyance sweep over the beautiful little face. Odd that these two who\nhad so strangely crossed her path in one hectic day should know each\nother, should meet a thousand miles away from home, in the freak show\ntent of a third-rate carnival!\n\u201cOh, hello, Van! I might ask what you\u2019re doing so far from Park Avenue,\nbut I suppose you\u2019re visiting your cousin, the governor. Court\u2019s here on\nbusiness and I\u2019m amusing myself taking the orphans to the carnival. A\nnew role for me, isn\u2019t it\u2014Lady Bountiful! Poor little devils! If only\nthey didn\u2019t want to paw me!\u201d\nNow that she was safe from being questioned Sally wanted to make her\npassage to the \u201calley\u201d door of the tent take as long as possible, so\nthat not a note of the music of that extraordinary voice should be lost\nto her. She had expected the golden-haired lady\u2019s voice to be a sweet,\ntinkling soprano, to match her in size, but the voice which thrilled her\nwith its perfection of modulation was a rich, throaty contralto, a\nlittle arrogant, even as the speaker was, but so effortless and so\ngolden that Sally would have been content to listen to it, no matter\nwhat words it might have said.\nSally paused at the door of the tent, and cast a swift glance backward\nover her green-satin shoulder. \u201cVan\u201d was holding one of \u201cEnid\u2019s\u201d hands\nin both of his, laughing down at her, mockingly but fondly, as if they\nwere the best of friends.\n\u201cWell,\u201d she said to herself, as she ran toward the dress tent, \u201cnow that\nhe\u2019s found _her_, he won\u2019t bother me. I wonder who \u2018Court\u2019 is. Her\nhusband? I hate rich women who play \u2018Lady Bountiful,\u2019\u201d she thought with\nfierce resentment. \u201cBut\u2014I can\u2019t hate _her_. She\u2019s too beautiful. Like a\nlittle gold-and-green bird\u2014a singing bird\u2014a bird that sings contralto.\u201d\nShe was resting between shows, lying on her cot in the dress tent, when\nPop Bybee came striding in.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right, honey. Don\u2019t be scared to go on with the show. That\nPond dame came cackling to me, all het up, half believing what this\nBetsy baby said about you being Sally Ford, but I give her a grand song\nand dance about you being the same Princess Lalla who joined the show in\nNew York in April. She wanted to talk to you, but I steered her off,\ntold her you couldn\u2019t hardly speak English and she\u2019d just upset you.\nJust stick to your lingo, child, and don\u2019t act scared. Ain\u2019t a chance in\nthe world the Pond dame will make another squawk.\u201d\nHe must have spoken to Gus, also, for the barker cut her late afternoon\nand evening performances as short as possible, although by doing so he\nlost many a quarter. She smiled upon him gratefully, was pleased to the\npoint of tears by his whispered: \u201cGood kid! You\u2019ve sure got sand!\u201d after\nthe ten o\u2019clock show when she had apparently regained her confidence and\nher intuition to know \u201cpast, present and future.\u201d\nAs the evening wore on the heat grew more and more oppressive. The\nwilted audience passed languidly from freak to freak, mopping their red\nfaces and tugging at tight collars. Children cried fretfully,\nmonotonously; women reproved them with high, heat-maddened voices; Jan,\nthe giant, fainted while Gus was ballyhooing him, and it took six \u201cwhite\nhopes\u201d to carry him to his tent. At eleven o\u2019clock, when Gus had just\nstarted his last \u201cspiel\u201d of the evening, a terrified black man, with\neyes rolling and sweat pouring down his face, staggered into the tent,\nbawling:\n\u201cAwful storm\u2019s blowin\u2019 up, folks! Look lak a cyclone! Run for yo\u2019 lives!\nTents ain\u2019t safe! Oh, mah Gawd!\u201d\nThe storm broke with such sudden and devastating fury that the\nperformers in the Palace of Wonders tent had little time to obey the\n\u201cwhite hope\u2019s\u201d frantic bellow of warning.\nThe terrified audience milled like stampeded cattle, choking up both\nexits of the tent, that leading out into the midway, and the flap at the\nback of the tent through which performers passed in and out between\nshows. At each exit the fear-crazed carnival visitors were assaulted by\na dazing impact of wind and hail and rain, driven back into the tent.\nSally was fighting her way toward the \u201calley\u201d exit, her frail, small\nbody hurling itself futilely against men who had lost all thought of\nchivalry, knew only that death threatened.\nThe region was notorious for its cyclones, and the horror of such a\ncalamity was stamped on every pallid face. Children screamed; women\nshrilled for help, called frantically for their offspring separated from\nthem in that mad rush for the exits.\nSally had almost won to the alley exit when she remembered \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d\nthe midget, tiny, helpless Miss Tanner, who was paying her to carry her\nto and from the tent, who must even now be cowering in her baby-chair,\nunable even to reach the ground without assistance.\nIt was not quite so hard to push her way back into the center of the\ntent; crazed men and women offered little resistance to anyone who was\nso foolish as to tempt death under a collapsed tent.\nShe had almost reached the midget\u2019s platform when she suddenly felt\nherself lifted into a pair of strong arms, swung high above the heads of\nthe last of the crowd that was battling its way to the exits. Her cry\nwas instinctive, unreasoning, direct from her heart: \u201cDavid! Oh, David!\u201d\nA mocking laugh answered her and she squirmed in the man\u2019s arms so that\nshe could see his face. It was not David at all, but the man whom \u201cEnid\u201d\nhad called \u201cVan.\u201d His face was laughing, gay, mocking, untouched by the\nshameful pallor of fear; exultant, rather, in the excitement of the\nstorm. His dark eyes were wide, shining even through the fitful darkness\nmade by the flickering of the crazily swinging gas jets.\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it glorious?\u201d he challenged her, above the uproar of wind, rain,\nhail and the frightened animal sounds of human beings in fear of death.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to find the midget\u2014Pitty Sing!\u201d she shouted, struggling\nfrantically to release herself.\n\u201cThe charming barker has rescued her,\u201d Van shouted. \u201cI was afraid some\nofficious ass had cheated me of the pleasure of rescuing you. I\u2019ve\nwaited all day\u2014\u201d\nBut his sentence was broken in two by the long-threatened collapse of\nthe tent. A center-pole struck him a glancing blow, knocking him flat,\nand Sally with him.\nFor what seemed like hours of nightmare she struggled to release herself\nfrom the steel-like clasp of his arms and the smothering embrace of the\nrain-sodden canvas. To add to the horror, rain fell heavily upon the\ncanvas that held them pinned helplessly to the earth; hail pelted her\nflesh bitingly even through the dubious protection of the canvas; and\nevery moment they were in mortal danger of being trampled to death by\nthe feet of fleeing carnival visitors, who had been clear of the tent\nwhen it had collapsed.\n\u201cDon\u2019t\u2014struggle,\u201d came that mocking voice, panting a little with the\neffort of speaking under the smothering caul of canvas. \u201cLie\u2014still. I\u2019ll\nhold up\u2014the canvas\u2014so you\u2014can breathe. Shield your face\u2014with your\u2014arms.\nSorry\u2014I muffed\u2014the role\u2014of rescuer\u2014of damsels\u2014in distress.\u201d\n\u201cOh, hush!\u201d Sally cried angrily, but doing her best to obey him. She\ncrooked an arm over her face, so that the hail no longer punished it.\nAnd she relaxed as much as possible, her head on Van\u2019s shoulder, her\nfeet pushing futilely at the sodden mass of canvas that weighted them\ndown.\n\u201cBetter?\u201d he asked casually, no fear at all in his voice, and only a\nmocking sort of anxiety. \u201cWe\u2019ll be safe enough here until the tent is\nraised, unless someone steps on us. And by this time your charming\nemployer, the redoubtable Pop Bybee, has of course assembled his\nroustabouts to raise the tent in the expectation of finding buried\ntreasure\u2014ostrich men, midgets, and Turkish harem girls who read\ncrystals.\u201d\n\u201cAren\u2019t you ever serious? Aren\u2019t you frightened?\u201d Sally gasped.\n\u201cSerious? Well, hardly ever!\u201d the man chuckled. \u201cFrightened? Frequently!\nBut I am so appreciative of this opportunity to be alone with you that I\ncould hardly quibble with fate to the extent of being frightened at the\nmeans which accomplished it.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I wonder what\u2019s happened to\u2014to everybody!\u201d Sally began to shiver\nwith sobs.\n\u201cTo\u2014David?\u201d Van\u2019s mocking voice came strangely out of the darkness.\n\u201cLucky David, wherever he is now, that your first thought should go to\nhim. David and Sally! How do you like \u2018play-acting,\u2019 Sally Ford?\u201d\nCHAPTER XI\nThe terror which the menace of violent death had held for her now seemed\na pallid, weak thing, beside the heart-stopping emotion which the New\nYorker\u2019s mocking, amused voice uttering her real name called into being.\nHer head jerked instinctively from the comfort of his arm. Squirming\naway from him, under the sodden blanket of canvas, she curled into a\ntight little ball of agony, her face cupped in her hands. \u201cSo that\u2019s why\nyou bothered me so!\u201d she cried, her voice muffled by her fingers.\n\u201cYou\u2019re a detective! You knew all the time! You were going to take me to\njail! Oh, you\u2014Oh! David, David!\u201d\n\u201cListen, you little idiot!\u201d Van\u2019s voice came sharply, bereft of its\nmocking note for once. \u201cI\u2019m not a detective! Good heavens! Do I look\nlike one? I\u2019ve always understood that they have enormous feet and wear\nderbies and talk out of the corner of their mouths.\u201d Mockery was\ncreeping back. \u201cDid you think that a poor little tyke like you was worth\nsending to New York for a detective to bay at your heels like a\nbloodhound? I merely overheard the little Betsy\u2019s keen penetration of\nyour disguise. And I took the trouble to inquire casually of the\ngovernor this evening just who\u2014if anybody\u2014Sally Ford might be\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThen you gave me away\u2014David and me!\u201d she accused him, shuddering with\nsobs.\n\u201cNot at all. How it does pain me for you to persist in misunderstanding\nme! I gave nothing away\u2014absolutely nothing! I merely found out that\nDavid Nash and Sally Ford are fugitives from justice, wanted on rather\nserious charges. After making the acquaintance of \u2018Princess Lalla,\u2019 I\nmight add that I don\u2019t believe a word of the silly story. Besides, I\nhave your own word for it\u2014\u201d and he laughed\u2014\u201cthat you are \u2018not that kind\nof a girl.\u2019 As a matter-of-fact\u2014oh! We\u2019re about to be rescued, Sally\nFord! I hear the \u2018heave-ho\u2019 of stalwart black boys. And the storm is\nover except for a gentle, lady-like rain.\u201d\nIt was not till he mentioned the blessed fact that Sally realized that\nthe storm was indeed over. The only sound, besides the shouts of the\n\u201cwhite hopes\u201d engaging in raising the collapsed tent, was the patter of\nrain upon the canvas which still weighted down her small cold body, as\nwet as if she had been swimming.\nStruggling to a sitting position under the already moving mass of\ncanvas, the New Yorker cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted:\n\u201cShip ahoy! Ship ahoy!\u201d In an aside to Sally he chuckled: \u201cWhat does one\nshout under the circumstances\u2014or rather, under the canvas of a collapsed\ntent?\u201d\nSally managed a weak little laugh. \u201cOne shouts, \u2018Hey, rube!\u2019\u201d she told\nhim.\nAnd his stentorian \u201cHey, rube!\u201d struggled up through layers of dripping\ncanvas, bringing speedy relief for the submerged \u201crube\u201d and performer.\nWhen at last the tent was raised, Sally walked out, Van\u2019s arm still\nabout her shivering, soaked body, to find apparently the entire carnival\nforce huddled in the rain to welcome her, drawn by that fateful cry of\n\u201cHey, rube!\u201d\nJan, the giant, was there, sad-eyed but smiling, \u201cPitty Sing\u201d perched on\none of his shoulders, Noko, the male midget, on the other. \u201cThe girl\nnobody can lift\u201d was there, too, her right arm in splints; a deep gash\ndown her pale cheek; Eddie Cobb, who, they told her as they chorused\ntheir welcome, had been crying like a baby as he searched for her\nthrough the wreck of the carnival, was clasping a drenched Kewpie doll\nto his breast, apparently the sole survivor of his gambling wheel stock.\nPop and Mrs. Bybee were there, Mrs. Bybee clad only in a black sateen\npetticoat and a red sweater. And in spite of his heavy loss from the\nfury of the storm Pop was smiling, his bright blue eyes twinkling a\nwelcome. But\u2014but\u2014Sally\u2019s eyes roved from face to face, confidently at\nfirst, grateful for their friendliness, then widening with alarm. For\nDavid was not there.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s David?\u201d she cried, then, her voice growing shrill and frantic,\nshe screamed at them: \u201cWhere\u2019s David? Tell me! He\u2019s hurt\u2014dead? Tell me!\u201d\nShe broke away from Van, ran to Pop Bybee and tugged with her little\nblue-white hands washed free of their brown make-up, at his wet coat.\n\u201cReckon he\u2019s safe and sound in the privilege car,\u201d Bybee reassured her,\nbut his blue eyes avoided hers, pityingly, she thought.\n\u201cWas anyone killed in the storm? Tell me!\u201d she insisted, her bluish lips\ntwisting into a piteous loop of pain.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t find Nita nowhere,\u201d Babe, the fat girl, blurted out, her eyes\nwide with childish love of excitement. \u201cWe thought she was buried under\na tent but they\u2019ve got all the tents up now and she ain\u2019t nowhere.\u201d\nNita\u2014and David. Nita\u2014David\u2014missing. For she did not believe for an\ninstant that Pop Bybee was telling her the truth.\n\u201cIt seems to me,\u201d Van interrupted nonchalantly, \u201cthat dry clothes are\nindicated for Princess Lalla. May I escort you to your tent?\u201d and he\nbowed with mocking ceremony before her.\n\u201cHe saved my life,\u201d Sally acknowledged suddenly, half-angrily, for she\nresented with childish unreasonableness the fact that it had been this\nmocking, insolent stranger, this \u201crube\u201d from New York, not David, who\nhad saved her.\nAn hour later when she was uneasily asleep in her berth in the show\ntrain, whose sleeping cars had been pressed into service in lieu of the\nsoaked cots in the dress tent, a sudden uproar\u2014hoarse voices shouting\nand cursing\u2014shocked her into consciousness. Broken sentences flung out\nby angry men, Pop Bybee\u2019s voice easily distinguished among them, told\nher what had happened:\n\u201cEvery damn cent gone!\u2014Pay roll gone!\u2014Safe cracked!\u2014Told you you was a\nfool to take in them two hoboes that was already wanted by the police.\nThat Dave guy\u2019s beat it\u2014made a clean-up\u2014\u201d\n\u201cEverybody tumble out! Pop Bybee wants us all in the privilege car,\u201d a\ncarnival employe shouted, running down the sleeping car and pausing only\nto thrust a hand into each berth, like a Pullman porter awakening its\npassengers.\nBut Sally was already dressing, getting her dress on backward and\nsobbing with futile rage at the time lost in reversing it. When she was\nscrambling out of her upper berth, a tiny hand reached out of the lower\nand tugged at her foot.\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget me, Sally,\u201d the midget commanded sharply. \u201cAnd for\nheaven\u2019s sake, don\u2019t take on so! You\u2019ll make yourself sick, crying like\nthat. Of course your David didn\u2019t rob the safe. I\u2019m all dressed.\u201d\nSally parted the green curtains and stretched out her arms for the\nmidget, who was so short that she could stand upright upon her bed\nwithout her head touching the rounded support of the upper berth. Little\nMiss Tanner ran into Sally\u2019s arms and clambered to her shoulder.\n\u201cIt\u2019s that Nita.\u201d She nodded her miniature head emphatically. \u201cI always\ndid have my suspicions about her. Always turning white as a sheet when a\npoliceman hove into sight.\u201d\n\u201cBut David\u2019s missing, too,\u201d Sally sobbed, as she hurried down the aisle\nwhich was becoming choked with frowsy-headed women in all stages of\ndress and undress. \u201cOf course he didn\u2019t do it\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHurry up, everybody! Don\u2019t take time to primp, girls!\u201d a man bawled at\nthem from the door.\nThey found most of the men employes and performers of the carnival\nalready assembled with the Bybees in the privilege car. Pop Bybee\u2019s\nusually lobster-colored face was as white as putty, but his arm was\ngallantly about his wife\u2019s shoulder. Mrs. Bybee still wore the black\nsateen petticoat and red sweater in which she had hurried from the show\ntrain to the carnival immediately after the storm. Her reddened eyes\nshowed that she had been crying bitterly, but as the carnival family\ncrowded into the privilege car she searched each face with fury and\nsuspicion.\n\u201cCome here to me, Sally Ford!\u201d she shrilled, when Sally entered the car\nwith \u201cPitty Sing\u201d riding on her shoulder.\n\u201cNow, honey, go easy!\u201d Pop Bybee cautioned her futilely. \u201cBetter let me\ndo the talking\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou shut up!\u201d his wife commanded angrily. \u201cSally, you knew where I kept\nthe money! You saw the safe! Oh, I was a fool, all right, but I wanted\nto show that I trusted you! Huh! Thought I\u2019d wronged you by accusing you\nof taking presents from my husband! Tell him you saw the safe! Tell\nhim!\u201d And she seized Sally\u2019s wrist and shook her so that the midget had\nto cling tightly to the girl\u2019s neck to keep from being catapulted to the\nfloor.\n\u201cYes, Mrs. Bybee,\u201d Sally answered, her voice almost dying in her throat\nwith fright. \u201cI saw the safe. But I didn\u2019t tell anybody\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re a liar!\u201d Mrs. Bybee screamed. \u201cYou told that David boy that very\nnight! Sneaked off and went walking with him and cooked up this robbery\nso you two could make your get-away. Thought it was a grand way to get\nout of the state so the cops couldn\u2019t pinch you, didn\u2019t you?\u201d she\nrepeated, beside herself with anger, her fingers clamped like a vise on\nSally\u2019s wrist.\n\u201cOh, please!\u201d Sally moaned, writhing with a pain of which she was\nscarcely conscious, so great was her fear and bewilderment at this\nunexpected charge.\n\u201cSally certainly didn\u2019t go with him,\u201d Pop Bybee interposed reasonably.\n\u201cSure she didn\u2019t!\u201d his wife shrilled with angry triumph. \u201cShe couldn\u2019t!\nShe couldn\u2019t! She was buried under the tent! If it hadn\u2019t been for the\nstorm she wouldn\u2019t be here now, working on your sympathies with them\ndying-calf eyes of hers\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBetter let me handle this, honey,\u201d Pop Bybee interrupted again, this\ntime more firmly. \u201cTurn the child loose. Ain\u2019t a bit of use breaking her\narm. Now, folks, I might as well tell you all just what happened, and\nthen try to get to the bottom of this matter. When the worst of the\nstorm was over Mrs. Bybee left the show train to look for me, to see if\nI was hurt or if she could do anything for anyone who was. She hadn\u2019t\nbeen out of the stateroom all evening till then\u2014not since she\u2019d put some\nmoney into the safe right after supper. She found the boy Dave starting\nout to look for Sally, and she ordered him to stay on the train to keep\nan eye on it, in case tramps or crooks tried to board it. There wasn\u2019t\nanybody else on the train. That right, Mother?\u201d\nHe turned to Mrs. Bybee, who nodded angrily.\n\u201cShe told him she\u2019d look after Sally, but he\u2019d have to stand guard on\nthe train. She didn\u2019t say anything to him about the safe\u2014just told him\nto patrol the train while she was gone. The safe is under a seat in our\nstateroom, and far as we knew, nobody knew where it was, except Sally\nhere, who happened to come into the stateroom when my wife was counting\na day\u2019s receipts.\u201d\n\u201cPlease, Mr. Bybee,\u201d Sally interrupted, memory struggling with the panic\nin her brain. \u201cSomeone else did know! Nita knew! When I left the\nstateroom that last day in Stanton I saw Nita disappearing into the\nwomen\u2019s dressing room, and I thought she\u2019d been listening. She\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHold on a minute!\u201d Bybee cut in sternly. \u201cHow do you know she\u2019d been\nlistening? Any proof?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir!\u201d Sally cried eagerly. \u201cMrs. Bybee had been telling me that\nshe\u2019d found out that Ford isn\u2019t my real name, that the woman I always\nthought was my mother wasn\u2019t really my mother at all. She said she\nguessed I\u2014that my mother was ashamed I\u2019d ever been born. And that same\nday Nita called me a\u2014a bad name that means\u2014\u201d She could not go on. Sobs\nbegan to shake her small body again and her face was scarlet with shame.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right!\u201d Gus, the barker, edged toward Bybee through the crowd.\n\u201cI found Sally lighting into Nita for calling her that name. And Nita\ndidn\u2019t deny she\u2019d done it. Reckon that proves she was eavesdropping, all\nright. And if she was listening in, too, she was probably peeping in,\ntoo, or heard Mrs. Bybee talking about the safe. Was the door open,\nma\u2019am?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Mrs. Bybee snapped. \u201cYes, it may have been. It was awful\nhot. And I didn\u2019t know anybody was on the train.\u201d\n\u201cIt was open a little way,\u201d Sally cried. \u201cI remember distinctly. Because\nI worried about whether Nita had overheard what Mrs. Bybee had been\ntelling me. And there\u2019s something else\u2014something that happened that\nnight, when David and I were walking.\u201d Memory of that blessed hour in\nthe moonlight brought tears to her eyes, but she dashed them away with\nthe wrist which bore the marks of Mrs. Bybee\u2019s rage.\n\u201cWhat was it, Sally?\u201d Pop Bybee asked gently. \u201cAll we want is to get at\nthe truth of this thing. Don\u2019t be afraid to speak up.\u201d\n\u201cI hate being a tattle-tale,\u201d Sally whimpered. \u201cI never told on anyone\nin all my life! But David and I were sitting under a tree, not talking,\nwhen we suddenly heard Nita\u2019s voice. She couldn\u2019t see us for the tree,\nbut we peeped around the trunk of it and we saw Nita and a man walking\nawfully close together, and Nita was talking. We just heard a few words.\nShe said: \u2018No monkey business now, Steve. If you double-cross me I\u2019ll\ncut your heart out! Fifty-fifty or nothing\u2014\u2019\u201d\nUnconsciously her voice had mimicked Nita\u2019s, so that to the startled\ncarnival family it seemed that Nita, the Hula dancer, had appeared\nsuddenly in the car.\n\u201cSounds like Nita, all right.\u201d Gus, the barker, nodded with\nsatisfaction. \u201c\u2018Steve,\u2019 huh? Who the devil is this Steve?\u201d\n\u201cWhat did he look like, Sally?\u201d Bybee asked.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she answered, her big blue eyes imploring him to believe\nher. \u201cWe couldn\u2019t see their faces. We just recognized Nita\u2019s voice and\nher yellow hair that looked almost white in the moonlight. He wasn\u2019t\ntall, not any taller than Nita, and I guess he wasn\u2019t very big either,\nbecause they were so close together that they looked almost like one\nperson. We didn\u2019t hear the man say a word. Nita was doing all the\ntalking\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNita would!\u201d a voice from the crowd growled. \u201cReckon I can tell you\nsomething about this, Pop. I was just ready to ballyhoo the last\nperformance of the \u2018girlie\u2019 show when Nita come slouching up to me,\npulling a long face and a song-and-dance about being knocked out with\nthe heat. Bessie had fainted at the last show and I thought Nita might\nreally be all in, so I told her she could cut the last performance and\ngo to the dress tent. I never seen hair nor hide of her again, and\u2014\u201d he\npaused significantly, \u201cI don\u2019t reckon I ever will.\u201d\n\u201cNo, I reckon you won\u2019t, not unless the cops nab her,\u201d Mrs. Bybee cut in\nbitterly. \u201cI always said she was a snake in the grass! And that David,\ntoo! Them goody-goody kind ain\u2019t ever worth the powder and lead it\u2019d\ntake to blow out their brains! I told you, Winfield Bybee, that there\nwas something phony about that hussy and Dave! \u2019Tain\u2019t like a star\nperformer like Nita thought she was to trail around after a cook\u2019s\nhelper, like she done with Dave. They didn\u2019t pull the wool over my eyes,\neven if they did double-cross the kid here\u2014if they _did_ double-cross\nher! Mind you, Bybee, I ain\u2019t saying I believe a word she\u2019s been saying!\nShe knew where the safe was, and she tipped off the boy.\n\u201cI ain\u2019t forgot they was both wanted by the police when they joined up\nwith us! As I said before, if it hadn\u2019t been that she was buried under\nthe freak tent, she\u2019d have skipped with Nita and Dave. You roped Nita in\non your little scheme, didn\u2019t you, because she\u2019d had more experience\ncracking safes than you or the boy? That\u2019s right, ain\u2019t it?\u201d the old\nlady demanded fiercely of Sally.\nSally shrank from her in horror, but the midget, still perched on her\nshoulder, patted her cheeks reassuringly. \u201cNo, no! I didn\u2019t even tell\nDavid where the safe was! I didn\u2019t! David didn\u2019t do it! He couldn\u2019t!\nDavid\u2019s good! He\u2019s the best man in the world!\u201d\n\u201cThen where is he?\u201d Mrs. Bybee screamed. \u201cWhy did he blow? I left him to\nguard the train, didn\u2019t I? And he ain\u2019t here, is he? He wasn\u2019t here when\nwe got back from the carnival lot after the tents was raised. If he\u2019s so\ndamned good, why did he blow with Nita and this Steve you\u2019ve made up out\nof your head?\u201d\n\u201cNow, now, Mother,\u201d Pop Bybee soothed her, but his eyes were troubled\nand suspicious. \u201cReckon we\u2019d better notify the police, folks. I hate to\ncall in the law. I\u2019ve always said I was the law of this outfit, but I\nsuppose if I\u2019ve been harboring thieves I\u2019ll have to get the help of the\nlaw to track \u2019em down. Ben, you and Chuck beat it down the tracks to the\npolice station and give \u2019em a description of Nita and Dave and this\nSteve person, as much as Sally\u2019s been able to tell us anyway\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPlease, Mr. Bybee!\u201d Sally ran to the showman and seized both his hands\nin hers. \u201cPlease don\u2019t set the police on David! I know he\u2019s innocent!\nThere\u2019s some reason why he isn\u2019t here\u2014a good reason! But he didn\u2019t have\nanything to do with the robbery. I know that! But if you tell the police\nhe\u2019s been with the carnival they\u2019ll find him somehow and put him in jail\non those other charges\u2014and me, too! It doesn\u2019t matter about me, but I\ncouldn\u2019t live if David was put in jail on my account! Oh, please! You\u2019ve\nbeen so good to us!\u201d And she went suddenly on her knees to him, her face\nupraised in an agony of appeal.\nPop Bybee looked down upon Sally\u2019s agonized face with troubled\nindecision in his bright blue eyes. He tried to lift her to her feet,\nbut her arms were locked about his knees. The midget had scrambled from\nSally\u2019s shoulder to the floor of the car and as Bybee hesitated, her\ntiny fists beat upon his right leg for attention.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not going to break your promise to Sally, are you, Mr. Bybee?\u201d\nthe tiny voice piped shrilly. \u201cYou told her and the boy you\u2019d protect\nthem. She\u2019s told you the truth. Don\u2019t you know truth when you hear it? I\nalways knew Nita was a crook. She never saw a policeman or a constable\nor a sheriff without turning white as a ghost. She joined up with the\ncarnival just to learn the lay of the land and tip off her\naccomplice\u2014this Steve person\u2014where to find the money. That\u2019s why she was\nspying on Mrs. Bybee that day in Stanton. Listen to me!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m listening, Miss Tanner,\u201d Pop Bybee acknowledged wearily. \u201cAnd I\nswear I don\u2019t know what to say or do. If they get clear away with that\nmoney the show\u2019ll be stranded. Every cent I had in the world was in that\nsafe. Reckon I was a fool to carry it with me, but I never trusted a\nbank, and it was more convenient, having it right with me. Tomorrow\u2019s\npayday, too, and all of you are in the same boat with me.\u201d\n\u201cListen, boss, let\u2019s take a vote on it.\u201d Gus, the barker, spoke up\nsuddenly and loudly. \u201cNow me\u2014I believe the kid here is telling the\ntruth. No college boy could crack a safe like that. It was a\nprofessional job, or I\u2019m a liar! Of course Nita may have tolled the boy\noff with her and this Steve, since she was so crazy about him, but we\nain\u2019t got no proof she did, and as Sally says, if you sick the cops on\nthe boy, the jig will be up with her as well as the boy. Another thing,\nDave may be laying in the bushes somewhere with a bullet\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally screamed, as the full significance of Gus\u2019 words burst upon\nher. She fainted then, her little body slumping into a heap at Bybee\u2019s\nfeet, her head striking one of his big shoes and resting there.\nWhen she regained consciousness she was lying in the lower berth which\nhad belonged to Nita, and the midget was kneeling on the pillow beside\nher head, dabbing her face with a handkerchief soaked in aromatic\nspirits of ammonia. Mazie and Sue, two of the dancers in the \u201cgirlie\u201d\nshow, sat on the edge of the berth, their cold-creamed faces almost\nbeautiful with anxiety and sympathy.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? Is it time to get up?\u201d Sally asked dazedly. \u201cWhat\nare you doing, Betty?\u201d\nThe midget answered in her tiny, brisk voice: \u201cI\u2019m bathing your face\nwith ammonia which Mrs. Bybee sent. It should be cologne, and this\nammonia will probably dry your skin something dreadful, but it was the\nonly thing we could get. You fainted, you know.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I remember!\u201d Sally moaned, her head beginning to thresh from side\nto side on the pillow. \u201cHave they found David? I know he\u2019s been hurt!\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019re looking for him,\u201d the midget assured her briskly. \u201cMr. Bybee\ntook a vote on whether he was to notify the police about David\u2019s being\ngone, as well as Nita, and the vote was \u2018No!\u2019 That ought to make you\nfeel happier!\u201d\n\u201cOh, it does!\u201d Sally began to cry softly. \u201cYou have all been so kind, so\nkind! You said Mrs. Bybee sent the ammonia?\u201d she asked wistfully.\n\u201cShe certainly did, and she\u2019s in the kitchen of the privilege car right\nnow, making you some hot tea. She won\u2019t say she\u2019s sorry, probably, but\nshe\u2019ll try to make it up to you. She\u2019s like that\u2014always flying off the\nhandle and suspicious of everybody, but she\u2019s got a heart as big as\nBabe, the fat girl.\u201d\n\u201cAnd so have you!\u201d Sally told her brokenly, taking both of the tiny\nhands into one of hers and laying them softly against her lips.\n\u201cAin\u2019t love grand?\u201d Mazie sighed deeply. \u201cIf it had been my sweetie, I\u2019d\na-fell for that line of Ma Bybee\u2019s about him running off with Nita, but\nyou sure stuck by him! I was in love like that once, when I was a kid. I\nmarried him, too, and he run off with the albino girl and took my grouch\nbag with him. Every damn cent I had! But it sure was sweet before we was\nmarried and he was nuts about me.\u201d\n\u201cAw, let the kid alone!\u201d Sue slipped from the edge of the berth and\nyawned widely. \u201cGawd, I\u2019m sleepy! If the cops don\u2019t catch that Hula\nhussy I\u2019m going out looking for her myself, and when I get through with\nher she\u2019ll never shake another grass skirt! C\u2019mon, Mazie. It\u2019s three\no\u2019clock in the morning, and we\u2019ve got eighteen shows ahead of us.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe!\u201d Mazie yawned. \u201cIf Pop wasn\u2019t stringing us, we\u2019ll be stranded in\nthis burg. G\u2019night, Sally. G\u2019night, Midge. And say, Sally, even if this\nDave boy has blowed and left you flat, you won\u2019t have no trouble copping\noff another sweetie. Gus was telling us about that New York rube that\u2019s\ntrailing you. Hook up with him and you\u2019ll wear diamonds. Believe me,\nkid, they ain\u2019t none of \u2019em worth losing sleep over when you\u2019ve got\neighteen shows a day ahead of you. G\u2019night.\u201d\nWhen they had gone the midget yanked the green curtains together with\ncomical fierceness, then crawled under the top of the sheet that covered\nSally.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to sleep here with you, Sally,\u201d she said. \u201cI don\u2019t take up\nmuch room.\u201d\nAnd the woman who was old enough to be Sally\u2019s mother curled her 29-inch\nbody in the curve of Sally\u2019s right arm and laid her tiny cheek, as soft\nand wrinkled as a worn kid glove, in the hollow of Sally\u2019s firm young\nneck.\nBut long after the midget was asleep, Sally lay wide-eyed and tense in\nthe dark, her mind a welter of fears and love and doubt. She had pleaded\npassionately with Pop Bybee for David, fiercely shoving to the dark\ndepths of her mind even the memory of the jealousy which Nita had\nfiendishly aroused in her heart. But now that she had saved him\ntemporarily by convincing Bybee that the boy could not have taken part\nin the robbery, doubt began to insinuate its ugly body upward from those\ndark depths where she had buried it.\nDid he really love her\u2014a pathetic, immature girl from an orphanage, a\ngirl who had been nothing but a responsibility and a source of dire\ntrouble to him since he had first met and championed her on the Carson\nfarm?\nHer old feeling of inferiority rose like nausea in her throat. Life in\nan orphanage is not calculated to give a girl faith in her own beauty\nand charm. No one, until David\u2019s teasing eyes had rested on her, had\nthought her beautiful.\nHad he been only sorry for her, glad of an opportunity to \u201cblow,\u201d to get\nout of the state where he was wanted on two serious charges? Was he\ndismayed, too, by the fact that moonlight had tricked him into telling\nher that he loved her, thus adding the responsibility of her future to\nthe burden of protecting her in this hectic present?\nThen a sweeter, saner memory clamored for attention. She heard again his\nfond, husky voice caressing her, his \u201cDear little Sally!\u201d And\ninvoluntarily her mouth pursed in memory of his kiss, that kiss that had\nleft her giddy with delight.\nHow unfailingly kind and sweet he had been since that first day, when he\nhad strode into her life, with the sun on his chestnut hair and the\nglory of the sun in his eyes. He had not failed her once, but she was\nfailing him now, by doubting him, by picturing him as a fugitive in the\ndark, fleeing with a pair of criminals who had robbed the man whose\nkindness had protected him from the law.\nWhy, she must be crazy to think for a moment that David could do a thing\nlike that! No one in the world was as good and kind and honorable as\nDavid.\nBut where was he? Mrs. Bybee had left him to guard the train. Not for a\nmoment could she believe that he had failed in his trust. Painfully,\nSally tried to visualize the dreadful thing that had happened. David\nalone, patrolling the train, his eyes sharp for intruders. Then\u2014the\nsudden appearance of Nita and the man, Steve, weighted down with the\ncontents of the safe they had robbed. For Sally knew that the robbery\nmust have taken place before David caught his first glimpse of the\ncrooks. Otherwise the safe would be intact now, even if David\u2019s dead\nbody had been found as silent witness that he had fulfilled his trust.\nHer mind shuddered away from that imagined picture, went back to the\npainful reconstruction of what must have taken place. David had seen\nthem, had given chase. Of course! Otherwise he would be here now. Was he\nstill pursuing them, or was he lying somewhere near the road, wounded,\nhis splendid young body ignominiously flung into a cornfield?\nShe could bear no more, could no longer lie safe in her berth while\nDavid needed her somewhere. Very carefully, for all her haste, she\nlifted the tiny body that nestled against her side and laid it tenderly\nupon the pillow, which was big enough to serve as a mattress for the\nmidget. Then, sobbing soundlessly, she groped for her shoes in the\nlittle green hammock swung across the windows; found them, put them on,\nslipped to the edge of the berth. She was profoundly thankful that the\ngirls had not undressed her after she had fainted.\nWhen she reached the car in which Mr. and Mrs. Bybee occupied a\nstateroom she saw the showman and his wife through the open door,\ntalking to two strangers whom she guessed to be plainclothes policemen\nfrom police headquarters of Capital City. The two men were evidently\nabout to leave, nodding impatiently that they understood, when Sally\nappeared, like a frightened, pale little ghost in green-and-white\nstriped gingham.\nShe forgot that she was without make-up, that the police were looking\nfor her as well as for the criminals who had robbed the safe. But Pop\nBybee had not forgotten. Still talking with the plainclothes detectives,\nhe motioned to her violently behind his back. She turned and forced\nherself to walk slowly and sedately toward the other end of the car as\nthe detectives made their farewells and their brusque promises of \u201cquick\naction.\u201d\nWhen the men had left the car Bybee\u2019s voice summoned her in a husky\nstage whisper, calling her \u201cLalla,\u201d so that the detectives, if they were\nlistening, should not identify her with the girl who had run away from\nthe orphanage in the company of a man wanted on a charge of assault with\nthe intent to kill.\n\u201cAre you crazy?\u201d Bybee demanded hoarsely when she had come running to\nthe stateroom. \u201cThem was dicks! Policemen, understand? They mighta\nnabbed you. What are you doing up? Get back to bed and try to sleep.\u201d\n\u201cHave you found David?\u201d she quavered, brushing aside his anxiety for\nher.\n\u201cNot a sign of him.\u201d Bybee shook his head. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t spill the beans\nto the dicks. I\u2019d given you my word, and Winfield Bybee\u2019s word is as\ngood as his bond.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going to look for David,\u201d she announced simply, but her blazing\neyes dared him to try to prevent her. \u201cHe\u2019s hurt somewhere\u2014or killed.\nI\u2019m going to find him.\u201d\nAnd before the astonished man or his wife could stretch out a hand to\ndetain her she was gone. When she dropped from the platform of the car\nshe heard the retreating roar of the police car. Instinct turned her in\nthe opposite direction, away from the city, down the railroad tracks\nleading into the open country.\nShe did not know and would not have cared that Mr. and Mrs. Bybee were\nfollowing her, Mrs. Bybee muttering disgustedly but refusing to let\nSally search alone for the boy in whom she had such implicit faith.\nDawn was breaking, pale and wan, in a sky that was shamelessly cloudless\nand serene after the violence of last night\u2019s storm, when, over a slight\nhill, a man\u2019s figure loomed suddenly, then seemed to drag with\nunbearable weariness as it plodded toward the show train.\n\u201cDavid!\u201d Sally shrieked. \u201cDavid!\u201d\nShe began to run, her ankles turning against clots of cinders, but her\narms outstretched, a glory greater than that of the dawn in her face.\nBefore she reached him Sally almost fainted with horror, for in the pale\nlight of the dawn she saw that David\u2019s shirt about his left shoulder was\nsoaked with blood. But his uninjured right arm was stretched out in\nurgent invitation, and his voice was hailing her gaily, in spite of his\nterrible weakness and fatigue.\n\u201cDear little Sally!\u201d he cried huskily, as his right arm swept her\nagainst his breast. \u201cWhy aren\u2019t you in bed, darling? But I\u2019m glad you\u2019re\nnot! I\u2019ve been able to keep plodding on in the hope of seeing you. Did\nyou think I\u2019d run away and left you? Poor little Sally!\u201d he crooned over\nher, for she was crying, her frantic hands playing over his face, her\neyes devouring him through her tears.\n\u201cBut you\u2019re hurt, David!\u201d she moaned. \u201cI knew you were hurt! I told them\nso! I was looking for you. I knew you hadn\u2019t run away.\u201d\n\u201cAnd she made us believe you hadn\u2019t, too,\u201d Pop Bybee panted, having\nreached them on a run, dragging his wife behind him. \u201cWhat happened,\nDave boy? Had a mix-up with the dirty crooks, did you?\u201d\n\u201cWinfield Bybee, you _are_ a fool!\u201d Mrs. Bybee gasped, breathless from\nrunning. \u201cLet the poor boy get his breath first. Here! Put your arm\nabout him and let him lean on you. Sally, you run back to the train and\nget help. This boy\u2019s all done up and he\u2019s going to have that shoulder\ndressed before he\u2019s pestered to death with questions.\u201d\n\u201cI can walk,\u201d David panted, his breath whistling across his ashen lips.\n\u201cI don\u2019t want Sally out of my sight. I\u2014would\u2014give up\u2014then. Nothing\nmuch\u2014the matter. Just a\u2014bullet\u2014in my shoulder. Be all right\u2014in a\u2014day or\ntwo.\u201d\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t try to talk, darling,\u201d Sally begged, rubbing her cheek\nagainst his right hand and wetting it with tears.\n\u201cLean on me and take it easy,\u201d Pop Bybee urged, his voice husky with\nunashamed emotion. \u201cAnd don\u2019t talk any more till we get you into a\nberth. God! But I\u2019m glad to see you, Dave boy! I\u2019d made up my mind I\u2019d\nnever trust another man if you\u2019d thrown me down. But Sally didn\u2019t doubt\nyou a minute. Kept me from telling the police that you had disappeared\nwith the crooks.\u201d\n\u201cThanks,\u201d David gasped, leaning heavily on the showman. \u201cI was scared\nsick\u2014the police\u2014had found\u2014Sally. Knew there was\u2014bound to be\u2014an awful\nrow.\u201d\nHe fainted then, his splendid young body crumpling suddenly to the\ncinders of the railroad track. Somehow the three of them managed to get\nhim to the show train and into the Bybees\u2019 stateroom, where Gus, the\nbarker, who had graduated from a medical school before the germ of\nwanderlust had infected him, dressed the wounded shoulder.\n\u201cThe bullet went clear through the fleshy part of the arm at the\nshoulder,\u201d Gus told them, as he washed his hands in the stateroom\u2019s\nbasin. \u201cNo bones touched at all. Just a flesh wound. Of course he\u2019s lost\na lot of blood and he\u2019ll be pretty shaky for a few days, but no real\nharm done. You can turn off the faucet, Sally. Save them tears for a big\ntragedy\u2014like ground glass in your cold cream, or something like that.\nWant a real doctor to give that shoulder the once-over, Pop?\u201d he asked,\nturning to Bybee, who had not left David\u2019s side.\nIt was David, opening his eyes dazedly just then, who answered: \u201cNo\nother doctor, please. I\u2019m a fugitive from justice, remember. If I could\nhave some coffee now I think I could tell you what happened, Mr. Bybee.\u201d\nA dozen eager voices outside the stateroom door offered to get the\ncoffee from the privilege car, and within a few minutes Sally was\nkneeling before David, holding a cup of steaming black coffee to his\nlips.\nAs many of the carnival family as could crowd into the small space of\nthe car aisle pressed against the open door of the stateroom to hear his\nstory. Jan the Holland giant, who was too tall to stand upright in the\ncar, was invited into the stateroom, where he sat between Pop Bybee and\nMrs. Bybee, \u201cPitty Sing\u201d in the crook of one of his arms, Noko, the\nHawaiian midget, in the other. Sally still knelt beside David, holding\nhis right hand tightly in both of hers and laying her lips upon it when\nhis story moved her unbearably.\n\u201cI suppose Mrs. Bybee has told you that I was leaving the show train to\ngo to the carnival grounds to see if anything had happened to Sally. I\u2019d\nhave gone sooner, but the storm was so violent that I knew I\u2019d not have\na chance to get there. Mrs. Bybee said she was going to the lot and\nwould look after Sally for me, but she wanted me to stay on the train,\nor near it, to patrol it. She didn\u2019t tell me there was a lot of money in\nher stateroom, or I\u2019d have stationed myself in there.\u201d\n\u201cYou see,\u201d Sally interrupted eagerly. \u201cI told you I hadn\u2019t said a word\nto him about the safe.\u201d\n\u201cSafe?\u201d David glanced down at her, puzzled. \u201cSo this Steve crook cracked\na safe to get the money, did he? I didn\u2019t know\u2014didn\u2019t have time to find\nout.\u201d\n\u201cAnd I told you it was a man named Steve!\u201d Sally reminded them joyously,\nraising David\u2019s cold hand to her lips. \u201cThey thought I was making it all\nup, Dave, but they believed me after a while.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose Sally has told you that we saw Nita and some man walking in\nthe moonlight that last night we were in Stanton,\u201d David addressed Pop\nBybee. \u201cWe heard her call him Steve, and say something about what she\u2019d\ndo to him if he double-crossed her. I should have told you then, Mr.\nBybee, but I didn\u2019t have an idea Nita was planning to rob the outfit,\nand anyway\u2014\u201d he blushed, his eyes twinkling fondly at Sally\u2014\u201cby morning\nI\u2019d forgotten all about it. I couldn\u2019t think of anything but\u2014but Sally.\nYou see we\u2019d just told each other that night that\u2014that\u2014well, sir, that\nwe loved each other and\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAnybody else in the whole outfit could have told you that,\u201d Bybee\nchuckled. \u201cIt\u2019s all right, Dave. Carnival folks usually mind their own\nbusiness and spend damn little time toting tales.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re not blaming me,\u201d David said gratefully. \u201cWell, sir, I\nwas walking up and down the tracks, just wild to get away and see if\nanything had happened to Sally, when suddenly I heard a soft thud, like\nsomebody jumping to the ground on the other side of the train. I crossed\nover as quick as I could, but by that time they were running down the\nside of the train pretty far ahead of me. It was Nita and a man. They\nmust have been hidden on the train, waiting their chance, when the storm\nbroke\u2014were there when Mrs. Bybee left.\n\u201cI suppose they hadn\u2019t counted on any such luck; had probably intended\nto overpower her before you got back, sir, and the storm saved them the\ntrouble.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019d have give them a run for the money,\u201d Mrs. Bybee retorted grimly,\nher skinny old hand knotting into a menacing fist.\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what I did,\u201d David grinned rather whitely at her. \u201cI yelled\nat them to stop, because I had an idea they\u2019d been up to something,\nsince they\u2019d jumped off this car, and I knew Nita had no business on the\ntrain, since all you people were sleeping on the lot.\n\u201cThey were carrying a couple of suitcases that looked suspiciously heavy\nto me. It flashed over me that Mrs. Bybee, being treasurer of the\noutfit, must have left a lot of money in her stateroom, and that Nita\nand this Steve chap had been planning to rob her when Sally and I heard\nthem talking the other night. I started after them, still yelling for\nthem to stop, and Steve turned and fired at me. He missed me, lucky for\nme, and I kept right on.\n\u201cAbout a hundred yards beyond the end of the train they climbed into a\ncar that was parked on the road that runs alongside the tracks and after\ntelling me goodby with another bullet that missed me, too, Steve had the\ncar started. I was about to give up and start toward Capital City to\nnotify the police when I noticed there was a handcar on the tracks, just\nwhere this spur joins the main line.\n\u201cI threw the switch and in a minute I had the handcar on the main line\nand was pumping along after them. The state road parallels the railroad\ntrack for about five or six miles, you know, and I could make nearly as\ngood time in my handcar as they could in their flivver, for it\u2019s a down\ngrade nearly all the way.\u201d He paused, his eyes closing wearily as if\nevery muscle in his body ached with the memory of that terrible ride in\nthe dead of night.\n\u201cBetter rest awhile, Dave,\u201d Pop Bybee suggested gently, bending over the\nboy to wipe the cold drops of sweat from his forehead.\n\u201cNo, I\u2019ll get it over with,\u201d David protested weakly. \u201cThere\u2019s not much\nmore to tell. They couldn\u2019t see me\u2014had no idea I was trailing them in\nthe handcar. But I could keep them in sight because of their headlights.\nI guess they\u2019d have got away, though, if a freight train hadn\u2019t come\nalong just then and blocked the road. They were just reaching the grade\ncrossing where the state road cuts the railroad tracks when this freight\ncame charging down on us\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut you, David!\u201d Sally shuddered, bowing her head on his hand, the\nfingers of which curled upward weakly to cup her face. \u201cYou were on the\ntrack. Did the train hit you? Oh!\u201d\n\u201cOf course not!\u201d David grinned at her. \u201cI\u2019m here, and I wouldn\u2019t have\nbeen if the engine had hit the handcar when I was on it. But I\u2019m afraid\nthe railroad company is minus one handcar this morning. The cowcatcher\nof the freight engine scooped it up and tossed it aside as if it had\nbeen a baby\u2019s go-cart, but I\u2019d already jumped and was tumbling down the\nbank into a nice bed of wildflowers.\n\u201cPretty wet after the storm, so I didn\u2019t go to sleep. I\u2019d jumped to the\nother side of the tracks and was hidden from Steve\u2019s car while the\nfreight train rolled on. They didn\u2019t stop to hold a post-mortem over the\nhandcar. Probably figured a tramp had been bumming a free ride on it and\nhad got his, and good enough for him.\n\u201cWhen the train had passed I was waiting by the road for Steve\u2019s car. I\nguess he was pretty badly surprised when I hopped upon the running board\nand grabbed the steering wheel and swerved the car into a ditch, nearly\nturning it over. I don\u2019t remember much of what happened then, what with\nNita screeching and Steve swearing and popping his gun at me. But\nsomehow I managed to get his revolver\u2014didn\u2019t know I\u2019d been shot at\nfirst\u2014and dragged him out of the car.\n\u201cIt must have been a pretty good fight, for Nita decided to beat it\nbefore it was finished. She started off with one of the suitcases but it\nwas too heavy and she dropped it in the road and lit out. If Nita could\ndance as well as she can run,\u201d David interrupted himself to grin at\nBybee, \u201cshe\u2019d be a real loss to the outfit.\u201d\n\u201cWell, Dave, even if Steve did get away with the money, my hat\u2019s off to\nyou, boy,\u201d and he reached for the hand which Sally was still cuddling\njealously.\n\u201cWho\u2019s telling this?\u201d David demanded, with just a touch of boyish\nbravado, which made Sally love him better than ever. \u201cHe didn\u2019t get\naway. I\u2019m afraid he won\u2019t be good for much for a long time. Nita should\nhave stayed to look.\u201d\n\u201cThe money, Dave!\u201d Mrs. Bybee screamed. \u201cYou didn\u2019t save the money, did\nyou, Dave? Where are you, Winfield Bybee? I\u2019m giving you fair warning!\nIf he saved that money, I\u2019m going to faint dead away!\u201d\n\u201cThen I reckon I\u2019d better not tell you that I did save the money,\u201d David\ngrinned at her. \u201cI surely hate to see you faint, ma\u2019am. It isn\u2019t so\npleasant.\u201d\n\u201cDave, you answer me this minute!\u201d the old lady commanded, shaking a\nskinny finger in his face. \u201cDo you know the outfit\u2019ll be stranded if\nthose two crooks did get away with the money? Every cent we had in the\nworld was in that safe! You oughta be ashamed of yourself, teasing an\nold woman!\u201d\n\u201cI did save the money, if that\u2019s what they had in the suitcases, Mrs.\nBybee,\u201d David answered more seriously.\n\u201cThen where is it? What have you done with it? Left it lying in the\nroad?\u201d the showman\u2019s wife screeched, her eyes wild in her gray, wrinkled\nface.\n\u201cNow, now, Mother,\u201d Bybee soothed her. \u201cIf he did, he shan\u2019t be blamed.\nHow could you expect him to walk six or seven miles with two heavy\nsuitcases and his shoulder shot through?\u201d\nSally lifted her face from David\u2019s caressing hand and glared at Mrs.\nBybee. \u201cOf course he didn\u2019t leave it lying in the road! After risking\nhis life to save it for you? David is the cleverest and bravest man in\nthe world! Don\u2019t you know that yet?\u201d\nHer eyes dropped then to David\u2019s face, softened and glowed with such a\ndivine light of love that the boy\u2019s head jerked impulsively upward from\nthe pillow. \u201cWhere did you hide it, David darling?\u201d\n\u201cDear little Sally!\u201d he murmured, as he fell back, overcome with\ndizziness. \u201cShe guessed it, sir,\u201d he said drowsily, turning his head\nwith an effort to face Bybee. \u201cI knew I couldn\u2019t carry it far, so I hid\nit. The Steve chap was knocked out cold\u2014I suppose they\u2019ll have another\ncharge of \u2018assault with intent to kill\u2019 against me now\u2014so I knew he\ncouldn\u2019t see what I was doing.\n\u201cI took the two suitcases across the road, holding them in one hand,\nbecause by that time my shoulder was bleeding so I was afraid to strain\nit. There\u2019s a farm right at the end of the road. I struck a match and\nread the name on the mail box nailed to a post on the road. The name\u2019s\nRandall\u2014C. J. Randall, R. F. D. 2. You oughtn\u2019t to have any trouble\nfinding the place.\n\u201cThere wasn\u2019t any moon, but the stars were so bright after the storm\nthat I could just make out a barn about a hundred yards from the road. I\ncut across the cornfield and managed to reach the barn. There wasn\u2019t a\nsound, not even a dog barking, lucky for me, for if I\u2019d been caught with\nthe suitcases I\u2019d have had a fine time explaining how I happened to get\nthem and what I was doing with them. But I had to take that chance.\u201d\n\u201cEven if the police had caught you with them, I\u2019d never have believed\nthat you robbed Pop Bybee,\u201d Sally assured him, tears slurring her voice,\nbut her eyes shining with pride.\n\u201cIf you\u2019d seen me robbing the safe, you wouldn\u2019t have believed it,\u201d\nDavid said softly, his free arm drawing her down to the berth so that he\ncould kiss her.\nThere was a rustle of whispering, a giggle or two from the audience\ncrammed into the corridor outside the door. But David and Sally did not\nmind. The kiss was none the shorter or sweeter because it was witnessed\nby the carnival family.\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d David went on after that unashamed kiss, which had left\nSally trembling and radiant, \u201cI got the suitcases into the barn and up a\nladder to the hayloft. You\u2019ll find them buried under the hay, unless the\nRandall horses have made a meal off them by this time.\u201d\n\u201cGlory be to the Lord!\u201d Mrs. Bybee screamed, pounding her husband on the\nback. \u201cThe show\u2019ll go on, Winfield! And what are you standing there for?\nHustle right out after them suitcases or I\u2019ll go myself! You\u2019ve got to\ngo yourself, or that farmer Randall will take a pot shot at anybody that\ngoes meddling around his barn.\u201d\n\u201cAll right, Mother, all right!\u201d Bybee protested. \u201cI\u2019ll handle it. Don\u2019t\nworry. But I want to thank Dave here for what he\u2019s done for the outfit.\nDave\u2014\u201d he began, lifting his voice as if he intended to make an oration.\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s all right, Mr. Bybee,\u201d David blushed vividly. \u201cWe\u2019ll just\ncall it square. You didn\u2019t turn me over to the police last night, and\nyou\u2019ve taken Sally and me in and given us work and protected us\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going to do more than that, by golly!\u201d Bybee shouted. \u201cI\u2019m going to\nthe district attorney of this burg and tell him the whole yarn! I\u2019ll get\nthem charges against you and Sally quashed in less time than it takes to\nsay it! You\u2019re a hero, boy, and by golly, I feel like charging admission\nfor the rubes to look at you! The biggest and bravest hero in captivity!\nYes, sir! How\u2019s that for a spiel, Gus?\u201d he shouted to the barker.\n\u201cDave don\u2019t seem to think it\u2019s so grand!\u201d Gus chuckled. \u201cLook at him! A\nbody\u2019d thing he\u2019d been socked in the eye instead of slapped on the\nback!\u201d\nIt was true. David was looking so white and sick and his eyes were so\nfilled with embarrassment and distress that Sally was in tears again.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, Dave?\u201d Bybee asked in bewilderment. \u201cI thought you\nand the kid would be tickled to death to get a clean bill of health from\nthe cops. What\u2019s wrong?\u201d\nDavid struggled upon the elbow of his right arm, his white face\ntwitching with a spasm of pain. \u201cI\u2019d be glad to be free of those\ncharges, Mr. Bybee, but I guess we\u2019d better let them stand for a while.\nI might get off all right, but\u2014it\u2019s Sally. You see, sir, she\u2019s not of\nage, and the state would make her go back to the orphanage. The law in\nthis state makes her answerable to the orphanage till she\u2019s eighteen,\nand it would kill her to go back. I couldn\u2019t bear it, either, Mr. Bybee.\nSally and I belong together, and we\u2019re going to be married when this\ntrouble blows over.\u201d Although he was blushing furiously, his voice was\nstrong and clear, his eyes unwavering as they met the bright, frowning\nblue eyes of Pop Bybee.\n\u201cBut man alive,\u201d Pop protested, and it was noticeable to both Sally and\nDavid that he did not call him \u201cboy\u201d after David\u2019s declaration of his\nintentions toward Sally. \u201cWe can\u2019t simply hush this whole thing up! You\ndid follow the crooks and take the money away from them! I\u2019ve got to\nnotify the police that the swag has been recovered.\u201d\n\u201cCan\u2019t you tell them it was all a mistake and call off the case?\u201d David\npleaded earnestly.\n\u201cAnd let that Hula-hussy get off Scot-free?\u201d Bybee hooted. \u201cNo, siree!\nShe ain\u2019t a member of this family no more, and she\u2019ll have to pay for\ndouble-crossing me! I was good to that girl! Staked her to cakes and\nclothes when she joined up, whining she didn\u2019t have a cent to her name!\nStringing me all along! Just joined up to learn the lay of the land!\n\u201cBesides, we\u2019ve already put the case in the hands of the police and\nthey\u2019ve seen the safe for themselves. The sergeant said it was a\nprofessional job, all right, as neat a safe-cracking trick as he\u2019d ever\nseen turned. I couldn\u2019t hush it up if I wanted to.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll do what I can for Sally, lie like a gentleman for her, say she\nnever joined up with us, we don\u2019t know where she is\u2014anything you like,\nbut I\u2019m afraid you\u2019re bound to be the hero of Capital City before you\u2019re\ntwenty-four hours older. Too bad, son, but I don\u2019t see how it can be\nhelped,\u201d he twinkled.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care a rap about being a hero,\u201d David snapped. \u201cThe only thing\nin God\u2019s world I care about is Sally Ford. Listen, Mr. Bybee, tell the\npolice that one of the other boys chased the crooks and took the money\naway from them. Let Eddie Cobb be the hero! Eddie\u2019d like that, wouldn\u2019t\nyou, Eddie?\u201d he sang out to the freckle-faced youngster who was looking\non, goggle-eyed, among the crowd that jammed the door of the stateroom.\n\u201cAw, Dave!\u201d Eddie protested, flushing brightly under his freckles.\n\u201cSure you would like it!\u201d David laughed feebly, sinking back to his\npillows. \u201cListen, Mr. Bybee: this is Eddie Cobb\u2019s home town. He was\nraised in the orphanage, like Sally. He\u2019d get a great kick out of being\na hero to the kids at the Home. He can go with you to get the suitcases,\nafter you\u2019ve sent for the police to go along with you.\n\u201cI\u2019ll lie low, Eddie can tell the story I\u2019ve told you, and the cops will\nnever be the wiser. I can give him a pretty good description of Steve. I\nhad plenty of chances to study his face after I\u2019d knocked him out. I\nimagine he\u2019s beat it in his car by this time, if he was able to drive;\notherwise you\u2019ll find him in the road just as I told you. Of course he\u2019d\nknow it wasn\u2019t Eddie that fought with him, but the police wouldn\u2019t have\nany reason to doubt Eddie\u2019s word.\u201d\n\u201cBut Nita may have told him about you and me!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cOh, David,\ndon\u2019t bother about me! Take your chance while you have it to be cleared\nof those terrible charges! I\u2014I\u2019ll go back to the Home and\u2014and wait for\nyou. I could stand it\u2014somehow\u2014if I knew you were back in college, a\u2014a\nhero, and working for both of us. Please, David! Think of yourself, not\nme!\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d David shook his head stubbornly. \u201cThis little thing I\u2019ve done\nwouldn\u2019t get you out of trouble. They might clap you into the\nreformatory, as a juvenile delinquent. We can\u2019t take a chance on that!\nBesides, you\u2019ve had enough of the orphanage. We stick together, darling,\nand that\u2019s that! May I have another cup of coffee, if it isn\u2019t too much\ntrouble?\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re both a pair of fools, so crazy in love with each other that you\ncan\u2019t see straight!\u201d Mrs. Bybee scolded, as she blew her nose violently.\n\u201cBut I\u2019d like to see Winfield Bybee try to do anything you don\u2019t want\nhim to! Far as I\u2019m concerned, you can have anything I\u2019ve got and welcome\nto it!\u201d\nOf course there was nothing then for Pop Bybee to do but to adopt\nDavid\u2019s plan. The boy was transferred to a lower berth, where he was\nsafely hidden until after the detectives had arrived and departed with\nPop Bybee, Eddie and Gus, the barker.\nEddie, in his zeal for playing his part well, had torn his shirt,\nbruised his knuckles, scraped dirt on his arms, rolled in mud, and done\neverything else to make up for the part.\nFor the rest of the day Eddie strutted about in the limelight of\npublicity. Newspaper photographers and reporters arrived within a few\nminutes after the detectives had phoned headquarters that the suitcases\nfilled with silver and bills had been found in the hayloft; and when\nEddie returned with the showman and the barker, he was prevailed upon to\npose bashfully for his pictures.\nThe newspaper reporters commented admirably on the \u201cboy hero\u2019s\u201d\nadmirable modesty and diffidence in the big front-page stories that they\nwrote about the carnival robbery, and Eddie\u2019s freckled face, grinning\nbashfully from the center of the pages, confirmed every word written\nabout him.\nHis kewpie doll booth at the carnival that afternoon and evening was\nmobbed by his admirers, and before the day was ended Eddie almost\nbelieved that he _had_ routed two famous criminals and saved a small\nfortune for his employer.\nSally was permitted to stay with David during the afternoon, but Bybee\napologetically asked her to go on for the evening performances, since a\nrecord-breaking crowd had turned out, drawn partly by the fine weather\nthat followed the storm, but largely by the front page publicity which\nthe robbery had won for the show.\nCHAPTER XII\nIt was just before the ten o\u2019clock show that Sally, slipping into the\nthrone-like chair before the crystal, heard a familiar, mocking voice:\n\u201cIt\u2019s not fair! You look as fresh as a daisy! And I\u2019ve been frantic with\nanxiety all day, expecting to hear that Princess Lalla had sickened with\npneumonia. I\u2019ve come to collect thanks, your highness, for saving your\nlife!\u201d\nSally\u2019s sapphire eyes blazed at the man she knew only as \u201cVan,\u201d but\nsince they were veiled with a new scrap of black lace to replace the one\nlost in the storm, the nonchalant New Yorker did not appear to be at all\ndevastated by their fire.\n\u201cThank you for saving my life,\u201d she said stiffly, but the man\u2019s mocking,\nadmiring attention was fixed upon the deliciously young, sweet curves of\nher mouth, rather than upon the tone of her voice.\n\u201cI wonder if you know,\u201d he began confidentially, leaning lightly upon\nhis inevitable cane, \u201cthat you have the most adorable mouth I have ever\nseen? Of course there are other adorable details in the picture of\ncomplete loveliness that you present, but really, your lips, like three\nrose petals\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, stop!\u201d Sally cried with childish anger, her small, red-sandaled\nfoot stamping the platform. \u201cWhy are you always mocking me, making fun\nof me? I\u2019ve begged you to let me alone\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSuch ingratitude!\u201d the man sighed, but his narrowed eyes smiled at her\ndelightedly. \u201cIf you weren\u2019t even more delicious when you\u2019re angry, I\nshould not be able to forgive you. But really, Sally Ford\u2014\u201d his voice\ndropped caressingly on the name, as if to remind her that he shared her\nsecret with her\u2014\u201cthe way you persist in misunderstanding me is very\ndistressing.\n\u201cI\u2019m not mocking _you_, my dear child! I\u2019m mocking myself\u2014if anyone. It\nrecurs to me continually that this is an amazing adventure that Arthur\nVan Horne, of New York, Long Island and Newport is so sedulously engaged\nupon! To paraphrase your own delightful defense, I\u2019m really \u2018not that\nkind of man.\u2019 I assure you I\u2019m not in the habit of making love to show\ngirls, no matter how adorable their mouths may be!\u201d And he smiled at her\nout of his narrowed eyes and with his quirked, quizzical mouth, as if he\nexpected her to share his amusement and amazement at himself.\n\u201cThen why don\u2019t you let me alone?\u201d Sally cried, striking her little\nbrown-painted hands together in futile rage.\n\u201cI wonder!\u201d he mused. \u201cI make up my mind that I\u2019m a blighter and an ass\nand that I shan\u2019t come near the carnival. I accept invitations enough to\ntake up every minute of my last days in Capital City, and then\u2014without\nin the least intending to do so\u2014I find myself back in the Palace of\nWonders, humbling myself before a pair of little red-sandaled feet that\nwould like nothing better than to kick me for my impudence. Do you\nsuppose, Sally Ford, that I\u2019m falling in love with you? There\u2019s\nsomething about you, you know\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPlease go away,\u201d Sally implored him. \u201cIt\u2019s almost time for my\nperformance. Gus is ballyhooing Jan now and I come next.\u201d\n\u201cAs I was saying, when you interrupted me,\u201d Van Horne reproved her\nmockingly, \u201cthere\u2019s something about you, you know. Last night when I had\nthe honor of saving your life and seeing your adorable little face\nwashed clean of the brown paint, I was surprised at myself. I really\nwas, I give you my word!\n\u201cDo you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to swing you up into my arms,\nyou amazingly tiny thing, and run away with you. If you hadn\u2019t looked so\nyoung and\u2014pure, I believe the favorite word is\u2014I\u2019d have yielded to the\nimpulse. I suppress so few of my unholy desires that I suppose this\ndiscipline is good for my soul\u2014Now, what the devil are you looking at,\ninstead of listening to the confessions of a young man?\u201d he broke off\nwith a genuine note of irritation in his charming voice.\n\u201cWho is that beautiful woman?\u201d Sally asked in a low voice, her eyes\nstill fixed upon the golden-haired woman whom Van Horne had called\n\u201cEnid,\u201d and who had just entered the tent alone, her small body, clad in\nthe green knitted silk sports suit, moving through the crowd with proud\ndisdain.\n\u201cAgain I am forced to forgive you,\u201d Van Horne sighed humorously. \u201cI seem\nalways to be forgiving you, Sally Ford! You are merely asking a question\nwhich is inevitably asked when Enid Barr first bursts upon a startled\npublic.\n\u201cShe is probably the most beautiful blond in New York society. Those\nindustrious cold cream advertisers would pay her a fortune for the use\nof her picture and endorsement, but it happens that she has two or three\nlarge fortunes of her own, as well as a disgustingly rich husband. Yes,\nunfortunately for her adorers, she is married, Courtney Barr\u2014even out\nhere you must have heard of Courtney Barr\u2014being the lucky man.\u201d\n\u201cI wonder what she\u2019s doing here,\u201d Sally whispered, fright widening her\neyes behind the black lace.\n\u201cOh, I think Courtney\u2019s here on political business. The Barrs have\nalways rather fancied themselves as leaders among the Wall Street makers\nof presidents. He\u2019s hobnobbing with my cousin, the governor, and Enid is\nprobably amusing herself by collecting Americana.\u201d\n\u201cShe must be awfully good,\u201d Sally whispered, adoration making her voice\nlovely and wistful. \u201cShe brought all the orphanage children to the\ncarnival yesterday, you know.\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d Van Horne shrugged, arching his brows quizzically. \u201cI confess I\nwas rather stunned, for Enid doesn\u2019t go in for personal charity. Huge\nchecks and all that sort of thing\u2014she\u2019s endowed some sort of institution\nfor \u2018fallen girls,\u2019 by the way\u2014but it has never seemed to amuse her to\nplay Lady Bountiful in person. Of course she may be nursing a secret\npassion for children, and took this means to gratify it where her crowd\ncould not rag her about it.\u201d\n\u201cHasn\u2019t she any children of her own?\u201d Sally asked. \u201cBut I suppose she\u2019s\ntoo young\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d Van Horne laughed. \u201cShe\u2019s past thirty, certainly, though\nshe would never forgive me for saying so. She\u2019s never had any children;\nbeen married about thirteen years, I think.\u201d\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s too bad!\u201d Sally\u2019s voice was tender and wistful. \u201cShe\u2019d make\nsuch a lovely mother\u2014\u201d\nVan Horne interrupted with his throaty, musical laugh, and was in turn\ninterrupted by Gus the barker\u2019s stentorian roar:\n\u201cRight this way, la-dees and gen-tle-men! I want to introduce you to\nPrincess Lalla, who sees all, knows all! Princess Lalla, world famous\ncrystal-gazer, favorite\u2014\u201d\nSally straightened in her throne-like chair, her little brown hands\ncupping obediently about the \u201cmagic crystal\u201d on the velvet-draped stand\nbefore her. Van Horne, with a last ironic chuckle, melted into the\ncrowd, which had surged toward Sally\u2019s platform.\nWhen Gus\u2019s spiel was finished, the rush began. At least a dozen hands\nshot upward, waving quarters and demanding the first opportunity to\nlearn \u201cpast, present and future\u201d from \u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d\nShe worked hard, conscientiously and cautiously, for she was vividly\nconscious that both Van Horne and Enid Barr were somewhere in the tent,\nlistening perhaps, whispering about her.\nMost of her fear of Enid Barr, which had resulted from the connection of\nthe golden-haired woman with the orphanage children the day before, had\nevaporated. It was absurd to think that a woman of such wealth and\nbeauty, whose philanthropy had undoubtedly been a gesture of boredom,\nwas seriously interested in one lone little girl who had run away from\ncharity.\nIt did not even seem odd to Sally that Enid Barr should have paid a\nsecond visit to the carnival. Probably Capital City afforded scant\namusement for a woman of her sophistication, and the carnival, crude and\ntawdry though it was, was better than nothing.\nSince \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d was not a side-show all by herself, but only one\nof many attractions in the Palace of Wonders, Gus never made any attempt\nto cajole reluctant \u201crubes\u201d into surrendering their quarters for a\nglimpse of \u201cpast, present and future,\u201d but always hustled his crowd on\nto the next platform\u2014\u201cPitty Sing\u2019s\u201d\u2014as soon as the first flurry of\ninterest had died down and the crowd had become restive.\nBy this method, those who were faintly or belligerently dissatisfied\nwith Sally\u2019s crystal-gazing, at which she was becoming more adept with\neach performance, were quickly placated by the sight of new wonders, for\nwhich no extra charge was made.\nSally was straightening the black velvet drapery which covered the\ncrystal stand, preparatory to returning to the dress tent for a rest\nbetween shows when a lovely, lilting voice, with a ripple of amusement\nin it, made her gasp with surprise and consternation.\n\u201cAm I too late to have my fortune told?\u201d Enid Barr, gazing up at Sally\nwith her golden head tilted provocatively to one side, was immediately\nbelow the startled crystal-gazer, one of her exquisite small hands\nswinging the silvery-green felt hat which Sally had so much admired the\nday before.\n\u201cOh, no!\u201d Sally fluttered, both delighted and frightened at this\nopportunity to talk with the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.\nJust in time she remembered her accent: \u201cWeel you do me ze honor to\nascend the steps?\u201d\nLaughing at herself, and looking over her shoulder to see that she was\nnot observed by anyone who knew her, Enid Barr ran lightly up the steps\nand slipped into the little camp chair opposite Sally. Her small white\nhands, with their exquisite nails glistening in the light from the\ncenter gas jet, hovered over the crystal, touching it tentatively.\nSally leaned forward, her own hands cupped about the crystal, her eyes\nbrooding upon it behind the little black lace veil, her mouth pursed\nwith sweet seriousness.\n\u201cYou are\u2014what you call it?\u2014psychic,\u201d Sally chanted in the quaint,\nmincing voice with which she had been taught to make her revelations.\n\u201cZe creeystal, she is va-ry clear for you. I see so-o-o much!\u201d She\nhesitated, wondering just how much of Van Horne\u2019s confidences about this\nbeautiful woman she dared appropriate. Would Van Horne give her away?\nThen, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, she raised her eyes suddenly and\nmet those of Van Horne, who was leaning nonchalantly against the\ncenter-pole of the tent. He nodded, smiled his curious, quizzical smile\nand slowly winked his right eye. She had his permission\u2014\n\u201cPlease hurry!\u201d Enid Barr commanded arrogantly. \u201cI\u2019m just dying to know\nwhat you see about me in that crystal!\u201d\n\u201cI see a beeg, beeg city,\u201d Sally intoned dreamily, her eyes again fixed\nupon the crystal. \u201cI see you there, in beeg, beeg house. Much moneys.\nAnd behind you I see a man\u2014your husband, no?\u201d\n\u201cYes, I am married,\u201d Enid Barr laughed. \u201cSince you see so much, suppose\nyou tell me my name.\u201d\n\u201cI see\u2014\u201d Sally frowned, but her heart was pounding at her audacity, \u201cze\nletter E and ze letter R\u2014no, B! I see a beeg place\u2014not your house\u2014with\nma-ny girls holding out zeir arms to you. You help zem. You are va-ry,\nva-ry good.\u201d\n\u201cRot!\u201d Enid Barr laughed, but a bright flush of pleasure spread over her\nfair face. \u201cOne has to do something with \u2018much moneys,\u2019 doesn\u2019t one?\nListen, Princess Lalla, if that is really your name: prove to me you are\na real crystal-gazer! Tell me something I\u2019d give almost anything to\nknow\u2014\u201d She leaned forward tensely, her violet-blue eyes darkening with\nexcitement and appeal until they were almost the color of Sally\u2019s.\n\u201cAnd what\u2019s that, Enid?\u201d a mocking, amused voice inquired. \u201cDo you want\nto know whether I really love you? How can you ask! Of course I do!\u201d\nEnid Barr sprang to her feet so hastily that the camp stool on which she\nhad been sitting overturned, anger and something like fear blazing in\nher eyes.\nEnid Barr and Arthur Van Horne moved away from \u201cPrincess Lalla\u2019s\u201d\nplatform together, Enid\u2019s golden head held high, her lovely voice\nstaccato with anger; but Sally, although she was guilty of trying to do\nso, could not distinguish a word that was being said.\nNear the front exit of the tent Van Horne was greeted boisterously by a\nparty of Capital City society men and women, laden with trophies from\nthe gambling concessions on the midway. He was swept into the party,\nwhich Enid Barr refused to join, shaking her little golden head\nstubbornly and pretending a great interest in the midget, \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d\nwhose platform was nearest the exit.\nAlthough Sally was at liberty to leave the tent until the final\nperformance at eleven o\u2019clock, she sat on in her throne-like chair,\nhoping and yet fearing that the beautiful woman would return and ask her\nthe question which Van Horne\u2019s unwelcome interruption had left unspoken.\nEnid spoke to \u201cPitty Sing\u201d in her proud, offhand manner, paid a dollar\nfor one of the midget\u2019s cheap little postcard pictures of herself,\nrefused to take the change and was turning toward Sally\u2019s platform again\nwhen Winfield Bybee entered the tent with Gus, the barker.\nSally, watching Enid, saw the woman\u2019s involuntary start of recognition\nas Bybee crossed her path, saw her hesitate, then turn toward him,\ndetermination stamped on her lovely, sensitive face.\nWhen Bybee had bared his head deferentially and was bending over the\nsmall woman to hear her low spoken words, Sally was seized with fright.\nShe knew instinctively that Enid Barr\u2019s questions concerned her, but\nwhether they concerned Sally Ford, runaway from the state orphanage, or\n\u201cPrincess Lalla,\u201d fake crystal-gazer, she had no way of knowing. All she\nknew for certain was that Enid had overheard Betsy\u2019s shriek: \u201cThat\u2019s not\nPrincess Lalla! That\u2019s Sally Ford\u2014play-acting!\u201d And she fled, feeling\nEnid\u2019s eyes upon her but not daring to look back.\nThere was less than half an hour before the next and final show was to\nstart. She spent the time in the dress tent, wishing with all her heart\nthat she was through work for the day and that she could go to David.\nPoor David! lying wounded in a stuffy, hot berth, tormented with worries\nas to the future and possibly with regrets for the past, while Eddie\nCobb strutted on the midway as the hero of the safe robbery.\nIt would be better for David, infinitely better, if she could screw up\nher courage to the point of going back to the orphanage and taking her\npunishment. It would be so simple! She had only to seek out Enid Barr\nand say to her: \u201cI _am_ Sally Ford! Send for Mrs. Stone.\u201d And perhaps\nEnid would intercede for her, for she seemed so very kind.\n\u201cWake up, Sally,\u201d Bess, one of the dancers of the \u201cgirlie show,\u201d called\nto her, as she came shuffling into the tent on tortured feet. \u201cGus is\nballyhooing your show.\u201d\nYes, her mind was made up. She would tell Enid Barr, beg her to\nintercede with the orphanage for her, and with the police for David. But\nthere was no Enid Barr among the audience at the last show of the\nevening, and even Van Horne was absent. In spite of her good resolutions\nSally felt an immense relief. Reprieve! She certainly could not give\nherself up if there was no one to give up to!\n\u201cGoing to the show train to see David?\u201d Gus whispered, when the last\nshow was finished and the audience was straggling toward the exits.\n\u201cOf course!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cIs he worse? Don\u2019t hide anything from me,\nGus\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWorse!\u201d Gus laughed. \u201cBybee says he\u2019s yelling for food and threatens to\nget up and cook it himself if they don\u2019t give him something besides mush\nand milk. Come along! I\u2019ll walk you over to the show train. You\u2019re too\npretty to be allowed to go alone. Some village dude would be trying to\nkidnap you.\u201d\nThey found David sitting up in his berth, working crossword puzzles,\nMrs. Bybee sitting on the edge of his bed to jot down the words as he\ngave them to her.\n\u201cReckon you won\u2019t need the old lady now that the young \u2019un\u2019s come to\nhold your hand and make a fuss over you,\u201d Mrs. Bybee grumbled jealously.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that? What\u2019s that?\u201d Winfield Bybee, who had come over from the\ncarnival grounds in a service car, demanded from the doorway. \u201cBeen\nflirting with my wife, young man? Reckon I\u2019ll have to put the gloves on\nwith you when that crippled wing of yours is O. K. Well, Sally, old Pop\nhas done you another good turn.\u201d\nSally paled and reached instinctively for David\u2019s left hand. \u201cOh! You\nmean\u2014Mrs. Barr, the lady who was talking to you?\u201d\n\u201cNothing else but!\u201d Bybee nodded, smiling at her. \u201cShe tried to make me\nadmit you was Sally Ford and I acted innocent as a new-born lamb. Told\nher you\u2019d been with us since we left New York.\u201d\n\u201cWhy is she so interested in Sally, Mr. Bybee?\u201d David asked quietly.\n\u201cShe \u2019lowed a carnival wasn\u2019t no place for a pure young girl,\u201d Bybee\nchuckled. \u201cShe said they was anxious over at the orphanage to get Sally\nback, away from her life of sin, and that pers\u2019n\u2019ly she took a powerful\ninterest in unfortunate girls and was determined to see Sally safe back\nin the Home if \u2018Princess Lalla\u2019 _was_ Sally Ford. I lied like a\ngentleman for you, child. Told her she was a nice little dame and all\nthat, but clear off her base in this instance. Reckon I put it across\nall right, for she shut up and beat it pretty soon.\u201d\n\u201cI think she\u2019s wonderful,\u201d Sally surprised them all by speaking up\nalmost sharply. \u201cShe\u2019s just trying to be kind. She doesn\u2019t know how\nawful an orphans\u2019 home can be.\u201d\n\u201cCome along, Mother. Let\u2019s give these two kids a chance. But you mustn\u2019t\nstay long, Sally. Tomorrow\u2019s Saturday, and you oughta be enough of a\ntrouper by now to know what that means. We head South Saturday night,\nriding all day Sunday.\u201d\n\u201cOut of the state?\u201d Sally and David cried in unison.\n\u201cYep. Out of the state. You kids\u2019ll be safe then. The police ain\u2019t going\nto bother about extradition for a couple of juvenile delinquents. So\nlong, Dave boy. Don\u2019t let this little Jane keep you awake too late.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll leave in fifteen minutes,\u201d Sally promised joyfully.\nAnd she kept her promise. Her lips were smiling tenderly, secretly, at\nthe memory of David\u2019s good-night kiss, when she left the car and began\nto look about for someone to walk back to the carnival grounds with her,\nfor she was to sleep in the dress tent that night, the storm-soaked\nmattresses having dried in the sun all day.\nGus had told her he would be waiting for her, but she could not find\nhim. She went the length of the train to the privilege car, pushing open\nthe door sufficiently to peep within. At least a score of men of the\ncarnival family were seated at three or four tables, their heads almost\nunrecognizable through the thick layers of cigar and cigaret smoke.\nThere was little conversation except an occasional oath, but the steady\nclacking of poker chips upon the bare tables came to her distinctly.\nShe closed the door noiselessly and jumped from the platform of the\ncoach to the ground. It would be mean to disturb Gus, she reflected, for\nhe loved poker better than anything except ballyhoo, and there was no\nreal reason why she should not walk to the carnival grounds alone.\nOf course she would be conspicuous on the streets in her \u201cPrincess\nLalla\u201d costume and make-up, but if she paid no attention to anyone who\ntried to accost her, there was certainly not much danger. She began to\nrun, leaving the train swiftly behind her, but she slowed to a sedate\nwalk when she reached the business streets through which she had to pass\nto reach the carnival grounds.\nShe was crossing Capital Avenue, at the end of which sat the great white\nstone structure which gave the street its name, when a limousine skidded\nto a sudden stop and an all-too-familiar voice sang out:\n\u201cPrincess Lalla! What in the world are you doing out alone at this time\nof night?\u201d\nSally contemplated flight, but the limousine blocked her path. Before\nshe could turn back the way she had come Van Horne stepped out of the\ntonneau of the car.\n\u201cLet me drive you to the carnival grounds, Sally,\u201d he urged in a low\nvoice, completely devoid of mockery for once. \u201cIt\u2019s really not safe for\nyou to be out alone dressed like that. Come along! Don\u2019t be prudish,\nchild! I\u2019m not going to harm you. Remember, \u2018I\u2019m not that kind of a\nman!\u2019\u201d And he laughed as he almost lifted her into the car.\nShe sank back upon the cushions, feeling their depth and softness with a\nchildish awe. The chauffeur started the car, and Van Horne dropped a\nhand lightly over hers as he leaned back and regarded her quizzically.\n\u201cI\u2019m glad I ran into you,\u201d he told her. \u201cI suppose you\u2019ve been told that\nEnid\u2014Mrs. Barr\u2014is hot on your trail?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d Sally nodded, her lips too stiff with sudden fright to form the\nword.\n\u201cShe\u2019s almost convinced that you\u2019re really Sally Ford,\u201d he told her\nlightly. \u201cAnd if she makes up her mind, there\u2019s nothing in heaven or\nhell that can stop Enid Barr. A damnably persistent little wretch! I\u2019ve\nnever been able to understand Enid\u2019s passion for succoring \u2018fallen\ngirls.\u2019 She appears to be such a normal little pagan otherwise.\u201d\nSally said nothing because she could not. But her sapphire eyes were\nenormous and her mouth was twitching piteously.\n\u201cListen, Sally,\u201d Van Horne leaned toward her suddenly, crushing her\nlittle brown-painted hands between his own immaculate white ones. \u201cLet\nme get you out of this mess! I\u2019ve been thinking a lot about you\u2014too\ndamned much for my peace of mind! And this is what I want to do\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPlease!\u201d Sally gasped, shrinking far into the corner of the seat, but\nunable to tear her hands from his.\n\u201cWait till you\u2019ve heard what I have to say, before you begin acting like\na pure and innocent maid in the clutches of a movie villain!\u201d Van Horne\ncommanded her scornfully.\n\u201cI want to send you to New York, give you a year in a dancing academy\nthat trains girls for the stage and a year in dramatic school\u2014both at\nthe same time, if possible. You\u2019ve got the figure and the looks and the\npersonality for a musical comedy star, or Arthur Van Horne is the \u2018rube\u2019\nthat you carnival people call him. What do you say, Sally? Think of it.\nA year or two with nothing to worry about except your studies and your\ndancing and then\u2014Broadway! I\u2019ll put you over if I have to buy a show for\nyou! Come, Sally! Say \u2018Thank you, Van. I\u2019ll be ready to leave\ntomorrow.\u2019\u201d\nAs long as she lived, Sally Ford would remember with shame that for one\nmoment she was tempted by Arthur Van Horne\u2019s offer to prepare her for a\nstage career in New York. She had \u201cplay-acted\u201d all her life; her heart\u2019s\ndesire before she had met David had been to become an actress, and in\nthat one moment when she knew that realization of her ambition lay\nwithin her grasp she wanted to stretch out her hands and seize\nopportunity.\nHer eyes glistened; she gasped involuntarily with delight. If Van Horne\nhad not been hasty, if he had not snatched her to him with a strangled\ncry of triumph as his black eyes\u2014mocking no longer, but wide and\nbrilliant with desire\u2014read the effect of his words, she might have\ncommitted herself, have promised him anything. But he did touch her, and\nher flesh instinctively recoiled, for every nerve in her body was still\nathrill with David\u2019s good-night kiss.\n\u201cNo, No! Don\u2019t touch me!\u201d she shuddered. \u201cI won\u2019t go! You know I love\nDavid!\u201d she wailed, covering her face with her hands. \u201cWhy won\u2019t you let\nme alone?\u201d\nVan laughed, settled back in his seat and crossed his arms upon his\nbreast. \u201cI can wait until you have your little tummy full of carnival\nlife and of hiding from the police,\u201d he told her in his old, nonchalant\nway. \u201cIncidentally I have always bemoaned the fact that conquest is so\ndamnably easy. It is a new experience to me\u2014this being refused, and I\nsuspect that I\u2019m enjoying it. Now\u2014shall I say good-night, since we\u2019ve\nreached the carnival lot? It\u2019s not goodby, you know, Sally. I assure you\nI\u2019m admirably persistent. And remember, if Enid tries to make a nuisance\nof herself, you can always fly to Van. Good night, Sally, you adorable,\nungrateful little wretch! No kiss? Perhaps it is better so. I\u2019m afraid I\nshould not care for the brand of lipstick that Princess Lalla uses.\u201d\nSally did not tell David of Van Horne\u2019s offer, for on Saturday, the last\nday of the carnival in Capital City, the boy developed a temperature\nwhich caused Gus, who had acted as volunteer surgeon, to exclude all\nvisitors, even Sally.\nApparently Enid Barr had been convinced of Bybee\u2019s gallant lies that\nlittle orphaned Betsy had been mistaken and that \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d was\nnot \u201cSally Ford, play-acting,\u201d but it was not until the show train was\nrolling out of the state in the small hours of Sunday morning that the\ngirl dared breathe easily.\nCHAPTER XIII\nSunday, on the show train, was a happy day, the happiest that Sally had\never known in her life. Freaks and dancers, barkers and concessionaires,\nall the members of that weirdly assorted family, the carnival, mingled\nin a joyous freedom from work and worry, singing together, reminiscing,\ngambling, gossiping.\nThe last week, except for the storm, had been an excellent one; money\nwas free, spirits high. Even Mrs. Bybee, hovering like a mother hen over\nDavid, was good-natured, inclined to reminisce and give advice. Sally,\nwhose talent for exquisite darning had been discovered by the women and\ngirls, sat on the edge of David\u2019s berth, her lap full of flesh and beige\nand gun metal silk stockings, her needle flying busily, her lips curved\nwith a smile of pure delight, as she listened to the surge of laughter\nand song and talk. The midget, \u201cPitty Sing,\u201d perched on the window ledge\nof David\u2019s berth, a comical pair of spectacles across her infinitesimal\nnose, was reading aloud to David from one of her own tiny books, and\nDavid was listening, but his eyes were fixed worshipfully upon Sally,\nand now and again his left hand reached out and patted her busy fingers\nor twirled the hanging braid of her hair.\nOh, it was a happy day, and Sally was sorry to have it end. But the show\nhad to go on. The train wheels could not click forever over the rails.\nMonday, with its bustle and confusion and ballyhoo and inevitable\nperformances, lay ahead. But they were far out of the state which held\nClem Carson, the orphanage, Enid Barr, Arthur Van Horne and all other\nmenaces to freedom when the train did stop at last, on the outskirts of\na town of 10,000 inhabitants.\nCarnival routine had already become an old story to Sally; she no longer\nminded the curious stares of villagers, the crude advances of dressed-up\nyoung male \u201crubes.\u201d The glamor had worn off, but in its place had come a\ndeep contentment and a sympathetic understanding, born on that happy\nSunday when the relaxed carnival family had shown her its heart and\nhopes. She was glad to be one of them, to be earning her living by\ngiving entertainment and happiness\u2014fake though her crystal-gazing was\u2014to\nthousands of people whose lives were blighted with monotony.\nDuring their first week in the new territory business was even better\nthan the Bybees had dared hope. Positively the only calamity that befell\nthe carnival was the discovery that Babe, the fat girl, had lost five\npounds, due to her loudly confessed but unrequited passion for the\ncarnival\u2019s hero, David Nash.\nOn Wednesday, David was permitted to get up, and that afternoon for the\nfirst time he witnessed Sally\u2019s performance as \u201cPrincess Lalla.\u201d She had\nbecome so proficient in her intuitions regarding those who sought\nknowledge of \u201cpast, present and future\u201d that his smiling, amused\nattentiveness to her \u201creadings\u201d did not embarrass her.\nWhen the show was over, she joined him proudly, her little brown-painted\nhands clinging to his arm, her face uplifted adoringly to his, as she\npattered at his side on a tour of the midway. It was then that her\ndreams came true. At last she was \u201cdoing the carnival\u201d with a \u201cboy\nfriend,\u201d like other girls. And David played up magnificently, buying her\nhot dogs, salt water taffy, red lemonade\u2014the two of them drinking out of\ntwin straws from the same glass.\nOn Thursday, Friday and Saturday morning before show time the two\nwandered about the village to which the carnival had journeyed the night\nbefore. It was heavenly to be able to walk the streets unafraid. David\nwalked with head high, shoulders squared, unafraid to look any man in\nthe face, and Sally could have cried with joy that he was free again,\nfor Bybee had assured them that there was not the slightest chance of\nextradition on the charges which still stood against the two in their\nnative state.\nSome day, somehow, the cloud against them would be lifted, and David\ncould walk the streets of Capital City as proudly as he walked these\nvillage streets.\nWith money in their pockets, they could afford to buy all the\nnecessities and little luxuries which their enforced flight from the\nCarson farm had deprived them of. Sally, her little face enchantingly\ngrave and wise, chose ties and socks and shirts for David, and almost\nforgot to bother about her own needs. And David, in another part of the\nvillage \u201cgeneral store,\u201d bought, blushingly but undauntingly, little\npink silk brassieres and silk jersey knickers and silk stockings for the\ngirl he loved. When she saw them she burst into tears, hugging them to\nher breast as if they were living, feeling things.\n\u201cWhy, David, darling!\u201d she sobbed and laughed, \u201cI\u2019ve never before in all\nmy life had any silk underwear or a pair of silk stockings! I\u2014I\u2019m afraid\nto wear them for fear I\u2019ll spoil them when I have to wash them. Oh, the\ndear things! The lovely, precious things!\u201d\n\u201cAnd here\u2019s something else,\u201d David said to her that Saturday morning.\nThey were in the still-deserted Palace of Wonders, their purchases\nspread out on Sally\u2019s platform.\n\u201cGive me your hand and shut your eyes,\u201d David commanded gently, with a\nthrob of excitement in his voice.\nShe obeyed, but when she felt a ring being slipped upon the third finger\nof her left hand her eyes flew open and found a sapphire to match them.\nFor the ring that David had bought for her was a plain loop of white\ngold, with a deep-blue sapphire in an old-fashioned Tiffany mounting,\nsuch as tradition has made sacred to engagement rings.\n\u201cOh, David!\u201d She laid her hand against her cheek, pressing the stone so\nhard that it left its many-faceted imprint upon her flesh. Then she had\nto kiss it and David had to kiss it\u2014and her.\n\u201cI wish it could have been a diamond,\u201d David deprecated. \u201cI suppose all\ngirls prefer diamond engagement rings. But\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, David, is it an engagement ring?\u201d she breathed, then flung herself\nupon his breast, her hands clinging to his shoulders.\n\u201cOf course it is, precious idiot!\u201d he laughed. Very gently but\ninsistently he forced her face upward, so that their eyes met and clung.\nHis were boyishly ardent but solemn, hers were misted over with tears,\nbut brighter and bluer than the stone upon her finger. \u201cI don\u2019t know\nwhen we can be married, Sally, but\u2014I wanted you to have a ring and to\nknow that I\u2019ll always be thinking and planning and\u2014oh, I can\u2019t talk! You\nwant to be engaged, don\u2019t you, Sally? You love me\u2014enough?\u201d\n\u201cI adore you. I love you so that I feel I am not even half a person when\nyou\u2019re not with me. I couldn\u2019t live without you, David,\u201d she said\nsolemnly.\nThey were still sitting there, talking, planning, making love shyly but\nardently, when Gus, the barker, mounted the box outside the tent and\nbegan to ballyhoo for the first show of the morning.\n\u201cEleven o\u2019clock and I\u2019m not in make-up yet, and you\u2019ve got to run the\nwheel for Eddie today,\u201d Sally cried in dismay, jumping to her feet and\ngathering up her scattered purchases and presents.\nAs the day wore on, with show after show drawing record crowds for a\nvillage of its size, \u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d gazed more often into the shining\nblue depths of a small sapphire than into the magic depths of her\ncrystal. But perhaps the sapphire had a magic of its own, for never had\nher audiences been better pleased, never had quarters been thrust so\nthick and fast upon her.\nAt half-past nine that night, Gus, the barker, had not quite finished\nhis \u201cspiel\u201d about the Princess Lalla when the girl, whose eyes had been\nfixed trance-like upon her ring, saw a woman suddenly begin to ascend\nthe steps to the platform. Before her startled eyes had traveled upward\nto the woman\u2019s face Sally knew who it was. For twelve years that big,\nstiffly corseted, severely dressed body had been as familiar to her as\nher own. Instinctively, though her blood had turned instantly to ice\nwater in her veins, Sally\u2019s right hand closed over her left, to conceal\nthe sapphire. Thelma had not been permitted to keep even a bit of blue\nglass\u2014\nSally felt as if her flesh were shriveling upon her bones. An actual\nnumbness spread from her shoulders to her fingertips, in anticipation of\nthe shock of feeling the Orphans\u2019 Home matron\u2019s grip upon them. How\nmany, many times in her twelve years in the orphanage had she been\nroughly jerked to her feet by those broad, heavy hands, when she had\nbeen caught in some minor infringement of Mrs. Stone\u2019s stern rules!\nHer hands, instinctively clasped so that her precious engagement ring\nmight be hidden from those gimlet-like gray eyes, were so rigid that\nSally wondered irrelevantly if they would ever come to life again, to\ncurve their fingers about the magic crystal. But of course she would\nnever \u201cread\u201d the crystal again. She was caught, caught!\n\u201cAre you deaf?\u201d Mrs. Stone\u2019s harsh voice pierced her numbed hearing as\nif from a great distance. \u201cI want my fortune told. I\u2019ve paid my quarter\nand I don\u2019t intend to dilly-dally around here all day.\u201d\nThe relief was so terrific that the girl\u2019s body began to tremble all\nover, but the rigidity of terror had mercifully relaxed, so that she\ncould lift her shaking hands.\nGus, the barker, who always remained upon the platform during her\n\u201creadings,\u201d had long ago arranged a code signal of distress, and now she\ngave it. Her hands went up to the ridiculous crown of fake jewels that\nbanded her long black hair and adjusted it, tipping it first to the\nright and then to the left, as if to ease the pressure of its weight\nupon her forehead.\nThat very natural gesture told Gus more plainly than words that\n\u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d was in danger and asked him to use his ingenuity to\nrescue her. There was no need for her to lift her eyes to him. Jerkily\nher hands came down, hovered over the crystal, and before Mrs. Stone\ncould voice another harsh complaint, the sing-song voice which \u201cPrincess\nLalla\u201d used was requesting \u201cze ladee\u201d to sit down in the chair opposite.\nBut what should she tell Mrs. Stone, with whose personality and history\nshe had been familiar for twelve years? If she dared to read \u201cpast,\npresent and future\u201d with any degree of accuracy, the matron would be\nstartled into observing the \u201cseeress\u201d with those gimlet eyes of hers. If\nshe went too wide of the mark in generalities, Mrs. Stone was entirely\ncapable of raising a disturbance which would ruin business for the rest\nof the day.\n\u201cWell, what do you see\u2014if anything?\u201d Mrs. Stone demanded angrily.\nThat gave Sally her cue. Bending low over the crystal, so that her face\nwas within a few inches of that of the woman who sat opposite her, with\nonly the crystal stand between them, she pretended to peer into the\ndepths of the glass ball. Then slowly she began to shake her head\nregretfully.\n\u201cPrincess Lalla is so-o-o sor-ree\u201d\u2014the small, sing-song voice was raised\na bit, so that Gus, who had strolled leisurely across the platform to\ntake his stand behind Sally\u2019s chair, might hear perfectly\u2014\u201cbut ze\ncreeystal she ees dark. She tell me nossing about ze nice-tall la-dee.\nSometimes it ees so. Ze gen-tle-man weel give ze money back.\u201d\nThe thin little shoulders under the green satin jacket shrugged\neloquently, the little brown hands spread themselves with a gesture of\nhelplessness and regret.\n\u201cGlad to refund your money, lady!\u201d Gus sang out loudly. \u201cHere you are!\nBetter luck next time! Princess Lalla is the gen-u-ine article! If she\ndon\u2019t see nothing in the crystal for you, she don\u2019t string you\nalong\u2014right here, lady! Here\u2019s your money back\u2014\u201d\nSally leaned back in her chair, weak with relief, her eyes closed, as\nGus tried to urge her nemesis from the platform. In a moment the danger\nwould be over\u2014\nThen, so quickly was it done that Sally had not the slightest chance to\nshield her eyes, a hand had snatched the little black lace veil from her\nface. Terror-widened sapphire eyes stared, with betraying recognition,\ninto narrowed, angry gray ones. Mrs. Stone nodded with grim\nsatisfaction.\n\u201cSo Betsy was right! If that idiotic Amelia Pond had told me while the\ncarnival was still in Capital City, I\u2019d have been saved this trip. Get\nup from there, Sal\u2014\u201d\nA shriek from the throat of a woman in the audience, which was packed\ndensely about the platform, interrupted the matron, successfully\ndiverting the attention of the curious from the puzzling drama upon the\nplatform.\n\u201cI\u2019ve been robbed! Help! Police!\u201d Again the siren of a woman\u2019s scream\nmade the air hideous. \u201cIt was her! She was standing right by me! Police!\nPolice!\u201d\nEven Mrs. Stone was diverted for the moment. Gus, the barker, sprang to\nthe edge of the platform as a red-faced, disheveled woman fought her way\nthrough the crowd to the platform.\n\u201cWhat seems to be the trouble, madam?\u201d Gus demanded loudly. \u201cWho took\nyour purse?\u201d He reached a helping hand to the woman who was struggling\nto get to the steps leading to the platform.\n\u201cIt was _her_!\u201d The \u201ccountry woman,\u201d whom Sally had recognized instantly\nas a \u201cschiller,\u201d an employe of the circus, extremely useful in just such\nemergencies, shook an angry forefinger in Mrs. Stone\u2019s astounded face.\n\u201cShe\u2019s got it right there in her hands! The gall of her! Standing right\nby me, she was, before she come up here to get her fortune told. Stole\nmy purse, she did, right outa my hands\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThis is _my_ purse!\u201d Mrs. Stone shrilled, her face suddenly strutted\nwith blood. \u201cI never heard of anything so brazen in my life! It\u2019s my\npurse and I can prove it is.\u201d She turned menacingly toward Gus, who was\nlooking from one angry woman to another as if greatly embarrassed and\nperplexed.\n\u201cReckon I\u2019d better call the constable and let him settle this thing,\u201d he\nsaid apologetically.\n\u201cI\u2019m a deppity sheriff,\u201d a man called loudly from the audience. \u201cMake\nway for the law!\u201d\nThe awe-stricken and happily thrilled crowd parted obediently to let a\nfat man with a silver star on his coat lapel pass majestically toward\nthe platform. Sally knew him, too, as a \u201cschiller\u201d whose principal job\nwith the carnival was to impersonate an officer of the law when trouble\nrose between the \u201crubes\u201d and any member of the carnival\u2019s big family.\n\u201cCome along quiet, ladies!\u201d the fat man admonished the two women\nbriskly. \u201cWe\u2019ll settle this little spat outside, all nice and peaceable,\nI _hope_.\u201d The last word was spoken to Mrs. Stone with significant\nemphasis.\n\u201cThis is an outrage!\u201d the orphanage matron raged, but the \u201cdeppity\nsheriff\u201d gave her no opportunity to say more, either in her own defense\nor to Sally.\nGus, the barker, bent over the trembling girl while the crowd was still\nenthralled over the spectacle of two apparently respectable middle-aged\nwomen being dragged out of the tent under arrest.\n\u201cBetter beat it, kid. The dame\u2019s hep to you. Reckon she\u2019s the Orphans\u2019\nHome matron, you been telling us about. Here, take this\u2014\u201d and he thrust\na few crumpled bills into her hand\u2014\u201cand don\u2019t ever let on to Pop Bybee\nthat I helped you get away. Goodby, honey. Good luck. You\u2019re a great\nkid.... All right, folks! Excitement\u2019s all over! It gives me great\npleasure to introduce to you the smallest and prettiest little lady in\nthe world. We call her \u2018Pitty Sing,\u2019 and I don\u2019t reckon I have to tell\nyou why\u2014\u201d\nFive minutes later Sally was cowering against the rear wall of Eddie\nCobb\u2019s gambling-wheel concession, pouring out her story to David, to\nwhom she had fled as soon as Gus had tolled the crowd away from her\nplatform.\n\u201cAnd she recognized me, David!\u201d the girl sobbed, the palms of her\ntrembling hands pressed against her face. \u201cI was so startled when she\ntore my veil off that I couldn\u2019t pretend any longer. As soon as she gets\naway from the \u2018schillers\u2019 she\u2019ll set the real constable on my trail. Gus\ntold me to beat it\u2014oh, David! What\u2019s going to become of me\u2014and you? Oh!\u201d\nAnd she choked on the sobs that were tearing at her throat.\n\u201cWhy, darling child, we\u2019re going to \u2018beat it,\u2019 as Gus advises. Of\ncourse! We\u2019ve \u2018beat it\u2019 together before. Listen, honey! Stop crying and\nlisten. Go to the dress tent, get your make-up off, change your clothes\nand make a small bundle of things you\u2019ll need, and I\u2019ll join you there,\njust outside the door flaps, in not more than ten minutes. I\u2019ve got to\nget my money from Pop Bybee\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019ll stop you!\u201d Sally wailed despairingly. \u201cHe\u2019ll make us both stay\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNothing can stop me,\u201d he promised her grimly. \u201cAnd he\u2019ll give me my\nmoney, too, if I have to take it away from him. But it\u2019ll be all right.\nNow run, and for heaven\u2019s sake, darling, don\u2019t let these \u2018rubes\u2019 see you\ncrying. Smile for David,\u201d he coaxed, tilting her chin with a forefinger.\nWhen her lips wavered uncertainly, he bent swiftly and kissed her. \u201cPoor\nlittle sweetheart! There\u2019s nothing to be afraid of. Gus will see that\nthe \u2018schillers\u2019 give us plenty of time, even if he has to call in a real\ncop and have Mrs. Stone arrested on a fake charge. Now, walk to the\ndress tent, and I\u2019ll be there before you\u2019re ready.\u201d\nWhen Sally reached the dress tent she found \u201cPitty Sing\u201d perched on her\nbed, her tiny fingers busy counting a sheaf of bills that was almost as\nlarge as her miniature head.\n\u201cGus brought me,\u201d she piped in her matter-of-fact, precise little voice.\n\u201cGet to your packing, Sally, while I\u2019m talking. But you might kiss me\nfirst, if you don\u2019t mind. I don\u2019t usually like for people to kiss me.\nNo, wait until you get your make-up off,\u201d she changed her mind as she\nsaw tears well in Sally\u2019s hunted blue eyes. \u201cThis money is for you and\nDavid. He\u2019s going with you, of course?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d Sally acknowledged proudly, as her fingers dug deep into a can of\ntheatrical cold cream. \u201cBut we won\u2019t need the money, Betty. Please\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t be silly!\u201d little Miss Tanner admonished her severely. \u201cGus sent\nthe word around the tent and everybody chipped in. Jan cleaned the boys\nat poker last night and he contributed $20. I think there\u2019s nearly a\nhundred altogether. Gus gave $20, and Boffo\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, I can\u2019t take it!\u201d Sally protested. \u201cIt\u2019s sweet of you all, but I\u2019d\nfeel awful\u2014\u201d\n\u201cShut up and get busy!\u201d \u201cPitty Sing\u201d commanded tersely. \u201cI\u2019d wear that\ndark-blue taffeta if I were you, and the blue felt you bought in\nWilliamstown. It won\u2019t show up at all in the dark. Lucky for you it\u2019s\nnight, isn\u2019t it? It will be nice to be married in, too\u2014\u201d\n\u201cMarried?\u201d Sally whirled from her open trunk, her cold, cream-cleansed\nface blank with astonishment.\nFrom outside the tent came a whistled bar of music\u2014\u201cI\u2019ll be loving you\nalways!\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s David!\u201d Sally gasped, a blush running swiftly from her throat to\nthe roots of her soft black hair. \u201cI\u2019ll have to hurry. I\u2014I think I\n_will_ wear the blue taffeta!\u201d\n\u201cPitty Sing\u201d chuckled softly, but there were tears in the old, wise\nlittle blue eyes set so incongruously in a tiny, wizened face no bigger\nthan a baby\u2019s.\n\u201cOh, let\u2019s say goodby to the carnival!\u201d Sally cried, homesickness for\nthe dearest \u201cfamily\u201d she had ever known already tightening her throat\nwith tears.\nAnd so they paused, hand in hand, on the crest of the little hill which\nrose at the end of Main Street, on which Winfield Bybee\u2019s Bigger and\nBetter Carnival was selling temporary joy and excitement to villagers\nand farmers weary of the insular monotony of their lives.\nThere it all lay just below them\u2014big tents and little tents with gay,\nlying banners; the merry-go-round with its music-box grinding out \u201cSweet\nRosie O\u2019Grady\u201d; the ferris wheel a gigantic loop of lights. The\ncomposite voice of the carnival came up to these two children of\ncarnival who were deserting it, and the roar, muted slightly by\ndistance, was like the music of a heavenly choir in their ears.\nCHAPTER XIV\n\u201cListen!\u201d Sally whispered, her fingers closing tensely over David\u2019s arm.\n\u201cGus, ballyhooing The Palace of Wonders. I wonder if he\u2019ll remember not\nto spiel about \u2018Princess Lalla.\u2019\u201d\nThey could see him, a small figure from that distance, looking like a\nJack-in-the-box as he waved his arms and thundered the dear, familiar\nphrases which Sally would never forget if she lived to be a hundred.\nShe was about to run back down the hill, but David strode after her and\nput his arms about her comfortingly. \u201cSally, honey, we haven\u2019t time!\nThrow them a kiss from here, and then we\u2019ve got to hurry away.\u201d\nShe broke from his embrace and flung her arms out in a passionate\ngesture of love and farewell. \u201cGoodby, Carnival. Thank you for\nsheltering David and me! Goodby, Pop Bybee and Mrs. Bybee! Goodby, Gus!\nGoodby, Jan. Goodby, Noko! Goodby, Boffo! And Babe! Goodby, dancing\ngirls! I hope you all land on Broadway with Ziegfeld! Oh, goodby, Pitty\nSing, dear little Betty! Goodby, goodby!\u201d Then she flung herself upon\nDavid\u2019s breast and held him tight with all the strength in her thin\nyoung arms. \u201cI\u2019ve only got you now, David! Oh, David, what is going to\nbecome of us? Do you really love me, darling?\u201d\nShe strained away from him, to search his beloved face as well as the\ndarkness of the night would permit. Faintly she could see the tremble of\nhis tender, deeply carved lips, so dearly boyish. His eyes looked big\nand black in the night, but there was a gleam of such divine light in\nthem that her fingers crept up his face tremblingly and closed his\neyelids, for she suddenly felt abashed, unworthy of his love.\n\u201cI love you with every cell in my body, every thought in my mind and\nevery beat of my heart,\u201d David answered huskily. \u201cAnd now let\u2019s travel,\nhoney. I don\u2019t know where we\u2019re going, but we\u2019ve got to put as much\ndistance as possible between us and this town before morning.\u201d\nBut before they set off again he kissed her, not one of the long ardent\nkisses that made her dizzy and frightened even as they exalted her, but\na shy, sweet touching of his lips to her forehead. It was as if he were\ntelling her, wordlessly, that she would be utterly safe with him through\nthe long, dark hours ahead of them.\nThey did not talk much as they walked steadily along the dirt roads,\nchoosing them in preference to the frequented paved highway, for David\ncautioned her to save her breath for the all-important task of covering\nmany miles before daybreak. Neither of them had any idea of the\ngeography of this state to which the carnival had brought them, but they\nfelt that it mattered little. David, country-bred, had an instinct for\ndirection. He had chosen to turn toward the east, and Sally trotted\nalong by his side, supremely confident that he would lead her out of\ndanger.\n\u201cOne o\u2019clock, darling,\u201d he announced at last, when Sally was so tired\nthat she could hardly put one foot before the other. \u201cWe\u2019ll rest awhile\nand then plod along. There\u2019s a farmhouse near. See the cows lined up by\nthe fence? We\u2019ll find a well and have a drink.\u201d\nA three-quarters moon rode high in the sky but its light was\nintermittently obscured by ragged, scuddling clouds. When they had had\ntheir drink of ice-cold cistern water David made a pillow of his coat\nwhich he had been carrying over his arm, and forced Sally to lie down\nfor awhile in the soft loam of a recently ploughed field.\nHe sat at a little distance from her, not touching her, his knees drawn\nup and clasped by his strong, tanned hands, but his head was thrown back\nand his eyes brooded upon the cloud-disturbed beauty of the night sky.\n\u201cDoes your shoulder hurt, darling?\u201d Sally asked anxiously.\n\u201cNo,\u201d he answered, without looking at her. \u201cIt\u2019s all healed. Just a\nflesh wound, you know.\u201d\nThe tone of his voice silenced her. She knew he was brooding over their\nfuture, puzzling his young head as to what he was to do with her, and\nshe lay very still, humble before his masculinity.\n\u201cI\u2019ve been thinking, Sally,\u201d he said at last, gently. \u201cFirst, we\u2019ll get\nmarried in the morning, or as soon as we find a county seat, and then\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut David.\u201d Sally sat up, her heart pounding with joy but her mind\nunexpectedly clear and logical, \u201cwe mustn\u2019t, darling. You\u2019ve got to\nfinish college, somehow, somewhere\u2014I can\u2019t bear to be a burden upon you!\nYou\u2019re so young, so young!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going to take care of you,\u201d David answered steadily. \u201cWe love each\nother and I think we always will. My father married when he was\nnineteen, and I\u2019m nearly twenty-one\u2014and big for my age,\u201d he added,\ngrinning at her. \u201cWe can\u2019t go on like this, honey. Mrs. Stone would have\na right to think the worst of us\u2014of you\u2014if we were not married when she\ncatches up with us. She would be justified in thinking that Clem Carson\ntold the truth to the police when he charged us with\u2014with immorality.\nDon\u2019t you see, darling, that we just _must_ be married now?\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll run away by myself!\u201d Sally flashed at him, springing to her\nfeet. \u201cI\u2019m not going to have you forced into marriage when you\u2019re not\nold enough and not really ready for it. You\u2019d hate me for being a drag\non you\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSally!\u201d David was on his feet now and his stern voice checked her\nbefore she had run a dozen steps away from him. \u201cCome here!\u201d\nShe crept into his arms, and laid her head against his chest, so that\nhis heart beat strongly and steadily just beneath her ear.\n\u201cListen, Sally, beloved,\u201d he urged softly. \u201cI want to marry you more\nthan anything in the world. It might have been better if we had met and\nfallen in love when we were both older, but fate took care of that for\nus, and I\u2019m only proud and happy to be able to ask you now to marry me.\nI\u2019ll not make much money at first, maybe, but neither of us has been\nused to a great deal, and I promise you now that I\u2019ll not fail you in\nlove and loyalty. I\u2019ve never cared for any other girl and I never will.\nLet\u2019s not try to look too far ahead. We\u2019re young and strong and in love.\nIsn\u2019t that enough, sweet?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d she agreed, nodding her head against his breast.\n\u201cThen let\u2019s travel,\u201d he laughed jubilantly. \u201cThis is our wedding day,\nSally! Think of it, sweet! Our wedding day!\u201d\nAs they plodded hand in hand through the long hours before dawn Sally\nthought of nothing else. She was glad that walking made talking a waste\nof energy, for she wanted to think and feel and search her heart and\nsoul for treasure to lavish upon the boy-man she was to marry.\nMarriage! The word made her feel shivery and solemn and more than a\nlittle frightened, but when a shudder of fear made her hand twitch in\nDavid\u2019s, the firm, warm pressure of his fingers reassured her. She\nresolutely forced her mind away from the mysteries that lay ahead of\nher, mysteries at which Mrs. Stone had hinted in that last, embarrassing\nlecture she had delivered to a cowering, shamefaced Sally the day Clem\nCarson had taken her to the farm. Whatever lay before her, David would\nbe with her, gentle, sweet, infinitely tender\u2014\n\u201cI\u2019ll be Mrs. David Nash,\u201d she told herself childishly. \u201cI\u2019ll be David\u2019s\nwife. I\u2019ll have David for my family, and maybe\u2014some day\u2014there\u2019ll be a\nbaby David, with hair like gold in the sun\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to tell a fib about your age, honey,\u201d David interrupted her\nthoughts, his voice grave and, it seemed to her, a little embarrassed.\nMaybe David, too, was frightened a bit, just as she was! That made it\neasier. She was suddenly jubilantly glad that he was not wise and\nsophisticated and very much older than she, like Arthur Van Horne, for\ninstance.\n\u201cI\u2019ll have to say I\u2019m eighteen, won\u2019t I?\u201d she laughed. \u201cDo I look\neighteen, David? Now that most girls have bobbed hair, my long hair,\nought to make me look very old and dignified. I _do_ look eighteen,\ndon\u2019t I, David?\u201d\n\u201cOh, Sally!\u201d David stopped abruptly and held her close to him,\npityingly. \u201cYou look the adorable baby that you are! I pray to God that\nmarrying me won\u2019t make you old before your time! Why, honey-child, you\nhaven\u2019t had any girlhood at all, or childhood either! You should have\ndozens of sweethearts before you marry\u2014go to theaters and parties and\ndances for years and years yet, before you settle down.\u201d\n\u201cThen I shan\u2019t settle down,\u201d Sally laughed shakily. \u201cI\u2019ll be a giddy\nflapper, if you\u2019d rather! Ah, no, David! I want to be a good wife to\nyou! But we won\u2019t get old and serious. We\u2019ll work together and play\ntogether and study together and hobo all over the country together when\nwe feel like it. I think we make good hoboes, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cNot at this rate,\u201d David laughed, relieved. \u201cI\u2019m not going to kiss you\na single other time before dawn, or we\u2019ll never get anywhere. And don\u2019t\nyou try to vamp me, you little witch!\u201d\nHe did not quite keep his promise, for when Sally became so tired about\nfour o\u2019clock in the morning that she could walk no further, he picked\nher up in his big-muscled young arms, and strode proudly into the dawn\nwith her, and of course the best antidote for fatigue and sleepiness was\nan occasional kiss on her drooping eyelids or upon her babyishly lax,\npink little mouth.\nWhen the sun came up they were a little shy with each other, inclined to\ntalk rapidly about trivial things.\n\u201cCanfield\u2014two miles,\u201d David read from a sign post at a cross-roads. \u201cI\u2019m\ngoing to ask that truck driver the name of the nearest county seat, and\nhow to get there.\u201d\nSally watched him proudly as he ran swiftly, apparently not at all\nfatigued after seven hours of hiking, to hail a dairy truck approaching\nalong the state highway. The sun was in his tousled chestnut hair,\nturning it into gold, and the bigness and splendid beauty of his body\nthrilled her to sudden tears of joy that he was hers\u2014hers. Her heart\noffered up a prayer: \u201cPlease God, don\u2019t let anything happen so that we\ncan\u2019t be married today! Please!\u201d\n\u201cCanfield is a county seat,\u201d David shouted exultantly before his long\nstrides had brought him back to Sally. \u201cThe driver of the milk truck\nguessed why I wanted to know,\u201d he added in a lower voice, as he came\nabreast of her and took her hands to swing them triumphantly. \u201cHe says\nwe crossed the state line about ten miles back and that the marriage\nlaws are very easy on elopers here. In some states you have to establish\na legal residence before you can be married, but there\u2019ll be no trouble\nlike that here. Elopers from two or three bordering states come here to\nget married, he says. We\u2019re in luck, sweetheart.\u201d\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t tell him our names?\u201d Sally asked anxiously. \u201cMrs. Stone will\nhave sent out a warning\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not quite such an idiot,\u201d David laughed, \u201ceven if I am crazy in\nlove. Now the next problem is breakfast. I suppose a farmhouse will be\nthe best bet. It wouldn\u2019t be safe for us to hang around Canfield for\nthree or four hours, waiting for the marriage license bureau to open.\nWe\u2019re going to be married, darling, before the law has a chance to lay\nits hands on us.\u201d\nThey trudged along the state highway, miraculously revived by hope that\nall their troubles would soon be over, their eyes searching eagerly for\na farmhouse. And just over the rise of a low hill they found it\u2014a tenant\nfarmer\u2019s unpainted shack, from whose chimney rose a straight column of\nblue smoke.\nThey found the family at breakfast\u2014the wife a slim, pretty,\ndiscontented-looking girl only a few years older than Sally; the\nhusband, thick, short, dark and dour, at least a dozen years older than\nhis wife; and a tow-headed baby boy of three.\nThe kitchen was an unpainted and unpapered lean-to of rough,\nweather-darkened pine. But Sally and David had eyes only for the tall\nstack of buckwheat cakes, the platter of roughly cut, badly fried \u201cside\nmeat,\u201d the huge graniteware coffee pot set on a chipped plate in the\ncenter of the table. \u201cBreakfast?\u201d the dour tenant-farmer grunted, in\nanswer to David\u2019s question. \u201cReckon so, if you can eat what we got.\nIt\u2019ll cost you 50 cents a piece. I don\u2019t work from sun-up to sun-down to\nfeed tramps.\u201d\n\u201cOh, Jim!\u201d the wife protested, flushing. \u201cCakes and coffee ain\u2019t worth\n50 cents. I might run down to the big house and get some eggs and\ncream\u2014\u201d she added uncertainly, her distressed brown eyes flickering from\nSally and David in the doorway to her scowling husband.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll be delighted with the buckwheat cakes and bacon and coffee, and\nnot think a dollar too much for our breakfast,\u201d David cut in, smiling\nplacatingly upon the farmer. \u201cWe\u2019re farmers ourselves, and we\u2019re used to\nfarm ways. How are crops around here, sir?\u201d\n\u201cMy name\u2019s Buckner,\u201d the dour farmer answered grudgingly. \u201cI\u2019ll bring in\na couple of chairs. Millie, you\u2019d better fill up this here syrup pitcher\nand you might open a jar of them damson preserves.\u201d\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ll beat up some more hot cake batter,\u201d Millie Buckner fluttered\nhappily. \u201cIt won\u2019t take me a minute.\u201d\nSally and David washed their hands and faces at the pump outside the\nkitchen door, drying them on a fresh roller towel that Jim Buckner\nbrought them.\n\u201cRun away to get married, have you?\u201d the farmer asked in an almost\npleasant voice, as he led the way to the newly set table.\n\u201cYes,\u201d David answered simply. \u201cWe walked all night and we\u2019re rather\ntired, but we thought there was no use in going in to Canfield until\npretty near nine o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\u201cI guess Millie can fix up a bed so the little lady can snatch a nap\n\u2019tween now and then,\u201d Buckner offered. \u201cPitch in, folks! it ain\u2019t much,\nbut you\u2019re welcome. Farmer, eh?\u201d and his narrow eyes measured David\u2019s\nsplendid young body thoughtfully. \u201cAim to locate around here? Old man\nWebster, the man I rent this patch of ground from, is needing hands bad.\nHe\u2019s got a shack over the hill that he\u2019d likely fix up for you if you\nain\u2019t got anything better in mind. Not quite as nice as this house\u2014we\ngot three rooms, counting this lean-to, and the shack I\u2019m referrin\u2019 to\nis only one room and a lean-to, but the little lady could fix it up real\npretty if she\u2019s got a knack that way, like Millie here has.\u201d\nSally almost choked on her mouthful of buckwheat cake. Were all her\ndreams of a home to come to this\u2014or worse than this? One room and a\nlean-to! She felt suddenly ill and was swaying in her chair when David\u2019s\nfirm, big hand closed over hers that lay laxly on the table.\n\u201cThanks, Mr. Buckner,\u201d she heard David\u2019s voice faintly as from a great\ndistance. \u201cThat\u2019s mighty nice of you, but Sally and I have other plans.\u201d\nOther plans? Sally smiled at him tremulously, adoringly, knowing full\nwell that he had no plans at all beyond the all-important marriage\nceremony. But after breakfast she lay down on the bed that Millie\nBuckner hastily \u201cstraightened\u201d and drifted off to sleep, as happy as if\nher future were blue-printed and insured against poverty. For no matter\nwhat might be in store for her, there would always be David\u2014\nThey left the tenant farmer\u2019s shack at half past eight o\u2019clock, Millie\nand Jim Buckner and the baby waving them goodby. Buckner, ashamed of his\nungraciousness, had refused to take the dollar, but David had wrapped\nthe baby\u2019s small sticky fingers about the folded bill.\n\u201cShall we go up the hill and see \u2018Old Man\u2019 Webster?\u201d David asked gravely\nwhen they were in the lane leading to the highway.\n\u201cLet\u2019s\u201d agreed Sally valiantly.\n\u201cYou\u2019d really be willing to live\u2014like that?\u201d David marveled, his head\njerking toward the dreary little shack they were leaving behind them.\n\u201cIf\u2014if you were with me, it wouldn\u2019t matter,\u201d Sally answered seriously.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll never have to!\u201d David exulted, sweeping her to his breast and\nkissing her regardless of the fact that the Buckners were still watching\nthem. \u201cI promise you it will never be as bad as that, honey. But maybe\nJim Buckner promised Millie the same thing,\u201d he added in a troubled,\nuncertain voice.\n\u201cI\u2019ll never be sorry,\u201d Sally promised huskily.\nThey reached Canfield a few minutes after nine and had no difficulty in\nfinding the county court house, for its grounds formed the \u201csquare\u201d\nwhich was the hub of the small town. An old man pottering about the\ntobacco-stained halls with a mop and pail directed them to the marriage\nlicense bureau, without waiting for David to frame his embarrassed\nquestion.\nThe clerk, a pale, very thin young man, whose weak eyes were enlarged by\nthick-lensed glasses, thrust a printed form through the wicket of his\ncage, and went on with his work upon a big ledger, having apparently not\nthe slightest interest in foolish young couples who wanted to commit\nmatrimony.\n\u201cAnswer all the questions,\u201d the clerk mumbled, without looking up.\n\u201cTable in the corner over there. Pen and ink.\u201d\nSally and David were laughing helplessly by the time they had taken\nseats at the pine table in the corner. \u201cProving you\u2019re never as\nimportant as you think you are,\u201d David chuckled. \u201cLet\u2019s see. \u2018Place of\nresidence?\u2019 I suppose we\u2019ll have to put Capital City. But that chap\ncertainly doesn\u2019t give a continental who we are or where we\u2019re from.\nWe\u2019re all in the day\u2019s work with him, thank heaven. Don\u2019t forget to put\nyour age at eighteen, darling.\u201d\nWhen they presented their filled-in and signed application for a\nmarriage license, the clerk accepted it with supreme indifference,\nglancing at it and drew a stack of marriage license blanks toward him.\nAs he began to write in the names, however, he frowned thoughtfully,\nthen peered through the bars of his cage at the blushing, frightened\ncouple.\n\u201cYour names sound awfully familiar to me,\u201d he puzzled. \u201cWhere you from?\nCapital City? Say, you\u2019re the kids that got into a row with a farmer and\nbusted his leg, ain\u2019t you?\u201d\nSally pressed close to David, her hands locking tightly over his arm,\nbut David, as if he did not understand her signal, answered the clerk in\na steady voice: \u201cYes, we are.\u201d\n\u201cI read all about you in the papers,\u201d the clerk went on in a strangely\nfriendly voice. \u201cI reckon your story made a deep impression on me\nbecause I was raised in an orphans\u2019 home myself and ran away when I was\nfourteen. I hoped at the time that you kids would make a clean get-away.\nI see the young lady\u2019s had a couple of birthdays in the last month,\u201d he\ngrinned and winked. \u201cEighteen now, eh?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d Sally quavered and then laughed, the lid of her right eye\nfluttering slowly down until the two fringes of black lashes met and\nentangled.\nThe clerk\u2019s pen scratched busily. \u201cAll right, youngsters. Here you are.\nJustice of the peace wedding?\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019d rather be married by a minister,\u201d David answered as he laid a $20\nbill under the wicket and reached for the marriage license.\n\u201cThat\u2019s easy,\u201d the clerk assured him heartily. \u201cLike every county seat,\nCanfield\u2019s got her \u2018marrying parson.\u2019 Name of Greer. He\u2019s building a new\nchurch out of the fees that the eloping couples pay him. Lives on\nChestnut street. White church and parsonage. Five blocks up Main street\nand turn to your right, then walk a block and a half. You can\u2019t miss it.\nAnd good luck, kids. You\u2019ll need lots of it.\u201d\nDavid thrust a hand beneath the wicket and the two young men shook\nhands, David flushed and embarrassed but smiling, the clerk grinning\ngood-naturedly.\n\u201cHey, don\u2019t forget your change,\u201d their new friend called as David and\nSally were turning away. \u201cMarriage licenses in this state cost only\n$1.50. If you\u2019ve got any spare change, give it to Parson Greer.\u201d\n\u201cOh, he was sweet!\u201d Sally cried, between laughter and tears, as they\nwalked out of the courthouse. \u201cI thought I would faint when he asked us\nthat awful question. But everything\u2019s all right now.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019re as good as married,\u201d David assured her triumphantly, slapping his\nbreast pocket and cocking his head to listen to the crackling of the\nmarriage license. \u201cFive blocks up Main street. Up must mean north\u2014\u201d\nWithin five minutes they were awaiting an answer to their ring at the\ndoor of the little white parsonage half hidden behind the rather shabby\nwhite frame building of the church.\nA stout, rosy-cheeked, white-haired old lady opened the door and beamed\nupon them. \u201cYou\u2019re looking for the \u2018marrying parson,\u2019 aren\u2019t you?\u201d she\nchuckled. \u201cWell, now, it\u2019s a shame, children, but you\u2019ll have to wait\nquite a spell for him. He\u2019s conducting a funeral at the home of one of\nour parishioners, and won\u2019t be back until about half past eleven. I\u2019m\nMrs. Greer. Won\u2019t you come in and wait?\u201d\nSally and David consulted each other with troubled, disappointed eyes.\nSally wanted to cry out to David that she was afraid to wait two hours,\nafraid to wait even half an hour, but with Mrs. Greer beaming\nexpectantly upon them she did not dare.\n\u201cThank you, Mrs. Greer,\u201d David answered, his hand tightening warningly\nupon Sally\u2019s. \u201cWe\u2019ll wait.\u201d\nAs they followed Mrs. Greer into the stuffy, over-furnished little\nparlor, he managed to whisper reassuringly in Sally\u2019s ear: \u201cJust two\nhours, darling. Nothing can happen.\u201d\nBut Sally was shaking with fright\u2014\nCHAPTER XV\nDuring the two hours that they waited for the Reverend Mr. Greer, \u201cthe\nmarrying parson,\u201d David and Sally sat stiffly side by side on a\nhorsehair sofa, only their fingers touching shyly, listening to\ncountless romances of eloping couples with which old Mrs. Greer regaled\nthem in a kindly effort to help them pass the tedious time of waiting.\nHer daughter-in-law, widowed by the death of the only son of the family,\ntrailed weakly in and out of the living room, her big, mournful black\neyes devouring David\u2019s magnificent youth and vigor.\n\u201cYou remind her of Sonny Bob,\u201d Mrs. Greer leaned forward in her arm\nchair to whisper to David. \u201cKilled in the war he was, and Cora just\ncan\u2019t become reconciled. Seems like the only pleasure she gets out of\nlife now is acting as witness for weddings. And I must say she cries as\nbeautiful and sweet as any bride\u2019s mother could. Some of the eloping\nbrides appreciate it and some don\u2019t, but Cora means well. Once, I\nrecollect, she spoiled a wedding. It seems that the girl\u2019s mother was\ndead set against this boy, and when Cora started to cry, just like a\nmother\u2014\u201d\nThe story went on and on, but Sally heard little of it, for her heart\nwas suddenly desolate with need of her own mother. Lucky girls who had\nmothers to cry for them at their weddings! Her cold fingers gripped\nDavid\u2019s comforting, warm hand spasmodically. Somewhere in the world\nthere was a woman who was her mother, a woman who had not waited for the\nmarriage ceremony before succumbing to just such love as that woman\u2019s\nunwanted daughter now felt for David.\nUnderstanding and pity for that harassed, shame-stricken girl that her\nmother must have been just sixteen years ago gushed suddenly into\nSally\u2019s heart. If David had not been so fine, so tender, so good\u2014she\nshivered and clung more tightly to his hand. In a few minutes she would\nbe his wife and safe, safe from Mrs. Stone, the orphans\u2019 home, the\nreformatory.\n\u201cI hear Mr. Greer coming in,\u201d Mrs. Greer beamed upon them and bustled\nfrom the room. She returned immediately, a plump hand resting\naffectionately on the shoulder of a tall, thin, stooped old man, whose\nsweet, bloodless, wrinkled face glowed with a faint radiance of\nkindliness and benediction.\n\u201cThis is little Miss Sally Ford and David Nash, Papa,\u201d Mrs. Greer told\nhim. \u201cThey\u2019ve been waiting patiently for two hours to get married. I\u2019ve\nbeen entertaining them the best I could with some of our very own\nromances. I often tell Papa we ought to write stories for the\nmagazines\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWell, well!\u201d The \u201cmarrying parson\u201d rubbed his beautiful, thin hands\ntogether and smiled upon Sally and David. \u201cYou\u2019re pretty young, aren\u2019t\nyou? But Mama and I believe in youthful marriages. I was nineteen and\nshe was seventeen when we took the big step, and we\u2019ve never regretted\nit. You have your license, I presume?\u201d\nDavid\u2019s hand shook noticeably as he drew the precious document from his\nbreast pocket and offered it to the minister. Through old fashioned\ngold-rimmed spectacles the minister studied the paper briefly, his lips\ntwitching slightly with a smile.\n\u201cWell, well, Mama,\u201d he glanced over his spectacles at his beaming wife,\n\u201ceverything seems to be in order. Where is Cora? She\u2019s going to enjoy\nthis wedding enormously. The more she enjoys it, the more she weeps,\u201d he\nexplained twinkling at Sally and David. When Mrs. Greer had left the\nroom, the old minister bent his eyes gravely upon David. \u201cDo you know of\nany real reason why you two children should not be married, my boy?\u201d\nDavid flushed but his eyes and voice were steady as he answered: \u201cNo\nreason at all, sir. We are both orphans, and we love each other.\u201d\nMrs. Greer and her daughter-in-law entered before the old preacher could\nask any further questions, but he seemed to be quite satisfied. Taking a\nmuch-worn, limp leather black book from his pocket, he summoned the pair\nto stand before him. Sally tremblingly adjusted the little dark blue\nfelt hat that fitted closely over the masses of her fine black hair, and\nsmoothed the crisp folds of her new blue taffeta dress.\n\u201cJoin right hands,\u201d the minister directed.\nAs Sally placed her icy, trembling little hand in David\u2019s the first of\nthe younger Mrs. Greer\u2019s promised sobs startled her so that she swayed\nagainst David, almost fainting. The boy\u2019s left arm went about her\nshoulders, held her close, as the opening words of the marriage ceremony\nfell slowly and impressively from the marrying parson\u2019s lips:\n\u201cDearly beloved\u2014\u201d\nPeace fell suddenly upon the girl\u2019s heart and nerves. All fear left her;\nthere was nothing in the world but beautiful words which were like a\nmagic incantation, endowing an orphaned girl with respectability,\nhappiness, family, an honored place in society as the wife of David\nNash\u2014\nA bell shrilled loudly, shattering the beauty and the solemnity of the\ngreatest moment in Sally\u2019s life. Behind her, on the sofa, she heard the\nfaint rustle of Mrs. Greer\u2019s stiff silk skirt, whispers as the two\nwitnesses conferred. The preacher\u2019s voice, which had faltered, went on,\nmore hurried, flustered:\n\u201cDo you, David, take this woman\u2014\u201d\nAgain the bell clamored, a long, shrill, angry demand. The preacher\u2019s\nvoice faltered again, the momentous question left half asked. He looked\nat his wife over the tap of his spectacles and nodded slightly. Mrs.\nGreer\u2019s skirts rustled apologetically as she hurried out of the room.\nSally forced her eyes to travel upward to David\u2019s stern, set young face;\ntheir eyes locked for a moment, Sally\u2019s piteous with fright, then David\nanswered that half-asked question loudly, emphatically, as if with the\nwords he would defeat fate:\n\u201cI do!\u201d\nA clamor of voices suddenly filled the little entrance hall beyond the\nparsonage parlor. Sally, recognizing both of the voices, was galvanized\nto swift, un-Sallylike initiative. Stepping swiftly out of the circle of\nDavid\u2019s arm, but still clinging to his hand, she sprang toward the\npreacher, her eyes blazing, her face pinched with fear and drained of\nall color.\n\u201cPlease go on!\u201d she gasped. \u201cPlease, Mr. Greer. Don\u2019t let them stop us\nnow! Ask me\u2014\u2018Do you take this man\u2014? Please, I do, I do!\u201d\n\u201cSally, darling\u2014\u201d David was trying to restrain her, his voice heavy with\npity.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, children,\u201d the old preacher shook his head. \u201cI shall have to\ninvestigate this disturbance, but I promise you to continue with the\nceremony if there is no legal impediment to your marriage. Just stand\nwhere you are\u2014\u201d\nThe door was flung open and Mrs. Stone, matron of the orphanage, strode\ninto the room, panting, her heavy face red with anger and exertion. She\nwas followed by a flustered, weeping Mrs. Greer and by a small, smartly\ndressed little figure that halted in the doorway. Even in that first\ndreadful moment when Sally knew that she was trapped, that the\nhalf-performed wedding ceremony would not be completed, she was\nconscious of that shock of amazement and delight which had always\ntingled along her nerves whenever she had seen Enid Barr. But why had\nEnid Barr joined in the cruel pursuit of a luckless orphan whose worst\nsin had been running away from charity? If David\u2019s arms had not been so\ntightly about her, she would have tried to run away again\u2014\n\u201cAre we too late?\u201d Mrs. Stone demanded in the loud, harsh voice that had\nbeen a whip-lash upon Sally Ford\u2019s sensitive nerves for twelve years.\n\u201cAre they married?\u201d\n\u201cI was reading the service when you interrupted, madam,\u201d the Reverend\nMr. Greer said with surprising severity. \u201cAnd I shall continue it if you\ncannot show just cause why these two young people should not be married.\nMay I ask who you are, madam?\u201d\n\u201cCertainly! I am Mrs. Miranda Stone, matron of the State Orphans\u2019 Asylum\nof Capital City, and Sally Ford is one of my charges, a minor, a ward of\nthe state until her eighteenth birthday. She is only sixteen years old\nand cannot be married without the permission of her guardians, the\ntrustees of the orphanage. Is it clear that you cannot go on with the\nceremony?\u201d she concluded in her hard, brisk voice.\n\u201cIs this true, Sally?\u201d the old man asked Sally gently.\n\u201cYes,\u201d she nodded, then laid her head wearily and hopelessly upon\nDavid\u2019s shoulder.\n\u201cMrs. Stone,\u201d David began to plead with passionate intensity, one of his\nhands trembling upon Sally\u2019s bowed head, \u201cfor God\u2019s sake let us go on\nwith this marriage! I love Sally and she loves me. I have never harmed\nher and I never will. It\u2019s not right for you to drag her back to the\nasylum, to spend two more years of dependence upon charity. I can\nsupport her, I\u2019m strong, I love her\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWill all of you kindly leave the room and let me talk with Sally?\u201d Mrs.\nStone cut across his appeal ruthlessly. \u201cI may as well tell you, Mr.\nGreer, that my friend here, Mrs. Barr, a very rich woman, intends to\nadopt this girl and provide her with all the advantages that wealth\nmakes possible.\n\u201cShe has been hunting for Sally for weeks, and it is only through her\npersistence and the power which her wealth commands that we have been\nable to prevent this ridiculous marriage today.\u201d\n\u201cWe shall be glad to let you talk privately with the young couple,\u201d the\nold minister answered with punctilious politeness. \u201cCome, Mama, Cora!\u201d\n\u201cWill you please leave the room also, Mr. Nash?\u201d Mrs. Stone went on\nruthlessly, without taking time to acknowledge the old man\u2019s courtesy.\nSally\u2019s arms clung more tightly to David. \u201cHe\u2019s going to stay, Mrs.\nStone,\u201d she gasped, amazed at her own temerity. \u201cIf you don\u2019t let me\nmarry David now, I shall marry him when I am eighteen. I don\u2019t want to\nbe adopted. I only want David\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI think the boy had better stay,\u201d Enid Barr\u2019s lovely voice, strangely\nnot at all arrogant now, called from the doorway.\nWhen the minister and his wife and daughter-in-law had left the room,\nEnid Barr softly closed the door against which she had been leaning, as\nif she had little interest in the drama taking place, and walked slowly\ntoward David and Sally, who were still in each other\u2019s arms. Gone from\nher small, exquisite face was the look of aloof indifference, and in its\nplace were embarrassment, wistful appeal, tenderness and to Sally\u2019s\nbewilderment, the most profound humility.\n\u201cOh, Sally, Sally!\u201d The beautiful contralto voice was husky with tears.\n\u201cCan\u2019t you guess why I want you, why I\u2019ve hunted you down like this? I\u2019m\nyour mother, Sally.\u201d\n\u201cMy mother?\u201d Sally echoed blankly. Then incredulous joy floated her pale\nlittle face with a rosy glow. \u201cMy mother? David\u2014Mrs. Stone\u2014oh, I can\u2019t\nthink!\u201d\nDavid\u2019s arms had dropped slowly from about her shoulders and she stood\nswaying slightly. \u201cBut\u2014you can\u2019t be my mother!\u201d she gasped, shaking her\nhead in childish negation. \u201cYou\u2019re not old enough. I\u2019m sixteen\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAnd I\u2019m thirty-three,\u201d Enid Barr said gently. \u201cThere\u2019s no mistake,\nSally, my darling. I\u2019m really your mother, and I\u2019d like, more than\nanything in the world, for you to let me kiss you now and to hear you\ncall me \u2018Mother\u2019.\u201d She had advanced the few steps that separated them\nand was holding out her delicate, useless-looking little hands with such\nhumility and timidity as no one who knew Enid Barr would have believed\nher capable of.\nSally\u2019s hands went out involuntarily, but before their fingers could\nintertwine, Enid flung her arms about the girl and held her smotheringly\nclose for a moment. Then she raised her small, slight body on tiptoes\nand pressed her quivering lips softly against Sally\u2019s cheek. At the\ncaress, twelve years of loneliness and mother-need rushed across the\ngirl\u2019s mind like a frantically unwinding spool of film.\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ve wanted a mother so terribly! Twelve years in the orphanage\u2014Oh,\nwhy did you put me there?\u201d she cried brokenly. \u201cIt\u2019s awful\u2014not having\nanyone of your own\u2014no family\u2014and now, when I have David to be my family,\nand I don\u2019t need you\u2014so much\u2014you come\u2014Why didn\u2019t you come before? Why?\nWhy did you put me there?\u201d\nHer words were incoherent, and at the bitter reproach in them Enid tried\nto hold her more closely, but Sally, scarcely knowing what she did,\nstruck the small, clinging arms from her shoulders and whirled upon\nDavid, her mouth twisting, tears running down her cheeks. \u201cI don\u2019t want\nanyone but you now, David. Don\u2019t let them separate us, David. We\u2019re half\nmarried already! Make the preacher come back and finish marrying us,\nDavid\u2014\u201d\nEnid Barr, looked wonderingly upon her arms, as if expecting to see upon\nthem the marks of her daughter\u2019s blows. A gust of anger swept over her,\nleaving her beautiful face quite white and darkening her eyes until they\nwere almost as deep a blue as Sally\u2019s.\n\u201cYou cannot marry the boy, Sally! I\u2019m sorry that almost my first words\nto you should be a reminder of my authority over you as your mother.\nCome here, Sally!\u201d But almost in the moment of its returning the\narrogance for which she was noted dropped from her, and humility and\ngrief took its place. \u201cPlease forgive me, Sally. It\u2019s just that I\u2019m\njealous of your love for this boy and grieved that you want to leave me\nfor him. But\u2014oh, why _should_ you love me? God knows I\u2019ve done nothing\nyet to make you love me! I can\u2019t blame you for hating and reproaching\nme\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Sally turned from the shelter of David\u2019s arms and took an\nuncertain step toward her mother, pity fighting with rebellion and\nbitterness in her overcharged heart. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mrs. Barr\u2014Mother\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI think you\u2019d better tell her your story as you told it to me, Mrs.\nBarr.\u201d Mrs. Stone could keep silent no longer. \u201cNow, Sally, I want you\nto listen to every word your mother says and bear in mind that she is\nyour mother and that she has been hunting for you for weeks, her heart\nfull of love for you because you were her child.\u201d\nFor twelve years Sally had obeyed every command uttered in that harsh,\nemphatic voice and she obeyed now, allowing herself to be led by Mrs.\nStone to the sofa. Enid Barr took her seat on one side of the girl and\nDavid without asking permission of either of the two older women who\nwatched him with hostile, jealous eyes, took his place on the other\nside, his hand closing tightly over Sally\u2019s.\nJealously, Enid Barr reached for the girl\u2019s other hand and held it\nagainst her cheek for a moment before she began her story, her contralto\nvoice low and controlled at first. Mrs. Stone sat rigidly erect in an\nold-fashioned morris chair, her lips folded with an expression of grim\npatience, as if she regretted the necessity of once more hearing a story\nwhich affronted her Puritanical principles.\n\u201cI was just your age, Sally,\u201d Enid began quietly, \u201cjust sixteen, when I\nmet the man who became your father. I was Enid Halsted then. He was\nfifteen years older than I. I thought I\u2014loved him\u2014very much. He was\u2014very\nhandsome.\u201d\nHer eyes flickered toward the soft tendrils of black hair that showed\nunder the brim of Sally\u2019s little blue felt hat. \u201cMy father, a proud man\nas well as a very rich one, forbade me to see the man, discharged him,\nbut\u2014it was too late.\u201d\nShe interrupted herself suddenly, leaning across Sally to challenge\nDavid with eyes which were again arrogant. \u201cI\u2019m permitting you to hear\nall this, Mr. Nash, because I know that Sally would not listen if I sent\nyou from the room. But I must ask your promise never to tell anyone what\nyou hear today\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt concerns Sally, Mrs. Barr, and anything that concerns her, either\nher past, present or future\u2014\u201d his eyes flicked a tiny smile at Sally as\nhe repeated the familiar phrase from Gus, the barker\u2019s ballyhoo\u2014\u201cis\nsacred to me.\u201d\n\u201cThank you,\u201d Enid said coldly, and was immediately punished by Sally\u2019s\nattempt to withdraw her hand. \u201cI am sure I can trust you, David,\u201d Enid\nadded, swallowing her pride, so that Sally\u2019s fingers would twine about\nher own again. \u201cMy mother was dead, had been dead for more than five\nyears. I had to tell my father. There\u2019s no use in my going into all that\nhappened then,\u201d she shivered, her free hand covering her eyes for a\nmoment. \u201cHe\u2014saw me through it, because he loved me more than I deserved.\nNo one knew, for he arranged for me to go to a private sanitarium, where\nno one but the doctor knew my real name. After my baby was born my\nfather told me it had been born dead, and I\u2014I was glad at first. But\nafterwards I could hardly bear to look at a baby\u2014I mustn\u2019t try to make\nyou sorry for me,\u201d she cried brokenly, flicking her handkerchief at a\ntear that was sliding down her cheek.\nEnid Barr drew a deep, quivering breath and cuddled Sally\u2019s hand against\nher cheek. \u201cFather took me to Europe for a year and when we returned, I\nmade my debut, as if nothing had happened. I was eighteen then, and\nthought I never wanted to be married, but when I met Courtney Barr my\nsecond season I changed my mind; when I was twenty I married him. I\u2019ve\nbeen married thirteen years and\u2014there\u2019s never been another baby. There\ncouldn\u2019t be\u2014because of the first one\u2014you, Sally\u2014though I didn\u2019t know,\ndidn\u2019t dream you were alive.\u201d\n\u201cPoor Mother!\u201d Sally whispered, tears slipping unnoticed down her own\ncheeks. It was all right\u2014all right! Her mother hadn\u2019t meant to abandon\nher, even if she had been ashamed of bearing her\u2014\n\u201cMy father died when I was twenty-one, just four years after you were\nborn, Sally. He died suddenly, and the lawyers couldn\u2019t find a will.\nHe\u2019d hidden it too well. Everything came to me, of course, all that he\nhad meant you to have as well as my own share\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2014my grandfather\u2014sent Mrs. Ford money.\u201d Sally cried suddenly. \u201cGramma\nBangs told me she used to get money orders and that when the money\nstopped coming, Mrs. Ford had to put me in the orphanage, because she\nwas sick\u2014I understand now!\u201d\n\u201cYes, he sent her a liberal allowance for you, on condition that she\nnever tell who you were and that she should never bring you to New York.\nShe did not herself know who you were, who the man was who sent the\nmoney, who your mother was,\u201d Enid Barr went on, her voice more\ncontrolled now that she had passed over the telling of her own shame.\n\u201cIt was not until May of this year that I found out all these things. A\nconnoisseur of antiques was looking at my father\u2019s desk and accidentally\ndiscovered a secret drawer, containing his will and a painstaking record\nof the whole affair. I told no one but Court\u2014my husband\u2014and he agreed\nwith me that I must try to find you at once. He was\u2014wonderful\u2014about it\nall. Of course I had told him, or rather, my father had told him the\ntruth about me before I married him, but Court thought, as I did, that\nthe baby had died. It was a great shock to him, but he\u2019s been\nwonderful.\u201d\nHer voice had the same quality in it as she spoke of Courtney Barr that\nenriched Sally\u2019s voice whenever she spoke David\u2019s name, and the girl\ncould not help wondering why her mother, who had suffered and loved,\ncould not understand the depth of her love for David. Maybe she would\u2014in\ntime\u2014\n\u201cI found Mrs. Nora Ford\u2019s address among the papers, of course, and I\nwent to Stanton immediately, but as I had feared, I found that she had\nleft there years before, and that no one in the neighborhood had the\nleast idea where she had gone. One old lady\u2014Mrs. Bangs\u2014said that Nora\nhad had a daughter, Sally, and I knew that she meant my daughter. I\nspent weeks and a great deal of money searching for some trace of Nora\nFord and Sally Ford, but it was useless. I had almost lost hope of\nfinding either of you when I read that terrible story in the papers\nabout Sally Ford and David Nash\u2014\u201d\n\u201cCarson lied,\u201d David interrupted quietly. \u201cHis story was false from\nbeginning to end. There was absolutely nothing between Sally and me but\nfriendship. I knocked him through the window because he called her vile\nnames and was threatening to send her back to the orphanage in disgrace,\nwhen she had done nothing wrong except work herself almost to death on\nhis farm.\u201d\n\u201cThank you, David. I\u2019m glad to hear the truth. I was sure of it the\nfirst time I looked into my daughter\u2019s eyes. But if it had not been for\nthat story in the paper I would not be here today, so I\u2019m almost\ngrateful to Carson for his vileness. I went to the orphanage,\ninterviewed Mrs. Stone and after I had satisfied myself that Sally was\nreally my daughter, I told her all that I\u2019m telling you now and asked\nher to help me find her. That afternoon I took the children to the\ncarnival, because it was the only way I could do anything for you, my\ndarling.\u201d\n\u201cAnd Betsy recognized me!\u201d Sally cried. \u201cIf Gus hadn\u2019t been trying so\nhard to protect David and me from the police\u2014\u201d\n\u201cExactly!\u201d Enid smiled at her through tears. \u201cYou\u2019ve been running away\nfrom your mother ever since, not from the police! And what a chase\nyou\u2019ve led us, darling! That enormous old man, Winfield Bybee, had\nconvinced us that we were on the wrong track, that Betsy had been\nmistaken, and the carnival had left town when Mrs. Stone got a letter\nfrom a woman who said she\u2019d been with the carnival\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNita!\u201d Sally and David exclaimed together. So she had kept her promise\nto avenge herself, Sally reflected. A queer revenge\u2014restoring an\norphaned girl to her mother who was a rich woman. Sally smiled.\nBut\u2014wasn\u2019t she avenged after all? Wouldn\u2019t Nita congratulate herself on\nhaving separated David and Sally, no matter what good luck she had\ninadvertently brought upon Sally by doing so?\nAt the sudden realization of what this story meant to herself and David,\nSally withdrew her arm from about her mother\u2019s shoulders and flung\nherself upon David\u2019s breast.\nVery gently David unclasped Sally\u2019s hands, that locked convulsively\nabout his neck. His eyes were dark with pain as Sally, hurt and\nresentful, shrank from him.\n\u201cYou\u2019re glad to get out of it!\u201d she accused him. \u201cYou were only marrying\nme because you were sorry for me. You won\u2019t fight for me now, because\nyou\u2019re glad to be free\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSally! You don\u2019t know what you\u2019re saying! You know I love you, that\nI\u2019ve thought of nothing but you since we met on Carson\u2019s farm. Of course\nI want to marry you, and will be proud and happy to do so, if your\nmother will consent.\u201d\nSally\u2019s face bloomed again. She seized her mother\u2019s hands and held them\nhard against her breast as she pleaded: \u201cYou see, Mother? Oh, please let\nus go on with our marriage! David and I will love you always, be so\ngrateful to you\u2014Listen, Mother! You\u2019ll have a son as well as a\ndaughter\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t be absurd, Sally!\u201d Enid commanded brusquely. \u201cWhen you were\nindeed a girl alone, with no family, no prospects, nothing, a marriage\nwith David would undoubtedly have been the best thing for you. But\nnow\u2014it\u2019s ridiculous! This boy has nothing. You would be a burden upon\nhim, a yoke about his young neck that should not be bowed down by\nresponsibility for several years. You\u2019re both under a cloud. I\nunderstand that he cannot return to college or go back to his\ngrandfather until this trouble is cleared up. What did you two children\nexpect to do, once you were married?\u201d\n\u201cI expected to work at anything I could get to do,\u201d David answered with\nhurt young dignity. \u201cI have brains, two years of college education, a\nstrong body, and I love Sally.\u201d\nEnid Barr leaned across Sally and touched David\u2019s clenched fist with the\ncaressing tips of her fingers. \u201cYou\u2019re a good boy, David and Sally, the\norphan, the girl alone, would have been lucky to marry you. But you\nunderstand, don\u2019t you? She\u2019s my daughter, will be the legally adopted\ndaughter of Mr. and Mrs. Courtney Barr. Anyone in New York could tell\nyou what that means. She will have every advantage that money can offer\nher\u2014finishing school or college, if she wants to go to college; travel,\nexquisite clothes, a place in society, a mother and father who will\nadore her, a girlhood rich with all the pleasures that every normal girl\ncraves. Help me to give her these things, David, things you would give\nher if you could!\u201d\n\u201cThis is all nonsense!\u201d Mrs. Stone spoke up sharply. \u201cYou know perfectly\nwell, Mrs. Barr, that these two foolish children can\u2019t get married\nwithout your consent. I, for one think you\u2019re wasting your time. Simply\nput your foot down and take your daughter home with you.\u201d\nSally flushed angrily and struggled to rise, but David held her back.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to go with her, darling. Remember how you\u2019ve always wanted\na mother? You have one now, and she wants you with her, wants to make up\nto you for all you\u2019ve missed.\u201d\nAs only mute rebellion answered him, he wisely changed his tactics: \u201cDo\nyou think you could ever be really happy, darling, knowing that you had\nhurt your mother, cheated her of the child for whom she has grieved all\nthese years? She\u2019ll never have another child, Sally, and she needs you\nas much as you need her.\u201d\nWhen Sally\u2019s mouth began to quiver with new tears, Enid Barr took the\ngirl in her arms. At last Sally raised her head and searched her\nmother\u2019s face with piteous intensity. \u201cDo you really need me?\u201d she\ncried. \u201cYou\u2019ll love me\u2014be a real mother to me? You don\u2019t just want me\nbecause it\u2019s your duty?\u201d\nTears clouded the clear blue of Enid\u2019s eyes as she answered softly:\n\u201cI\u2019ll be a mother to you, Sally, not because it\u2019s my duty, but because I\nalready love you and will love you more and more. If I had searched the\nwhole world over for the girl I would have liked to have as my daughter,\nI could not have found one who is as sweet and pretty and dear as you\nare. I\u2019m proud of my daughter, and I shall hope to make her proud of\nme.\u201d\n\u201cThen\u2014I\u2019ll go with you,\u201d Sally capitulated, but she added quickly, \u201cIf\nDavid will promise not to love any other girl until I\u2019m old enough to\nmarry him.\u201d\nOver Sally\u2019s head, cradled against her mother\u2019s breast, Enid Barr and\nDavid Nash exchanged a long look, as if measuring each other\u2019s strength.\nDavid knew then, and Enid meant him to know, that Sally\u2019s mother had far\ndifferent plans for her daughter than any that could possibly include\nDavid Nash.\n\u201cI\u2019ll always love you, Sally,\u201d David said gravely, as he rose from the\nsofa.\nSally struggled out of her mother\u2019s clasp and sprang to the boy\u2019s side\njust as he was reaching to the little center table for his hat. \u201cWhere\nare you going, David? Don\u2019t leave me yet! Oh, David, I can\u2019t bear to let\nyou go! How can I write you\u2014where? Tell me, David! Oh, I love you so I\nfeel like I\u2019ll die if you leave me!\u201d\nDefiant of the tight-lipped disapproval of Mrs. Stone and of the anxious\nsignal which Enid\u2019s blue eyes were flashing him, David put his arms\nabout Sally and held her close, while he bent his head to kiss her.\n\u201cYou can write me here, general delivery. I\u2019ll stay here for a while, I\nthink, until I can make plans\u2014\u201d\n\u201cMy husband is in Capital City now, David,\u201d Enid interrupted eagerly. \u201cI\nam going to have him intercede with the authorities for you. You can\nreturn to Capital City as soon as you like. There\u2019ll be no trouble, I\npromise you. It is the only thing we can do to repay you for your great\nkindness toward\u2014our daughter.\u201d\n\u201cThen you can go back to college, David,\u201d Sally rejoiced, her eyes\nshining through tears. \u201cAnd when you\u2019ve graduated and\u2014and gotten your\nstart, we can be married, can\u2019t we?\u201d\n\u201cIf you still want me, Sally darling,\u201d David answered gravely. \u201cThank\nyou, Mrs. Barr. You\u2019ll\u2014you\u2019ll try to make Sally happy, won\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cI promise you she\u2019ll be happy, David,\u201d Enid answered, giving him her\nhand. \u201cMay I speak with you alone a moment?\u201d she added impulsively, and\nlinking her arm in his drew him toward the door that opened into the\nlittle foyer hall.\n\u201cDavid! You\u2019re not going? Without telling me goodby?\u201d Sally cried,\nstumbling blindly after them.\n\u201cGoodby, my darling.\u201d He put his arm about her shoulders and laid his\ncheek against her hair as he murmured in a low, shaken voice: \u201cI\u2019ll be\nloving you\u2014always!\u201d\nWhen the door had closed upon her mother and her almost-husband, Sally\ndid a surprising thing: she went stumbling toward Mrs. Stone, and\ndropped upon her knees before that majestic, rigid figure which she had\nfeared for twelve years.\nWhen Enid Barr returned a few minutes later, two round spots of color\nburning in her cheeks, she found her daughter in the orphanage matron\u2019s\nlap, cuddled there like a small child, trustfully sobbing out her grief.\nCHAPTER XVI\nEnid Barr left with her daughter for Kansas City that night, after\nwiring her husband, Courtney Barr, who was still awaiting word from her\nin Capital City. For two days Sally and Enid shopped for a suitable\nwardrobe for Sally, went to shows together, explored the city, and spent\nmany hours talking. Whenever the question of Sally\u2019s future arose, Enid\nspoke only in generalities, evading all direct questions, but about\nSally\u2019s childhood and young girlhood in the orphanage and on the Carson\nfarm, and about her experiences with the carnival, Enid was insatiably\ncurious and invariably sympathetic. Sally sensed that her mother was\nanxiously awaiting Courtney Barr\u2019s arrival before making any definite\nplans, and gradually the girl grew to dread the ordeal of meeting her\nmother\u2019s husband, the man who would become her father by adoption.\nAnd when at last he came she knew that her troubled intuition had been\ncorrect. However \u201cwonderful\u201d he had been to Enid when she had discovered\nthat her child had not been born dead but was alive somewhere in the\nworld, Sally felt instantly that his kindness and generosity toward Enid\nwould not extend to herself.\nCourtney Barr was a meticulously groomed, meticulously courteous man who\nhad, in slipping into middle-age, lost all traces of the boy and youth\nhe must have been. To Sally\u2019s terrified eyes, this rather heavy,\nponderous man, on whom dignity rested like a royal cloak, looked as if\nhe had been born old and wise and cold. She wondered how her exquisite,\narrogant little mother could love him so devotedly.\nAlmost immediately after the awkward introduction\u2014\u201cThis is our Sally,\nCourt!\u201d\u2014the three of them had had dinner together, a silent meal, so far\nas Sally was concerned. She had felt that the Enid with whom she had\ntalked and laughed and wept these two days had slipped away, leaving\nthis sophisticated, strange woman in her place, a woman who was in\nnowise related to her, a woman who was merely Mrs. Courtney Barr.\nThey left her alone for an hour after dinner, an hour which she spent in\nher own room in writing a long, frightened, appealing letter to David.\nAt nine o\u2019clock Enid knocked on her door and invited her to join them in\nthe parlor of the luxurious suite which had been such a delight to\norphanage-bred Sally.\nShe found Courtney Barr seated in a large arm chair, her mother perched\non the arm of it, one tiny foot in a silver slipper swinging with\nnervous rapidity. The man smiled bleakly, a smile that did not reach his\ncold gray eyes, as Sally took the nearby chair that he indicated.\n\u201cMrs. Barr and I have been discussing your immediate future, Sally,\u201d he\nbegan ponderously, in tones that he evidently thought were kind.\nInstitutional timidity closed down upon Sally; under those cold eyes she\nlost that ephemeral beauty of hers which depended so largely upon her\nemotions. It was her institutional voice\u2014meekness hiding fear and\nrebellion\u2014which answered: \u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\u201cOh, let me talk to her, Court!\u201d Enid begged. \u201cYou\u2019re scaring my baby to\ndeath. He fancies himself as an old ogre, Sally darling, but he\u2019s really\na dear inside. You see, Sally, I was so eager to find my baby that I\nmade no plans at all.\u201d\nCourtney Barr said, \u201cI think I\u2019d better do the talking after all, my\ndear. Your sentimentality\u2014natural, of course, under the\ncircumstances\u2014would make it impossible for you to state the case clearly\nand convincingly.\u201d\nSally\u2019s cold hands clasped each other tightly in her lap as she stared\nwith wide, frightened eyes at the man who was about to arrange her whole\nfuture for her.\n\u201cI have made Mrs. Barr understand how impossible it will be for us to\ntake you into our home at once, as our adopted daughter,\u201d Courtney Barr\nwent on in his heavy, judicial voice.\nSally sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing in her white face. \u201cI didn\u2019t\nask to be found, to be adopted!\u201d she cried. \u201cIf you don\u2019t want me, say\nso, and let me go back to David!\u201d\nIt was the loving distress on Enid Barr\u2019s quivering face that quickly\nbrought Sally to bewildered, humiliated submission, rather than the cold\nanger and ill-concealed hatred in Courtney Barr\u2019s pale gray eyes. Enid\nhad left the arm of her husband\u2019s chair and had drawn Sally to a little\nrose-up-holstered settee, and it was with her mother\u2019s hand cuddling\nhers compassionately that Sally listened as the man\u2019s heavy, judicial\nvoice went on and on:\n\u201cI am sure, Sally, that when you have had time for reflection you will\nsee my viewpoint. Naturally, your mother\u2019s happiness means more to me\nthan does yours, and I believe I know my wife well enough to state\npositively that a newspaper scandal or even gossip among our own circle\nwould cause her the most acute distress. It shall be our task, Sally, to\nsee that she is spared such distress.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry to appear brutal,\u201d Barr said stiffly. \u201cBut it is better for\nus to face the facts, for if our friends ever know them they will not\nmince words. If you should come into our home now, as you are, gossips\nwould immediately set themselves to dig up the facts. Too many people\nalready know that Sally Ford has been sought by the police as\na\u2014delinquent. My wife and I could not possibly hope to explain our\nextraordinary interest in a runaway orphan. Do you agree with me,\nSally?\u201d He tried to make his voice kind, but his eyes were as cold and\nhard as steel.\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Sally agreed in her meek, institutional voice. But she felt\nso sick with shame and anger that her only desire then was to run and\nrun and run until she found a haven in David\u2019s arms. At the thought,\nsome of the spiritedness which her few weeks of independence had\nfostered in her asserted itself. \u201cBut, Mr. Barr, if I would disgrace my\nmother, why don\u2019t you let me go? I can marry David and no one will ever\nknow that I have a mother\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThat is very sensible, Sally,\u201d Courtney Barr nodded, a gleam of\nkindliness in his cold eyes, \u201cand I have tried to make your mother\nbelieve that your happiness would be best assured by your sticking to\nyour own class\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t her class, if you mean that she\u2019s suited only to poverty and\nhard work!\u201d Enid Barr interrupted passionately. \u201cLook at her, Court!\nShe\u2019s a born lady! She\u2019s fine and delicate clear through\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAnd so is David!\u201d Sally cried indignantly. \u201cHe may be middle-class, but\nhe\u2019s the finest, most honorable man in the world!\u201d\n\u201cWe shall not quarrel about class,\u201d Courtney Barr cut in with heavy\ndignity. \u201cThe important thing is that your mother is determined to have\nyou, to fit you for the station to which she belongs. I believe she is\nmaking a mistake, both from your standpoint and from hers, but I am\nwilling to agree to a sensible arrangement. Our plan now, Sally, is to\nput you into a conservative, rather obscure girls\u2019 finishing school in\nthe South. I have several relatives\u2014\u2018poor relations,\u2019 I suppose you\nwould call them\u2014in the South, and it is my suggestion that you enter\nschool as my ward\u2014mine, you understand, not your mother\u2019s, so that any\nsuspicion as to your real parentage will rest upon me, rather than upon\nher.\u201d He arched his eyebrows at Sally, looking rather consciously noble,\nand she nodded miserably. \u201cDuring the two years that you will be in\nschool\u2014\u201d\n\u201cTwo years!\u201d Sally echoed blankly. Two years more of loneliness, of not\nbelonging, of being an orphan!\n\u201cTwo years will pass very quickly,\u201d Courtney Barr assured her. \u201cEnid,\nplease control yourself! I am infinitely sorry to distress you in this\nmanner, but it is the only sensible thing to do.\u201d\n\u201cYes, Court,\u201d Enid choked and buried her exquisite face in her small,\nuseless-looking white hands.\nSally put her arms about her mother, and leaned her glossy black head\nagainst the golden one. \u201cI\u2019ll try to be contented and happy, Mr. Barr.\nOf course I want to protect Mother\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThat is another thing, Sally,\u201d Courtney Barr interrupted in an almost\ngentle voice. \u201cYou must try to remember not to refer to Mrs. Barr as\nyour mother in the hearing of anyone\u2014anyone! If we are going to protect\nher, we must begin now.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Sally bowed her head lower so he might not see her tears.\n\u201cBoth Mrs. Barr and I will drop casual remarks about my pretty young\nward in school down South, until our friends have become accustomed to\nthe idea. You will be registered as Sally Barr, a distant relative of my\nown, and my ward. It is even probable that it would not be unwise to\nhave you with us for a short time next summer. We have an estate on Long\nIsland, you know.\n\u201cAs my ward and as my distant relative, you would not be particularly\nconspicuous, but our friends would meet you casually and be the less\nsurprised when it became known that Mrs. Barr and I had decided to adopt\nyou as our daughter. All our friends and acquaintances know that it has\nbeen a great grief to us that we have no children, and I believe our\naction in this matter would occasion no great surprise. The adoption\nitself will take place before your eighteenth birthday, while you are\nstill in school. If there is any newspaper publicity, it will be of an\ninnocuous kind, I hope.\n\u201cNaturally I shall take care that any newspaper investigation will not\nbe able to go back of the story I shall prepare very carefully, and if\nthere is any hint of scandal at all, it will inevitably reflect on me\nand not on your mother, as I have already pointed out. After your\nadoption and your graduation from the finishing school, you will, of\ncourse, take your place in our home as our daughter, will make your\ndebut in society that fall, and, I hope, be very happy with us and in\nyour new life.\u201d\nSally sat very still, her eyes wide and blank, while her bewildered,\nunhappy mind tried to picture the future which Courtney Barr was\noutlining for her. At last she shook her head, as if to clear away the\nmists of doubt and bewilderment. Her mother had taken Sally\u2019s little\nlax, cold hands and was cuddling them against her cheeks, bringing a\nfingertip to her lips occasionally.\n\u201cPoor baby! And\u2014poor mother!\u201d Enid whispered brokenly, and the spell was\nbroken. The hard lump of unhappiness and resentment that had been aching\nin Sally\u2019s throat since Courtney Barr had begun to speak melted in\ntears. They wept in each other\u2019s arms, while Enid\u2019s husband walked\nimpatiently up and down the room.\nWhen the storm had spent itself, Sally remembered David again, and pain\nand fear contracted her heart sharply.\n\u201cDid you see David, Mr. Barr?\u201d She sat up and dabbed at her wet cheeks\nwith one of the exquisite sheer linen handkerchiefs which Enid had given\nher.\n\u201cOh, yes, yes!\u201d Barr answered quickly. \u201cI managed his affairs very\nneatly. Rand, the district attorney, personally attended to the quashing\nof the charges against him, and it cost only a thousand dollars to get\nCarson to issue a statement to the press that he had really seen nothing\ncompromising between young Nash and yourself. He also admitted that the\nboy\u2019s anger had been in a measure justified, that the assault had been\nprovoked by his own mistaken charges against you and Nash. The boy\u2019s\nreputation is cleared now and he can go back to college this fall. I\nalso saw his grandfather and persuaded him that the boy had been a hero\nrather than a blackguard. Young Nash is at home on his grandfather\u2019s\nfarm again, so that incident is successfully closed.\u201d\nGratitude brought Sally to her feet. \u201cThank you, Mr. Barr! You\u2019ve been\nwonderful! It won\u2019t be so hard for me to be away at school if I know\nthat David is in school, too. I wrote him tonight, but I\u2019ll tear it up\nand write a new letter, telling him all about everything and how happy I\nam that he\u2019s free of those awful charges\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNo, Sally,\u201d Barr interrupted, frowning. \u201cYour mother and I are agreed\nthat you must not write to young Nash, that there must be no thought of\nan engagement\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNot write to David?\u201d Sally, echoed blankly. \u201cI love David, Mr. Barr,\nand I always will. It\u2019s not fair to ask me to promise not to write to\nhim.\u201d\n\u201cI already have his promise not to write to you,\u201d Barr told her\nimplacably. \u201cHe understands the situation, agrees with your mother and\nme that your past must be forgotten as quickly as possible. You are\nentering upon a new life tomorrow when you leave for Virginia with me, a\nlife that will be totally different from David Nash\u2019s. You will\u2014though\nyou don\u2019t seem to realize it\u2014be an heiress to great wealth some day\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou told him that!\u201d Sally accused him hotly. \u201cYou told him he\u2019d be a\nfortune-hunter if he tried to marry me when I\u2019m of age! Oh, you\u2019re not\nfair! You have no right to turn David against me, when I love him as I\ndo\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re only sixteen, Sally!\u201d Barr cut in sternly, \u201cYou don\u2019t know the\nmeaning of the word love\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPlease, Court,\u201d Enid begged, her own face white and drawn with pity for\nSally. \u201cPlease let me handle this myself. Sally is overwrought now,\nnervously exhausted. Come along to bed now, darling,\u201d she coaxed, her\nlittle hands upon Sally\u2019s shoulders. \u201cLet Mother tuck you up and sing\nyou a lullaby. I\u2019m not going to be cheated of that experience even if my\nbaby is bigger than I am.\u201d\nFresh tears gushed into Sally\u2019s eyes, and she allowed herself to be led\naway. At the door she paused:\n\u201cGood night, Mr. Barr. I\u2014I don\u2019t want you to think I don\u2019t appreciate\nwhat you\u2019ve done for me\u2014and David\u2014and what you\u2019re going to do for me. I\ndo think you\u2019re good and that you want to be kind to me, but I know\nyou\u2019re making a mistake about David and me. I am young, but I know I\nlove David and that I\u2019ll never want to marry anyone else.\u201d\nCourtney Barr flushed and looked embarrassed. \u201cThank you, Sally. I\u2019m\nsure we\u2019ll be friends. I want to be. I expect to take my duty as your\nfather very seriously, to try to make you happy. As for David, time has\na way of settling things if we only give it a chance. By the way, my\ndear,\u201d he added hastily as Sally was about to pass on into her bedroom\nwith her mother, \u201cI think it will be wiser if your mother does not\naccompany us to Virginia. I will arrange for you to board with my\nrelatives in Virginia until school opens this fall. They will be glad,\nfor a consideration, to do and say anything I wish them to in regard to\nyou, and we must begin immediately to take every precaution to protect\nyour mother.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Sally answered faintly, her eyes appealing to Enid for\nconsolation.\nWhen Sally was in bed, having been flutteringly and lovingly assisted in\nher preparation by her mother, Enid bent over her to whisper:\n\u201cDarling, darling, don\u2019t look so forlorn! Two years will pass so swiftly\nand if you\u2019re very good, we\u2019ll let you ask David to your coming-out\nparty.\u201d\nCHAPTER XVII\nIt was a desolately unhappy Sally who began what she considered the\nunbearable task of living those two years which Courtney Barr had\ndecreed should separate the orphan, Sally Ford, from the society\ndebutante, Sally Barr. A dozen times, at least, during those first few\nweeks she would have run away, straight to David Nash, if she had not\ngiven her word of honor both to her mother and to her mother\u2019s husband.\nBut, almost insensibly, she began to enjoy life again. It was a\nsoul-satisfying experience to have an apparently unlimited supply of\nspending money and the most beautiful wardrobe of any girl in the little\nVirginia city to which Courtney Barr had taken her. For many days almost\nevery mail brought her a package from New York, addressed in Enid Barr\u2019s\nsurprisingly big handwriting. She and her mother wrote each other twice\na week, and Enid early formed the habit of sending her a weekly budget\nof clippings from the papers about the social set in which the Barrs\nmoved so brilliantly\u2014\u201cso you will become acquainted with the names of\nthose who will be your friends,\u201d as Enid wrote her daughter.\nGradually the unreality of her new position and of her future\nexpectations wore off and Sally came to regard herself as really the\ndaughter of the Courtney Barrs.\nShe lived for the rest of the summer with Courtney Barr\u2019s third cousins,\nMr. and Mrs. Charles Barr, who were glad of both the money and the\ncompanionship which Sally brought them. To their friends the Charles\nBarrs explained that Sally was an orphaned cousin, and the story\napparently was never questioned. She was accepted cordially by the\ncarefree young people of the small city\u2019s best social set, and was\nsometimes ashamed of the pleasure she had in being a popular,\nwell-dressed, pretty young girl.\nShe reproached herself for not mourning constantly for David, but she\nknew that not for an instant were her loyalty and love for him\nthreatened by her strange new experiences. And, although she had given\nher promise not to write to David, she composed long, intimate letters\nto him every week, putting them away in her trunk in the confident\nbelief that he would some day read them and love them, because she had\nwritten them.\nShe told him everything in these letters she could not send\u2014told him of\nthe two or three nice boys who declared their puppy love for her;\nconfessed, with tears that blistered the pages, that she had let one of\nthem kiss her, because he seemed so hurt at her first refusal; described\nher new clothes with child-like enthusiasm; tucked snapshots of herself\nin the enchanting new dresses between the folded pages; in fact, poured\nout her heart to him far more unaffectedly than would have been possible\nif she had been mailing the letters.\nNot feeling at all that she was breaking her promise, she subscribed to\nThe Capital City Press and to the college newspaper, avidly searching\nthem for any news of David and jealously hoarding the clippings with\nwhich her diligence was rewarded.\nIn this way she learned that he was elected president of the junior\nclass; that he \u201cmade\u201d the football eleven as halfback; that\u2014and she\nalmost fainted with terror\u2014that he was slightly injured during the\nThanksgiving game, when A. & M. beat the State University team in a\nbitterly fought contest.\nBy that time she was in the finishing school which Courtney Barr had\nchosen for her, and was herself becoming prominent in school activities\nthrough her talent for dramatics. When David\u2019s college paper printed a\ntwo-column picture of her sweetheart she cut it out and framed it. The\ngreatest joy she had that first year of her new life was to hear the\nother girls rave about his good looks and his athletic record, of which\nshe bragged swaggeringly.\nDuring the spring term she was chosen by the dramatic director to take\nthe lead in the school\u2019s last play of the year, \u201cThe Clinging Vine.\u201d\nSally Ford, or Sally Barr, as she was known at the school, was again\nhappy \u201cplay-acting.\u201d Enid and Courtney Barr came down from New York for\nthe play and for commencement exercises, though Sally would not graduate\nfor another year. It was the first time she had seen her mother since\nthey had parted in the little mid-western town where Enid had found\nSally being married to David Nash.\n\u201cBut how adorably pretty you are!\u201d Enid exclaimed wonderingly, when she\nhad the girl safe in the privacy of her own suite in a nearby hotel. \u201cI\nwanted to nudge every fond mama sitting near me and exult, \u2018That\u2019s my\ndaughter! Isn\u2019t she beautiful? Isn\u2019t she a wonderful little actress?\u2019\nAre you happy, darling?\u201d\nSally, her cheeks poppy-red with excitement and pleasure in her success\nin the school play, twirled lightly on the toe of her silver slipper, so\nthat her pink chiffon skirt belled out like a ballet dancer\u2019s.\n\u201cHappy? I\u2019m thrilled and excited right now, and happy that you\u2019re here,\nbut sometimes I\u2019m lonely, in spite of my new friends\u2014Oh, Mother,\u201d she\ncried, catching Enid\u2019s hands impulsively, \u201cwon\u2019t you let me go back with\nyou and Mr. Barr now? I want to be with someone I belong to! I don\u2019t fit\nin here, really. I\u2014I guess I\u2019m still Orphan Sally Ford inside. I\u2019m\nalways expecting them to snub me, or to taunt me.\u201d\nEnid\u2019s eyes filmed over with tears, but she shook her head. \u201cWe must try\nto be patient, darling. I want you to be at home with girls like\nthese\u2014girls who have always had money and social position and\u2014and\nculture. It\u2019s a loathsome word, but I don\u2019t know any better one for what\nI mean. Don\u2019t you see, sweetheart? Mother wants you to be ready for New\nYork when you come, so that you will be happy, but not timid and\nill-at-ease. Court was really very wise. I\u2019ve come to see that now.\nPlease try to be patient, darling.\u201d\n\u201cAnd this summer?\u201d Sally quivered. \u201cHe said I could be with you at your\nLong Island home\u2014\u201d\nBut Enid was shaking her head again, her eyes infinitely fond and\npitying. \u201cI\u2019m going abroad, dear. I haven\u2019t been very well this\nwinter\u2014just tired from too much gayety, I think. The doctors advise a\nrest cure in southern France. I want you to go to a girls\u2019 camp in New\nHampshire. It\u2019s really a part of your education, social and physical. I\nwant you to ride and swim and hike all summer, with the sort of girls\nwhom you\u2019ll be meeting when you do join us in New York.\n\u201cYou\u2019re to learn to play golf, perfect your game of tennis. By the way,\nI want you to go to as many house parties on your holidays as you can.\nLearn to flirt with the college youngsters you\u2019ll meet; be gay, don\u2019t\nbe\u2014\u201d\n\u201cInstitutional,\u201d Sally interrupted in a low voice as she turned sharply\naway from her mother.\nIt was almost a relief to the girl when Enid was gone. Her mother\u2019s\nexquisite, fragile beauty, her unconscious arrogance, her\nsophistication, her sometimes caustic wit, formed a barrier between\nthem, in spite of the almost worshipful love that Sally felt for her.\nEnid, when she was with her, somehow made the 17-year-old-girl feel\ngawky, underdone, awkward, shy. Those cornflower blue eyes, when they\nwere not misted with tears of affection for this daughter whom she had\nso recently discovered, seemed to Sally to be a powerful microscope\ntrained upon all her deficiencies, enlarging them to frightening\nproportions. She knew that in these moments of critical survey her\nmother was looking upon her, not as a beloved daughter miraculously\nrestored to her, but as a future debutante, bearer of the proud name of\nBarr, and as a pawn in the marriage game as it is played in the most\nexclusive circles in New York Society.\nAnd Sally squirmed miserably, pitifully afraid that she would never\nmeasure up to the standard which her mother and Courtney Barr had set\nfor her, knowing, too, deep in her heart, that she did not want to. For\nher heart had been given to a golden young god of a man, whose kingdom\nwas the soil, and whose wife needed none of the qualities which Enid\nBarr was bent upon cultivating in her daughter.\nBut twelve years of implicit obedience to the authorities at the\norphanage had left their indelible mark upon Sally Ford, who was now\nSally Barr. She would do her best to become the radiant, cultured,\ncharming, beautiful young creature whom Enid Barr wanted as a daughter.\nAnd since she had Enid\u2019s letters to help her, the task was not so\nimpossible as it had seemed to her. For in the letters Enid was more\nreal as a mother than she could yet be in actual contact. The fat weekly\nenvelopes were crammed with love, maternal advice, encouragement,\ntenderness.\nSally sometimes had the feeling that through these letters of her\nmother\u2019s she knew Enid Barr better than anyone had ever known her. And\nshe loved her with a passionate devotion, which sometimes frightened her\nwith its intensity. Gazing at David\u2019s picture, clipped from the college\nnewspaper, she wondered, with a cruel pain banding her heart, if this\nalmost idolatrous love for her mother would ultimately force her to give\nup David. If it should ever come to a choice between those two\nwell-beloved, what should she do?\nSometimes she agonized over the fear that David might have ceased to\nlove her, might have found another girl, might even be married.\nSometimes her hands shook so as they spread out the flat-folded sheets\nof the college newspaper and of the Capital City _Press_ that she had to\nclasp them tightly until the spasm of fear subsided. And each time the\nrelief was so great that she sang and laughed and danced like a\njoy-crazy person.\nThe other girls jeered at her good-naturedly because she was always\nsinging, \u201cI\u2019ll be loving you\u2014always!\u201d But she did not care. It was her\nsong\u2014and David\u2019s.\nShe followed, with that obedience so deeply implanted in her, every\nphase of the program which Enid and Courtney Barr had mapped out for\nher. She went to the girls\u2019 camp in New Hampshire and returned to school\nin Virginia that fall strong and tanned and boyish-looking, and was able\nto report to Enid that she could swim beautifully if not swiftly, could\nride gracefully, could hold her own decently in a hard game of tennis,\ncould play golf well enough not to be conspicuous on the links.\nDuring her last term at the finishing school she obediently paid a great\ndeal of attention to her dancing, to drawing room deportment, and to her\nown beautiful young body, learning to groom it expertly. And during the\nChristmas and Easter vacations she netted three proposals of marriage,\nfrom brothers of classmates in whose homes she visited. She learned,\nsomehow, to say \u201cno\u201d so tactfully that her suitors were almost as\nflattered by her refusals as they would have been if she had accepted\nthem.\nEnid and Courtney Barr came down from New York to see her graduate, and\nwith them they brought the news of her legal adoption.\n\u201cA surprise, too!\u201d Enid chanted, swinging her daughter\u2019s hands\nexcitedly. \u201cCourt and I are going to take you to Europe with us this\nsummer, and keep you away from New York until almost time for you to\nmake your debut.\u201d\n\u201cEurope!\u201d Sally was dazed. Her first thought was that Europe was so far\naway from Capital City and David. He was getting his diploma now, just\nas she was getting hers\u2014\u201cOh, Mother, you haven\u2019t forgotten your promise,\nhave you?\u201d\nEnid frowned slightly, abashed by Sally\u2019s lack of enthusiasm. \u201cPromise,\ndarling?\u201d\n\u201cThat I could invite David to my coming-out party? Mother, I\u2019ve lived\nfor two years on that promise!\u201d she cried desperately, as the frown of\nannoyance and anger deepened on her mother\u2019s exquisite, proud little\nface.\nPeriodically, during the four months that the Barrs spent in wandering\nover Europe, Enid\u2019s evasive reply to Sally\u2019s urgent question thrust\nitself frighteningly through the new joys she was experiencing.\nEnid had shrugged and said: \u201cRemind me when we\u2019re making up the\ninvitation list this fall, Sally.\u201d She knew now that her mother had\ncounted on her forgetting David, that Enid had told herself until she\nbelieved it, because she wanted to believe, that the transformed Sally,\nthe Sally whom she had remade into the kind of girl who could take her\nplace in society as the daughter of Enid and Courtney Barr, would be a\nlittle ashamed of her 16-year-old infatuation for a penniless young\nfarmer.\nBut Sally\u2019s heart had not changed, no matter how radically Enid\u2019s money,\nthe finishing school and Europe had altered her, mentally and\nphysically.\nOne morning in November Sally knocked at the door of the small, pleasant\nroom known to the Barr household as \u201cMiss Rice\u2019s office.\u201d Linda Rice\nheld the difficult, exacting but always exciting position of Enid Barr\u2019s\nsocial secretary. Sally liked Linda, envied her her independence, her\ntactful, firm handling of her sometimes unreasonable employer. As she\nknocked now, fear of her mother fluttered in the heart that was so full\nof love and admiration for her. For she knew that Enid and Linda were\nmaking up the invitation list for the long-discussed coming-out party.\n\u201cCome in,\u201d Enid\u2019s contralto voice called impatiently. \u201cOh, it\u2019s you,\ndarling. How cunning you look! Turn around so I can see how that new bob\nlooks from the back. Oh, charming! Max is a robber, but he does know the\nart of cutting hair. Isn\u2019t she precious, Linda?\u201d\nSally, dressed in a deceptively simple little frock of dark blue French\ncrepe which half revealed her slender knees, whirled obediently. The\nheavy, silken masses of her black hair had long since been ruthlessly\nsacrificed to the shears, and now with the new Parisian cut, later to be\nthe rage in America and known as the \u201cwind-blown bob,\u201d she looked like\nan impudent little gamin, amazingly pretty and pert.\nHer clear white skin contradicted the effect of the impish hair-cut,\nhowever, and persisted in making her look appealingly feminine.\n\u201cTo think she can eat anything she wants and still keep that figure!\u201d\nEnid exclaimed with humorous envy. \u201cI\u2019d give my soul to be able to eat\nbread and candy again.\u201d But she looked at her own tiny body, no bigger\nthan an ethereal 12-year-old girl\u2019s and smiled with satisfaction. \u201cWhat\ndid you want, darling? Linda and I are awfully busy.\u2014Oh, by the way, you\nmustn\u2019t forget Claire\u2019s tea this afternoon. You\u2019re going to Bobby\nProctor\u2019s luncheon at the Ritz, too, aren\u2019t you? Like the social whirl,\nsweet?\u201d\n\u201cIt still frightens me a little,\u201d Sally confessed with a slight shiver.\n\u201cMother,\u201d she began with a desperate attempt at casualness, \u201cyou\u2019re\nsending David an invitation, aren\u2019t you? You promised, you know\u2014\u201d\nEnid frowned and pretended to consult the copy of the long list which\nshe had been checking when Sally interrupted. \u201cIs David Nash\u2019s name on\nthe list, Linda? Never mind. I\u2019ll look for it. And Linda, will you\nplease run down and tell Randall that Mrs. Barrington will be here for\nluncheon today? He\u2019ll have to have gluten bread for her. Thank you,\ndear. I don\u2019t know what I should do without you, Linda, you priceless\nthing!\u201d\nWhen the secretary had left the room, Enid turned to Sally, who was\nstanding beside the desk, twisting her hands nervously. \u201cDarling, I\u2019ve\ncounted so on your not holding me to that foolish promise I made two\nyears ago. You _must_ realize that David\u2014dear and sweet and good as he\nundoubtedly is\u2014belongs to your past, a past which I want you to forget\nas completely as if it had never existed.\u201d\nSally opened her lips to speak, but the futility of the retort she was\nabout to make overwhelmed her. How could she forget those twelve lonely,\nmiserable years in a state orphanage? And how could her mother possibly\nexpect her to forget David, who had been her only friend, her \u201cperfect\nknight\u201d when such dreadful trouble as Enid, in her sheltered life, could\nhardly imagine, had made her a hunted, terror-stricken fugitive from\n\u201cjustice\u201d? David to whom she was \u201chalf married,\u201d David whom she would\nalways love, even if she never saw him again? But she _would_ see him!\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t get that sulky, stubborn look on your face, Sally!\u201d Enid\nspoke almost sharply. \u201cI am thinking of David, too. Do you really think\nit would be fair to him to ask him to come to New York merely for a\nparty, to see the girl he cannot hope to marry make her debut in a\nsociety to which he could never belong? Don\u2019t be utterly selfish,\ndarling! Think of me a little, too! David knows\u2014the truth. You must know\nit would be painful for me to see him, after the story I told you in his\npresence. I want to forget, Sally, and just be happy, now that I have my\ndaughter with me\u2014\u201d The lovely voice trembled with threatened tears, and\nthe cornflower-blue eyes pleaded almost humbly with implacable sapphire\nones.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mother,\u201d Sally answered steadily. \u201cBut\u2014you promised. I\u2019ve\ndone everything you asked me to do for more than two years. I kept _my_\npromise not to write to David, because all the time I was counting on\nyou to keep yours.\u201d\nEnid Barr flushed and tapped angrily with her pen against the edge of\nthe desk. \u201cOf course, if you put it that way, I have no choice! How\nshall Linda address the invitation?\u201d\n\u201cThank you, Mother,\u201d Sally cried, stooping swiftly to lay her lips\nagainst her mother\u2019s golden hair. \u201cYou\u2019ve made me awfully happy.\u201d Her\nvoice shook a little with awed delight as she gave her mother the only\naddress she knew\u2014David\u2019s grandfather\u2019s name and the R. F. D. route on\nwhich his farm lay.\n\u201cI suppose I\u2019m having all this bother for nothing,\u201d Enid brightened.\n\u201cThe boy would be an idiot to spend the money on the trip\u2014even if he has\nit to spend!\u201d\nA beautiful light glowed in Sally\u2019s wide, dreaming eyes. \u201cDavid will\ncome,\u201d she said softly. \u201cHe will come if he has to walk.\u201d\n\u201cA hiking costume would be so appropriate at a society girl\u2019s debut,\u201d\nEnid pointed out, a little maliciously, but she smiled then, a little\nsecret, satisfied smile, as if she hoped he would look a rube among the\nsleek young men who would be asked to view her daughter when she was\nofficially put \u201con the market.\u201d\nBut Sally was too happy to notice. \u201cMay I write him, too, Mother? It\nwould look so queer, just sending him an invitation, without a word\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAbsolutely not!\u201d Enid was stern. \u201cThe invitation is more than\nsufficient. Now run along, darling, and dress for Bobby\u2019s luncheon. It\nseems to me there were never so many sub-deb parties as there are this\nyear, but you simply must go to all of them, if your first season is to\nbe a success. The list is going to be miles long,\u201d she worried. \u201cPerhaps\nit would have been wiser to have your party at the Ritz, as Mrs. Proctor\nand most of the others are doing, but there seems to be little reason to\nkeep up an enormous establishment like this if you can\u2019t entertain in\nit.\u201d\n\u201c\u2018Coming out\u2019 seems so silly,\u201d Sally protested with sudden, unusual\nspirit. \u201cOf course with me it\u2019s different. The crowd doesn\u2019t know me\nvery well yet, but nearly all of the debs have been really \u2018out\u2019 for two\nor three years. They\u2019ve been prom-trotting and going to the opera and\nthe theater alone with me, even to night clubs\u2014I can\u2019t see what real\ndifference it will make to most of them\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOf course you can\u2019t,\u201d Enid said with unintentional cruelty. \u201cYou\nhaven\u2019t been reared to this sort of thing. But you\u2019ll learn. Run along\nnow, and look your prettiest. And by the way, if you have a minute,\nwon\u2019t you stop by the photographers to choose the poses to be released\nfor publication? The society editors are calling up frantically. All\nthey\u2019ve had are snapshots of you, and I want them to print a picture\nthat will do you justice. You\u2019re really the loveliest thing on the deb\nlist this year, you know. But do run along! I shan\u2019t get a blessed thing\ndone if you stay here gossiping with me.\u201d\nSally laughed, kissed her mother and ran from the room, bumping into\nLinda Rice, who was discreetly waiting outside the office until the\ninterview between mother and daughter should be finished.\n\u201cLinda,\u201d she whispered, her face rosy with sweet embarrassment, \u201cI gave\nMother the name of a very special friend of mine, to put on the\ninvitation list. You\u2019ll be a darling and mail it out today, won\u2019t you?\nYou see, he lives in the Middle West and I want him to have plenty of\ntime to plan to come. David Nash is the name.\u201d Her voice caressed the\nthree beloved syllables more tenderly than she realized, and Linda Rice\nnodded her a knowing smile.\n\u201cOf course, Sally. And I hope he comes. I\u2019ll mail it this very\nafternoon.\u201d\nSally ran up the broad, circular staircase to the third floor, scorning\nto use the \u201clift\u201d which Courtney Barr had had installed in the Fifth\nAvenue mansion a few years before.\nShe never entered her own suite of rooms\u2014sitting room, bedroom, dressing\nroom and bath\u2014without first an uneasy feeling that she was trespassing\nand then a shock of delight that it was hers indeed. Now she passed\nslowly through the rooms, trying to see them with David\u2019s eyes, or even\nwith the eyes of the forlorn little Sally Ford who had slaved sixteen\nhours a day on the Carson farm for her \u201cboard and keep.\u201d\nSuddenly a picture flashed across her mind\u2014the two-rooms-and-lean-to\nshack in which she and David had eaten what was to have been their\nwedding breakfast. A great nostalgia swept over her\u2014not only for David,\nbut for plain people working together to make a home and to support\ntheir children.\nAll her life in the orphanage she had dreamed of delicate foods,\nskin-caressing, lovely fabrics, spacious, gracious rooms. And now she\nhad them\u2014and she was frightened to nausea, because they were a barrier\nbetween her and David and all the realities of life and love which she\nhad so nearly grasped when she was slaving on the farm, working as\n\u201cPrincess Lalla\u201d in the carnival, fleeing from the pursuit of the law\nwith only David to protect her.\nShe dressed listlessly for the sub-deb luncheon at the Ritz, chatted and\nlaughed and pretended to be as frivolous and \u201cwild\u201d as any of her new\nfriends; went to Claire Bainbridge\u2019s tea that afternoon; went to the\ntheater with her mother and adopted father that night, went, went, went\nduring the next few days, but her heart was concerned with only one\nquestion: would David come? She had been so sure, so arrogantly, proudly\nsure that he would come even if he had to walk\u2014\nOn the fifth day after the invitation was despatched his telegram came.\nColor\u2014all colors swirling together in a mad kaleidoscope of incredible\nbeauty; the muted, insistent throbbing of a violin played by an unseen\nartist; the rosy glow of light which apparently had no source; the\nrustling whisper of silks; the polite, subdued buzz of middle-aged\nconversation; the shrill but musical clamor of very young voices; the\nsubtle, faint odor of French perfumes; the stronger, more sickening odor\nof too many hothouse flowers\u2014\nSally Barr, who had been Sally Ford, was \u201cplay-acting\u201d again. She was\nplaying the role of a society debutante. She was \u201cplaying-acting\u201d and\nenjoying it, with a sort of surface enjoyment that made her look the\nperfect picture of the popular and beautiful debutante.\nShe knew that her cheeks were like tea roses, her sapphire eyes as\nbrilliant as the jewel whose color they had imitated so perfectly. She\nknew that her wind-blown bob of gleaming, silky-soft black hair was\nravishing, that her \u201cperiod costume\u201d of sea-shell pink taffeta and\nsilver lace, made sinfully expensive by its intricate embroidery of seed\npearls, was the most beautiful dress worn by any debutante of the season\nso far.\nShe knew all these things because the enviously ecstatic compliments of\nthe other girls had told her so, because Enid Barr, her mother, who all\nthese people thought was only her adopted mother, was luminous with\npride and joy in her, because even Courtney Barr, with whom she still\nfelt ill-at-ease, looked like a pouter-pigeon in his possessive\nsatisfaction.\nBut Sally Barr was play-acting and the Sally Ford she had been looked\non, in a skimpy little white lawn dress edged with five-cent lace, and\nwatched the performance with critical eyes, or, rather, watched as often\nas those hungry, desperate eyes turned away from the door, unable to\nbear the sight of newcomers because none of them was David.\nThe Sally Ford in the skimpy little white lawn dress which the orphanage\nprovide for Sundays and for rare dress-up occasions wondered how these\nstrange, glamorous people could not see her beneath the sea-shell pink\ntaffeta with its silver lace and precious seed-pearl embroidery. And\nthis Sally Ford whom they could not see kept telling herself over and\nover that her dreams had come true: she had a mother who was rich and\nbeautiful and tender and wise\u2014nearly always wise, except about David;\nshe was living in a mansion more magnificent than the orphaned\n\u201cplay-actress\u201d had ever been able to conjure; she was beautiful and\npopular; these strange people who were \u201cin society\u201d were here because\nSally Ford\u2014no, Sally Barr!\u2014was making her debut, was being accepted as\none of them.\nShe told herself these things and her eyes again darted to the door,\nhungry for the sign of a penniless, 23-year-old farmer boy who would be\nas much out of place in this ballroom among these strange, glamorous\npeople as Sally Ford in her skimpy little white lawn dress.\nThree words hammered their staccato message ceaselessly on her\nlistening, watching nerves: \u201cComing. Thanks. David.\u201d Three words which\nhad broken the silence of two and a half years.\nComing\u2014thanks\u2014David\u2014Coming\u2014thanks\u2014David\u2014\n\u201cDarling, this is Mrs. Allenby, a very old and dear friend of mine\u2014\u201d\nSally Barr smiled her shy, sweet, little-girl smile and Sally Ford noted\nthe success of it critically as the frumpy, dyed-haired little old lady\npassed on down the receiving line. Coming\u2014thanks\u2014David\u2014But, oh, was he\ncoming?\nShe stole a glance at the tiny watch set in the circle of diamonds that\nbanded her bare arm just below the elbow. Half past eleven. Dancing\nwould begin at twelve. She had been smiling and twittering and looking\nsweet and demure or provocative and gay since eight o\u2019clock, when the\ndinner for the debutantes had begun.\nHow much longer could she keep it up? It was really absurd for them to\nsuppose that she could go on like this until three or four o\u2019clock in\nthe morning, when her heart was broken\u2014\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\u201cMr. David Nash!\u201d\nNothing, no one could have held her. The words had scarcely lift the\nbutler\u2019s lips when Sally reached David\u2019s side, her full skirt,\nlengthened to the tips of her slippers by the frosty silver lace,\nbillowing like sails at the mooring of the snug little bodice.\nShe seized his gloved hands, her joy-widened eyes blazing over his face,\nhis adored, so well-remembered face.\n\u201cOh, David! David! I thought you weren\u2019t coming! I\u2019d have died if you\nhadn\u2019t come!\u201d She stepped back a pace, her small hands swinging his as\nif she were a joyous child and there were no one else in the ballroom at\nall. \u201cYou look older, David! You haven\u2019t been sick? You worked too hard\nto finish college? Oh, David\u2014\u201d\nHis eyes laughed at her through a barrier of embarrassment, and his\nstartlingly grim young face softened. It was true that he looked much\nolder; boyishness had left him, and Sally could have screamed out her\npain that this was so. He was thinner, or appeared to be, in his\nperfectly fitting evening clothes. Odd to see him dressed like that, she\nthought, near to tears.\nShe had seen him in overalls and cheap \u201cjeans\u201d and in decent but\ninexpensive tweeds. She had seen his big-muscled arms bare, the summer\nsun gilding the fine hairs upon them; she had seen him sweating over the\ncook stove in the privilege car of Bybee\u2019s Bigger and Better Carnival\nShows, stripped to a thin cotton undershirt.\nBut she had never before seen him like this\u2014immaculate, correct, of a\npattern, apparently, with all other well-dressed young college men. And\nshe was illogically hurt, felt as if the correctly stiff bosom of his\nshirt was a veritable wall between the old David and the old Sally\u2014\n\u201cThey\u2019ve cut off your beautiful hair,\u201d were his first words.\nShe stood still, her hands slowly releasing his, feeling his eyes rove\nover her, as hers had swept over him, and she did not need to look into\nhis eyes to find that he was withdrawing from her, alienated,\nbewildered, saddened.\nShe wanted to cry out to him, to beat his breast with her hands: \u201cIt\u2019s\nSally, David! Sally Ford underneath, Sally who loves you better than\nanything in the world.\u201d But she did not say it, for Enid Barr was at her\nelbow, and it was her mother\u2019s coldest most polite voice that was\nwelcoming David.\n\u201cWe\u2019re so glad you could come, Mr. Nash. Did you have a pleasant\njourney? I\u2019m glad. Sally, you _must_ come back into the receiving line,\ndarling. I\u2019ll introduce Mr. Nash.\u201d\nThe next hour was an almost unbearable eternity to Sally. But she\n\u201cplay-acted\u201d through it\u2014gave the tips of her fingers to late comers,\nsmiled, murmured appropriate phrases which Enid had painstakingly taught\nher; opened the ball; danced, in rapid succession with the most\nimportunate of her male guests, for Enid, reluctantly acceding to the\nnew informality, had not insisted upon dance cards.\nBut all the time her eyes were darting about on their quest for David.\nShe spotted him at last, near the door of the ballroom, moodily\nlistening to whatever it was that Courtney Barr was saying in his most\nunctuous, weighty manner.\n\u201cPlease\u2014I\u2019ll be back soon!\u201d Sally gasped to her amazed partner, and\nbroke from his grasp.\nShe did not in the least care that curious glances and uplifted brows\nfollowed her fleet progress across the crowded ballroom floor. Her whole\nattention was given to David, David who looked ill-at-ease and wretched\u2014\n\u201cAren\u2019t you going to dance with me?\u201d she cried as soon as she reached\nhim and her adopted father. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t let Father monopolize you.\nCome, before the music stops.\u201d\nUnsmiling, David took her into his arms, gingerly, as if he were afraid\nof crushing the precious dress.\n\u201cDo you remember the other time we danced together, David?\u201d she\nwhispered, her voice tender with memories. \u201cIn the Carsons\u2019 parlor. No\none else would dance with me and Pearl could have slain me because you\ndid. Remember?\u201d\nDavid nodded, held her just a trifle closer, but his face was as grim\nand unhappy as ever. She tucked her head against his broad breast and\nclosed her eyes so that he could not see her tears. When the music\nstopped abruptly, she seized his hand, drew him urgently.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to go somewhere to talk, David. I can\u2019t stand\u2014this.\u201d\nHe let her lead him down three flights of the magnificent circular\nmarble staircase, and because he was so silent she thought miserably\nthat it might be hurting him that she was so much at home in this vast,\nsplendid house.\n\u201cMiss Rice\u2019s office!\u201d she cried, after he had darted about in an\nunsuccessful effort to find a secluded nook not already occupied by\ntruant couples.\nWhen the door had closed upon them, she faced him, her breath catching\non a little gasp of anticipation. But his arms stayed rigidly at his\nside.\n\u201cIt was in this very room, David,\u201d she began eagerly, \u201cthat I fought the\nbattle with Mother and won. I made her keep her promise to me to invite\nyou to my coming-out ball. She promised me two and a half years ago,\npromised so I would promise her not to write to you. But I wrote you\nevery week, sometimes oftener, and I\u2019m still writing every week, though\nI can\u2019t mail the letters. Now I can! Now I can! Do you realize I\u2019m of\nage, David? I\u2019m eighteen and a half, and I\u2019m \u2018out.\u2019 Isn\u2019t that funny?\nI\u2019m officially \u2018out\u2019 now, and I can do as I please.\u201d\nHer voice dragged a little at the end, for he was looking at her as if\nshe were a stranger, or as if he were trying to make her feel like a\nstranger to him. With a moan, she lifted her arms and crept so close to\nhim that she could lay her head against his breast. \u201cAren\u2019t you\u2014going to\nkiss me, David? I\u2019ve waited so long, so long\u2014\u201d\nShe felt him stiffen, then his hands came up slowly and fastened upon\nhers. But it was only to remove her hands from his shoulders\u2014\n\u201cYou must forget me, Sally, or remember me only when you remember Sally\nFord and Pitty Sing and Jan and Pop Bybee. We all belong together in\nyour memory, and none of us belongs in Sally Barr\u2019s life.\u201d His voice was\nlevel, heavy, not the young, tender, musical voice that had made love to\nher during the carnival days.\nShe took a backward step, a little drunkenly, and the face she lifted\nbravely for whatever blow he was going to deal her was pinched and\nwhite, the eyes blue-black with pain. \u201cDon\u2019t you love me any more,\nDavid?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m a poor man and I\u2019m not a fortune-hunter,\u201d David answered grimly.\n\u201cI\u2014don\u2019t know Sally Barr.\u201d\nShe shrank from him then, backward, step by step, so stricken, so\nwhite-faced, that the boy clenched his hands in agony.\nThey were still staring at each other when the door opened, and an\nalmost forgotten but now shockingly familiar voice sang out\nnonchalantly:\n\u201cBobby Proctor told me I\u2019d find you here, Sally.\u201d\nIt was Arthur Van Horne, whom she had not seen since the last day of the\ncarnival in Capital City.\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t go, David!\u201d Sally implored, but he mistook her distress,\noccasioned by Arthur Van Home\u2019s entirely unexpected appearance, for a\nplea for a longer interview which he knew would only cause them both\npain.\nHe shook his head dumbly and strode to the door. He paused there a\nmoment to bow jerkily first toward Sally, then toward Van Horne, who was\nwatching the scene with amused, cynical eyes.\nPride mercifully came to Sally\u2019s aid then; she closed her lips firmly\nover the question she had been about to fling at David with desperate\nurgency. She even managed to wave her hand with what she hoped was airy\nindifference as David opened the door.\n\u201cSo!\u201d Van Horne chuckled when the door had closed softly. \u201cIt\u2019s still\nSally and David, isn\u2019t it? I\u2019m glad I was vouchsafed a glimpse of this\nparagon. Astonishingly good-looking in a Norse Viking sort of way, but\nrather a bull in a China shop here, isn\u2019t he? But I presume that is why\nEnid fondly hoped when she allowed him to come. I gather that she did\ninvite him? A very clever woman, Enid. I\u2019ve always said so.\u201d\nSally\u2019s teeth closed hurtingly over her lower lip, but she said nothing.\nThe pain and horror of David\u2019s uncompromising rebuff were still too\ngreat to permit room in her heart for fear of Van Horne. Of course he\nhad recognized her at once, had undoubtedly recognized her from her\npictures in the papers, but what did it matter now? David was\ngone\u2014gone\u2014He had not even kissed her\u2014\n\u201cStill afraid of me, Sally?\u201d Van Horne laughed, as her eyes remained\nfixed on his face in a blind, unseeing stare.\n\u201cAfraid of you?\u201d Sally echoed, her voice struggling strangely through\npain. \u201cOh, you mean\u2014?\u201d She tried to collect her wits, to push aside the\nincredible fact of David\u2019s desertion, so that she could concentrate on\nVan Horne and the frightening significance of his presence here coupled\nwith his knowledge of her past.\n\u201cDear little Sally!\u201d Van Horne said tenderly, and Sally clenched her\nfist to strike him for using the words which had been heavenly sweet\nwhen David had uttered them so long ago. \u201cI told you the last time I saw\nyou that you had not seen the last of Arthur Van Horne. I meant it, but\nI give you my word I hardly expected to find you _here_! I spent the\ndeuce of a lot of time and money trying to trace you after you left the\ncarnival. Old Bybee finally told me that you\u2019d run away and had probably\nmarried your David. So I took my broken heart to China, Japan, Egypt and\nGod knows where. And now like the chap who sought for the Holy Grail, I\nfind you at home waiting for me.\u201d\n\u201cI wasn\u2019t waiting for you,\u201d Sally contradicted him indignantly. \u201cI was\nwaiting for David and he\u2019s just told me that he doesn\u2019t want me. I hoped\nI\u2019d never see you again!\u201d\n\u201cWhy, Sally, Sally!\u201d Van Horne chided her, his black eyes full of\nmocking humor. \u201cDon\u2019t you realize that I\u2019m the oldest friend you have in\nthis new life of yours? I really haven\u2019t got used to the idea yet of\nyour being Enid Barr\u2019s daughter. Of course I knew there was something\nmysterious about her overweening interest in \u2018Princess Lalla,\u2019 but this\nthick old bean of mine wasn\u2019t functioning very well in those days. My\nheart was too full of that same lovely little crystal-gazer. But when I\nread the rather masterly bit of fiction in the papers, the story which\ngood old asinine Courtney Barr gave out as to your parentage and his\nwardship which he had supplanted by a legal adoption, the old bean began\nto click again, and I can assure you I got a great deal of quiet\nenjoyment out of the thing. Fancy the impeccable Enid Barr\u2019s having\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, stop\u201d Sally commanded him, flaming with anger. \u201cDon\u2019t dare say a\nword against my mother\u2014I mean, against Enid\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAgainst your mother,\u201d Van Horne corrected her serenely. \u201cOf course I\nhaven\u2019t told anyone, Sally, and I don\u2019t really see why I should,\nif\u2014Listen, child: don\u2019t you think we ought to have a long, comfortable\ntalk about\u2014old times? We\u2019re likely to be interrupted here any minute by\na chaperon\u2014or by your mother or by a couple of young idiots seeking a\nquiet place to \u2018neck\u2019 in. Slip out of the house when the show\u2019s over\u2014the\nservants\u2019 entrance will be better\u2014and we\u2019ll go for a drive through the\npark.\u201d\n\u201cI shall do no such thing,\u201d Sally repudiated the suggestion hotly. \u201cI\u2019m\ngoing back to the ballroom now. Please don\u2019t come with me.\u201d\nWhen she arrived, breathless, at the door of the ballroom, she bumped\ninto Enid, whose face was white and anxious and suddenly almost old.\n\u201cDarling, _where_ have you been?\u201d her mother whispered fiercely. \u201cI\u2019ve\nhad Courtney and Randall and two of the footmen looking for you. This is\n_your_ party, you know. You have other guests besides David Nash. I knew\nit was a mistake to ask him\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhere is he, Mother?\u201d Sally interrupted rudely. \u201cI\u2019ve been with someone\nelse most of the time.\u201d She could not bring herself yet to mention Van\nHorne\u2019s name to her mother, for fear Enid would notice that something\nwas sadly amiss.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t seen him,\u201d Enid protested. \u201cBut run along now and dance. It\u2019s\nthe last dance before supper. Remember that Grant Proctor is taking you\ndown. Do be sweet to him, Sally.\u201d\n\u201cShe would like for me to marry Grant Proctor,\u201d Sally reflected dully,\nas she obediently let herself be drawn into the dance by an ardent-eyed\nyoung man whose name she could not remember. \u201cShe wants me to marry\nGrant Proctor, when I\u2019m already half-married to David. But David doesn\u2019t\nwant me! Oh, David!\u201d\nJust before supper was announced she slipped away to her own rooms, to\ncry the hot tears that were pressing against her eyeballs. And on her\ndressing table she found a note, undoubtedly placed there by her own\nmaid. Her cold, shaking fingers had difficulty in opening it, for she\nknew at once that it was from David.\n\u201cDear little Sally,\u201d she read, and the tears gushed then. \u201cForgive me\nfor bolting like this, but I couldn\u2019t stand it any longer. You know I\nlove you, that \u2018I\u2019ll be loving you always,\u2019 but you must also know that\nSally Barr cannot marry David Nash, and that anything less would be too\nterrible for both of us. You must be wondering why I came. I wanted to\nsee for myself that you are happy, that your mother is good to you. And,\nof course, I wanted to see you again, wanted to see if there was\nanything of my Sally in this beautiful Sally Barr that the papers are\nmaking so much of.\n\u201cI think it has made it harder for me to find that underneath the new\nsurface you are still Sally Ford. But they\u2019ll change the core of you\nalmost as rapidly as they have remade the surface of you into a society\nbeauty. And after you\u2019re changed all through you\u2019ll be glad I went away.\nI\u2019ll carry my own Sally in my heart always, and the new Sally Barr will\nfall in love with the splendid young son of some old family, marry him\nand make her mother very happy. She would never forgive us, Sally, if I\ntook you away and made you live on what I can earn as a farmer, and she\nwould be right not to forgive. I would not forgive myself, and after\nawhile you\u2019d be unhappy, too, remembering all that you had lost,\nincluding a mother who adores you. Goodby, Sally. David.\u201d\nShe was so quiet, so white at supper that Grant Proctor, who was already\nin love with her, begged her to let him give her a drink from his pocket\nflask, but she refused, scarcely knowing what he had said to her. Once\nshe caught her mother\u2019s eyes, and shivered at the anxiety and reproach\nin them.\nSuddenly a fierce resentment against Enid Barr rose and beat sickeningly\nin her blood. If she had not interfered, she and David would have been\nmarried long ago. They would have been happy in poverty, would have\nstruggled side by side to banish poverty, might even have had a tiny\nDavid and Sally of their own by this time. And now David was irrevocably\ngone, so that Enid Barr might keep her daughter. Sally wanted to nurse\nher anger against her mother, but it was impossible to do so, for she\nloved her.\nWhen the jazz orchestra was hilariously summoning the debutantes to the\ndance floor again Arthur Van Horne claimed Sally over the protests of\nthe half dozen younger men who were good-naturedly wrangling for the\nhonor.\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to meet me after this foolish, delightful show is over,\naren\u2019t you? Of course you are!\u201d he smiled down upon her as he led her\nout upon the floor.\nSally looked up at him wearily and saw that there was more than\namusement and gallantry in his narrowed, smiling black eyes. There was\nmenace, which he did not try to conceal, wanted her to see\u2014\n\u201cYou do love your mother, don\u2019t you?\u201d he smiled significantly. \u201cMaybe\nyou\u2019ll learn to love Van a little, too. It would be\u2014very wise.\u201d\nIt was half past four o\u2019clock when the tireless debutantes were willing\nto call it a night. Sally braved the thing out, but her face was wan as\nshe listened to the last compliments on the success of the party which\nhad officially launched her into the circles of society to which her\nmother belonged by the divine right of inheritance and immense wealth.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll talk it all over tomorrow, sweetheart,\u201d Enid said pityingly. \u201cYou\nrun along to bed now. I\u2019ve got to give a few instructions to Randall.\nAnd you\u2019d better stay in bed all day, or until tea time anyway. You were\nmarvelous tonight, darling. So beautiful, so sweet. These wild young\nflappers\u2014but run along, daughter beloved. You look as if you might faint\nwith fatigue. Have Ernestine bring you some hot milk.\u201d\nIt was ridiculously easy for Sally to slip out of the house, using the\nservants\u2019 entrance, as Van Horne had suggested. She found him waiting\nfor her and submitted wearily to being led to where his car was parked,\na block away.\n\u201cWhat do you want, Van?\u201d she asked abruptly, when the car turned into\nCentral Park from Fifth Avenue at Eighty-fourth street, the wheels\ncrunching the glazed crust of new snow.\n\u201cTo talk with you and hold your hand and possibly kiss you\u2014oh, very\npossibly!\u201d Van Horne laughed at her, reaching for her hand.\n\u201cWhat did you mean when you said it would be \u2018very wise\u2019 for me to love\nyou a little?\u201d she persisted, too tired to be diplomatic. But of course\nshe knew. He held her mother\u2019s security and happiness in the hollow of\nhis hand. That he could destroy her own social career if he wished did\nnot occur to her, for she had not yet learned to care about it, to prize\nit. But Enid must be protected at all costs.\n\u201cI think you know,\u201d Van Horne shrugged. \u201cBut why put it into words? Some\nthings are much nicer unsaid, if they are distinctly understood.\nNow\u2014will you kiss me, Sally? I\u2019ve waited a long time, sweet child, and\nI\u2019m naturally not a patient man.\u201d\n\u201cNot tonight,\u201d Sally said in a low, flat voice, shrinking into her own\ncorner of the seat. \u201cPlease turn at One Hundred and Tenth street and\ntake me back home, Van. I\u2019m utterly tired.\u201d\nVan obeyed cheerfully, exultant over her indirect promise. Sally was\ncreeping exhaustedly up the stairs to her room, her mother, still\ndressed in her formal ball gown, came hurrying frantically down to meet\nher.\n\u201cDarling, where have you been? I\u2019ve been crazy with worry! How _could_\nyou go out and meet that Nash boy so brazenly? Tonight of all nights!\u201d\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t David, Mother,\u201d Sally said in a dead-tired voice. \u201cIt was\nArthur Van Horne. He\u2014knows\u2014all about me. He\u2019s known all along.\u201d\nFive weeks later\u2014it was in early January, just before the annual\nscurrying of self-coddling society folk from the rigors of a New York\nwinter to the sunshine of Palm Beach and Nassau\u2014Sally Barr, \u201cone of the\nseason\u2019s most beautiful debutantes,\u201d as the society editors called her,\nsat at a table for six in one of New York\u2019s most exclusive night clubs.\nShe was thankful for the fact that an inhumanly flexible male dancer was\ndoing his most incredible tricks for the amusement of the club\u2019s\npatrons, for watching him gave her an opportunity to think, an excuse\nfor not chattering brightly as debutantes were expected to do.\nGrant Proctor, whom Enid had hoped she would marry, sat opposite her,\nArthur Van Horne on her right. Beside Grant, twittering and giggling,\nwas Claire Bainbridge, whose engagement to the heir of the Proctor\nmillions would be announced from Palm Beach.\nAnd yet Sally was conscious that Grant\u2019s nice, leaf-brown eyes followed\nher with a frustrated, doglike devotion whenever she was near him. He\nhad told her that he loved her, and Sally, terribly anxious to please\nher mother and to secure Enid Barr\u2019s safety from scandal, had been ready\nto listen to his proposal of marriage. Since David was lost to her, it\ndid not much matter whom she married.\n\u201cBut if he asks me to marry him, Mother, I\u2019ll have to tell him the truth\nabout my birth,\u201d Sally had told Enid.\nNow, with her wistful eyes apparently watching the agile dancer, she\nremembered Enid\u2019s horrified protest. \u201cYou can\u2019t tell him, Sally! He\nwouldn\u2019t marry you if he knew. His parents wouldn\u2019t let him. Promise me\nyou won\u2019t tell, darling!\u201d\nAnd so Sally had not told him, but when he did ask her to marry him she\nrefused him. His as yet unannounced engagement to Claire Bainbridge had\nfollowed swiftly, but his eyes were still pathetically true to Sally.\nShe shifted her position a trifle, so that she could observe Arthur Van\nHorne out of the corner of her eye. Not that she wanted to see him! She\nhad been forced to see so much of him since the night of her debut party\nthat the very sound of his mocking, drawling voice was obnoxious to her.\nShe would never forget her mother\u2019s terror, her abject pleading and\ntears.\n\u201cDon\u2019t antagonize him, darling!\u201d Enid had begged. \u201cHe can ruin us, ruin\nus! Be nice to him, Sally! If\u2014if he was in love with you during those\nawful carnival days, maybe\u2014\u201d She had hesitated, ashamed to put her hope\ninto words. \u201cVan is really a rather wonderful man, you know, darling.\nOne of the most eligible bachelors in New York society. Old family, no\nmother or father to dictate to him, a tremendous fortune. Of course,\nhe\u2019s cynical and blase, and rather more experienced than I\u2019d like,\nbut\u2014just be nice to him, darling. Maybe\u2014\u201d\nThat shamefaced \u201cmaybe\u201d of Enid\u2019s had kept thrusting itself upon Sally\u2019s\nrebellious attention ever since. Enid, more frightened of Van\u2019s power\nover her than she would admit, even to Sally, threw the two together on\nevery possible occasion. After Grant Proctor had retreated from the\nfield, smarting under his refusal by Sally, Enid had almost feverishly\nconcentrated on Van Horne. Sally had stubbornly insisted to her mother\nthat she would not marry any man whom she could not tell the truth about\nher illegitimacy, and Enid had just as stubbornly refused to consider\nthe possibility of Sally\u2019s telling.\n\u201cIf Van really knows,\u201d she had told Sally in desperation, \u201cthat is one\ntoo many. You could not possibly harm any man by marrying him without\ntelling. You\u2019re _our_ daughter now\u2014the legally adopted daughter of Mr.\nand Mrs. Courtney Barr. That is all that matters.\u201d\n\u201cWhat matters to me,\u201d Sally had insisted wearily, \u201cis that no man that\nyou would like for me to marry would have me if he knew. I can\u2019t cheat.\nOf course I don\u2019t have to marry.\u201d\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d Enid had agreed with assumed gayety. \u201cBut since Van\ndoes know\u2014Of course, since he already knows, if you married him it would\nbe as much to his interest to forget it and protect me\u2014us\u2014as it is ours.\nBut I want you to be happy, darling.\u201d\nSally, her little round chin supported on her laced fingers, her eyes\nbrooding upon the dancer whom she did not see, reflected with an\nunchildlike bitterness that there was no question now of her being\nhappy. Happiness lay behind her; she had almost grasped it, had been\n\u201chalf-married\u201d to a man she loved. David! His name flashed through her\nheart like the thrust of a red-hot lancet.\n\u201cDance, Sally? Or do you prefer to go on dreaming?\u201d Van Horne\u2019s low,\nteasing voice interrupted her bitter reverie.\nShe made a sudden resolution, rose with sprightly vivacity from her\nchair, flung a sparkling glance to her mother whose beautiful face was a\nlittle pinched with the strain under which she had lived these last few\nweeks. \u201cDance, of course. Van!\u201d she cried, wrinkling her nose at him\nwith a provocative moue. \u201cI was dreaming about you! Aren\u2019t you\nflattered?\u201d\nShe saw her mother\u2019s pinched face flush and bloom with hope, caught an\naustere but approving smile from Courtney Barr, with whom she had not\nyet reached the intimacy that should exist between a father and a\ndaughter, even an adopted daughter. If she could make them so happy by\nmarrying Arthur Van Horne, why let her own feelings prevent? If she\ncouldn\u2019t have David, what difference did it make whom she married? And\nif she married Van Horne the only menace to her mother\u2019s reputation\nwould be removed.\n\u201cYou adorable little thing!\u201d Van Horne whispered, as he swept her out\nupon the crowded dance floor. \u201cSo you were dreaming about me? Pleasant\ndreams, little Princess Lalla?\u201d His ardent, dark face was bending close,\nhis black eyes free of mockery but lit by a fire that repelled her.\n\u201cDid you really fall in love with \u2018Princess Lalla\u2019?\u201d Sally forced\nherself to ask coquettishly, fluttering her long lashes in the demure\nfashion which had proved so effective during her short career as a\ndebutante.\n\u201cAbsurd question!\u201d Van Horne jeered softly. \u201cDidn\u2019t I convince you at\nthe time? Listen, Sally, I almost never see you alone. Enid seems to\nhave an antiquated leaning toward chaperonage.\u201d\n\u201cChaperons are \u2018coming in\u2019 again,\u201d Sally laughed at him, hiding her\ndistaste. \u201cMother adores being a leader of fashion, you know.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re so adorable tonight that I want to run away with you,\u201d Van told\nher boldly. \u201cBut I\u2019ll try to be content if you\u2019ll promise me to come to\nmy apartment alone for tea tomorrow. Do, Sally! I\u2019ve something to tell\nyou. Can you guess?\u201d\nShe stiffened, every nerve on the defensive against him. But she\nremembered her resolution, and nodded slowly, her head tucked on one\nside, her eyes granting him a swift, shy upward glance.\n\u201cIf you look at me like that again, I\u2019ll kiss you right here on the\ndance floor!\u201d Van threatened exultantly, as his arms tightened about\nher.\nEnid\u2019s pathetic gratitude to her for being \u201cnice\u201d to Van Horne\nstrengthened the girl\u2019s resolution to carry it through. She dressed with\nespecial care for her tea date with Van the next afternoon, pinning the\ncorsage of Parma violets which he had sent her on the full shawl collar\nof her Russian squirrel coat.\nBut before she left her room she took the ring David had given her from\nthe box in which she had hidden it because the sight of it hurt her so\nintolerably, and kissed the shallow, flawed little sapphire with\npassionate grief.\n\u201cGoodby, David,\u201d she whispered to the ring, but inconsistently she\nthrust it into her dark-blue and gray leather handbag. No matter what\nsort of ring Van gave her, it could never be so precious to her as this\ncheap little ring that David had given her to mark their betrothal.\nShe had visited Van Horne\u2019s apartment once before with Enid, but as she\ngave the floor number to the elevator operator\u2014it was one of the most\nexclusive and expensive of the new Park Avenue apartment houses\u2014she\nthought she saw a gleam of amusement in the man\u2019s eyes.\nAlmost as soon as her finger had pressed the bell the door was opened by\nVan himself, Van in a black and maroon silk dressing gown over\nimpeccable trousers and shirt. She was drawing back instinctively when\nhe laughed his low, mocking laugh and, seizing her hands, pulled her\nresisting body into the room.\n\u201cI think one reason I am so mad about you, Sally my darling, is that you\nare always fluttering out of my reach like a frightened bird. You are\nsuperb in a Lillian Gish role, but even Lillian Gish is captured and\ntamed before the end of the film. Like this!\u201d And he laughed exultingly\nas his arms encircled her quivering, fluttering little body, held it\ncrushingly against his breast.\nOnly her head was free to weave from side to side as his flushed,\nlaughing face came closer and closer. \u201cThe best kissing technique\nadvocates the closing of the eyes, darling,\u201d he gibed with tender\nmockery. \u201cAnd there is a point at which maidenly coyness ceases to be\ncharming. Now!\u201d\nShe submitted to his kiss then, but her lips were lax, unresponsive.\nWhen he released her, an angry glint in his eyes, she backed away,\ntouching her lips involuntarily with her handkerchief. \u201cPlease\ndon\u2019t\u2014kiss me again\u2014like that, Van,\u201d she quavered. \u201cNot yet. I\u2019ll marry\nyou, but you\u2019ll have to give me time to get used to\u2014you.\u201d\nThe blank amazement in his eyes made her voice falter lamely. Then he\nlaughed, a short bark that was utterly unlike the tenderly mocking\nlaughter which she had always inspired in him.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll _marry_ me?\u201d His voice was staccato with contempt. \u201cBy heaven,\nyour naivete is magnificent! You should be enshrined in a museum! Thanks\nfor your kind offer, Miss Barr, but I must confess, if your innocence\nwill stand the strain, that my intentions in regard to you did not\ninclude marriage. They were strictly dishonorable. When a Van Horne\nallows himself to be led to the altar, the successful huntress is a\nwoman who is at least socially worthy to be the mother of future Van\nHornes. There is as yet no bar sinister on our coat of arms....\n\u201cNo, walk, not run, to the nearest exit.\u201d He barked his new, ugly laugh\nat her as Sally was backing hurriedly toward the door, her body hunched\nas if his words had been actual blows, her face ghastly white. \u201cYou are\nentirely free to go, with my blessing! I am rather a connoisseur at\nkissing and I have just suffered a grievous disappointment. At the risk\nof appearing ungallant, I am forced to admit that you would have bored\nme intolerably if you had consented to \u2018trust me and give me all\u2019 in\nexchange for my silence in regard to your birth. Goodby, Sally\u2014and good\nluck.\u201d\nCHAPTER XIX\nSomehow she made her way home, crept painfully, like a mortally wounded\nanimal, up the circular staircase to her room. Bracing her shaking hands\non her dressing table, she stared at her reflection in the mirror as if\nshe had never seen that white-faced, enormous-eyed, stricken girl\nbefore.\nThen horror and loathing of herself swept over her with such force that\nher knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. As she fell her hand\nknocked from the dressing table a copy of The Capital City Press, for\nwhich she was still subscribing, over her mother\u2019s protest, to glean\nsparse news of David.\nShe shuddered as the roll bounced from her knees but in another moment\nher sick eyes flamed with new life, for half-revealed by the folding of\nthe sheets was an unmistakable picture of the boy she still loved.\nHer trembling fingers gouged at the wrapper. Why was _his_ picture on\nthe front page? Was he in trouble? Hurt? Or\u2014married?\nSally, crouching on the floor of her room, spread the crackling sheets\nof The Capital City Press, her eyes devouring the two-column picture of\nDavid Nash. Two lines of type above the photograph leaped out at her:\n\u201cHonor graduate of A. & M. inherits grandfather\u2019s farm.\u201d\nHe hadn\u2019t been injured or killed in an accident, he wasn\u2019t married! In a\nfrenzy of relief and gratitude to the God she had just been accusing of\ndeserting her, Sally Barr, who had been Sally Ford, bent her head until\nher lips rested on the lips of the photograph. And it was rather a pity\nthat Arthur Van Horne, \u201cconnoisseur of kissing,\u201d was not there to see\nthe passionate fervor of the kisses which the girl whom he had dismissed\ncontemptuously was raining upon an unresponsive newspaper picture.\nWhen at last she was calmer she read the short item through. It was the\nlast paragraph that brought her to her feet, her slight body electric\nwith sudden determination:\n\u201cYoung Nash is living alone in the fine old farmhouse, and apparently is\nas capable in the kitchen as on the seat of a cultivator. He says his\nwhole heart is in scientific farming, and that his only sweetheart is\n\u2018Sally,\u2019 a blue-ribbon heifer which he is grooming to break the world\u2019s\nbutter-fat production record.\u201d\n\u201cDavid! Darling David!\u201d she was laughing and crying at the same time.\n\u201cHe hasn\u2019t changed! He hasn\u2019t forgotten that we\u2019re half-married!\u201d\nJerking open a drawer of her dressing table she caught sight of her face\nin the mirror, and her eyes widened with delighted surprise. Gone was\nthe pinched, white, shame-stricken face, and in its place was beauty\nsuch as she had never dreamed she possessed. She turned away from the\nmirror, tremulous and abashed, for what she had to do would not be easy.\nHer eyes tried to avoid the exquisite photograph of her mother that\nstood in its blue leather frame on the dressing table, but at last she\nsnatched it up and carried it against her breast as she ran to her desk.\nShe felt that she was talking to Enid as she wrote, pleading for\nunderstanding and forgiveness from those dreaming, misty,\ncornflower-blue eyes:\n\u201cMother, darling: I\u2019m running away, to go to David. Please don\u2019t try to\nstop me or bring me back, for I\u2019ll have to run away again if you do. I\u2019m\ngoing to marry David because I love him with all my heart and because he\nis the only man I could ever marry without causing you shame. He already\nknows the truth, and it made no difference in his love for me. You know\nhow it was with Grant Proctor. You said yourself that if I told him, he\nwould not want to marry me. And I could never marry a man without first\ntelling him the truth. Arthur Van Horne knew and wanted me to be his\nmistress. He told me today. He did not think I was good enough to be his\nwife. It would always be the same. And so I am going to David, who knows\nand loves me anyway.\n\u201cOh, Mother, forgive me for hurting you like this! But don\u2019t you see\nthat I would hurt you more by staying? After a while you would be\nashamed of me because I could not marry. I would humiliate you in the\neyes of your friends. And I could not be happy ever, away from David. I\nwanted to die after Arthur Van Horne told me today what he really wanted\nof me, but now I know I want to live\u2014with David. Please, Mother, don\u2019t\nthink my love for you\u2014\u201d\nShe could write no more just then. Laying her hot cheek against the cold\nglass of the framed photograph of her mother she sobbed so loudly, so\nheart-brokenly that she did not hear a knock upon the door, did not know\nher grief was being witnessed until she felt a hand upon her shoulder.\n\u201cSally, darling! What in the world is the matter?\u201d It was Enid Barr\u2019s\ntender, throaty contralto.\nSally sprang to her feet, her eyes wild with fear, her mother\u2019s picture\nstill tightly clutched in her hands. \u201cI\u2014I was writing you a letter!\u201d she\ngasped. \u201cI\u2014I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps I\u2019d better read it now,\u201d Enid said in an odd voice, and reached\nfor the scattered sheets of pale gray notepaper on the desk.\nSally wavered to a chair and slumped into it, too dazed with despair to\nthink coherently. She could not bear to look at her mother, for she knew\nnow how cowardly she had been, how abysmally selfish.\nHer flaming face was hidden by her hands when, after what seemed many\nlong minutes, she heard her mother\u2019s voice again:\n\u201cPoor Sally! You couldn\u2019t trust me? You\u2019d have run away\u2014like that?\nWithout giving me a chance to prove my love for you?\u201d\nSally dropped her hands and stared stupidly at her mother. Enid was\ncoming toward her, the newspaper with David\u2019s picture in it rustling\nagainst the crisp taffeta of her bouffant skirt. And on Enid\u2019s face was\nan expression of such sorrowful but loving reproach that Sally burst\ninto wild weeping.\n\u201cPoor little darling!\u201d Enid dropped to her knees beside Sally\u2019s chair\nand took the girl\u2019s cold, shaking hands in hers. \u201cWe all make mistakes,\nSally. I\u2019ve made more than my share. Maybe I\u2019m getting old enough now to\nhave a little wisdom. And I want to keep you from making a mistake that\nwould cause both of us\u2014and Court\u2014untold sorrow.\u201d\n\u201cBut I love David and I shan\u2019t love anyone else,\u201d Sally sobbed, though\nshe knew her resistance was broken.\n\u201cI\u2019m forced to believe that now, darling,\u201d Enid said gently. \u201cAnd I\nshall not stand in the way of your happiness with him. That is not the\nmistake I meant.\u201d\n\u201cYou mean that you\u2019ll let me marry him?\u201d Sally cried incredulously. \u201cOh,\nMother! I love you so!\u201d\n\u201cAnd I love you, Sally.\u201d Enid\u2019s voice broke and she cuddled Sally\u2019s cold\nhands against the velvety warmth of her own throat. \u201cYour mistake would\nhave been to run away to marry David. You have a mother and father now,\nSally. You\u2019re no longer a girl alone, as David called you. You have a\nplace in society as our daughter, whether you want it or not. If David\nwants to marry you, he must come here to do so, must marry you with our\nconsent and blessing.\u201d\n\u201cBut\u2014\u201d Sally\u2019s joy suddenly turned to despair again. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t marry\na girl with a fortune. He told me so when he was here.\u201d\n\u201cThat was when he was penniless himself,\u201d Enid pointed out. \u201cI\u2019ve just\nread this newspaper story about his inheriting his grandfather\u2019s farm.\nIt\u2019s a small fortune in itself, and since there\u2019s no immediate danger of\nyour inheriting either my money or Court\u2019s, I don\u2019t believe he will let\nyour prospective wealth stand in the way\u2014if he loves you.\u201d\n\u201cOh, he does!\u201d Sally laughed through her tears. \u201cLook!\u201d She snatched the\nnewspaper from the floor and pointed to the last paragraph of the story\nabout David. \u201cHe named his prize heifer after me! It says here his only\nsweetheart is \u2018Sally\u2019! Oh, Mother, I didn\u2019t know anyone could live\nthrough such misery and such happiness as I felt today! I wanted to kill\nmyself after Van\u2014Oh!\u201d\n\u201cTell me just exactly what he said to you!\u201d Enid commanded, her lovely\nvoice sharpened with anger and fear.\nWhen Sally had repeated the contemptuous, sneering speech as accurately\nas possible, her mother\u2019s face, which had been almost ugly with anger,\ncleared miraculously.\n\u201cThe man is an unspeakable cad, darling, but I am almost glad it\nhappened, since you escaped unscathed. He won\u2019t bother us again. I\u2019m\nsure of it! He is not quite low enough to gossip about me to my friends.\nIt is evident that he planned all along to use his knowledge as a club\nto force you to submit to his desires. And now that he doesn\u2019t want you\nany more, he will lose interest in the whole subject. I\u2019ve known Van\nnearly all my life and I\u2019ve never known him to act the cad before. He\u2019s\nprobably despising himself, now that his fever has cooled. If you marry\nDavid with our consent, he\u2019ll probably turn up at your wedding and offer\nsincere congratulations with a whispered reassurance as to his ability\nto keep our secret.\u201d\n\u201c_When_ I marry David, not if!\u201d Sally cried exultantly, flinging her\narms about her mother\u2019s neck. \u201cOh, I\u2019m so glad I have a mother!\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t strangle me!\u201d Enid laughed. \u201cLeave me strength to write a\nproposal of marriage to this cocksure young farmer who brags that he is\nas capable in the kitchen as on the seat of a cultivator!\u201d\n\u201cHe can\u2019t cook half as well as I can!\u201d Sally scoffed. \u201cYou ought to\ntaste one of my apple pies! He can play nurse to his blue-ribbon stock\nall he wants to, but he\u2019s got to let me do the cooking! And, Mother,\nyou\u2019ll tell him how much I love him, won\u2019t you? And\u2014and you might remind\nhim that we only need half a marriage ceremony\u2014the last half. Wouldn\u2019t\nit be fun if we could go back to Canfield and let \u2018the marrying parson\u2019\nfinish the job?\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t be too confident!\u201d Enid warned her. \u201cHe may refuse you!\u201d But at\nsight of Sally\u2019s dismay she relented. \u201cI know he loves you, darling.\nDon\u2019t worry. If I were you I\u2019d get busy immediately on a trousseau.\u201d\n\u201cOne dozen kitchen aprons will top the list,\u201d Sally laughed.\nFour days later the second telegram that Sally had received from David\narrived. \u201cCatching next train East, darling. Happiest man in the world.\nCan we be married day I arrive? Am wiring your blessed mother also. I\u2019ll\nbe loving you always. David.\u201d\n\u201cOf course you can\u2019t be married the day he arrives!\u201d Enid exclaimed\nindignantly when Sally showed her the telegram. \u201cI\u2019m going to give you a\nreal wedding.\u201d\n\u201cI think the children are right, Enid.\u201d Courtney Barr unexpectedly\nchampioned Sally in her protest. \u201cA quiet impromptu wedding, by all\nmeans. Our announcement to the papers will indicate that we approve, and\nsince the boy is unknown in New York and Sally has only just been\nintroduced, I think the less fuss the better.\u201d\nSally kissed him impulsively, aware, though the knowledge did not hurt\nher, that he liked her better now that she was to leave his home, than\nhe had ever liked her. David arrived on Monday, and was guest of honor\nthat night at a small party of Enid\u2019s and Sally\u2019s most intimate friends,\nat which time announcement of the forthcoming marriage was made. They\nremembered having seen him briefly at Sally\u2019s coming-out party and so\nhandsome he was, so much at ease, now that he was to be married to the\ngirl he loved, that it occurred to none of Enid\u2019s guests to question his\neligibility. Sally, sitting proudly beside him, looked happily from her\nmother to David, knew that in gaining a husband she was not losing a\nmother, as she would have done if Enid had not interrupted the writing\nof that terrible letter.\nOn Tuesday Sally and David, accompanied by Enid and Courtney Barr, went\nto the municipal building for the marriage license, and the afternoon\npapers carried the news on the front pages, under such headlines as:\n\u201cPopular Deb to Marry Rich Farmer.\u201d But in all the stories there was no\nhint of scandal, no reportorial prying into the \u201cpast\u201d of the adopted\ndaughter of the rich and prominent Courtney Barrs.\nThe wedding took place on Wednesday, in the drawing-room of the Barrs\u2019\nFifth Avenue mansion, and the next morning, in his account of the \u201cvery\nquiet\u201d wedding, a society editor commented: \u201cThe ceremony was read by\nthe Reverend Horace Greer, of Canfield, \u2014\u2014, the choice of celebrant\nbeing dictated by unexplained sentiment.\u201d\nWhat the society editor did not know was that \u201cthe marrying parson\u201d of\nCanfield spoke only the last half of the marriage service, beginning\nwhere he had been interrupted nearly three years before.\nSally and David were no longer \u201chalf married.\u201d\nTHE END\nDon\u2019t Stop Here!\nThere are more stories that will thrill and fascinate you for the same\nunprecedented low cost.\nWhat greater measure of enjoyment can be gleaned from any source than\nfrom good books? They remove all boundaries, stimulate the imagination\nand banish dull care. They lift you out of every-day drudgeries and grim\nrealities of life and transport you into the realms of fancy and\nromance.\nConsult the following pages for other White House novels that are\nguaranteed to please.\nWHIRLWIND\nBy Eleanor Early\nAuthor of Orchid\nSybil Thorne was 18 when she first got herself talked about. A creature\nof moods and tempers, beautiful, headstrong, believing herself a war\nbride, she vowed never to marry again. Yet, after promising Craig\nNewhall to marry him, the man who told her he could never be jealous of\na dead man, she impetuously married a man she had known but a few days\naboard a steamer for Havana.\nDisillusioned after a few days\u2019 romance, she returns without her\nhusband. She does not hear from him until Fate throws her into his path\nagain as he is about to leave with her sister-in-law. On the day she\ngets her divorce, he is killed in an accident. That night \u201cshe put on a\ndress of flame and went to the Follies.\u201d\nAlmost having decided finally to marry Craig, back from the grave came\nher soldier boy sweetheart. Sybil finally finds her happiness, but only\nafter the greatest tragedy of her life.\nWhite House Novels Are An Outstanding Value\nGOOD GIRL\nBy Roy L. Foley\nThe greatest mystery in Nancy Deane\u2019s life was herself. Scarcely a day\npassed that she did not say, \u201cI wonder who I really am.\u201d\nThen one day Nancy not only found out with crashing suddenness but she\nalso lost her job.\nWhich meant she had to look for work in spite of the fact that she was\none of the prominent Deanes.\nIn quest of a job she is thrown into strange company for her but not so\nstrange in this jazz-mad, gin-drinking age.\nNancy is a beautiful girl and as a result runs the whole gamut of\nexperiences that would beset a beautiful young lady from a small town.\nAs Ginger Varden, sophisticated but big hearted, said, \u201cListen about the\ngirl who didn\u2019t know she had \u2018it\u2019.\u201d\nFor the Stories You Like, Read White House Novels\nTHE YELLOW STUB\nBy Ernest Lynn\nA furious tale of modern crime, involving a clash between a resolved\nyouth and modern gangdom. A fast, intriguing expos\u00e9 of organized crime\nin a large city, with its many ramifications and a plot that defies\nsolution until the breath-taking climax, written by a newspaper reporter\nwho knows his underworld.\nA staid, respectable citizen of Grafton is found murdered in the most\ndisreputable hotel in town. The community and the victim\u2019s family are\nnot only shocked but his family is also faced with disgrace because in\nthe murdered man\u2019s room is found a woman\u2019s handkerchief.\nThere is one other clue\u2014The Yellow Stub\u2014which proves to be the key link\nin an amazing chain of mystery and which plays the principal part in\nremoving the cloud which might have hung forever over the dead man\u2019s\nmemory.\nWith this slender clue, alone and armed only with the weapons of courage\nand persistence, the murdered man\u2019s son sets out to solve the mystery\nand avenge his father\u2019s slayers. He is led into a vicious labyrinth of\nwidely ramified modern gangdom, with danger and death lurking in every\nshadow, with unbridled passions ruled by avarice and hate.\nHis task is complicated by two beautiful women, but Jim Rand succeeds in\nhis mission, with a climax as surprising as it is dramatic.\nA stirring story of the triumph of clean youth over safely entrenched,\norganized crime, with a thrill on every page.\nWhite House Novels Are Guaranteed to Please\nRIVAL WIVES\nBy Anne Austin\nAuthor of \u201cDaughters of Midas,\u201d \u201cThe Black Pigeon,\u201d and \u201cThe Avenging\nParrot\u201d\nNan Carroll was Attorney John Morgan\u2019s capable private secretary ...\n\u201cAlmost a junior partner in the firm,\u201d insisted Willis Todd, Nan\u2019s only\nboy friend. It was Willis, too, who made Nan realize that she was in\nlove with Morgan, Morgan who idolized his beautiful selfish wife, Iris.\nShocked at finding herself in love with a married man, Nan decided to\nresign her position.\nCircumstances made this impossible, however, and before she could carry\nout her resolve, a swift series of thrilling happenings threatened to\nchange the course of six lives.\nHere are characters you will recognize as real, faced with problems of\nabsorbing interest. Romance and marriage, mother love and heartlessness,\nwoven together to produce a story genuinely thrilling.\nAnne Austin has succeeded in writing another story of compelling\ninterest. When you learn the problems that face the figures in this\nbook, you will want to read the solution.\nWrite for Our Complete List\nTHE BLAZING HORIZON\nBy Ernest Lynn\nThe True Story of Pawnee Bill\nA thrilling, red-blooded tale of a picturesque character against the\nbackground of hell-roaring towns where men drank, quarreled, killed and\nwent about their business; of primeval passions ruling the hearts of men\nwho blazed the path of an Empire; a true story of the early days of the\nSouthwest.\nGordon Lillie, as Pawnee Bill, the hero of countless men and boys of\nthis and past generations, stood in the doorway of the restaurant in\nCaldwell one Saturday afternoon. Before him were cattle thieves, horse\nthieves, Indians, desperadoes, women with hard eyes and painted cheeks.\nHe stood on the threshold of a career that was to be one of the most\ncolorful and stirring in the annals of the glamorous Southwest.\nMore than a novel because far stranger than fiction, THE BLAZING HORIZON\nis an authentic account of the opening of Oklahoma, a swift and vivid\nrecital of the struggle of thousands to gain a niche in the blazing\nhorizon.\nStarting in the eighties, it carries one on a wave of breathless\nexcitement through the great rush of the Boomers, 50,000 strong, who\nstormed their way into the new territory; through days of hardships and\nadventure; through hair-raising episodes of courage and chivalry;\nthrough all the pains of the birth of a new country.\nAgainst this picturesque background, Ernest Lynn here pictures a\ndelightful romance, written after months of patient first-hand research\ntracing the career of Pawnee Bill and the birth of Oklahoma.\nAsk Your Dealer for a List of White House Novels\nJEALOUS WIVES\nBy Ernest Lynn\nAuthor of \u201cThe Blazing Horizon,\u201d \u201cThe Yellow Stub\u201d\nShould there be a single standard of morals for men and women? Should a\nwife convict a husband on circumstantial evidence? Is a woman\u2019s\nintuition always right?\nIn JEALOUS WIVES is one married couple who preach the single standard\nfrom the angle that each may participate in personal freedom without\nobjection from the other. But, once put in practice, the agreement ends\nin disaster.\nThen there are two main characters who believe in the single standard;\nthat each shall live only for the other. And that marriage succeeds only\nafter a near-disaster when the husband makes only a timid attempt at\nflirtation.\nA vivid, fast story of the present day.\nConsult Our List for Charming Love Stories and Thrilling Mysteries\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIRL ALONE ***\nA Word from Project Gutenberg\nWe will update this book if we find any errors.\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no one\nowns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and\nyou!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission\nand without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth in the\nGeneral Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and\ndistributing Project Gutenberg\u2122 electronic works to protect the Project\nGutenberg\u2122 concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered\ntrademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you\nreceive specific permission. 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{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Judith Of The Plains\nby Marie Manning\nHarper & Brothers Publishers\nNew York And London\nCopyright, 1903. By Harper & Brothers\nPrinted In The United States Of America\n[Illustration: Peter\u2019s Hand Sought Hers, And All Her Woman\u2019s Fear Of\nThe Vague Terrors Of The Dreadful Night Spoke In Her Answering\nPressure.]\nContents\n CHAPTER I. \u201cTown\u201d\n CHAPTER II. The Encounter\n CHAPTER III. Leander And His Lady\n CHAPTER IV. Judith, The Postmistress\n CHAPTER V. The Trail Of Sentiment\n CHAPTER VI. A Daughter Of The Desert\n CHAPTER VII. Chugg Takes The Ribbons\n CHAPTER VIII. The Rodneys At Home\n CHAPTER IX. Mrs. Yellett And Her \u201cGov\u2019ment\u201d\n CHAPTER X. On Horse-thief Trail\n CHAPTER XI. The Cabin In The Valley\n CHAPTER XII. The Round-up\n CHAPTER XIII. Mary\u2019s First Day In Camp\n CHAPTER XIV. Judith Adjusts The Situation\n CHAPTER XV. The Wolf-hunt\n CHAPTER XVI. In The Land Of The Red Silence\n CHAPTER XVII. Mrs. Yellett Contends With A Cloudburst\n CHAPTER XVIII. Foreshadowed\n CHAPTER XIX. \u201cRocked By A Hempen String\u201d\n CHAPTER XX. The Ball\nJudith Of The Plains\nI.\n\u201cTown\u201d\nIt was June, and a little past sunrise, but there was no hint of early\nsummer freshness in the noxious air of the sleeping-car as it toiled\nlike a snail over the infinity of prairie. From behind the\ngreen-striped curtains of the berths, now the sound of restless turning\nand now a long-drawn sigh signified the uneasy slumber due to stifling\nair and discomfort.\nThe only passenger stirring was a girl whose youth drooped under the\nunfavorable influences of foul air, fatigue, and a strained anxiety to\ncome to the end of this fateful journey. She had been up while it was\nyet dark, and her hand\u2014luggage, locked, strapped, and as pitifully new\nat the art of travelling as the girl herself, clustered about the hem\nof her blue serge skirt like chicks about a hen. The engine shrieked,\nbut its voice sounded weak and far off in that still ocean of space;\nthe girl tightened her grasp on the largest of the satchels and looked\nat the approaching porter tentatively.\n\u201cWe\u2019re late twenty-fi\u2019e minutes,\u201d he reassured her, with the hopeless\npatience of one who has lost heart in curbing travellers\u2019 enthusiasms.\nShe turned towards the window a pair of shoulders plainly significant\nof the burdensome last straw.\n\u201cFour days and nights in this train\u201d\u2014they were slower in those\ndays\u2014\u201cand now this extra twenty-five minutes!\u201d\nMiss Carmichael\u2019s famous dimple hid itself in disgust. The demure lines\nof mouth and chin, that could always be relied upon for special\npleading when sentence was about to be passed on the dimple by those\nwho disapproved of dimples, drooped with disappointment. But the\nlight-brown hair continued to curl facetiously\u2014it was the sort of hair\nwhose spontaneous rippling conveys to the seeing eye a sense of humor.\nThe train plodded across the spacious vacancy that unrolled itself\nfarther and farther in quest of the fugitive horizon. The scrap of view\nthat came within a closer range of vision spun past the car windows\nlike a bit of stage mechanism, a gigantic panorama rotating to simulate\na race at breakneck speed. But Miss Carmichael looked with unseeing\neyes; the whirling prairie with its golden flecks of cactus bloom was\nbut part of the universal strangeness, and the dull ache of\nhomesickness was in it all.\n\u201cMy dear! my dear!\u201d\u2014a head in crimpers was thrust from between the\ncurtains of the section opposite\u2014\u201cI\u2019ve been awake half the night. I was\nso afraid I wouldn\u2019t see you before you got off.\u201d\nThe head was followed, almost instinctively, by a hand travelling\nfurtively to the crimpers that gripped the lady\u2019s brow like barnacles\nclinging to a keel.\nMary expressed a grieved appreciation at the loss of rest in behalf of\nher early departure, and conspicuously forbore to glance in the\ndirection of the barnacles, that being a first principle as between\nwoman and woman.\n\u201cAnd, oh, my dear, it gets worse and worse. I\u2019ve looked at it this\nmorning, and it\u2019s worse in Wyoming than it was in Colorado. What it \u2019ll\nbe before I reach California, I shudder to think.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s bound to improve,\u201d suggested Mary, with the easy optimism of one\nwho was leaving it. \u201cIt couldn\u2019t be any worse than this, could it?\u201d\nThe neuter pronoun, it might be well to state, signified the prairie;\nits melancholy personality having penetrated the very marrow of their\ntrain existence, they had come to refer to it by the monosyllable, as\nin certain nether circles the head of the house receives his\nsuperlative distinction in \u201cHe.\u201d\nAgain the locomotive shrieked, again the girl mechanically clutched the\nsuit-case, as presenting the most difficult item in the problem of\ntransportation, and this time the shriek was not an idle formality. The\ntrain slowed down; the uneasy sleepers behind the green-striped\ncurtains stirred restlessly with the lessening motion of their uncouth\ncradle. The porter came to help her, with the chastened mien of one\nwhose hopes of largess are small, the lady with the barnacles called\nafter her redundant farewells, and a moment later Miss Carmichael was\nstanding on the station platform looking helplessly after the train\nthat toiled and puffed, yet seemed, in that crystalline atmosphere,\nstill within arm\u2019s-reach. She watched it till its floating pennant of\nsmoke was nothing but a gray feather blowing farther and farther out of\nsight on the flat prairie.\nThe town\u2014it would be unkind to mention its name\u2014had made merry the\nnight before at the comprehensive invitation of a sheepman who had just\ndisposed of his wool-clip, and who said, by way of general summons,\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use of temptin\u2019 the bank?\u201d \u201cTown,\u201d therefore, when Mary\nCarmichael first made its acquaintance, was still sleeping the sleep of\nthe unjust. Those among last night\u2019s roisterers who had had to make an\nearly start for their camps were well into the foot-hills by this time,\nand would remember with exhilaration the cracked tinkle of the\ndance-hall piano as inspiring music when the lonesomeness of the desert\nmenaced and the young blood again clamored for its own.\n\u201cTown\u201d\u2014it contained in all some two dozen buildings\u2014was very unlovely\nin slumber. It sprawled in the lap of the prairies, a grimy-faced\nurchin, with the lines of dismal sophistication writ deep. Yet where in\nall the \u201chealth resorts\u201d of the East did air sweep from the clean\nhill-country with such revivifying power? It seemed a glad world of\nabiding youth. Surely \u201cTown\u201d was but a dreary illusion, a mirage that\nhung in the unmapped spaces of this new world that God had made and\ncalled good; an omen of the abominations that men would make when they\ngrew blind to the beauty of God\u2019s world.\nMary Carmichael, with much the feelings of a cat in a strange garret,\nwandered about the sluggard town; and presently the blue-and-white sign\nof a telegraph office, with the mythological figure of a hastening\nmessenger, suggested to her that a reassuring telegram was only Aunt\nAdelaide\u2019s due. Whereupon she began to rap on the door of the office, a\nscared pianissimo which naturally had little effect on the operator,\nwho was at home and asleep some three blocks distant. But the West is\nthe place for woman if she would be waited upon. No seven-to-one ratio\nof the sexes has tempered the chivalry of her sons of the saddle. A\nloitering something in a sombrero saw rather than heard the rapping,\nand, at the sight, went in quest of the dreaming operator without so\nmuch as embarrassing Miss Carmichael with an offer of his services. And\npresently the operator, whose official day did not begin for some two\nhours yet, appeared, much dishevelled from running and the cursory\nnature of his toilet, prepared to receive a message of life and death.\nThe wire to Aunt Adelaide ran:\n\u201cPractically at end of journey. Take stage to Lost Trail this morning.\nAm well. Don\u2019t worry about me.\n\u201cMARY.\u201d\nAnd the telegraph operator, dimly remembering that he had heard Lost\nTrail was a \u201cpizen mean country,\u201d and that it was tucked some two\nhundred miles back in the foot-hills, did not find it very hard to\nforgive the girl, who was \u201cpractically at end of journey,\u201d particularly\nas the dimple had come out of hiding, and he had never been called upon\nto telegraph the word \u201cpractically\u201d before. He was a progressive man\nand liked to extend his experiences.\nAfter sending the telegram, Miss Carmichael, quite herself by reason of\nthe hill air, felt that she was getting along famously as a traveller,\nbut that it was an expensive business, and she was glad to be\n\u201cpractically\u201d at the end of her journey. And, drawing from her pocket a\nsquare envelope of heavy Irish linen, a little worn from much reading,\nbut primarily an envelope that bespoke elegance of taste on the part of\nher correspondent, she read:\n\u201cLOST TRAIL, WYOMING.\n\u201cMy Dear Miss Carmichael,\u2014Pray let me assure you of my gratification\nthat the preliminaries have been so satisfactorily arranged, and that\nwe are to have you with us by the end of June. The children are\nprofiting from the very anticipation of it, and it will be most\nrefreshing to all us isolated ones to be able to welcome an Eastern\ngirl as a member of our family.\n    \u201cAlthough the long journey across the continent is trying,\n    particularly to one who has not made it before, I hope you may not\n    find it utterly fatiguing. Please remember that after leaving the\n    train, it will be necessary to take a stage to Lost Trail. If it is\n    possible, I shall meet you with the buckboard at one of the stage\n    stations; otherwise, keep to the stage route, being careful to\n    change at Dax\u2019s Ranch.\n    \u201cUnfortunately, the children vary so in their accomplishments that\n    I fear I can make no suggestions as to what you may need to bring\n    with you in the way of text-books. But I think you will find them\n    fairly well grounded.\n    \u201cI had a charming letter from Mrs. Kirkland, who said the\n    pleasantest things possible of you. I am glad the wife of our\n    Senator was able conscientiously to commend us.\n    \u201cWith our most cordial good wishes for a safe journey, believe me,\n    dear Miss Carmichael,\n\u201cSincerely yours,\n    \u201cSARAH YELLETT.\u201d\nIn the mean time, \u201cTown\u201d came yawning to breakfast. It was not so\nprankish as it had been the night before, when it accepted the\nsheepman\u2019s broad-gauge hospitality and made merry till the sun winked\nfrom behind the mountains. It made its way to the low, shedlike\neating-house with a pre-breakfast solemnity bordering on sulkiness. Not\na petticoat was in sight to offset the spurs and sombreros that filed\ninto breakfast from every point in the compass, prepared to eat\nprimitively, joke broadly, and quarrel speedily if that sensitive and\noften inconsistent something they called honor should be brushed\nhowever lightly.\nBut the eternal feminine was within, and, discovering it, the temper of\n\u201cTown\u201d was changed; it ate self-consciously, made jokes meet for the\nears of ladies, and was more interested in the girl in the sailor-hat\nthan it was in remembering old feuds or laying the foundations of new.\nIn its interior aspect, the eating-house conveyed no subtle invitation\nto eat, drink, and be merry. On the contrary, its mission seemed to be\nthat of confounding appetite at every turn. A long, shedlike room it\nwas, with walls of unpainted pine, still sweating from the axe.\nFestoons of scalloped paper, in conflicting shades, hung from the\nceiling, a menace to the taller of the guests. On the rough walls some\none, either prompted by a latent spirit of \u00e6stheticism or with an idea\nof abetting the town towards merrymaking\u2014an encouragement it hardly\nrequired\u2014had tacked posters of shows, mainly representing the\ntank-and-sawmill school of drama.\nMiss Carmichael sat at the extreme end of the long, oilcloth-covered\ntable, on which a straggling army of salt and pepper shakers, catsup\nbottles, and divers commercial condiments seemed to pause in a\ndiscouraged march. A plague of flies was on everything, and the food\nwas a threat to the hardiest appetite. One man summed up the steak\nwith, \u201cYou got to work your jaw so hard to eat it that it ain\u2019t fair to\nthe next meal.\u201d\nHis neighbor heaved a sigh. \u201cThis here formation, whatever it be\u201d\u2014and\nhe turned the meat over for better inspection\u2014\u201cdo shore remind me of an\nindestructible doll that an old maid aunt of mine giv\u2019 my sister when\nwe was kids. That doll sort of challenged me, settin\u2019 round oncapable\no\u2019 bein\u2019 destroyed, and one day I ups an\u2019 has a chaw at her. She war\nondestructible, all right; \u2019fore that I concluded my speriments I had\nleft a couple o\u2019 teeth in her.\u201d\n\u201cWell, I discyards the steak and draw to a pair of aces,\u201d and the first\nman helped himself to a couple of biscuits.\nMiss Carmichael knew, by the continual scraping of chairs across the\ngritty floor, that the places at the table must be nearly all taken;\nand while she anticipated, with an utterly unreasonable terror, any\nfurther invasion of her seclusion at the end of the table, still she\ncould not persuade herself to raise her eyes to detect the progress of\nthe enemy, even in the interest of the diary she had kept so\nconscientiously for the past three days; which was something of a loss\nto the diary, as those untamed, manly faces were well worth looking at.\nReckless they were in many instances, and sometimes the lines of\nhardship were cruelly writ across young faces that had not yet lost the\ndown of adolescence, but there were humor and endurance and the courage\nthat knows how to make a crony of death and get right good sport from\nthe comradeship. Their faults were the faults of lusty, red-blooded\nyouth, and their virtues the open-handed generosity, the ready sympathy\nof those uncertain tilters at life who ride or fall in the tourney of a\nnew country.\nAt present, \u201cthe yearling,\u201d drinking her execrable coffee in an agony\nof embarrassment, weighed heavily on their minds. They would have liked\nto rise as a man and ask if there was anything they could do for her.\nBut as a glance towards the end of the table seemed to increase her\ndiscomfiture tenfold, they did the kindest and for them the most\ndifficult thing and looked in every direction but Miss Carmichael\u2019s.\nWith a delicacy of perception that the casual observer might not have\ngiven them credit for, they had refrained from taking seats directly\nopposite her, or those immediately on her right, which, as she occupied\nthe last seat at the table, gave her at least a small degree of\nseclusion.\nAs one after another of them came filing in, bronzed, rugged, radiating\na beauty of youth and health that no sketchy exigence of apparel could\nobscure, some one already seated at the table would put a foot on a\nchair opposite him and send it spinning out into the middle of the\nfloor as a hint to the new-comer that that was his reserved seat. And\nthe cow-puncher, sheep-herder, prospector, or man about \u201cTown,\u201d as the\ncase might be, would take the hint and the chair, leaving the petticoat\nseparated from the sombreros by a table-land of oilcloth and a range of\nfour chairs.\nBut now entered a man who failed to take the hint of the spinning\nchair. In fact, he entered the eating-house with the air of one who has\ndropped in casually to look for a friend and, incidentally, to eat his\nbreakfast. He stopped in the doorway, scanned the table with\ndeliberation, and started to make his way towards Mary Carmichael with\nsomething of a swagger. Some one kicked a chair towards him at the head\nof the table. Some one else nearly upset him with one before he reached\nthe middle, and the Texan remarked, quite audibly, as he passed:\n\u201cThe damned razor-back!\u201d\nBut the man made his way to the end of the table and drew out the chair\nopposite Miss Carmichael with a degree of assurance that precipitated\nthe rest of the table into a pretty pother.\nSuppose she should countenance his audacity? The fair have been known\nto succumb to the headlong force of a charge, when the persistence of a\nlong siege has failed signally. What figures they would cut if she\ndid!\u2014and Simpson, of all men! A growing tension had crept into the\natmosphere of the eating-house; knives and forks played but\nintermittently, and Mary, sitting at the end of the oilcloth-covered\ntable, felt intuitively that she was the centre of the brewing storm.\nOh, why hadn\u2019t she been contented to stay at home and make over her\nclothes and share the dwindling fortunes of her aunts, instead of\ncoming to this savage place?\n\u201cFrom the look of the yearling\u2019s chin, I think he\u2019ll get all that\u2019s\ncoming to him,\u201d whispered the man who had nearly upset him with the\nsecond chair.\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, pard. If I\u2019m any good at reading brands, she is as\nself-protective as the McKinley bill.\u201d\nThe man Simpson was not a pleasant vis-\u00e0-vis. He wore the same\npicturesque ruffianliness of apparel as his fellows, but the\nresemblance stopped there. He lacked their dusky bloom, their clearness\nof eye, the suppleness and easy flow of muscle that is the hall-mark of\nthese frontiersmen. He was fat and squat and had not the rich bronzing\nof wind, sun, and rain. His small, black eyes twinkled from his puffy,\nwhite face, like raisins in a dough-pudding.\nHe was ogling Mary amiably when the woman who kept the eating-house\nbrought him his breakfast. Mrs. Clark was a potent antidote for the\nprevailing spirit of romance, even in this woman-forsaken country. A\ngood creature, all limp calico, Roman nose, and sharp elbows, she\nbrought him his breakfast with an ill grace that she had not shown to\nthe others. The men about the table gave him scant greeting, but the\nabsence of enthusiasm didn\u2019t embarrass Simpson.\nHe lounged expansively on the table, regarding Miss Carmichael\nattentively meanwhile; then favored her with the result of his\nobservations, \u201cFrom the East, I take it.\u201d And the dumpling face screwed\ninto a smile whose mission was pacific.\nEvery knife and fork in the room suspended action in anxiety to know\nhow the \u201cyearling\u201d would take it. Would their chivalry, which strained\nat a gnat, be compelled to swallow such a conspicuous camel as the\nsuccess of Simpson? With the attitude he had taken towards the girl,\nthere had crept into the company an imperceptible change; deep-buried\nimpulses sprang to the surface. If a scoundrel like Simpson was going\nto try his luck, why shouldn\u2019t they? They didn\u2019t see a pretty girl once\nin a blue moon. With the advent of the green-eyed monster at the board,\neach man unconsciously became the rival of his neighbor.\nBut Miss Carmichael merely continued her breakfast, and if she heard\nthe amiable deductions of Simpson regarding her, she gave no sign. But\na rebuff to him was in the nature of an appetizer, a fillip to press\nthe acquaintance. He encroached a bit farther on the narrow limits of\nthe table and continued, \u201cNice weather we\u2019re having.\u201d\nMiss Carmichael gave her undivided attention to her coffee. The spurs\nand sombreros, that had not relaxed a muscle in their strained\nobservation of the little drama, breathed reflectively. Perhaps it was\njust as well that they had not emulated Simpson in his brazen charge;\nthe \u201cyearling\u201d was not to be surprised into talking, that was certain.\n\u201cHe shore is showing hisself to be a friendly native,\u201d commented the\nman who had sacrificed milk-teeth investigating the indestructible\ndoll.\n\u201cSeems to me that the system he\u2019s playing lacks a heap of science. My\nmoney\u2019s on the yearling.\u201d And the man who had \u201cdiscarded the steak and\ndrawn to the biscuits\u201d leaned a little forward that he might better\nwatch developments.\nSimpson by this time fully realized his error, but failure before all\nthese bantering youngsters was a contingency not to be accepted\nlightly. As he phrased it to himself, it was worth \u201canother throw.\u201d\n\u201cSeems kind o\u2019 lonesome not having any one to talk to while you\u2019re\neatin\u2019, don\u2019t it?\u201d\nMiss Carmichael\u2019s air of perfect composure seemed a trifle out of tune\nwith her surroundings; the nice elevation of eyebrow, the slightly\nquestioning curl of the lip as she, for the first time apparently,\nbecame aware of the man opposite, seemed to demand a prim drawing-room\nrather than the atmosphere of the slouching eating-house.\n\u201cWell, really, I\u2019ve hardly had a chance of finding out.\u201d And her eyes\nwere again on her coffee-cup. And there was joy among the men at table\nthat they had not rushed in after the manner of those who have a\ngreater courage than the angels.\n\u201cNo offence meant,\u201d deprecated Simpson, with an uneasy glance towards\nthe other end of the table, where the men sat with necks craned forward\nin an attitude uncomfortably suggestive of hounds straining at the\nleash. Simpson felt rather than saw that something was afoot among the\nsombreros. There was a crowding together in whispered colloquy, and in\na flash some half-dozen of them were on their feet as a man. Descending\nupon Simpson, they lifted him, chair and all, to the other end of the\ntable, as far removed as possible from Miss Carmichael.\nThe man who thought Simpson\u2019s system lacked science rubbed his hands in\ndelight. \u201cShe took the trick all right; swept his hand clean off the\nboard!\u201d\nII.\nThe Encounter\nSimpson, from the seat to which he had been so rapidly transplanted,\nlooked about him with blinking anxiety. It was more than probable that\nthe boys intended \u201cto have fun with him,\u201d though his talking, or rather\ntrying to talk, to a girl that sat opposite him at an eating-house\ntable was, according to his ethics, plainly none of their business. He\nknew he wasn\u2019t popular since he had done for Jim Rodney\u2019s sheep, though\nthe crime had never been laid at his door, officially. He had his way\nto make, the same as the next one; and, all said and done, the\ncattle-men were glad to get Jim Rodney\u2019s sheep off the range, even if\nthey treated him as a felon for the part he had played in their\nextermination.\nThus reasoned Simpson, while he marked with an uneasy eye that the\ntemper of the company had grown decidedly prankish with the exit of the\ngirl, who, after having caused all the trouble, had, with an irritating\nquality peculiar to her sex, vanished through the kitchen door.\nSome three or four of the boys now ran to Simpson\u2019s former seat at the\ntable and rushed towards him with his half-eaten breakfast, as if the\nerrand had been one of life and death. They showered him with mock\nattentions, waiting on him with an exaggerated deference, and the pale,\nfat man, remembering the hideousness of some of their manifestations of\na sense of humor, breathed hard and felt a falling-off of appetite.\nCostigan, the cattle-man, a strapping Irish giant, was clearing his\nthroat with ominous sounds that suggested the tuning-up of a bass\nfiddle.\n\u201cSure, Simpson, me lad, if ye happen to have a matther av fifty\ndollars, \u2019tis mesilf that can tell ye av an illegint invistmint.\u201d\nSimpson looked up warily, but Costigan\u2019s broad countenance did not\nharbor the wraith of a smile. \u201cWhat kin I git for fifty chips? \u2019Tain\u2019t\nmuch,\u201d mused the pariah, with the prompt inclination to spend that\nstamps the comparative stranger to ready money.\n\u201cYe can git a parrut, man\u2014a grane parrut\u2014to kape ye coompany while\nye\u2019re aiting\u2014\u201d\nSimpson interrupted with an oath.\n\u201cDon\u2019t be hard on old Simmy; remember he\u2019s studied for the ministry!\nHow did I savey that Simpson aimed to be a sharp on doctrine?\u201d A\ncow-puncher with a squint addressed the table in general. \u201cI scents the\naroma of dogma about Simpson in the way he throwed his conversational\nlariat at the yearling. He urbanes at her, and then comes his\n\u2018firstly,\u2019 it being a speculation as to her late grazing-ground, which\nhe concludes to be the East. His \u2018secondly\u2019 ain\u2019t nothing startling,\nwords familiar to us all from our mother\u2019s knee\u2014\u2018nice weather\u2019\u2014the\ncongregation ain\u2019t visibly moved. His \u2018thirdly\u2019 is insinuating. In it\nhe hints that it ain\u2019t good for man to be alone at meals\u2014\u201d\n\u201c\u2019Twas the congregation that added the \u2018foinelly,\u2019 though, before\nhastily leaving be the back door!\u201d and Costigan slapped his thigh.\n\u201cThe gentleman in question don\u2019t seem to be makin\u2019 much use of his\npresent conversational opportunities. I\u2019m feelin\u2019 kinder turned down\nmyself\u201d; and the Texan began to look over his six-shooter.\nThe man with the squint looked up and down the board.\n\u201cGentlemen, I believe the foregoing expresses the sentiment of this\ncompany, which, while it incloodes many foreign and frequent-warring\nelements, is at present held together by the natchral tie of eating.\u201d\nThumping with knife and fork handles, stamping of feet, cries of \u201cHear!\nhear!\u201d with at least three cow-boy yells, argued well for a resumption\nof last night\u2019s festivities. Simpson glowered, but said nothing.\n\u201cSeems to me you-all goin\u2019 the wrong way \u2019bout drawin\u2019 Mistu\u2019 Simpson\nout. He is shy an\u2019 has to be played fo\u2019 like a trout, an\u2019 heah you-all\ncome at him like a cattle stampede.\u201d The big Texan leaned towards\nSimpson. \u201cNow you-all watch my methods. Mistu\u2019 Simpson, seh, what du\nthink of the prospects of rain?\u201d\nThere was a general recommendation from Simpson that the entire company\ngo to a locality below the rain-belt.\nA boy, plainly \u201cfrom the East,\u201d and looking as if the ink on his\ngraduating thesis had scarce had time to dry, was on his feet,\nswaggering; he would not have swapped his newly acquired _camaraderie_\nwith these bronzed Westerners for the Presidency.\n\u201cGentlemen, you have all heard Simpson say it is lonesome having no one\nto talk to during meals. We sympathized with him and offered him a\nchoice of subjects. He greets our remarks by a conspicuous silence,\nvaried by profanity. This, gentlemen, reflects on us, and is a matter\ndemanding public satisfaction. All who feel that their powers as\nconversationalists have been impugned by the silence of Simpson, please\nsay \u2018Ay.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cAy\u201d was howled, sung, and roared in every note of the gamut.\n\u201cIf me yoong frind here an me roight\u201d\u2014and Costigan jerked a shoulder\ntowards the boy\u2014\u201cwill be afther closin\u2019 that silf-feeding automatic\ndictionary av his for a moment, I shud be glad to call the attintion av\nthe coomp\u2019ny to somethin\u2019 in the nature av an ixtinuatin\u2019\ncircoomsthance in the case av Simpson.\u201d\n\u201cHear! hear!\u201d they shouted. The broad countenance of Costigan beamed\nwith joy at what he was about to say. \u201cGintlemin, the silence av Mr.\nSimpson is jew in all probabilitee to a certain ivint recalled by many\nhere prisint, an\u2019 more that\u2019s absent, an\u2019 amicablee settled out av\ncoort\u2014\u201d\nUp to this time the unhappy Simpson had shown an almost superhuman\nendurance. Now he bristled\u2014and after looking up and down the board for\na sympathetic face, and not finding one, he declared, loudly and\ngenerally, \u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t so!\u201d\n\u201cYe may have noticed that frind Simpson do be t\u2019reatened wid lockjaw in\nthe societee av min, but in the prisince av a female ye can\u2019t count on\nhim. Now, talk wid a female is an agreeable, if not a profitable, way\nav passin\u2019 the toime, but sure ye niver know where it will ind\u2014as\nwitness Simpson. This lady I\u2019m recallin\u2019\u2014\u2019tis a matther av two years\nago\u2014followed the ancient and honorable profission av biscuit shootin\u2019\nnot far from Caspar. Siz Simpson to the lady some such passin\u2019\ncivilitee as, \u2018Good-marnin\u2019; plisent weather we\u2019re havin\u2019.\u2019 Whereupon\nthe lady filt a damage to her affictions an\u2019 sued him for breach av\npromise.\u201d\n\u201c\u2019Twan\u2019t that way, at all!\u201d screamed Simpson. \u201c\u2019Sall a lie!\u201d\n\u201cYu ought er said \u2018Good-evenin\u2019\u2019 to the lady, Mistu Simpson; hit make a\ndiffunce,\u201d drawled the man from Texas, pleasantly.\n\u201cBut \u2019twas \u2018Good-marnin\u2019\u2019 Simpson made chyce av,\u201d resumed Costigan.\n\u201cAn\u2019 the lady replied, \u2018You\u2019ve broke my heart.\u2019 Whereupon Simpson,\nhavin\u2019 a matther av t\u2019ree thousand dollars to pay for his passin\u2019\ncivilitee, learned thot silince was goolden.\u201d\nThey all remembered the incident in question, and thundered applause at\nthe reappearance of an old favorite. Without warning, a shadow fell\nacross the sunlight-flooded room, and, as one after another of the men\nglanced up from the table, they saw standing in the doorway a man of\nsuch malignant aspect that his look fell across the company like a\nmenace. The swing of their banter slowed suddenly; it was as if the\ncold of a new-turned grave had struck across the June sunshine checking\ntheir roughshod fun. None of them had the hardihood to joke with a man\nthat stood in the shadow of death; and hate and murder looked from the\neyes of the man in the doorway and looked towards Simpson. One by one\nthey perceived the man of the shadow, all but Simpson, eating steak\ndrowned in Worcestershire.\nThe man in the doorway was tall and lean, and the prison blench upon\nhis face was in unpleasant contrast to the ruddy tan of the faces about\nthe table. His sombrero was tipped back and the hair hung dank about\nthe pale, sweating forehead, suggestive of sickness. But weak health\ndid not imply weak purpose; every feature in that hawk-like face was\nsharp with hatred, and in the narrowing eye was vengeance that is\nsweet.\nHe stood still; there was in his hatred a something hypnotic that grew\nimperceptibly and imperceptibly communicated itself to the men at\ntable. He gloated over the eating fat man as if he had dwelt much in\nimagination on the sight and was in no hurry to curtail his joy at the\nreality. The men began to get restless, shuffle their feet, moisten\ntheir lips; only the college boy spoke, and then from a wealth of\nignorance, knowing nothing of the rugged, give-and-take justice of the\nplains\u2014an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and the law and the\ncourts go hang while a man\u2019s got a right arm to pull a trigger. Not one\nin all that company, even the cattle-men whose interests were opposed\nto Rodney\u2019s, but felt the justice of his errand.\n\u201cWhen did they let him out?\u201d whispered the college boy; and then,\n\u201cOughtn\u2019t we to do something?\u201d\n\u201cYis, me son,\u201d whispered Costigan. \u201cWe ought to sit still and learn a\nthing or two.\u201d\nThe fat man cleaned his plate with a crust of bread stuck on the point\nof a knife. There was nothing more to eat in the way of substantials,\nand he debated pouring a little more of the sauce on his plate and\nmopping it with a bit of bread still uneaten. Considering the pro and\ncon of this extra tid-bit, he glanced up and saw the gaunt man standing\nin the doorway.\nSimpson dropped the knife from his shaking hand and started up with a\ncry that died away in a gurgle, an inhuman, nightmare croak. He looked\nabout wildly, like a rat in a trap, then backed towards the wall. The\nmen about the table got up, then cleared away in a circle, leaving the\nfat man. It was all like a dream to the college boy, who had never seen\na thing of the kind before and could not realize now that it was\nhappening. Rodney advanced, never once relaxing the look in which he\nseemed to hold his enemy as in a vise. Simpson was like a man\nbewitched. Once, twice, he made a grab for his revolver, but his right\nhand seemed to have lost power to heed the bidding of his will. Rodney,\nnow well towards the centre of the room, waited, with a suggestion of\nceremony, for Simpson to get his six-shooter.\nIt was one of those moments in which time seems to have become\npetrified. The limp-clad proprietress of the eating-house, made curious\nby the sudden silence, looked in from the kitchen. Simpson, his eyes\nwandering like a trapped rat, saw, and called, through teeth that\nchattered in an ague of fear, \u201cRee\u2014memm\u2014her thth\u2014there\u2019s la\u2014dies\np\u2014present! For Gawd\u2019s sake, remember t\u2014there\u2019s ladies p\u2014present!\u201d\nThe pale man looked towards the kitchen, and, seeing the woman, he gave\nSimpson a look in which there was only contempt. \u201cYou\u2019ve hid behind the\nlaw once, and this time it\u2019s petticoats. The open don\u2019t seem to have no\ncharm for you. But\u2014\u201d He didn\u2019t finish, there was no need to. Every one\nknew and understood. He put up his revolver and walked into the street.\nThe men broke into shouts of laughter, loud and ringing, then doubled\nup and had it out all over again. And their noisy merriment was as\nclear an indication of the suddenly lifted strain, at the averted\nshooting, as it was of their enjoyment of the farce. Simpson, relieved\nof the fear of sudden death, now sought to put a better face on his\ncowardice. Now that his enemy was well out of sight, Simpson handled\nhis revolver with easy assurance.\n\u201cPut ut up,\u201d shouted Costigan, above the general uproar. \u201c\u2019Tis toime to\nfear a revolver in the hands av Simpson whin he\u2019s no intinsions av\nshootin\u2019.\u201d\nSimpson still attempted to harangue the crowd, but his voice was lost\nin the general thigh-slapping and the shouts and roars that showed no\nsigns of abating. But when he caught a man by the coat lapel in his\nefforts to secure a hearing, that was another matter, and the man shook\nhim off as if his touch were contagion. Simpson, craving mercy on\naccount of petticoats, evading a meeting that was \u201cup to him,\u201d they\nwere willing to stand as a laughing-stock, but Simpson as an equal,\ngrasping the lapels of their coats, they would have none of.\nHe slunk away from them to a corner of the eating-house, feeling the\nstigma of their contempt, yet afraid to go out into the street where\nhis enemy might be waiting for him. Much of death and blood and\nrecklessness \u201cTown\u201d had seen and condoned, but cowardice was the\nunforgivable sin. It balked the rude justice of these frontiersmen and\ntampered with their code, and Simpson knew that the game had gone\nagainst him.\n\u201cWhat was it all about? Were they in earnest, or was it only their way\nof amusing themselves?\u201d inquired Mary Carmichael, who had slipped into\nMrs. Clark\u2019s kitchen after the men at the table had taken things in\nhand.\n\u201cJim Rodney was in earnest, an\u2019 he had reason to be. That man Simpson\nwas paid by a cattle outfit\u2014now, mind, I ain\u2019t sayin\u2019 which\u2014to get Jim\nRodney\u2019s sheep off the range. They had threatened him and cut the\nthroats of two hundred of his herd as a warning, but Jim went right on\ngrazin\u2019 \u2019em, same as he had always been in the habit of doing. Well,\nI\u2019m told they up and makes Simpson an offer to get rid of the sheep.\nJim has over five thousand, an\u2019 it\u2019s just before lambing, and them pore\newes, all heavy, is being druv\u2019 down to Watson\u2019s shearing-pens, that\nJim always shears at. Jim an\u2019 two herders and a couple of dawgs\u2014least,\nthis is the way I heard it\u2014is drivin\u2019 \u2019em easy, \u2019cause, as I said\nbefore, it\u2019s just before lambing. It does now seem awful cruel to me to\nshear just before lambing, but that\u2019s their way out here.\n\u201cWell, nothing happens, and Jim ain\u2019t more\u2019n two hours from the pens\nan\u2019 he comes to that place on the road that branches out over the top\nof a ca\u00f1on, and there some one springs out of a clump of willows an\u2019\ndashes into the herd and drives the wether that\u2019s leading right over\nthe cliff. The leaders begin to follow that wether, and they go right\nover the cliff like the pore fools they are. The herder fired and tried\nto drive \u2019em back, they tell me, an\u2019 he an\u2019 the dawg were shot at from\nthe clump of willows by some one else who was there. Three hundred\nsheep had gone over the cliff before Jim knew what was happening. He\nrode like mad right through the herd to try and head \u2019em off; but you\nknow what sheep is like\u2014they\u2019re like lost souls headin\u2019 for damnation.\nNothing can stop \u2019em when they\u2019re once started. And Jim lost every\nhead\u2014started for the shearing-pens a rich man\u2014rich for Jim\u2014an\u2019 seen\neverything he had swept away before his eyes, his wife an\u2019 children\nmade paupers. My son he come by and found him. He said that Jim was\nsittin\u2019 huddled up in a heap, his knees drawed up under his chin,\nstarin\u2019 straight up into the noonday sky, same as if he was askin\u2019 God\nhow He could be so cruel. His dead dawg, that they had shot, was by the\nside of him. The herder that was with Jim had taken the one that was\nshot into Watson\u2019s, so when my son found Jim he was alone, sittin\u2019 on\nthe edge of the cliff with his dead dawg, an\u2019 the sky about was black\nwith buzzards; an\u2019 Jim he just sat an\u2019 stared up at \u2019em, and when my\nson spoke to him he never answered any more than a dead man. He shuck\nhim by the arm, but Jim just sat there, watchin\u2019 the sun, the buzzards,\nand the dead sheep.\u201d\n\u201cWas nothing done to this man Simpson?\u201d\n\u201cThe cattle outfit that he done the dirty work for swore an alibi for\nhim. Jim has been in hard luck ever since. He\u2019s been rustlin\u2019 cattle\nright along; but Lord, who can blame him? He got into some trouble down\nto Rawlins\u2014shot a man he thought was with Simpson, but who wasn\u2019t\u2014and\nhe\u2019s been in jail ever since. Course now that he\u2019s out Simpson\u2019s bound\nto get peppered. Glad it didn\u2019t happen here, though. \u2019Twould be a kind\nof unpleasant thing to have connected with a eating-house, don\u2019t you\nthink so?\u201d she inquired, with the grim philosophy of the country.\nThe eating-house patrons had gone their several ways, and the quiet of\nthe dining-room was oppressive by contrast with its late\nboisterousness. Mrs. Clark, her hands imprisoned in bread-dough, begged\nMary to look over the screen door and see if anything was happening.\n\u201cI\u2019m always suspicious when it\u2019s quiet. I know they\u2019re in deviltry of\nsome sort.\u201d\nMary tiptoed to the door and peeped over, but the room was deserted,\nsave for Simpson, huddled in a corner, biting his finger-nails. \u201cThe\nnasty thing!\u201d exploded Mrs. Clark, when she had received the bulletin.\n\u201cI\u2019d turn him out if it wasn\u2019t for the notoriety he might bring my\nplace in gettin\u2019 killed in front of it.\u201d\n\u201cI dare say I\u2019d better go and see after my trunk; it\u2019s still on the\nstation platform.\u201d Mary wondered what her prim aunts would think of her\nfor sitting in Mrs. Clark\u2019s kitchen, but it had seemed so much more of\na refuge than the sordid streets of the hideous little town, with its\ndroves of men and never a glimpse of a woman that she had been only too\nglad to avail herself of the invitation of the proprietress to \u201cmake\nherself at home till the stage left.\u201d\n\u201cWell, good luck to you,\u201d said Mrs. Clark, wiping her hand only\npartially free from dough and presenting it to Miss Carmichael. She had\nnot inquired where the girl was going, nor even hinted to discover\nwhere she came from, but she gave her the godspeed that the West knows\nhow to give, and the girl felt better for it.\nAt the station, where Mary shortly presented herself, in the interest\nof that old man of the sea of all travellers, luggage, she learned that\nthe stage did not leave town for some three-quarters of an hour yet. A\nyoung man, manipulating many sheets of flimsy, yellow paper covered\nwith large, flourishing handwriting, looked up in answer to her\ninquiries about Lost Trail. This young man, whose accent, clothes, and\nmanner proclaimed him \u201cfrom the East,\u201d whither, in all probability, he\nwould shortly return if he did not mend his ways, disclaimed all\nknowledge of the place as if it were an undesirable acquaintance. But\nbefore he could deny it thrice, a man who had heard the cabalistic name\nwas making his way towards the desk, the pride of the traveller\nradiating from every feature.\nThe cosmopolite who knew Lost Trail was the type of man who is born to\nbe a Kentucky colonel, and perhaps may have achieved his destiny before\ncoming to this \u201cNo Man\u2019s Land,\u201d for reasons into which no one inquired,\nand which were obviously no one\u2019s business. They knew him here by the\nname of \u201cLone Tooth Hank,\u201d and he wore what had been, in the days of\nhis colonelcy\u2014or its equivalent\u2014a frock-coat, restrained by the lower\nbutton, and thus establishing a waist-line long after nature had had\nthe last word to say on the subject. With this he wore the sombrero of\nthe country, and the combination carried a rakish effect that was\npositively sinister.\nThe scornful clerk introduced Mary as a young lady inquiring about some\nplace in the bad-lands. Off came the sombrero with a sweep, and Lone\nTooth smiled in a way that accented the dental solitaire to which he\nowed his name. Miss Carmichael, concealing her terror of this casual\ncavalier, inquired if he could tell her the distance to Lost Trail.\n\u201cI sho\u2019ly can, and with, consid\u2019able pleasure.\u201d The sombrero completed\na semicircular sweep and arrived in the neighborhood of Mr. Hank\u2019s\nheart in significance of his vassalage to the fair sex. He proceeded:\n\u201cLost Trail sutney is right lonesome. A friend of mine gets a little\ntoo playful fo\u2019 the evah-increasin\u2019 meetropolitan spirit of this yere\ncamp, and tries a little tahget practice on the main bullyvard, an\u2019\nfinds the atmospheah onhealthful in consequence. Hearin\u2019 that the quiet\nsolitude of Lost Trail is what he needs, he lit out with the following\ncircumstance thereof happenin\u2019. One day something in his harness giv\u2019\nway\u2014and he recollects seein\u2019 a boot sunnin\u2019 itself back in the road\n\u2019bout a quartah of a mile. An\u2019 he figgahs he\u2019ll borry a strip of\nleather off the boot to mend his harness. Back he goes and finds it has\na kind of loaded feelin\u2019. So my friend investigates\u2014and I be blanked if\nthere wasn\u2019t a foot and leg inside of it.\u201d\nMiss Carmichael had always exercised a super-feminine self-restraint in\nthe case of casual mice, and it served her in the present instance.\nInstead of screaming, she said, after the suppression of a gasp or two:\n\u201cThank you so much, but I won\u2019t detain you any longer. Your information\nmakes Lost Trail even more interesting than I had expected.\u201d\nBesides, Miss Carmichael had a faint suspicion that this might be a\npreconcerted plan to terrify the \u201clady tenderfoot,\u201d and she prided\nherself on being equal to the situation. The time at her disposal\nbefore the stage would embark on that unknown sea of prairies she spent\nin the delectable pastime of shopping. The financial and social\ninterests of the town seemed to converge in Hugous & Co.\u2019s \u201ctrading\nstore,\u201d where Miss Carmichael invested in an extra package of needles\nfor the mere excitement of being one of the shoppers, though her aunt\nAdelaide had stocked the little plaid-silk work-bag to repletion with\nevery variety of needle known to woman. She pricked up her ears,\nmeanwhile, at some of the purchases made by the cow-boys for their\ncamp-larders\u2014devilled ham, sardines, canned tomatoes heading the list\nas prime favorites. Did these strapping border lads live by the fruit\nof the tin alone? Apparently yes, with the sophisticated accompaniment\nof soda biscuit, to judge by the quantity of baking-powder they\ninvested in\u2014literally pounds of it. Men in any other condition of life\nwould have died of slow poisoning as the result of it.\nThere were other customers at Hugous\u2019 that morning besides the spurred\nand booted cow-puncher and his despised compeer, the sheep-herder. That\nrestless emigrant class, whose origin, as a class, lay in the community\nof its own uncertain schemes of fortune; the West, with her splendid,\nlavish promises, called them from their thriftless farms in the South\nand their gray cabins in New England. They began their journeying\ntowards the land of promise long before the Indians had ever seen the\nshrieking \u201cfire-wagon.\u201d All day they would toil over the infinitude of\nprairie, the sun that hid nightly behind that maddeningly elusive\nvanishing-point, the horizon, their only guide. But the makeshifts of\nthe wagon life were not without charm. They began to wander in quest of\nthey knew not precisely what, and from these vague beginnings there had\nsprung into existence that nomadic population that was once such a\nfeature of the far West, but is now going the way of the Indians and\nthe cow-boys.\nThis breathing-space in the long journey had for them the stimulus of a\nholiday-making. They bought their sides of bacon and their pounds of\ncoffee as merrily as if they were playing a game of forfeits, the women\nfingering the calico they did not want for the joy of pricing and\nmaking shoppers\u2019 talk.\nThe scene had a scriptural flavor that not even the blue overalls of\nthe men nor the calico gowns of the women could altogether eliminate.\nTheir wagons, bulging with household goods and trailing with kitchen\nutensils secured by bits of rope, were drawn up in front of the\ntrading-store. From a pump, at some little distance, the pilgrims\nfilled their stone water-bottles, for the wise traveller does not trust\nto the chance springs of the desert. Baskets of chickens were strapped\nto many of the wagons, but whether the unhappy fowls were designed to\nsupply fresh eggs and an occasional fricass\u00e9e, or were taken for the\npleasure of their company, there was no means of determining short of\nimpertinent cross-questioning. Sometimes a cow, and invariably a dog,\nformed one of the family party, and an edifying _esprit de corps_\nseemed to dwell among them all.\nLone Tooth Hank, in his capacity of man about town, stood on the steps\nof Hugous\u2019 watching the preparations; and, seeing Miss Carmichael,\napproached with the air of an old and tried family friend.\n\u201cDo I obsehve yu regyarding oweh \u2018settleahs,\u2019 called settleahs \u2019cause\nthey nevah settle?\u201d Hank laughed gently, as one who has made a joke\nmeet for ladies. \u201cI\u2019ve known whole famblies to bohn an\u2019 raise right in\none of them wagons; and tuhn out a mighty fine, endurin\u2019 lot, too, this\nhyeh prospectin\u2019 round afteh somethin\u2019 they wouldn\u2019t reco\u2019nize if they\nmet. Gits to be a habit same as drink. They couldn\u2019t live in a house\nsame as humans, not if yu filled their gyarden with nuggets an\u2019 their\nwell with apple-jack.\u201d\nMiss Carmichael looked attentive but said nothing. In truth, she was\nmore afraid of Hank, his obvious gallantry, and his grewsome tales of\nboots with legs in them than she was of the unknown terrors of Lost\nTrail.\n\u201cI believe that is my stage,\u201d she said, as a red conveyance not unlike\na circus wagon halted at some little distance from the trading-store.\nAnd as she spoke she saw four of her companions of the breakfast-table\nheading towards the stage, each with a piece of her precious luggage.\nMary Carmichael was precipitated in a sudden panic; she had heard tales\nof the pranks of these playful Western squires\u2014a little gun-play to\ninduce the terrified tenderfoot to put a little more spirit into his\nHighland fling, \u201cby request.\u201d She remembered their merrymaking with\nSimpson at breakfast. What did they intend to do with her belongings?\nAnd as she remembered the little plaid sewing-bag that Aunt Adelaide\nhad made for her\u2014surreptitiously drying her tears in the mean time\u2014when\nshe remembered that bag and the possibility of its being submitted to\nignominy, she could have cried or done murder, she wasn\u2019t sure which.\n\u201cWell, \u2019pon my wohd, heah ah the boys with yo\u2019 baggage. How time du\nfly!\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d she gasped, \u201cwhat are they going to do with it?\u201d\n\u201cPlace it on the stage, awaitin\u2019 yo\u2019 ohdahs.\u201d And to her expression of\ninfinite relief\u2014\u201cYo\u2019 didn\u2019t think any disrepec\u2019 would be shown the\nbaggage of a lady honorin\u2019 this hyeh metropolis with her presence?\u201d\nShe thanked the knights of the lariat the more warmly for her unjust\nsuspicions. They stowed away the luggage with the deft capacity of men\nwho have returned to the primitive art of using their hands. She\nclimbed beside the driver on the box of the stage. Lone Tooth Hank and\nthe cow-punchers chivalrously raised their sombreros with a\nsimultaneous spontaneity that suggested a flight of rockets. The driver\ncracked his whip and turned the horses\u2019 heads towards the billowing sea\nof foot-hills, and the last cable that bound Mary Carmichael to\ncivilization was cut.\nIII.\nLeander And His Lady\nThe only stage passenger besides Miss Carmichael was a fat lady, whose\nentire luggage seemed to consist of luncheon\u2014pasteboard boxes of\nsandwiches, baskets of fruit, napkins of cake. These she began to\ndispose of, before the stage had fairly started, with an industry\nalmost automatic, continuing faithful to her post as long as the\nsupplies lasted. Then she dozed, sleeping the sleep of the just and\nthose who keep their mouths open. From time to time the stage-driver\ninvoked his team in cabalistic words, and each time the horses toiled\nforward with fresh energy; but progress became a mockery in that ocean\nof space, their driving seemed as futile as the sport of children who\ncrack a whip and play at stage-coach with a couple of chairs; the\nmountains still mocked in the distance.\nA flat, unbroken sweep of country, a tangle of straggling sage-brush, a\nglimpse of foot-hills in the distance, was the outlook mile after mile.\nThe day grew pitilessly hot. Clouds of alkaline dust swept aimlessly\nover the desert or whirled into spirals till lost in space. From\nhorizon to horizon the sky was one cloudless span of blue that paled as\nit dipped earthward. Mary Carmichael dozed and wakened, but the\nprospect was always the same\u2014the red stage crawling over the\nwilderness, making no evident progress, and always the sun, the\nsage-brush, and the silence.\nIt was all so overwhelmingly different from the peaceful atmosphere of\nthings at home. The mellow Virginia country, with its winding, red\nroads, wealth of woodland, and its grave old houses that were the more\nhaughtily aloof for the poverty that gnawed at their vitals. This\nwilderness was so gaunt, so parched; she closed her eyes and thought of\na bit of landscape at home. A young forest of silver beeches growing\nstraight and fine as the threads on a loom; and through the gray\nperspective of their satin-smooth trunks you caught the white gleam of\na fairy cascade as it tumbled over the moss-grown stones to the brook\nbelow. It was like a bit from a Japanese garden in its delicate\nartificiality.\nAnd harder to leave than these cherished bits of landscape had been the\nold house Runnymede, that always seemed dozing in the peaceful comatose\nof senility. It was beyond the worry of debt; the succession of\nmortgages that sapped its vitality and wrote anxious lines on the faces\nof Aunt Adelaide and Aunt Martha was nothing to the old house. Had it\nnot sheltered Carmichaels for over a century?\u2014it had faith in the name.\nBut Mary could never remember when the need of money to pay the\nmortgage had not invaded the gentle routine of their home-life, robbing\nthe sangaree of its delicate flavor in the long, sleepy summer\nafternoons, invading the very dining-room, an unwelcome guest at the\nold mahogany table, prompting Aunt Adelaide to cast anxious glances at\nthe worn silver\u2014would it go to pay that blood-sucking mortgage next?\nBut hardest of all to leave had been Archie, best and most promising of\nyoung brothers\u2014Archie, who had come out ahead of his class in the\nhigh-school, all ready to go to The University\u2014the University of\nVirginia is always \u201cThe University\u201d; but who, it had seemed at a\ncertain dark season, must give up this long-cherished hope for lack of\nthe wherewithal. Mary, being four years older than her brother and\nquite twenty, had long felt a maternal obligation to administer his\naffairs. If he did not go to the university, like his father and\ngrandfather before him, it would be because she had failed in her duty.\nAt this particular phase of the domestic problem there had appeared, in\na certain churchly periodical, a carefully worded advertisement for a\ngoverness, and the subsequent business of references, salary, and\ninformation to be imparted and received proving eminently satisfactory,\nMary had finally received a tearful permission from her aunts to depart\nfor some place in Wyoming, the name of which was not even to be found\non the map. She was to consider herself quite one of the family, and\nthe compensation was to be fifty dollars a month. Archie would now be\nable to go to \u201cThe University.\u201d\nAs the day wore on the sage-brush became scarcer and grayer, there were\nfewer flowering cacti, and the great white patches of alkali grew more\nand more frequent. In the distance there was a riot of rainbow\ntints\u2014violet, pink, and pale orange. It seemed inconceivable that such\nbarrenness could produce such wealth of color; nothing could have been\nmore beautiful\u2014not even the changing colors on a pigeon\u2019s neck\u2014than the\ncoppery iridescence, shading to cobalt and blue on some of the buttes.\nNight had fallen before they made the first break in their journey. The\nlow, beetle-browed cabin that faced them in the wilderness carried in\nits rude completeness a hint of the prestidigitateur\u2019s art\u2014a world of\ndesolation, and behold a log cabin with smoke issuing from the chimney\nand curtains at the windows! The interior was unplastered, but this\nshortcoming was surmounted by tacking cheesecloth neatly over the logs,\na device at once simple and strategic, as in the lamplight the effect\nwas that of plaster. Miss Carmichael, suddenly released from the actual\nrumbling of the stage, felt its confused motion the more strongly in\nimagination, and hardly knew whether she was eating canned tomatoes,\nserved uncooked directly from the tin, fried steak, black coffee, and\nsoda biscuit, in company with the fat lady, the stage-driver, and the\nwoman who kept the road ranch, or if it was all some Alice in\nWonderland delusion.\nThe fat lady had brought her own bedding\u2014an apoplectic roll of\nbedquilts\u2014and these she insisted on making a bed of, despite the\nprotests of the ranch-woman, who seemed to detect a covert insinuation\nagainst her accommodations in the precedent. Miss Carmichael profited\nby the controversy. The landlady, touched no doubt by the simple faith\nof a traveller who trusted to the beds of a road-ranch, or because she\nwas young or a girl, led the way in triumph to her own bedroom, and\nindicating an imposing affair with pillow-shams, she defied Miss\nCarmichael to find a more comfortable bed \u201cin the East.\u201d\nIn the unaccountable manner of these desert conveyances, that creak and\ngroan across the arid wastes with an apparently lumbering\ninconsequence, the stage that brought the travellers to the Dax ranch\nleft at sunrise to pursue a seemingly erratic career along the North\nPlatte, while Miss Carmichael and the fat lady were to continue their\njourney with one Lemuel Chugg, who drove a stage northward towards the\nRed Desert, when he was sober enough to handle the ribbons.\nBreakfast was largely devoted to speculation regarding the approximate\ncondition of Mr. Chugg\u2014would he be wholly or partially incapacitated\nfor his job? Mrs. Dax, flirting a feather-duster in the neighborhood of\nMiss Carmichael in a futile effort to beguile her into giving a reason\nfor her solitary journey across the desert, took a gloomy view of the\nsituation.\nBut Miss Carmichael kept her own counsel. Not so the fat lady. Falling\ninto the snare ingenuously set for another, she divulged her name,\nplace of residence, and the object of her travels, which was to visit a\nson on Sweetwater. Furthermore, she stated the probable cause of every\ndeath in her family for the past thirty-five years. Miss Carmichael\nfelt an especial interest in an Uncle Henry who \u201cdied of a Friday along\nof eating clams.\u201d He stood out with such refreshing vividness against a\nbackground of neutralities who succumbed to consumption, bile colic,\nand other more familiar ailments of the patent-medicine litany. But\nloquacity, apparently, like virtue, is its own reward, for the landlady\nscarce vouchsafed a comment on this dismal recitative, while Miss\nCarmichael remained the object of her persistent attentions.\nBut there seemed to be no topic of universal interest but Chugg\u2019s\ncondition, Mrs. Dax finally asserting, \u201cBefore I\u2019d trust my precious\nneck to him, I\u2019d get Mr. Dax to shoot me.\u201d\nMeditating on this Spartan statement, Mary and the fat lady became\naware for the first time of a subtle, silent force in the domestic\neconomy. But so unobtrusive was this influence that one had to\nscrutinize very closely, indeed, to detect the evanescent personality\nof Mrs. Dax\u2019s husband. Leander was his name, but it is safe to say that\nhe swam no Hellesponts for the masterful wife of his bosom. Otherwise\nhe was slender, willowy, bald; if he ever stood straight enough to get\nthe habitually apologetic crooks out of his knees, he would be tall;\nbut so in the habit was he of repressing himself in the marital\npresence that Leander passed for middle height. He waited on the table\nat breakfast with the dumb submissiveness of a trained dog that has\nbeen taught to give pathetic imitations of human servility. But no\nsooner had his lady left the room than Leander began quite brazenly to\ncall attention to himself as a man and an individual, coughing,\nrattling his dishes, and clearing his throat. Mary and the fat lady,\nout of very pity, responded to these crude signals with overtures\nequally frank, and Leander ventured finally to inquire if they aimed to\nspend the night at his brother\u2019s ranch, it being the next mess-box\nbetween here and nowhere. They admitted that his brother\u2019s ranch was\ntheir next stopping-place, and Leander went through perfect contortions\nof apology and self-effacement before he could bring himself to ask\nthem to do him a favor. It would have taken a very stern order of\nwomankind to refuse anything so abject, and they blindly committed\nthemselves to the pledge.\n\u201cTell him I send my compliments,\u201d he whispered, and, looking about him\nfurtively, he repeated the blood-curdling request.\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d sniffed the fat lady, at no pains to conceal her\ndisappointment.\n\u201cIt\u2019s enough, if it was known, to raise a war-whoop and stampede this\nyere family.\u201d His glance at the door through which his wife had\ndisappeared was pregnant with meaning.\n\u201cFamily troubles?\u201d asked the fat lady, as a gourmet might say\n\u201cTruffles.\u201d\n\u201cLooks like it,\u201d said Leander, dismally. \u201cMe and Johnnie don\u2019t ask for\nnothin\u2019 better than to bask in each other\u2019s company; but our wives\ninsists on keepin\u2019 up the man\u0153uvres of a war-dance the whole endoorin\u2019\ntime.\u201d\n\u201cSo,\u201d said the fat lady, as a gourmet might tell of a favorite way of\npreparing truffles, \u201cit\u2019s a case of wives?\u201d\n\u201cYes, marm, an\u2019 teeth an\u2019 nails an\u2019 husbands thrown in, when they get a\nsight of each other\u2019s petticoats.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve known sisters-in-law not to agree,\u201d helped on the fat lady, by\nway of an encouraging parallel.\n\u201cWhile I deplores usin\u2019 such a comparison to the refinin\u2019 and softenin\u2019\ninflooance of wimmen, the meetin\u2019 of the Dax ladies by chanst anywheres\nhas all the elements of danger and excitement that accompanies an Injun\nuprisin\u2019.\u201d\nThe travellers looked all manner of encouragement.\n\u201cYou see, my wife\u2019s a great housekeeper; her talent lies\u201d\u2014and here\nLeander winked knowingly\u2014\u201cin managin\u2019 the help.\u201d\n\u201cLand\u2019s sake!\u201d interrupted the fat lady. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you kick?\u201d\nLeander sighed softly. \u201cI tried to once. As an experiment it partook of\nthe trustfulness of a mule kickin\u2019 against the stony walls of Badger\nCa\u00f1on. But to resoom about the difficulties that split the Dax family.\nBefore Johnnie got mislaid in that matrimonial landslide o\u2019 his, he\nherds with us. Me an\u2019 him does the work of this yere shack, and my wife\njust roominates and gives her accomplishments as manager full play. She\nnever put her hand in dirty water any more than Mrs. Cleveland sittin\u2019\nup in the White House parlor. Johnnie done the fancy cookin\u2019; he could\nmake a pie like any one\u2019s maw, and while you was lost to the world in\nthe delights of masticatin\u2019 it, he\u2019d have all his greasy dishes washed\nup and put away\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNo wonder she hated to lose a man like that,\u201d interrupted the fat\nlady, feelingly.\n\u201cBut he took to pinin\u2019 and proclaimin\u2019 that he shore was a lone\nmaverick, and he just stampeded round lookin\u2019 for trouble and bleatin\u2019\na song that went:\n\u201c\u2018No one to love,\nNone to caress.\u2019\n\u201cWell, the lady that answers his signal of distress don\u2019t bear none of\nthe brands of this yere range. She lives back East, and him and her\ntook up their claims in each other\u2019s affections through a matrimonial\npaper known as _The Heart and Hand_. So they takes their pens in hand\nand gets through a hard spell of courtin\u2019 on paper. Love plumb locoes\nJohnnie. His spellin\u2019 don\u2019t suit him, his handwritin\u2019 don\u2019t suit him,\nhis natchral letters don\u2019t suit him. So off he sends to Denver for all\nthe letter-writin\u2019 books he can buy\u2014_Handbook of Correspondence_, _The\nEpistolary Guide_, _The Ready Letter-Writer_, and a stack more. There\u2019s\nno denyin\u2019 it, Johnnie certainly did sweat hisself over them letters.\u201d\n\u201cLand\u2019s sakes!\u201d said the fat lady.\n\u201cYes, marm; he used to read \u2019em to me, beginnin\u2019 how he had just seized\nfive minutes to write to her, when he\u2019d worked the whole day like a\nmule over it. She seemed to like the brand, an\u2019 when he sent her the\nmoney to come out here an\u2019 get married, she come as straight as if she\nhad been mailed with a postage-stamp.\u201d\n\u201cThe brazen thing!\u201d said the fat lady.\n\u201cThey stopped here, goin\u2019 home to their place. My Lord! warn\u2019t she a\nhigh-flyer! She done her hair like a tied-up horse-tail\u2014my wife called\nit a Sikey knot\u2014and it stood out a foot from her head. Some of the\nboys, kinder playful, wanted to throw a hat at it and see if it\nwouldn\u2019t hang, but they refrained, out of respect to the feelin\u2019s of\nthe groom.\n\u201cFrom the start,\u201d continued Leander, \u201cthe two Mrs. Daxes just hankered\nto get at each other; an\u2019 while I, as a slave to the fair sex\u201d\u2014here he\nbowed to the fat lady and to Miss Carmichael\u2014\u201chesitates to use such\nlangwidge in their presence, the attitood of them two female wimmin\nshorely reminds me of a couple of unfriendly dawgs just hankerin\u2019 to\nchaw each other.\n\u201cAt first, Johnnie waited on her hand an\u2019 foot, and she just read\nnovels and played stylish all the time and danced. She was the hardest\ndancer that ever struck this yere trail, and she could give lessons to\nany old war-dancin\u2019 chief up to the reservation. No dance she ever\nheard of was too far for her to go to. She just went and danced till\nbroad daylight. Many a man would have took to dissipation, in his\ncircumstances, but Johnnie just lost heart and grew slatterly. Why,\nhe\u2019d leave his dishes go from one day till the next\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s more as would leave their dishes from one day till the next if\nthey wasn\u2019t looked after.\u201d And the wife of his bosom stood in the door\nlike a vengeful household goddess. Mr. Dax made a grab for the nearest\nplates.\nIV.\nJudith, The Postmistress\nThe arrival of Chugg\u2019s stage with the mail should have been coincident\nwith the departure of the stage that brought the travellers from\n\u201cTown,\u201d but Chugg was late\u2014a tardiness ascribed to indulgence in local\nlethe waters, for Lemuel Chugg had survived a romance and drank to\nforget that woman is a variable and a changeable thing. In consequence\nof which the sober stage-driver departed without the mails, leaving\nMary Carmichael and the fat lady to scan the horizon for the delinquent\nChugg, and incidentally to hear a chapter of prairie romance.\nSome sort of revolution seemed to be in progress in the room in which\nthe travellers had breakfasted. Mrs. Dax had assumed the office of\ndictator, with absolute sway. Leander, as aide-de-camp, courier, and\nstaff, executed marvellous feats of domestic engineering. The late\nbreakfast-table, swept and garnished with pigeon-holes, became a United\nStates post-office, prepared to transact postal business, and for the\ntime being to become the social centre of the surrounding country.\nDown the yellow road that climbed and dipped and climbed and dipped\nagain over foot-hills and sprawling space till it was lost in a world\nwithout end, Mary Carmichael, standing in the doorway, watched an atom,\nso small that it might have been a leaf blowing along in the wind, turn\ninto a horseman.\nThere was inspiration for a hundred pictures in the way that horse was\nridden. No flashes of daylight between saddle and rider in the jolting,\nEastern fashion, but the long, easy sweep that covers ground\nimperceptibly and is a delight to the eye. It needed but the solitary\nfigure to signify the infinitude of space in the background. In all\nthat great, wide world the only hint of life was the galloping\nhorseman, the only sound the rhythmical ring of the nearing hoofs. The\nrider, now close enough for Miss Carmichael to distinguish the\nfeatures, was a thorough dandy of the saddle. No slouching garb of\nexigence and comfort this, but a pretty display of doeskin gaiter,\nvarnished boot, and smart riding-breeches. The lad\u2014he could not have\nbeen, Miss Carmichael thought, more than twenty\u2014was tanned a splendid\ncolor not unlike the bloomy shading on a nasturtium. And when the\ndoughty horseman made out the girl standing in the doorway, he smiled\nwith a lack of formality not suggested by the town-cut of his\ntrappings. Throwing the reins over the neck of the horse with the real\nWestern fling, he slid from the saddle in a trice, and\u2014Mary Carmichael\nexperienced something of the gasping horror of a shocked old lady as\nshe made out two splendid braids of thick, black hair. Her doughty\ncavalier was no cavalier at all, but a surprisingly handsome young\nwoman.\nMiss Carmichael gasped a little even as she extended her hand, for the\nmasquerader had pulled off her gauntlet and held out hers as if she was\nconferring the freedom of the wilderness. It was impossible for a\nhomesick girl not to respond to such heartiness, though it was with\ndifficulty at first that Mary kept her eyes on the girl\u2019s face.\nCuriosity, agreeably piqued, urged her to take another glimpse of the\nriding clothes that this young woman wore with such supreme unconcern.\nNow, \u201cin the East\u201d Mary Carmichael had not been in the habit of meeting\nblack-haired goddesses who rode astride and whose assurance of the\npleasure of meeting her made her as self-conscious as on her first day\nat dancing-school; and though she tried to prove her cosmopolitanism by\nnot betraying this, the attempt was rather a failure.\n\u201cAre you surprised that I did not wait for an introduction?\u201d the girl\nin the riding clothes asked, noticing Mary\u2019s evident uneasiness; \u201cbut\nyou don\u2019t know how good it is to see a girl. I\u2019m so tired of spurs and\nsombreros and cattle and dust and distance, and there\u2019s nothing else\nhere.\u201d\n\u201cWhere I come from it\u2019s just the other way\u2014too many petticoats and\nhat-pins.\u201d\nThe horseman who was no horseman dropped Miss Carmichael\u2019s hand and\nwent into the house. Mary wondered if she ought to have been more\ncordial.\nFrom the back door came Leander, with dishcloths, which he began to\nhang on the line in a dumb, driven sort of way.\n\u201cWho is she?\u201d asked Mary.\n\u201cHer?\u201d he interrogated, jerking his head in the direction of the house.\n\u201cThe postmistress, Judith Rodney; yes, that\u2019s her name.\u201d He dropped his\nvoice in the manner of one imparting momentous things. \u201cShe never wears\na skirt ridin\u2019, any more than a man.\u201d\nMary felt that she was tempting Leander into the paths of gossip,\nundoubtedly his besetting sin, but she could not resist the temptation\nto linger. He had disposed of his last dish-cloth, and he withdrew the\nremaining clothes-pin from his mouth in a way that was pathetically\nfeminine.\n\u201cShe keeps the post-office here, since Mrs. Dax lost the job, and\nboards with us; p\u2019r\u2019aps it\u2019s because she is my wife\u2019s successor in\noffice, or p\u2019a\u2019ps it\u2019s jest the natural grudge that wimmin seem to\nharbor agin each other, I dunno, but they don\u2019t sandwich none.\u201d\nLeander having disposed of his last dish-towel, squinted at it through\nhis half-closed eyes, like an artist \u201csighting\u201d a landscape, saw\napparently that it was in drawing, and next brought his vision to bear\non the back premises of his own dwelling, where he saw there was no\nwifely figure in evidence.\n\u201cSh-sh-h!\u201d he said, creeping towards Mary, his dull face transfigured\nwith the consciousness that he had news to tell. \u201cSh-sh\u2014her brother\u2019s a\nrustler. If \u2019twan\u2019t for her\u201d\u2014Leander went through the grewsome\npantomime of tying an imaginary rope round his neck and throwing it\nover the limb of an imaginary tree. \u201cThey\u2019re goin\u2019 to get him for shore\nthis time, soon as he comes out of jail; but would you guess it from\nher bluff?\u201d\nThere was no mistaking the fate of a rustler after Mr. Dax\u2019s grisly\ndemonstration, but of the quality of his calling Mary was as ignorant\nas before.\n\u201cAnd why should they do that?\u201d she inquired, with tenderfoot\nsimplicity.\n\u201cStealin\u2019 cattle ain\u2019t good for the health hereabouts,\u201d said Leander,\nas one who spoke with authority. \u201cIt\u2019s apt to bring on throat trouble.\u201d\nBut Mary did not find Leander\u2019s joke amusing. She had suddenly\nremembered the pale, gaunt man who had walked into the eating-house the\nprevious morning and walked out again, his errand turned into\nfarce-comedy by the cowardice of an unworthy antagonist. The pale man\u2019s\ngrievance had had to do with sheep and cattle. His name had been\nRodney, too. She understood now. He was Judith Rodney\u2019s brother, and he\nwas in danger of being hanged. Mary Carmichael felt first the\nadmiration of a girl, then the pity of a woman, for the brave young\ncreature who so stoutly carried so unspeakable a burden. But she could\nnot speak of her new knowledge to Leander.\nShe glanced towards this childlike person and saw from his stealthy\nmanner that he had more to impart. He walked towards the kitchen door,\nsaw no one, and came back to Mary.\n\u201cThere ain\u2019t a man in this Gawd-forsaken country wouldn\u2019t lope at the\nchance to die for her\u2014but the women!\u201d Leander\u2019s pantomimic indication\nof absolute feminine antagonism was conclusive.\n\u201cThe wimmin treats her scabby\u2014just scabby. Don\u2019t you go to thinkin\u2019 she\nain\u2019t a good girl on that account\u201d; and something like an attitude of\nchivalrous protection straightened the apologetic crook in his craven\noutline.\n\u201cShe\u2019s good, just good, and when a woman\u2019s that there\u2019s no use in\nsayin\u2019 it any more fanciful. As I says to my wife, every time she give\nme a chance, \u2018If Judy wasn\u2019t a good girl these boys about here would\njust natchrally become extinct shootin\u2019 each other upon account of\nher.\u2019 But she don\u2019t favor none enough to cause trouble.\u201d\n\u201cAre the women jealous of her?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s her independence that riles \u2019em. They take on awful about her\nridin\u2019 in pants, an\u2019 it certainly is a heap more modest than ridin\u2019\nstraddle in a hitched up caliker skirt, same as some of them do.\u201d\n\u201cAnd do all the women out here ride astride?\u201d Mary gasped.\n\u201cA good many does, when you ain\u2019t watchin\u2019; horses in these parts ain\u2019t\nbroke for no such lopsided foolishness as side-saddles. But you see she\ndoes it becomin\u2019, and that\u2019s where the grudge comes in. You can\u2019t stir\nabout these foot-hills without coming across a woman, like as not,\nholdin\u2019 on to a posse of kids, and ridin\u2019 clothes-pin fashion in a\nlooped-up skirt; when she sees you comin\u2019 she\u2019ll p\u2019r\u2019aps upset a kid or\ntwo assoomin\u2019 a decorous attitood. That\u2019s feemi_nine_, and as such is\napproved by the ladies, but\u201d\u2014and here Leander put his head on one side\nand gave a grotesque impression of outraged decorum\u2014\u201cpants is\nconsidered unwomanly.\u201d\n\u201cLeander! Leander!\u201d came in accusing accents from the kitchen.\n\u201cRun!\u201d gasped Mrs. Dax\u2019s handmaiden; \u201cdon\u2019t let her catch us chinnin\u2019.\u201d\nMary Carmichael ran round one side of the house as she was bidden, but,\nlike Lot\u2019s wife, could not resist the temptation of looking back.\nLeander, with incredible rapidity, grabbed two clothes-pins off the\nline, clutched a dish-towel, shook it. \u201cComin\u2019! comin\u2019!\u201d he called, as\nhe went through the farce of rehanging it.\nThe lonesomeness of plain and foot-hill, the utter lack of the human\nelement that gives to this country its character of penetrating\ndesolation, had been changed while Mary Carmichael forgathered with\nLeander by the clothes-line. From the four quarters of the compass, men\nin sombreros, flannel shirts, and all manner of strange habiliments\ncame galloping over the roads as if their horses were as keen on\nreaching Dax\u2019s as their riders. They came towards the house at full\ntilt, their horses stretching flat with ears laid back viciously, and\nMary, who was unused to the tricks of cow-ponies, expected to see them\nride through the front door, merely by way of demonstrating their sense\nof humor. Not so; the little pintos, buckskins, bays, and chestnuts\ndashed to the door and stopped short in a full gallop; as a bit of\nstaccato equestrianism it was superb.\nAnd then the wherefore of all this dashing horsemanship, this\ncurveting, prancing, galloping revival of knightly tourney effects was\napparent\u2014Judith Rodney had opened post-office. She had changed her\nriding clothes; or, rather, that portion of them to which the ladies\ntook exception was now concealed by a long, black skirt. Her wonderful\nbraids of black hair had been twisted high on her head. She was well\nworth a trip across the alkali wastes to see. The room was packed with\nmen. One unconsciously got the impression that a fire, a fight, or some\ncrowd-collecting casualty had happened. Above the continual clinking of\nspurs there arose every idiom and peculiarity of speech of which these\nUnited States are capable. There is no Western dialect, properly\nspeaking. Men bring their modes of expression with them from Maine or\nMinnesota, as the case may be, but their figures of speech, which give\nan essential picturesqueness to their language, are almost entirely\nlocal\u2014the cattle and sheep industries, prospecting, the Indians, poker,\nfaro, the dance-halls, all contribute their printable or unprintable\nembellishment.\nJudith managed them all\u2014cow-punchers, sheep-herders, prospectors,\nfreighters\u2014with an impersonal skill that suggested a little solitary\nexercise in the bowling-alley. The ten-pins took their tumbles in good\npart\u2014no one could congratulate himself on escaping the levelling\nball\u2014and where there\u2019s a universal lack of luck, doubtless also there\nwill be found a sort of grim fellowship.\nThat they were all more or less in love with her there could be no\ndoubt. As a matter of fact, Judith Rodney did not depend on the\nscarcity of women in the desert for her pre-eminence in the interests\nof this hot-headed group. Her personality\u2014and through no conscious\neffort of hers\u2014would have been pre-eminent anywhere. As it was, in this\nwoman-forsaken wilderness she might have stirred up a modern edition of\nthe Trojan war at any moment. That she did not, despite the lurking\nsuggestion of temptation written all over her, brought back the words\nof Leander: \u201cIf Judy wasn\u2019t a good girl, these boys would just\nnacherally become extinct shooting each other upon account of her.\u201d\nAnd yet what a woman she was! It struck Miss Carmichael, as she watched\nJudith hold these warring elements in the hollow of her hand, that her\ninterest might be due to a certain temperamental fusion; that there\nmight lie, at the essence of her being, a subtle combination of saint\nand devil. One could fancy her leading an army on a crusade or\nprovoking a bar-room brawl. The challenging quality of her beauty, the\nvividness of color, the suggestion of endurance and radiating health in\nevery line, were comparable to the great primeval forces about her. She\nwas cast to be the mother of men of brawn and muscle, who would make\nthis vast, unclaimed wilderness subject to them.\nAt present neither pole of her character, as it had been hastily\nestimated, was even remotely suggested. The atmosphere in the\npost-office was, considering the potential violence of its visitors,\nsingularly calm. And Judith, feeding these wild border lads on scraps\nof chaff and banter, and retaining their absolute loyalty, was a sight\nworth seeing. She had the alertness of a lion-tamer locked in a cage\nwith the lords of the jungle; the rashly confident she humbled, the\nmeek she exalted, and all with such genuine good-fellowship, such an\nabsence of coquetry in the genial game of give and take, that one\nceased to wonder at even the devotion of Leander. And since they were\nto her, on her own confession, but \u201cspurs and sombreros,\u201d one wondered\nat the elaboration of the comedy, the endless wire-pulling in the\nmanipulation of these most picturesque marionettes\u2014until one remembered\nthe outlaw brother and felt that what she did she did for him.\n\u201cYou right shore there ain\u2019t a letter for me, Miss Judith. My creditors\nare pretty faithful \u2019bout bearing me in mind.\u201d It was the third time\nthat the big, shambling Texan who had been one of the company at Mrs.\nClark\u2019s eating-house had inquired for mail, and seemed so embarrassed\nby his own bulk that he moved cautiously, as if he might step on a\nfellow-creature and maim him. Each time he had asked for a letter he\ntook his place at the end of the waiting-line and patiently bided his\ntime for the chance of an extra word with the postmistress.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve begun to lose hope, Texas.\u201d\nShe shuffled the letters impartially, as a goddess dispensing fate, and\nbarely glanced at the man who had ridden a hundred and fifty miles\nacross sand and cactus to see her.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the difference between them and me.\u201d There was a grim finality\nin his tone.\n\u201cWhat, you\u2019re going to take your place at the end of that line again!\nI\u2019ll try and find you a circular.\u201d\nHe tried to look at her angrily, but she smiled at him with such\ngood-fellowship that he went off singing significantly that universal\nanthem of the cow-puncher the West over:\n\u201cOh, bury me not on the lone prairie,\n    In a narrow grave just six by three,\n    Where the wild coyotes will howl o\u2019er me.\nOh, bury me not on the lone prairie.\u201d\n\u201cAin\u2019t there a love letter for me?\u201d The young man who inquired seemed\nto belong to a different race from these bronzed squires of the saddle.\nHe suggested over-crowded excursion boats on Sunday afternoons in\nswarming Eastern cities. He buttonholed every one and explained his\npresence in the West on the score of his health, as though leaving his\nnative asphalt were a thing that demanded apology.\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the postmistress, with a real motherly note, \u201chere is\none from Hugous & Co.\u201d\nA roar went up at this, and the blushing tenderfoot pocketed his third\nbill for the most theatrical style of Mexican sombrero; it had a brass\nsnake coiled round the crown for a hat-band, and a cow-puncher in good\nand regular standing would have preferred going bareheaded to wearing\nit.\n\u201cShe seems to be pressing her suit, son; you better name the day,\u201d one\nof the loungers suggested.\n\u201cThe blamed thing ain\u2019t worth twenty-five dollars,\u201d the young man from\nthe East declared. A conspicuous silence followed. It seemed to\nirritate the owner of the hat that no one would defend it. \u201cIt ain\u2019t\nworth it,\u201d he repeated.\n\u201cI think you allowed you was out here for your health?\u201d the big Texan,\nwho had returned from the corral, inquired.\n\u201cBetcher life,\u201d swaggered the man with the hat, \u201cN\u2019York\u2019s good enough\nfor me.\u201d\n\u201cBut\u201d\u2014and the Texan smiled sweetly\u2014\u201cthe man who sold you the hat ain\u2019t\nout here for his.\u201d\nJudith hid her head and stamped letters. The boys were suspiciously\nquiet, then some one began to chant:\n\u201cThe devil examined the desert well,\nAnd made up his mind \u2019twas too dry for hell;\nHe put up the prices his pockets to swell,\nAnd called it a\u2014heal-th resort.\u201d\nThe postmistress waited for the last note of the chorus to die away,\nand read from a package she held in her hand\u2014\u201c\u2018Mrs. Henry Lee, Deer\nLodge, Wyoming.\u2019 Well, Henry, here\u2019s a wedding-present, I guess. And my\ncongratulations, though you\u2019ve hardly treated us well in never saying a\nword.\u201d\nThe unfortunate Henry, who hadn\u2019t even a sweetheart, and who was noted\nas the shyest man in the \u201cGoose Creek Outfit,\u201d had to submit to the\nmock congratulations of every man in the room and promise to set up the\ndrinks later.\n\u201cI never felt we\u2019d keep you long, son; them golden curls seldom gets a\nchance to ripen singly.\u201d\n\u201cShoshone squaw, did you say she was, Henry? They ain\u2019t much for looks,\nbut there\u2019s a heep of wear to \u2019em.\u201d\n\u201cOh, go on, now; you fellows know I ain\u2019t married.\u201d And the boy handled\nthe package with a sort of dumb wonder, as if the superscription were\nindisputable evidence of a wife\u2019s existence.\n\u201cOpen it, Henry; you shore don\u2019t harbor sentiments of curiosity\nregarding the post-office dealings of your lady.\u201d\n\u201cNow, old man, this here may be grounds for divorce.\u201d\n\u201cSee what the other fellow\u2019s sending your wife.\u201d\nHenry, badgered, jostled, the target of many a homely witticism,\nfinally opened the package, which proved to be a sample bottle of baby\nfood. At sight of it they howled like Apaches, and Henry was again\nforced to receive their congratulations. Judith, who had been an\ninterested on-looker without joining in the merriment, now detected in\nthe tenor of their humor a tendency towards breadth. In an instant her\nmanner was official; rapping the table with her mailing-stamp, she\nannounced:\n\u201cBoys, this post-office closes in ten minutes, if you want to buy any\nstamps.\u201d\nThe silence following this statement on the part of the postmistress\nwas instantaneous. Henry took his mirth-provoking package and went his\nway; some of the more hilariously inclined followed him. The remainder\nconfined themselves absolutely to business, scrawling postal-cards or\nreading their mail. The pounce of the official stamp on the letters, as\nthe postmistress checked them off for the mail-bag, was the only sound\nin the hot stillness.\nA heavily built man, older than those who had been keeping the\npost-office lively, now took advantage of the lull to approach Judith.\nHe had a twinkling face, all circles and pouches, but it grew graver as\nhe spoke to the postmistress. He was Major Atkins, formerly a famous\ncavalry officer, but since his retirement a cattle-man whose herds\ngrazed to the pan-handle of Texas. As he took his mail, talking\nmeantime of politics, of the heat, of the lack of water, in the loud\nvoice for which he was famous, he managed, with clumsy diplomacy, to\ninterject a word or two for her own ear alone.\n\u201cJim\u2019s out,\u201d he conveyed to her, in a successfully muffled tone. \u201cHe\u2019s\nout, and they\u2019re after him, hot. Get him out of the State, Judy\u2014get him\nout, quick. He tried to kill Simpson at Mrs. Clark\u2019s, in town,\nyesterday. The little Eastern girl that\u2019s here will tell you.\u201d Then the\nmajor was gone before Judith could perfectly realize the significance\nof what he had told her.\nShe threw back her head and the pulse in her throat beat. Like a wild\nforest thing, at the first warning sound, she considered: Was it time\nfor flight?\u2014or was the warning but the crackling of a twig? Major\nAtkins was a cattle-man: her brother hated all cattle-men. How\ndisinterested had been the major\u2019s warning! He had always been her\nfriend. Mrs. Atkins had been one of the ladies at the post who had\nhelped to send her to school to the nuns at Santa F\u00e9. She despised\nherself for doubting; yet these were troublous times, and all was fair\nbetween sheep and cattle-men. Major Atkins had spoken of the Eastern\ngirl; then that pretty, little, curly-haired creature, whom Judith had\nfound standing in the sunshine, had seen Jim\u2014had heard him threaten to\nkill. Should she ask her about it\u2014consult her? Judith\u2019s training was\nnot one to impel her to give her confidence to strangers, still she had\nliked the little Eastern girl.\nThese were the perplexities that beset her, sweeping her thoughts\nhither and thither, as sea-weed is swept by the wash of the waves. She\nstrove to collect her faculties. How should she rid the house of her\ncavaliers? She had regularly to refuse some half-dozen of them each day\nthat she kept post-office.\nIn a few minutes more the group in the post-office began to disperse\nunder the skilful manipulation of the postmistress. To some she sold\nstamps with an air of \u201cGod speed you,\u201d and they were soon but dwindling\nspecks on the horizon. To others she implied such friendly farewells\nthat there was nothing to do but betake themselves to their saddles.\nOthers had compromised with the saloon opposite, and their roaring\nmirth came in snatches of song and shouts of laughter. She fastened up\nthe little pile of letters that had remained uncalled for with what\nseemed a deliberate slowness. Each time any one entered the room she\nlooked up\u2014then the hope died hard in her face. Leander came in with\ncatlike tread and removed the pigeon-holes from the table. The\npost-office was closed. Family life had been resumed at the Daxes\u2019.\nJudith left the room and stood in the blinding sunlight, basking in it\nas if she were cold. The mercury must have stood close to a hundred,\nand she was hatless. There was no trace of her ebullient spirits of the\nmorning. Her head was sunk on her breast and she held her hands with\nlocked fingers behind her. It was hot, hot as the breaths of a thousand\nbelching furnaces. A white, burning glare had spread itself from\nhorizon to horizon, and the earth wrinkled and cracked beneath it. From\nevery corner of this parched wilderness came an ominous whirring, like\nthe last wheezing gasp of an alarm-clock before striking the hour. This\nmenacing orchestration was nothing more or less than millions of\ngrasshoppers rasping legs and wings together in hoarse appreciation of\nthe heat and glare; but it had a sound that boded evil. Again and again\nshe turned towards the yellow road as it dipped over the hills; but\nthere was never a glimpse of a horseman from that direction.\nV.\nThe Trail Of Sentiment\nWithin the house the travellers had disposed themselves in a repressed\nand melancholy circle that suggested the suspended animation of a\nfuneral gathering. The fat lady had turned back her skirt to save her\ntravelling dress. The stage was late, and there was no good and\nsufficient reason for wearing it out. A similar consideration of\neconomy led her to flirt off flies with her second best\npocket-handkerchief. Mrs. Dax presided over the gathering with awful\nseverity. Every one truckled to her shamefully, receiving her lightest\nremarks as if they were to be inscribed on tablets of bronze. Leander,\nhis eyes bright with excitement at being received in the family circle\non an equal footing, balanced perilously on the edge of his chair,\nanticipating dismissal.\n\u201cChugg\u2019s never ben so late as this,\u201d said Mrs. Dax, rocking herself\nfuriously. She strongly resembled one of those mottled chargers of the\nnursery whose flaunting nostrils seem forever on the point of sending\nforth flame. Leander, the fat lady, and Miss Carmichael meekly murmured\nassent and condemnation.\n\u201cAnd there ain\u2019t a sign of him,\u201d said Mrs. Dax, returning to the house\nafter straining the landscape through her all-observant eye, and not\ndetecting him in any of the remote pin-pricks on the horizon, in which\nthese plainsfolk invariably decipher a herd of antelope, an elk or two,\nor a horseman.\n\u201cBet he had a woman in the stage and upset it with her,\u201d said Leander,\nin the animated manner of a poor relation currying favor with a bit of\nnews.\nMrs. Dax regarded him severely for a moment, then conspicuously\naddressed her next remark to the ladies. \u201cBet he had a woman in the\nstage, the old scoundrel!\u201d\n\u201cWonder who she was?\u201d said Leander, with the sparkling triumph of a\npoor relation whose surmise had been accepted. But Mrs. Dax had\nevidently decided that Leander had gone far enough.\n\u201cWas you expectin\u2019 any of your lady friends by Chugg\u2019s stage that you\nare so frettin\u2019 anxious?\u201d she inquired, and the poor relation collapsed\nmiserably.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve heard about Chugg\u2019s goin\u2019 on since \u2018Mountain Pink\u2019 jilted him?\u201d\ninquired Mrs. Dax of the fat lady, as the only one of the party who\nmight have kept abreast with the social chronicles of the neighborhood.\n\u201cMy land, yes,\u201d responded the fat lady, proud to be regarded as\nsocially cognizant. \u201cM\u2019 son says he\u2019s plumb locoed about it\u2014didn\u2019t want\nme to travel by his stage. But I said he dassent upset a woman of my\nage\u2014he just nacherally dassent!\u201d\nMiss Carmichael, by dint of patient inquiry, finally got the story\nwhich was popularly supposed to account for the misdemeanors of the\nstage-driver, including his present delinquency that was delaying them\non their journey.\nIt appeared that Lemuel Chugg, then writhing in the coils of perverse\nromance, was among the last of those famous old stage-drivers whose\ntalents combined skill at handling the ribbons with the diplomacy\nnecessary to treat with a masked envoy on the road. His luck in these\nencounters was proverbial, and many were the hair-breadth escapes due\nto Chugg\u2019s ready wit and quick aim; and, to quote Leander, \u201cwhile he\nhad been shot as full of holes as a salt-shaker, there was a lot of\nfight in the old man yet.\u201d\nChugg had had no loves, no hates, no virtues, no genial vices after the\nmanner of these frontiersmen. Avarice had warmed the cockles of his\nheart, and the fetish he prayed to was an old gray woollen stocking,\nstuffed so full of twenty-dollar gold pieces that it presented the\nbulbous appearance of the \u201cbefore treatment\u201d view of a chiropodist\u2019s\nsign. This darling of his old age had been waxing fat since Chugg\u2019s\nearliest manhood. It had been his only love\u2014till he met Mountain Pink.\nMountain Pink\u2019s husband kept a road-ranch somewhere on Chugg\u2019s\nstage-route. She was of a buxom type whose red-and-white complexion had\nnot yet surrendered to the winds, the biting dust, and the alkali\nwater. Furthermore, she could \u201cbring about a dried-apple pie\u201d to make a\nman forget the cooking of his mother. Great was the havoc wrought by\nMountain Pink\u2019s pies and complexion, but she followed the decorous\nprecedent of C\u00e6sar\u2019s wife, and, like her pastry, remained above\nsuspicion.\nHer husband, whose name was Jim Bosky, seemed, to the self-impanelled\njury that spent its time sitting on the case, singularly insensible to\nhis own advantages. Not only did he fail to take a proper pride in her\nbeauty, but there were dark hints abroad that he had never tasted one\nof her pies. When delicately questioned on this point, at that stage of\nliquid refreshment that makes these little personalities not\nimpossible, Bosky had grimly quoted the dearth of shoes among\nshoe-makers\u2019 children.\nWhatever were the facts of the case, Mountain Pink got the sympathy\nthat might have been expected in a section of the country where the\nratio of the sexes is fifty to one. Chugg, eating her pies regularly\nonce a week on his stage-route, said nothing, but he presented her with\na red plush photograph album with oxidized silver clasps, and by this\nfirst reckless expenditure of money in the life of Chugg, Natrona,\nJohnson, Converse, and Sweetwater counties knew that Cupid had at last\nfound a vulnerable spot in the tough and weather-tanned hide of the old\nstage-driver.\nNor did Cupid stop here with his pranks. Having inoculated the\nstage-driver with the virus of romance, madness began to work in the\nveins of Chugg. He presented Mountain Pink with the gray woollen\nstocking\u2014not extracting a single coin\u2014and urged her to get a divorce\nfrom the clodlike man who had never appreciated her and marry him.\nMountain Pink coyly took the stocking so generously given for the\ndivorce and subsequent trousseau, and Chugg continued to drive his\nstage with an Apollo-like abandon, whistling love-songs the while.\nCoincident with Mountain Pink\u2019s disappearance Dakotaward, in the\ninterests of freedom, went also one Bob Catlin, a mule-wrangler. Bosky,\nwith conspicuous pessimism, hoped for the worst from the beginning, and\nas time went on and nothing was heard of either of the wanderers, some\nof Mountain Pink\u2019s most loyal adherents confessed it looked \u201cromancy.\u201d\nBut crusty old Chugg remained true to his ideal. \u201cShe\u2019ll write when she\ngets good and ready,\u201d and then concluded, loyally, \u201cMaybe she can\u2019t\nwrite, nohow,\u201d and nothing could shake his faith.\nWhen Mountain Pink and the mule-wrangler returned as bride and groom\nand set up housekeeping on the remainder of Chugg\u2019s stocking, and on\nhis stage-route, too, so that he had to drive right past the honeymoon\ncottage every time he completed the circuit, they lost caste in Carbon\nCounty. Chugg never spoke of the faithlessness of Mountain Pink. His\nbitterness found vent in tipping over the stage when his passengers\nwere confined to members of the former Mrs. Bosky\u2019s sex, and, as\nLeander said, \u201cthe flask in his innerds held more.\u201d And these were the\nonly traces of tragedy in the life of Lemuel Chugg, stage-driver.\nJudith had continued her unquiet pacing in the blinding glare while the\ngroup within doors, somnolent from the heat and the incessant shrilling\nof the locusts, droningly discussed the faithlessness of Mountain Pink,\ndozed, and took up the thread of the romance. Each time she turned\nJudith would stop and scan the yellow road, shading her eyes with her\nhand, and each time she had turned away and resumed her walk. Mary, who\ngave the postmistress no unstinted share of admiration for the courage\nwith which she faced her difficulties, and who had been seeking an\nopportunity to signify her friendship, and now that she saw the last of\nthe gallants depart, inquired of Judith if she might join her.\nThey walked without speaking for several minutes, enjoying a sense of\ncomradeship hardly in keeping with the brevity of their acquaintance; a\nfreedom from restraint spared them the necessity of exchanging\nsmall-talk, that frequently irritating toll exacted as tribute to\npossible friendship.\nThe desert lay white and palpitating beneath the noonday glare, and\nfrom the outermost rim of desolation came dancing \u201cdust-devils\u201d\nwhirling and gliding through the mazes of their eerie dance. \u201cI think\nsometimes,\u201d said Judith, \u201cthat they are the ghosts of those who have\ndied of thirst in the desert.\u201d\nMary shuddered imperceptibly. \u201cHow do you stand it with never a glimpse\nof the sea?\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll love it, or hate it; the desert is too jealous for half\nmeasures. As for the sea\u201d\u2014Judith shrugged her fine shoulders\u2014\u201cfrom all\nI\u2019ve heard of it, it must be very wet.\u201d\nEach felt a reticence about broaching the subject uppermost in her\nthoughts\u2014Judith from the instinctive tendency towards secretiveness\nthat was part of the heritage of her Indian blood; Mary because the\nsubject so closely concerned this girl for whom she felt such genuine\nadmiration.\nJudith finally brought up the matter with an abruptness that scarce\nconcealed her anxiety.\n\u201cYou saw my brother yesterday at Mrs. Clark\u2019s eating-house; will you be\ngood enough to tell me just what happened?\u201d\nMary related the incident in detail, Judith cross-examining her\nminutely as to the temper of the men at table towards Jim. Did she know\nif any cattle-men were present? Did she hear where her brother had\ngone?\nMary had heard nothing further after he had left the eating-house; the\nonly one she had talked to had been Mrs. Clark, whose sympathy had been\nentirely with Jim. Judith thanked her, but in reality she knew no more\nnow than she had heard from Major Atkins.\nJudith now stopped in their walk and stood facing the road as it rolled\nover the foot-hills\u2014a skein of yellow silk glimmering in the sun. Then\nMary saw that the object spinning across it in the distance, hardly\nbigger than a doll\u2019s carriage, was the long-delayed stage. She spoke to\nthe postmistress, but apparently she did not hear\u2014Judith was watching\nthe nearing stage as if it might bring some message of life and death.\nShe stood still, and the drooping lines of her figure straightened,\nevery fibre of her beauty kindled. She was like a flame, paling the\nsunlight.\nAnd presently was heard the uncouth music of sixteen iron-shod hoofs\nbeating hard from the earth rhythmic notes which presently grew hollow\nand sonorous as they came rattling over the wooden bridge that spanned\nthe creek.\n\u201cChugg!\u201d exclaimed Leander, rushing to the door in a tumult. There was\nsomething crucial in the arrival of the delayed stage-driver. His\ndelinquencies had deflected the course of the travellers, left them\nstranded in a remote corner of the wilderness; but now they should\nagain resume the thread of things; Chugg\u2019s coming was an event.\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t Chugg, by God!\u201d said Leander, impelled to violent language by\nthe unexpected.\n\u201cIt\u2019s Peter Hamilton!\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Dax.\n\u201cLand\u2019s sakes, the New-Yorker!\u201d said the fat lady. Only Judith said\nnothing.\nMr. Hamilton held the ribbons of that battered prairie-stage as if he\nhad been driving past the judges\u2019 bench at the Horse Show. Furthermore,\nhe wore blue overalls, a flannel shirt, and a sombrero, which sartorial\ninventory, while it highly became the slim young giant, added an extra\ncomedy touch to his r\u00f4le of whip. He was as dusty as a miller;\nclose-cropped, curly head, features, and clothes were covered with a\nfine alkali powdering; but he carried his youth as a banner streaming\nin the blue. And he swung from the stage with the easy flow of muscle\nthat is the reward of those who live in the saddle and make a fine art\nof throwing the lariat.\nThey greeted him heartily, all but Judith, who did not trust herself to\nspeak to him before the prying eyes of Mrs. Dax, and escaped to the\nhouse. Chugg\u2019s latest excursion into oblivion had resulted in a fall\nfrom the box. He was not badly hurt, and recuperation was largely a\nmatter of \u201csleeping it off,\u201d concluded Peter Hamilton\u2019s bulletin of the\ncondition of the stage-driver. So the travellers were still marooned at\nDax\u2019s, and the prospect of continuing their journey was as vague as\never.\n\u201cLast I heard of you,\u201d said Mrs. Dax to Hamilton, with a sort of\nstone-age playfulness, \u201cyou was punching cows over to the Bitter Root.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s true, Mrs. Dax\u201d\u2014he gave her his most winning smile\u2014\u201cbut I could\nnot stay away from you long.\u201d\nLeander grimaced and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight at\nfinding a man who had the temerity to bandy words with Mrs. Dax.\n\u201cHum-m-m-ph!\u201d she whinnied, with equine coquetry. \u201cGuess it was\nrustlers brought you back as much as me.\u201d\nJudith, who had entered the room in time to hear Mrs. Dax\u2019s last\nremark, greeted him casually, but her eyes, as they met his, were full\nof questioning fear. Had he come from the Bitter Root range to hunt\ndown her brother? The thought was intolerable. Yet, when he had bade\nher good-bye some three weeks ago, he had told her that he did not\nexpect to return much before the fall \u201cround-up.\u201d She had heard, a day\nor two before, that he was again in the Wind River country, and her\nmorning vigil beneath the glare of the desert sun had been for him.\nMrs. Dax regarded them with the mercilessness of a death-watch; she\nremembered the time when Hamilton\u2019s excuses for his frequent presence\nat the post-office had been more voluble than logical. But now he no\nlonger came, and Judith, for all her deliberate flow of spirits, did\nnot quite convince the watchful eyes of Leander\u2019s lady\u2014the postmistress\nwas a trifle too cheerful.\n\u201cMrs. Dax,\u201d pleaded Peter, boyishly, \u201cI\u2019m perishing for a cup of\ncoffee, and I\u2019ve got to get back to my outfit before dark.\u201d\n\u201cOh, go on with you,\u201d whinnied the gorgon; but she left the room to\nmake the coffee.\nJudith\u2019s eyes sought his. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you and Leander form a coalition\nfor the overthrow of the enemy?\u201d His voice had dropped a tone lower\nthan in his parley with Mrs. Dax; it might have implied special\ndevotion, or it might have implied but the passing tribute to a\nbeautiful woman in a country where women were few\u2014the generic\nadmiration of all men for all women, ephemerally specialized by place\nand circumstance.\nBut Judith, harassed at every turn, heart-sick with anxiety, had\nanticipated in Peter\u2019s coming, if not a solution of her troubles, at\nleast some evidence of sustaining sympathy, and was in no mood for\nresuscitating the perennial pleasantries anent Leander and his\nmasterful lady.\nThe shrilling of the locusts emphasized their silence. She spoke to him\ncasually of his change of plan, but he turned the subject, and Judith\nlet the matter drop. She was too simple a woman to stoop to oblique\nmeasures for the gaining of her own ends. If he was here to hunt down\nher brother, if he was here to see the Eastern woman at the Wetmore\nranch\u2014well, \u201clife was life,\u201d to be taken or left. Thus spoke the\nfatalism that was the heritage of her Indian blood.\nThe thought of Miss Colebrooke at Wetmore\u2019s reminded her of a letter\nfor Peter that had been brought that morning by one of the Wetmore\ncow-boys.\n\u201cI forgot\u2014there\u2019s a letter for you.\u201d She went to the pigeon-holes on\nthe wall that held the flotsam and jetsam of unclaimed mail, and\nbrought him a square, blue linen envelope\u2014distinctly a lady\u2019s letter.\nPeter took it with rather a forced air of magnanimity, as if in\nneglecting to present it to him sooner she drew heavily on his reserve\nof patience. Tearing open the envelope, he read it voraciously, read it\nto the exclusion of his surroundings, the world at large, and\u2014Judith.\nHe strode up and down the floor two or three times, and called to\nLeander, who was passing:\n\u201cDax, I must have that gray mare of yours right away.\u201d He went in the\ndirection of the stable, without a second glance at the postmistress,\nand presently they saw him galloping off in the opposite direction from\nwhich he had come. Mrs. Dax came in with a tray on which were a pot of\ncoffee and sundry substantial delicacies.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s he gone?\u201d she demanded, putting the tray down so hard that the\ncoffee slopped.\n\u201cI dunno,\u201d said Leander. \u201cHe said he\u2019d got to have the gray mare,\nsaddled her hisself, and rode off like hell.\u201d\nMrs. Dax looked at them all savagely for the explanation that they\ncould not give. In sending her out to make coffee she felt that Peter,\nwhom she regarded in the light of a weakness, had taken advantage of\nher affections to dupe her in regard to his plans.\n\u201cTake them things back to the kitchen,\u201d she commanded Leander.\nMary Carmichael involuntarily glanced at Judith; the fall of the leaf\nwas in her cheek.\nPeter Hamilton, bowed in his saddle and flogging forward inhumanely,\nbred rife speculation as to his destination among the group that\nwatched him from the Daxes\u2019 front door. Mrs. Dax, who entertained so\nprofound a respect for her own omniscience that she disdained to arrive\nat a conclusion by a logical process of deduction, was \u201cplumb certain\nthat he had gone after \u2018rustlers!\u2019\u201d Leander, who had held no opinions\nsince his marriage except that first and all-comprehensive tenet of his\ncreed\u2014that his wife was a person to be loved, honored, and obeyed\ninstantly\u2014agreed with his lady by a process of reflex action. The fat\nlady, who had a commonplace for every occasion, didn\u2019t \u201cknow what we\nwere all coming to.\u201d Miss Carmichael, who was beginning to find her\ncapacity for amazement overstrained, alone accepted this last incident\nwith apathy. Mr. Hamilton might have gone in swift pursuit of cattle\nthieves or he might be riding the mare to death for pure whimsy. Only\nJudith Rodney, who said nothing, felt that he was spurring across the\nwilderness at breakneck speed to see a girl at Wetmore\u2019s. But her lack\nof comment caused no ripple of surprise in the flow of loose-lipped\nspeculation that served, for the time being, to inject a casual\ninterest into the talk of these folk, bored to the verge of\ndemoralization by long waiting for Chugg.\nJudith preferred to confirm her apprehensions regarding Hamilton\u2019s\nride, alone. She knew\u2014had not all her woman\u2019s intuitions risen in\nclamorous warning\u2014and yet she hoped, hoped despairingly, even though\nthe dread alternative to the girl at the Wetmore ranch threatened lynch\nlaw for her brother. Her very gait changed as she withdrew from the\ngroup about the door, covertly gaining her vantage-ground inch by inch.\nThe heels of her riding-boots made no sound as she stole across the\nkitchen floor, toeing in like an Indian tracking an enemy through the\nforest. The small window at the back of the kitchen commanded a view of\nthe road in all its sprawling circumlocution. Seen from this prospect,\nit had no more design than the idle scrawlings of a child on a bit of\npaper; but the choice of roads to Good and Evil was not fraught with\nmore momentous consequences than was each prong of that fork towards\nwhich Hamilton was galloping.\nThe right arm swung towards the Wetmore ranch, where at certain times\nduring the course of the year a hundred cow-punchers reported on the\nstock that grazed in four States. At certain seasons, likewise, despite\nthe fact that the ranch was well into the foot-hill country, there\nmight be found a New York family playing at life primeval with the\nco-operation of porcelain bath-tubs, a French _chef_, and electric\nlight.\nThe left fork of the road had a meaner destiny. It dipped straight into\ndesolation, penetrating a naked wilderness where bad men skulked till\nthe evil they had done was forgotten in deeds that called afresh to\nHeaven for vengeance. It was well away on this west fork of the road\nthat they lynched Kate Watson\u2014\u201cCattle Kate\u201d\u2014for the crime of loyalty.\nIt was she, intrepid and reckless, who threatened the horde of masked\nscoundrels when they came to lynch her man for the iniquity of raising\na few vegetables on a strip of ground that cut into their grazing\ncountry. And when she, recognizing them, masked though they were,\nthreatened them with the vengeance of the law, they hanged her with her\nman high as Haman.\nJudith watched Hamilton with narrowing eyes. And now she was all\nIndian, the white woman in her dead. Only the Sioux watched, and, in\nthe patient, Indian style, bided its time. \u201cCattle thieves,\u201d \u201cthe girl\nat Wetmore\u2019s\u201d\u2014the words sang themselves in her head like an\nincantation. \u201cCattle thieves\u201d meant her brother, their recognized\nleader\u2014her brother, who was dearer to her than the heart in her breast,\nthe eye in her head, the right hand that held together the shambling,\nuncertain destiny of her people. Would he turn to the left, Justice, on\na pale horse, hunting her brother gallowsward? Would he turn towards\nthe right, the impetuous lover spurring his steed that he might come\nswiftly to the woman. A pulse in her bosom rose slowly until her breath\nwas suspended, then fell again; she was still watching, without an\noutward quiver, long after he had turned to the right\u2014and the woman.\nVI.\nA Daughter Of The Desert\nJudith knew that the name of the girl whose letter sent Peter Hamilton\nvaulting to the saddle was Katherine Colebrooke. There had been a deal\nof letter-writing between her and the young cow-puncher of late, of\nwhich perforce, by a singular irony of fate, the postmistress had been\nthe involuntary instrument. The correspondence had followed a recent\nhasty journey to New York, undertaken somewhat unwillingly by Hamilton\nin the interest of certain affairs connected with the settlement of an\nestate.\nThe precipitancy of this latest turn of events bewildered Judith; but\nyet a little while\u2014a matter of weeks and days\u2014and her friendship with\nHamilton had been of that pleasantly indefinite estate situated\nsomewhere on the borderland of romance, a kingdom where there is no law\nbut the mutual interest of the wayfarers. Judith and Peter had been\npitifully new at the game of life when the gods vouchsafed them the\nequivocal blessing of propinquity. Judith was but lately come from the\nconvent at Santa F\u00e9, and Hamilton from the university whose honors\navailed him little in the trailing of cattle over the range or in the\nsweat and tumult of the branding-pen. It was a strange election of\nopportunity for a man who had been class poet and had rather\nconspicuously avoided athletics during his entire college course. In\npursuing fortune westward Hamilton did not lack for chroniclers who\nwould not have missed a good story for the want of an authentic\ndramatic interpretation of his plans. His uncle, said they, who had put\nhim through college, was disposed to let him sink or swim by his own\nefforts; or, again, he had quarrelled with this same omnipotent uncle\nand walked from his presence with no prospects but those within grasp\nof his own hand. Again, he had taken the negative of a fair lady more\nto heart than two-and-twenty is in the habit of taking negatives. Peter\nmade no confidences. He went West to punch cows for the Wetmore outfit;\nhe was a distant connection of the Wetmores through his mother\u2019s side\nof the family.\nIn those days Peter wore his rue\u2014whether for lady fair or for towering\nprospects stricken down\u2014with a tinge of wan melancholy not unbecoming\nto a gentle aquilinity of profile, softened by the grace of\nadolescence. His instinctive aristocracy of manners and taste would\nhave availed him little with his new associates had he been a whit less\nmanly. But as he shirked no part of the universal hardship, they left\nhim his reticence. He even came to enjoy a sort of remote popularity as\none who was conversant with the best\u2014a nonchalant social\nconnoisseur\u2014yet who realized the stern primitive beauties of the range\nlife.\nJudith\u2019s convent upbringing had conferred on her the doubtful advantage\nof a gentlewoman\u2019s tastes and bearing, making of her, therefore, an\nalien in her father\u2019s house. When Mrs. Atkins, who was responsible for\nher education, realized the equivocal good of these things, and saw\nmoreover that the girl had grown to be a beauty, she offered to adopt\nher; but Judith, with the pitiful heroism of youth that understands\nlittle of what it is renouncing, thought herself strong enough to hold\ntogether a family, uncertain of purpose as quicksilver.\nIn those tragic days of readjustment came Peter Hamilton, as strange to\nthe bald conditions of frontier life as the girl herself. From the\nbeginning there had been between them the barrier of circumstance.\nHamilton was poor, Judith the mainstay of a household whose\nthriftlessness had become a proverb. He came of a family that numbered\na signer of the Declaration of Independence, a famous chief-justice,\nand the dean of a great university; Judith was uncertain of her right\nto the very name she bore. And yet they were young, he a man, she a\nwoman\u2014eternal fountain of interest. A precocious sense of the fitness\nof things was the compass that enabled Peter to steer through the deep\nwaters in the years that followed. But the girl paid the penalty of her\ngreat heart; in that troublous sea of friendship, she was soon adrift\nwithout rudder, sail, or compass.\nJudith was now eight-and-twenty, and a sculptor would have found a\nhundred statues in her. Long of limb, deep-bosomed, youth and health\nradiated from her as sparks fly upward. In sunlight, her black hair had\nthe bluish iridescence of a ripe plum. The eyes were deep and\nquestioning\u2014the eyes of a young seraph whose wings had not yet brushed\nthe far distant heights of paradise. Again, in her pagan gladness of\nliving, she might have been a Valkyr come down from Valhalla on a\nshooting-star. And yet, in this wilderness that was famishing for\nwoman\u2019s love and tears and laughter, by a very perversity of fate she\nwalked alone.\nShe was a true daughter of the desert, the child of stark, unlovely\ncircumstance. No well-bred romance of book and bells and churchly\nbenediction had ushered her into being. Her maternal grandfather had\nbeen the famous Sioux chief, Flying Hawk; her grandmother, a white\nwoman, who knew no word of her people\u2019s tongue, nor yet her name or\nrace. The Indians found the white baby sleeping by her dead mother\nafter the massacre of an emigrant train. They took her with them and\nshe grew up, in the Black Hill country, a white-skinned Sioux, marrying\na chief of the people that had slain her people. She accepted her\nsquaw\u2019s portion uncomplainingly; slaved cheerfully at squaw\u2019s work\nwhile her brave made war on the whites, hunted, and smoked. She reared\nher half-breed children in the legends of their father\u2019s people, and\ndied, a withered crone, cursing the pale-faces who had robbed the Sioux\nof the buffalo and their hunting-ground.\nHer daughter, Singing Stream, who knew no word of English, but who\ncould do better bead-work than any squaw in the tribe, went to live\nwith Warren Rodney when he finished his cabin on Elder Creek. That was\nbefore the gold fever reached the Black Hills, and Rodney built the\ncabin that he might fish and hunt and forget the East and why he left\nit. There were reasons why he wanted to forget his identity as a white\nman in his play at being an Indian. In the first flare of youth and the\njoy of having come into her woman\u2019s kingdom, the half-breed squaw was\npretty; she was proud, too, of her white man, the house he had built\nher, and the girl pappoose with blue eyes. Furthermore, she had been\ntaught to serve man meekly, for he was the lord of creation.\nRodney talked Sioux to her. He had all but forgotten he was a white\nman. The girl pappoose ran about the cabin, brown and bare, but for the\nbead jacket Singing Stream had made for her in the pride of her\nmaternity. Rodney called the little girl \u201cJudith.\u201d Her Indian mother\nnever guessed the significance of the strange name that she could not\nsay, but made at least ten soft singing syllables of, in the Indian\nway. The little Judith greeted her father in strange lispings; Warren\nRodney was far from unhappy in playing at primitive man. This\nrecessional into conditions primeval endured for \u201cseven snows,\u201d as the\nIndian tongue hath it. Then the squaw began to break, after the manner\nof the women of her father\u2019s people. She had begun her race with time a\ndecade after Warren Rodney, and she had outdistanced him by a decade.\nAnd then the Tumlins came from Tennessee to the Black Hills. They came\nin an ox-cart, and the days of their journey were more than two years.\nThey had stopped in Ohio, and again in Illinois; and, behold! neither\nwas the promised land, the land that their excited imaginations had\npainted from the large talk of returning travellers, and that was\nfurther glorified through their own thriftless discontent with\nconditions at home. They had travelled on and on across half a\ncontinent in the wake of a vanishing sky-line. The vague westward\nimpulse was luring them to California, but they waited in Dakota that\ntheir starved stock might fatten, and while they rested themselves from\nthe long journey, Warren Rodney made the acquaintance of Sally Tumlin,\nwho rallied him on being a \u201csquaw man.\u201d\nWarren Rodney had almost forgotten the sorceries of the women of his\npeople; he had lived so long with a brown woman, who spread no silken\nsnares. Sally\u2019s blushes stirred a multitude of dead things\u2014the wiles of\npale women, all strength in weakness, fragile flowers for tender\nhandling\u2014the squaw had grown as withered as a raisin.\nNow, Sally Tumlin had no convictions about life but that the world owed\nher \u201ca home of her own.\u201d Her mother had forged the bolt of this\nparticular maxim at an early date. And Sally saw from precocious\nobservation that the business of women was home-getting, to which end\nthey must be neat and sweet and sparing of speech. After the home was\nforthcoming, then, indeed, might a woman take ease in slippers and\nwrapper, and it is surely a wife\u2019s privilege to speak her mind. Sally\nknew that she hated travelling westward after the crawling oxen; each\nday the sun pursued them, caught up with them, outdistanced them, and\nat night left them stranded in the wilderness, and rose again and\nmocked them on the morrow. Her father and oafish brother loved the\nmakeshifts of the wagon life, with its chance shots at fleeing\nantelope, scurrying sage-hens, and bounding cotton-tails; a chance\nparley with a stray Indian but added zest to the game of chance. But\nSally hated it all. The cabin on Elder Creek had a tight roof; Warren\nRodney had money in the bank. He had had uncommon luck at trapping. His\ntalk to Sally was largely of his prospects.\nSally knew that the world owed her \u201ca home of her own\u201d; and why should\nshe let a squaw keep her from it? Sally\u2019s mother giggled when\nconsulted. She plainly regarded the squaw as a rival of her daughter.\nThe ethics of the case, as far as Mrs. Tumlin was concerned, was merely\na question of white skin against brown, and which should carry the day.\nSinging Stream knew not one word of the talk, much of which occurred in\nher very presence, that threatened to pull her home about her ears, but\nshe knew that Sally was taking her man from her. The white-skinned\nwoman wore white ruffles about her neck and calico dresses that were\nthe color of the wild roses that grew among the willows at the creek.\nSally Tumlin\u2019s pink calico gowns sowed a crop of nettles in the mind of\nthe squaw. It was the rainbow things, she felt, that were robbing her\nof her man. All her barbaric craving for glowing colors asserted itself\nas a means towards the one great end of keeping him. Singing Stream\nbegan to scheme schemes. One day Rodney was splitting wood at the\nTumlin camp\u2014though why he should split wood where there were two women\npuzzled the squaw. But the ways of the pale-faces were beyond her ken.\nShe only knew that she must make herself beautiful in the eyes of\nWarren Rodney, like this devil woman, and then perhaps the pappoose\nthat she expected with the first snowfall would be a man-child; and she\nhoped great things of this happening.\nWith such primitive reasoning did Singing Stream put the horses to the\nlight wagon, and, taking the little Judith with her, drove to Deadwood,\na matter of two hundred miles, to buy the bright calicoes that were to\nmake her like a white woman. It never occurred to the half-breed woman\nto make known her plans to Warren Rodney. In circumventing Sally Tumlin\nthe man became the spoils of war, and it is not the Indian way to tell\nplans on the war-trail. So the squaw left her kingdom in the hands of\nthe enemy, without a word.\nSally Tumlin and Warren Rodney looked upon the disappearance of the\nsquaw in the light of a providential solution of the difficulties\nattending their romance. They admitted it was square of her to \u201chit the\ntrail,\u201d and they decided to lose no time in going to the army post,\nwhere a chaplain, an Indian missionary, happened to be staying at the\ntime, and have a real wedding, with a ring and a fee to the parson. The\nwedding party started for the post, old mother Tumlin fluttering about\nthe bride as complacently as if the ceremony had been the culmination\nof the most decorous courtship. The oafish brother drove the bridal\nparty, making crude jests by-the-way, to the frank delight of the\nprospective groom and the giggling protestations of the bride. The\nchaplain at the post was disposed to ask few questions. Parsons made\nqueer marriages in those tumultuous days, and it was regarded as a\npatent of worthy motives that the pair should call in the man of the\ngospel at all. To the question whether or not he had been married\nbefore, Rodney answered:\n\u201cWell, parson, this is the first time I have ever stood up for a life\nsentence.\u201d And the ceremony proceeded.\nSome of the ladies at the post, hearing that there was to be a wedding,\ndropped in and added their smiles and flutterings to the rather grim\nparty; among them, Mrs. Atkins, who had just come to the post as a\nbride. They even added a trifle or two from their own store of pretty\nthings, as presents to Sally. And Miss Tumlin left the post Mrs. Warren\nRodney, with \u201ca home of her own\u201d to go to.\nSinging Stream did not hasten in her quest for bright fabrics with\nwhich to stay the hand of fate. To the half-breed woman the journey to\ntown was not without a certain revivifying pleasure. The Indian in her\nstirred to the call of the open country. The tight roof to the cabin on\nElder Creek had not the attractions for her that it had for Sally\nTumlin. She had chafed sometimes at a house with four walls. But now\nthe dead and gone braves rose in her as she followed the old trail\nwhere they had so often crept to battle against their old enemies, the\nCrows, before the white man\u2019s army had scattered them. And as she drove\nthrough the foot-hill country, she told the solemn-eyed little Judith\nthe story of the Sioux, and what a great fighting people they had been\nbefore Rodney\u2019s people drove them from their land. Judith was holding a\ndoll dressed exactly like herself, in soft buckskin shirt, little\ntrousers, and moccasins, all beautifully beaded. In her turn she told\nthe story to the doll.\nSinging Stream told her daughter of the making of the world, as the\nSioux believe the story of creation; of the \u201cFour who Never\nDie\u201d\u2014Sharper, or Bladder, Rabbit, Turtle, and Monster; likewise of the\ncoming of a mighty flood on which swam the Turtle and a water-fowl in\nwhose bill was the earth atom, from which presently the world began to\ngrow, Turtle supporting the bird on his great back, which was hard like\nrock. The rest of the myth, that deals with the rising and setting of\nthe sun, Singing Stream could not tell her daughter, as the old Sioux\nchiefs did not think it wise to let their women folk know too much\nabout matters of theology. Nor did they relate to squaws the sun myth,\nwith its account of much cutting-off of heads\u2014thinking, perhaps, with\nwisdom, that these good ladies saw enough of carnage in their every-day\nlife without introducing it into their catechism.\nBut Singing Stream knew the story of \u201cSharper,\u201d or \u201cBladder,\u201d as he is\ncalled by some of the people, because he is round and his grotesquely\nfat figure resembles a bladder blown to bursting. Bladder\u2019s province it\nis to make a fool of himself, diving into water after plums he sees\nreflected there from the branches of the trees. He dives again and\nagain in his pursuit of folly, even tying stones to his wrists and\nankles to keep himself down while he gathers the reflected fruit. After\nhis rescue, which he fights against valiantly, as he lies gasping on\nthe bank of the stream, he sees the fruit on the branches above his\nhead. It is this same Bladder who is one of the _dramatis person\u00e6_ in\nthe moon myth, and that is told to women as safely without the limits\nof that little learning that is a dangerous thing. Bladder met Rabbit\nhunting; and Bladder kept throwing his eye up into the tree-tops to\nlook for game. The Rabbit watched him enviously, thinking what a saving\nof effort it would be if he could do the same thing. Wherefore Bladder\npromised to instruct him, telling him to change eyes after using one\nfour times, but Rabbit did not think that the first time counted, as\nthat was but a trial. So he lost his eye after throwing it up the fifth\ntime. And the eye of the rabbit is the moon, and the face seen in the\nfull moon is the reflection of the rabbit seen in his own eye as we see\nourselves reflected in the eye of a friend if we look closely. The\nlittle girl was wonderfully impressed. She put her hand to her own\neyes, but they were in tight, too tight to throw up to the tree-tops.\nSinging Stream also told little Judith that the Great Mystery had shown\ntruths, hid to man, to the trees, the streams, the hills; and the\nclouds that shaped themselves, drifting hither and yon, were the Great\nMystery\u2019s passing thoughts. But he had deprived all these things of\nspeech, as he did not trust them fully, and they could only speak to\nman in dreams, or in some passing mood, when they could communicate to\nhim the feeling of one of the Great Spirits, and warn man of what was\nabout to befall him. Judith was not quite four when she took this\nmemorable drive with her mother, but the impression of these things\nabided through all her years. It was to the measureless spaces of\ndesert loneliness that she learned to bring her sorrows in the days of\nher arid youth, and to feel a kinship with all its moods and to hear in\nthe voice of its silence a never-failing consolation.\nAnd when they had come within a mile of Warren Rodney\u2019s cabin on Elder\nCreek, Singing Stream halted and prepared for the great event of\nreinstatement. First she made a splendid toilet of purple calico torn\ninto strips and tied about the waist to simulate the skirts of the\ndevil woman. Over these she wore a shirt of buckskin, broidered with\nbeads of many colors, and a necklace of elk teeth, wound twice about\nthe throat. On her feet she wore new moccasins of tanned elk-hide, and\nthese, too, were beaded in many colors. Her hair, now braided with\nstrips of scarlet flannel, hung below the waist. And she walked to\nRodney\u2019s cabin, not as an outgrown mistress, but as the daughter of a\nchief. The little Judith held up her head and clung tight to the doll.\nShe knew that something of moment was about to happen.\nThe gala trio, Singing Stream, Judith, and Judith\u2019s doll, presented\nthemselves at Rodney\u2019s house, before which the bride was washing\nclothes, the day being fine. Sally, as usual, wore one of the\nrose-colored calicoes with the collar turned well in and the sleeves\nrolled above the elbows. She washed vigorously, with a steady splashing\nof suds. Sally enjoyed this home of her own and all the household\nduties appertaining to it. She was singing, and a strand of pale-brown\nhair, crinkly as sea-weed, had blown across the rose of her cheek, when\nshe felt rather than saw a shadow fall across her path, and, glancing\nup, she saw facing her the woman whom she had supplanted, and the\nsolemn-eyed little girl holding tight to her doll. Now, neither woman\nknew a word of the other\u2019s speech, but Sally was proficient in the\nlanguage of femininity, and she was not at a loss to grasp the\nsignificance of the purple calico, the beaded buckskin shirt, and the\nnecklace of elk teeth. The half-breed walked as a chief\u2019s daughter to\nthe woman at the tub, and Sally grew sick and chill despite her white\nskin and the gold ring that made Warren Rodney her man in the face of\nthe law. The dark woman held Judith proudly by the hand, as a sovereign\nmight carry a sceptre. Judith was her staff of office, her emblem of\nauthority in the house of Warren Rodney.\nSinging Stream held out her hands to Sally in a gesture of appeal\u2014and\nblundered. Of the chief\u2019s daughter, walking proudly, Sally was afraid;\nbut a supplicating half-breed in strips of purple calico, not even\nhemmed, was a matter for merriment. Sally put her hands on her hips,\narms akimbo, and laughed a dry cackle. The light in the brown woman\u2019s\neyes, as she looked at the white, was like prairie-fires rolling\nforward through darkness. There was no need of a common speech between\nthem. The whole destiny of woman was in the laugh and the look that\nanswered it.\nAnd the man they could have murdered for came from the house, an\nunheroic figure with suspenders dangling and a corncob pipe in his\nmouth, sullen, angry, and withal abjectly frightened, as mere man\ninevitably is when he sniffs a woman\u2019s battle in the air. The bride, at\nsight of her husband, took to hysterics. She wept, she laughed, and\ndown tumbled her hair. She felt the situation demanded a scene. Rodney,\nwith a marital brevity hardly to be expected so soon, commanded Sally\nto go into the house and to \u201cshut up.\u201d\nThen he faced Singing Stream and said to her in her own language: \u201cYou\nmust go away from here. The pale-faced woman is my wife by the white\nman\u2019s law\u2014ring and Bible. No Indian marriage about this.\u201d\nBut the brown woman only pointed to Judith. She asked Rodney had she\nnot been a good squaw to him.\nAnd Rodney, who at best was but a poltroon, could only repeat: \u201cYou got\nto keep away from here. It\u2019s the white man\u2019s law\u2014one squaw for one\nman.\u201d\nFrom within came the sound of Sally\u2019s lamentation as she called for her\nfather and brother to take her from the squaw and contamination. Warren\nRodney was a man of few words. It had become his unpleasant duty to\nact, and to act quickly. He snatched Judith from her mother and took\nher into the house, and he returned with his Winchester, which was not\nloaded, to Singing Stream.\n\u201cYou got to go,\u201d he said, and levelling the Winchester, he repeated the\ncommand. Singing Stream looked at him with the dumb wonder of a forest\nthing. \u201cI was a good squaw to you,\u201d she said; and did not even curse\nhim. And turning, she ran towards the foot-hills, with all the length\nof purple calico trailing.\nNow Mrs. Rodney, _n\u00e9e_ Tumlin, was but human, and her cup of happiness\nas the wife of a \u201csquaw man\u201d was not the brimming beaker she had\nanticipated. The expulsion of her predecessor, at such a time, to make\nroom for her own home-coming, was, it seemed, open to criticism. \u201cThe\nneighborhood\u201d\u2014it included perhaps five families living in a radius of\nas many hundred miles\u2014felt that the Tumlins had established a bad\nprecedent. A \u201csquaw man\u201d driving out a brown wife to make room for a\nwhite is not a heroic figure. It had been done before, but it would not\nhand down well in the traditions of the settling of this great country.\nTrespass of law and order, with their swift, red-handed reckoning, were\nbut moves of the great game of colonization. But to shove out a brown\nwoman for a white was a mean move. Few stopped at the Rodneys\u2019 ranch,\nthough it marked the first break in the journey from town to the\ngold-mining country. Rodney had fallen from his estate as a pioneer;\nhis political opinions were unsought in the conclaves that sat and spat\nat the stove, when business brought them to the joint saloon and\npost-office. The women dealt with the question more openly, scorning\nfeminine subtlety at this pass as inadequate ammunition. When they met\nMrs. Rodney they pulled aside their skirts and glared. This outrage\nagainst woman it was woman\u2019s work to settle.\nMrs. Rodney, who had no more moral sense than a rabbit, felt that she\nwas the victim of persecution. She knew she was a good woman. Hadn\u2019t\nshe a husband? Had there ever been a word against her character? What\nwas the use of making all that fuss over a squaw? It was not as if she\nwas a white woman. The injustice of it preyed on the former Miss\nTumlin. She took to the consolations of snuff-dipping and fell from her\npink-and-white estate.\nThe Tumlin family did not remain long enough in the Black Hill country\nto witness Sally\u2019s failure as the wife of a pioneer. The restlessness\nof the \u201csettler,\u201d if the paradox be permissible, was in the marrow of\ntheir bones. The makeshifts of the wagon, the adventures of the road,\nwere the only home they craved. The spring after Sally\u2019s marriage they\nset forth for California, the year following for New Mexico, and still\nsighed for new worlds to visit. They were happier now that Sally, the\none element of discontent, had been removed from their perennial\njourneying by the merciful dispensation of marriage. Old Tumlin, his\nwife, and the son gave themselves up more than ever to the day-dreams\nof the road, the freedom of the open country, and the spirit of\nadventure.\nRodney\u2019s squaw wife was taken in by some neighbors, good folk who were\nconversant with all phases of the romance. They stood by her in her\nhour of trial, and afterwards continued to keep her as a servant. Her\nson Jim grew up with their own children. When he was four years of age\nhis mother, Singing Stream, died, and Sally persuaded her husband to\ntake young Jim into their own home, partly as a sop to neighborly\ncriticism, partly as a salve to her own conscience. Sally had children\nof her own, and looked at things differently now from the time when she\nfought the squaw for Rodney\u2019s favor.\nJim\u2019s foster-parents were, in truth, glad to part with him. From his\nearliest babyhood he had been known as a \u201climb of Satan.\u201d He was an\nIshmael by every instinct of his being. And Mrs. Warren Rodney, n\u00e9e\nTumlin, felt that in dealing with him, in her capacity of step-mother,\nshe daily expiated any offence that she might have done to his mother.\nSally grew slatternly with increasing maternity. She spent her time in\na rocking-chair, dipping snuff\u2014a consolation imported from her former\nhome\u2014and lamenting the bad marriage she had made. Rodney ascribed his\nill-fortune to unjust neighborly criticism. He farmed a little, he\nraised a little stock, and he drank a great deal of whiskey. Sally\nhated the Black Hill country. She felt that it knew too much about her.\nThe neighborly inquisition had fallen like a blight on the family\nfortunes. A vague migratory impulse was on her. She wanted to go\nsomewhere and begin all over again. By dint of persistent nagging she\npersuaded her husband to move to Wyoming, then in the golden age of the\ncattle industry. Those were days when steers, to speak in the cow\nlanguage, had \u201cjumped to seventy-five.\u201d The wilderness grew\nlight-headed with prosperity. Wonderful are the tales still told about\nthose fat years in cattle-land. It was in those halcyon days of the\nCheyenne Club that the members rode from the range, white with the dust\nof the desert, to enjoy greater luxuries than those procurable at their\nclubs in New York.\nNor was it all feasting and merrymaking. A heroic band it was that\nbattled with the wilderness, riding the range with heat and cold,\nstarvation and death, and making small pin-pricks in that empty blotch\nof the United States map that is marked \u201cGreat Alkali Desert\u201d blossom\ninto settlements. When the last word has been said about the pioneers\nof these United States, let the cow-boy be remembered in the universal\ntoast, that bronzed son of the saddle who lived his little day bravely\nand merrily, and whose real heroism is too often forgotten in the\nglamour of his own picturesqueness.\nJudith was ten years old when her father, his wife, and their children\nmoved from Dakota\u2014they were not so particular about North and South\nDakota, in those days\u2014to take up a claim on Sweetwater, Wyoming. Judith\ngave scant promise of the beauty that in later life became at once her\ndower and her misfortune, that which was as likely to bring\nwretchedness as happiness. In Wyoming she was destined to find an old\nfriend, Mrs. Atkins, who, as the bride of the young lieutenant, had\nbeen present at the marriage of Sally Tumlin and Warren Rodney, and who\nhad always felt a wholly unreasonable sense of guilt at witnessing the\nceremony and contributing a lace handkerchief to the bride. Her\nhusband, now Major Atkins, was stationed at Fort Washakie, Wyoming.\nMrs. Atkins happening again on the Rodney family, and her husband\nhaving increased and multiplied his army pay many times over by a\nsuccessful venture in cattle, the scheme of Judith\u2019s convent education\nwas put through by the major\u2019s wife, who had kept her New England\nconscience, the discomforts of frontier posts notwithstanding.\nSo Judith went to the nuns to school, and stayed with them till she was\neighteen. Mrs. Atkins would have adopted her then; but Judith by this\ntime knew her family history in all its sordid ramifications, and felt\nthat duty called her to her brother, who had not improved his\nunfortunate start in life, though his step-mother did not spoil him for\nthe staying of the rod.\nVII.\nChugg Takes The Ribbons\nChugg, comforted with liquids and stayed with a head-plaster, presented\nhimself at the Dax ranch just twenty-four hours after he was due. His\nmien combined vagueness with hostility, and he harnessed up the stage\nthat Peter Hamilton had driven over the day before, when his\nprospective passengers were looking, with a graphic pantomimic\nrepresentation of \u201ctake it or leave it.\u201d Under the circumstances, Miss\nCarmichael and the fat lady consented to be passengers with much the\nsame feeling of finality that one might have on embarking for the\nplanet Mars in an air-ship.\nThere was, furthermore, a suggestion of last rites in the farewells of\nthe Daxes, each according to their respective personalities, that was\nfar from reassuring.\n\u201cHere\u2019s some bread and meat and a bottle of cold coffee, if you live to\nneed it,\u201d was Mrs. Dax\u2019s grim prognostication of accident. Leander,\nbeing of an emotional nature, could scarce restrain his tears\u2014the\nadvent of the travellers had created a welcome variation in the\nmonotony of his dutiful routine\u2014he felt all the agitation of parting\nwith life-long friends. Mary Carmichael and Judith promised to\nwrite\u2014they had found a great deal to say to each other the preceding\nevening.\nChugg cracked his whip ominously, the travellers got inside, not daring\nto trust themselves to the box.\nThe journey with the misanthrope was but a repetition of that first\nday\u2019s staging\u2014the sage-brush was scarcer, the mountains seemed as far\noff as ever, and the outlook was, if possible, more desolate. The entry\nin Miss Carmichael\u2019s diary, inscribed in malformed characters as the\nstage jolted over ruts and gullies, reads: \u201cI do not mind telling you,\nin strictest confidence, \u2018Dere Diary\u2019\u2014as the little boy called you\u2014that\nwhen I so lightly severed my connection with civilization, I had no\nidea to what an extent I was going in for the prairie primeval. How on\nearth does a woman who can write a letter like Mrs. Yellett stand it?\nAnd where on the map of North America is Lost Trail?\u201d\n\u201cLand sakes!\u201d regretted the fat lady, \u201cbut I do wish I had a piece of\nthat \u2018boy\u2019s favorite\u2019 cake that I had for my lunch the day we left\ntown. I just ate and ate it \u2019cause I hadn\u2019t another thing to do. If I\nhadn\u2019t been so greedy I could offer him a piece, just to show him that\nsome women folk have kind hearts, and that the whole sect ain\u2019t like\nthat Pink.\u201d\n\u201cBoy\u2019s favorite,\u201d as adequate compensation for shattered ideals, a\nbroken heart, and the savings of a lifetime, seemed to Mary Carmichael\ninadequate compensation, but she forbore to express her sentiments.\nThe fat lady had never relaxed her gaze from Chugg\u2019s back since the\nstage had started. She peered at that broad expanse of flannel shirt\nthrough the tiny round window, like a careful sailing-master sweeping\nthe horizon for possible storm-clouds. At every portion of the road\npresenting a steep decline she would prod Chugg in the back with the\nhandle of her ample umbrella, and demand that he let her out, as she\npreferred walking. The stage-driver at first complied with these\nrequests, but when he saw they threatened to become chronic, he would\nsend his team galloping down grade at a rate to justify her liveliest\nfears.\n\u201cDo you think you are a-picnicking, that you crave roominating round\nthese yere solitoodes?\u201d And the misanthrope cracked his whip and\nadjured his team with cabalistic imprecations.\n\u201cDid you notice if Mrs. Dax giv\u2019 him any cold coffee, same as she did\nus?\u201d anxiously inquired the fat lady from her lookout.\nMary hadn\u2019t noticed.\n\u201cHe\u2019s drinking something out of a brown bottle\u2014seems to relish it a\nheep more\u2019n he would cold coffee,\u201d reported the watch. \u201cHi there! Hi!\nMr. Chugg!\u201d The stage-driver, thinking it was merely a request to be\nallowed to walk, continued to drive with one hand and hold the brown\nbottle with the other. But even his too solid flesh was not proof\nagainst the continued bombardment of the umbrella handle.\n\u201cUm-m-m,\u201d he grunted savagely, applying a watery eye to the round\nwindow.\n\u201cNothing,\u201d answered the fat lady, quite satisfied at having her worst\nfears confirmed.\nChugg returned to his driving, as one not above the weakness of seeing\nand hearing things.\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t coffee.\u201d\n\u201cCould you smell it?\u201d questioned Mary, anxiously.\n\u201cYou never can tell that way, when they are plumb pickled in it, like\nhim.\u201d\n\u201cThen how did you know it wasn\u2019t coffee?\u201d\n\u201cHis eyes had fresh watered.\u201d\nMary collapsed under this expert testimony. \u201cWhat are we going to do\nabout it?\u201d\n\u201cAppeal to him as a gentleman,\u201d said the fat lady, not without dramatic\nintonation.\n\u201cYou appeal,\u201d counselled Mary; \u201cI saw him look at you admiringly when\nyou were walking down that steep grade.\u201d\n\u201cIs that so?\u201d said the fat lady, with a conspicuous lack of\nincredulity; and she put her hand involuntarily to her frizzes.\nThis time she did not trust to the umbrella-handle as a medium of\ncommunication between the stage-driver and herself. Putting her hand\nthrough the port-hole she grasped Chugg\u2019s arm\u2014the bottle arm\u2014with no\nuncertain grip.\n\u201cWhy, Mr. Chugg, this yere place is getting to be a regular summer\nresort; think of two ladies trusting themselves to your protection and\ntravelling out over this great lonesome desert.\u201d\nChugg\u2019s mind, still submerged in local Lethe waters, grappled in\nsilence with the problem of the feminine invasion, and then he muttered\nto himself rather than to the fat lady, \u201cNowhere\u2019s safe from \u2019em; women\nand house-flies is universally prevailing.\u201d\nThe fat lady dropped his arm as if it had been a brand. \u201cHe\u2019s no\ngentleman. As for Mountain Pink, she was drove to it.\u201d\nAll that day they toiled over sand and sage-brush; the sun hung like a\nmolten disk, paling the blue of the sky; the grasshoppers kept up their\nshrill chirping\u2014and the loneliness of that sun-scorched waste became a\ntangible thing.\nChugg sipped and sipped, and sometimes swore and sometimes muttered,\nand as the day wore on his driving not only became a challenge to the\nendurance of the horses, but to the laws of gravitation. He lashed them\nup and down grade, he drove perilously close to shelving declivities,\nand sometimes he sang, with maudlin mournfulness:\n\u201c\u2018Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie.\u2019\nThe words came low and mournfully\nFrom the cold, pale lips of a youth who lay\nOn his dying couch at the close of day.\u201d\nThe fat lady reminded him that he was a gentleman and that he was\ndriving ladies; she threatened him with her son on Sweetwater, who\nbegan, in the maternal chronicles, by being six feet in his stockings,\nand who steadily grew, as the scale of threats increased, till he\nreached the altitude of six feet four, growing hourly in height and\nfierceness.\nBut Chugg gave no heed, and once he sang the \u201cBallad of the\nMule-Skinner,\u201d with what seemed to both terrified passengers an awful\nwarning of their overthrow:\n\u201cAs I was going down the road,\nWith a tired team and a heavy load,\nI cracked my whip and the leaders sprung\u2014\nThe fifth chain broke, and the wheelers hung,\nThe off-horse stepped on the wagon tongue\u2014\u201d\nThis harrowing ballad was repeated with accompanying Delsarte at\nintervals during the afternoon, but as Mary and the fat lady managed to\nescape without accident, they began to feel that they bore charmed\nlives.\nAt sundown they came to the road-ranch of Johnnie Dax, bearing\nLeander\u2019s compliments as a secret despatch. The outward aspect of the\nplace was certainly an awful warning to trustful bachelors who make\nacquaintances through the columns of _The Heart_ and Hand. The house\nstood solitary in that scourge of desolation. The windows and doors\ngaped wide like the unclosed eyes of a dead man on a battle-field.\nChugg halloed, and an old white horse put his head out of the door,\nshook it upward as if in assent, then trotted off.\n\u201cThat\u2019s Jerry, and he\u2019s the intelligentest animal I ever see,\u201d remarked\nthe stage-driver, sobering up to Jerry\u2019s good qualities, and presently\nJohnnie Dax and the white horse appeared together from around the\ncorner of the house.\nThis Mr. Dax was almost an exact replica of the other, even to the\napologetic crook in the knees and a certain furtive way of glancing\nover the shoulder as if anticipating missiles.\n\u201cPshaw now, ladies! why didn\u2019t you let me know that you was coming? and\nI\u2019d have tidied up the place and organized a few dried-apple pies.\u201d\n\u201cGood house-keepers don\u2019t wait for company to come before they get to\ntheir work,\u201d rebukefully commented the fat lady.\nMr. Dax, recognizing the voice of authority, seized a towel and began\nto beat out flies, chickens, and dogs, who left the premises with the\nill grace of old residents. Two hogs, dormant, guarded either side of\nthe door-step and refused so absolutely to be disturbed by the flicking\nof the towel that one was tempted to look twice to assure himself that\nthey were not the fruits of the sculptor\u2019s chisel.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s your wife?\u201d sternly demanded the fat lady.\n\u201cOh, my Lord! I presume she\u2019s dancin\u2019 a whole lot over to Ervay. She\npacked her ball-gown in a gripsack and lit out of here two days ago,\np\u2019inting that way. A locomotive couldn\u2019t stop her none if she got a\nchance to go cycloning round a dance.\u201d\nIn the mean time, the two hogs having failed to grasp the fact that\nthey were _de trop_, continued to doze.\n\u201cCome, girls, get up,\u201d coaxed Johnnie, persuasively. \u201cMaude, I don\u2019t\nknow when I see you so lazy. Run on, honey\u2014run on with Ethel.\u201d For\nEthel, the piebald hog, finally did as she was bid.\nMary Carmichael could not resist the temptation of asking how the hogs\nhappened to have such unusual names.\n\u201cTo tell the truth, I done it to aggravate my wife. When I finds myself\na discard in the matrimonial shuffle, I figgers on a new deal that\u2019s\ngoing to inclood one or two anxieties for my lady partner\u2014to which\nend\u2014viz., namely, I calls one hawg Ethel and the other hawg Maude,\nallowing to my wife that they\u2019re named after lady friends in the East.\nThem lady friends might be the daughters of Ananias and Sapphira, for\nall they ever happened, but they answers the purpose of riling her same\nas if they were eating their three squares daily. I have hopes,\neverything else failing, that she may yet quit dancing and settle down\nto the sanctity of the home out of pure jealousy of them two proxy\nhawgs.\u201d\n\u201cI can just tell you this,\u201d interrupted the fat lady: \u201cI don\u2019t enjoy\noccupying premises after hawgs, no matter how fashionable you name \u2019em.\nA hawg\u2019s a hawg, with manners according, if it\u2019s named after the\nPresident of the United States or the King of England.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what I used to think, marm, of all critters before I\nenjoyed that degree of friendliness that I\u2019m now proud to own. Take\nJerry now, that old white horse\u2014why, me and him is just like brothers.\nWhen I have to leave the kid to his lonesome infant reflections and go\noff to chop wood, I just call Jerry in, and he assoomes the\nresponsibility of nurse like he was going to draw wages for it.\u201d\n\u201cI reckon there\u2019s faults on both sides,\u201d said the fat lady,\nimpartially. \u201cNo natural woman would leave her baby to a horse to mind\nwhile she went off dancing. And no natural man would fill his house\nfull of critters, and them with highfalutin names. Take my advice, turn\n\u2019em out.\u201d\nMary did not wait to hear the continuation of the fat lady\u2019s advice.\nShe went out on the desert to have one last look at the west. The sun\nhad taken his plunge for the night, leaving his royal raiment of\ncrimson and gold strewn above the mountain-tops.\nHer sunset reflections were presently interrupted by the fat lady, who\nproposed that they should walk till Mr. Dax had tidied up his house,\nobserving, with logic, that it did not devolve on them to clean the\nplace, since they were paying for supper and lodging. They had gone but\na little way when sudden apprehension caused the fat lady to grasp\nMary\u2019s arm. Miss Carmichael turned, expecting mountain-lions,\nrattlesnakes, or stage-robbers, but none of these casualties had come\nto pass.\n\u201cLand sakes! Here we be parading round the prairie, and I never found\nout how that man cooked his coffee.\u201d\n\u201cWhat difference does it make, if we can drink it?\u201d\n\u201cThe ways of men cooks is a sealed book to you, I reckon, or you\nwouldn\u2019t be so unconcerned\u2014\u2019specially in the matter of coffee. All men\nhas got the notion that coffee must be b\u2019iled in a bag, and if they\n\u2019ain\u2019t got a regular bag real handy, they take what they can get. Oh,\nI\u2019ve caught \u2019em,\u201d went on the fat lady, darkly, \u201cb\u2019iling coffee in\nimprovisations that\u2019d turn your stomach.\u201d\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d Mary hastily agreed, hoping against hope that she wasn\u2019t\ngoing to be more explicit.\n\u201cAnd they are so cute about it, too; it\u2019s next to impossible to catch\n\u2019em. You ask a man if he b\u2019iles his coffee loose or tight, and he\u2019ll\ndeclare he b\u2019iles it loose, knowing well how suspicious and prone to\ninvestigate is the female mind. But you watch your chance and take a\nlook in the coffee-pot, and maybe you\u2019ll find\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYes, yes, I\u2019ve heard\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve seen\u2014\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s hurry,\u201d implored Mary.\n\u201cHave you made your coffee yet?\u201d inquired the fat lady.\n\u201cYes, marm,\u201d promptly responded Johnnie.\n\u201cI hope you b\u2019iled it in a bag\u2014it clears it beautiful, a bag does.\u201d\nJohnnie shifted uneasily. \u201cNo, marm, I b\u2019iles it loose. You see, bags\nain\u2019t always handy.\u201d\nThe fat lady plied her eye as a weapon. No Dax could stand up before an\naccusing feminine eye. He quailed, made a grab for the coffee-pot, and\nrushed with it out into the night.\n\u201cWhat did I tell you?\u201d she asked, with an air of triumph.\nJohnnie returned with the empty coffee-pot. \u201cTo tell the truth, marm, I\nmade a mistake. I \u2019ain\u2019t made the coffee. I plumb forgot it. P\u2019raps you\ncould be prevailed on to assist this yere outfit to coffee while I\norganizes a few sody-biscuits.\u201d\nAfter supper, when the fat lady was so busy talking \u201cgoo-goo\u201d language\nto the baby as to be oblivious of everything else, Mary Carmichael took\nthe opportunity to ask Johnnie if he knew anything about Lost Trail.\nThe name of her destination had come to sound unpleasantly ominous in\nthe ears of the tired young traveller, and she feared that her inquiry\ndid not sound as casual as she tried to have it. Nor was Johnnie\u2019s\ncandid reply reassuring.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a pizen-mean country, from all I ever heard tell. The citizens\ntharof consists mainly of coyotes and mountain-lions, with a few\nrattlers thrown in just to make things neighborly. This yere\nplace\u201d\u2014waving his hand towards the arid wastes which night was making\nmore desolate\u2014\u201cis a summer resort, with modern improvements, compared\nto it.\u201d\nMary screwed her courage to a still more desperate point, and inquired\nif Mr. Dax knew a family named Yellett living in Lost Trail.\n\u201cNever heard of no family living there, excepting the bluff at family\nlife maintained by the wild beasts before referred to. See here, miss,\nI ain\u2019t makin\u2019 no play to inquire into your affairs, but you ain\u2019t\nthinkin\u2019 o\u2019 visitin\u2019 Lost Trail, be you?\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d said Mary, faintly; and then she, too, talked \u201cgoo-goo\u201d to\nthe baby.\nVIII.\nThe Rodneys At Home\nAll that long and never-to-be-forgotten night the stage lurched through\nthe darkness with Mary Carmichael the solitary passenger. The fat lady\nhad warned Johnnie Dax that he was on no account to replenish Chugg\u2019s\nflask, if he had the wherewithal for replenishment on the premises.\nMoreover, she threatened Dax with the fury of her son should he fail in\nthis particular; and Johnnie, hurt to the quick by the unjust suspicion\nthat he could fail so signally in his duty to a lady, not only refused\nto replenish the flask, but threatened Chugg with a conditional\nvengeance in the event of accident befalling the stage. It was with a\npartially sobered and much-threatened stage-driver, therefore, that\nMary continued her journey after the supper at Johnnie Dax\u2019s, but the\nknowledge of it brought scant reassurance, and it is doubtful if the\nred stage ever harbored any one more wakeful than the pale, tired girl\nwho watched all the changes from dark to dawn at the stage window.\nOnce or twice she caught a glimpse of distant camp-fires burning and\nknew that some cattle outfit was camped there for the night; and once\nthey drove so close that she could hear the cow-boys\u2019 voices, enriched\nand mellowed by distance, borne to them on the cool, evening wind. It\ngave a sense of security to know that these big-hearted, manly lads\nwere within call, and she watched the dwindling spark of their\ncamp-fires and strained her ears to catch the last note of their\nsinging, with something of the feeling of severed comradeship. Range\ncattle, startled from sleep by the stage, scrambled to their feet and\nbolted headlong in the blind impulse of panic, their horns and the\nconfused massing of their bodies showing in sharp silhouette against\nthe horizon for a moment, then all would settle into quiet again. There\nwas no moon that night, but the stars were sown broadcast\u2014softly yellow\nstars, lighting the darkness with a shaded luster, like lamps veiled in\npale-yellow gauze. The chill electric glitter of the stars, as we know\nit from between the roofs of high houses, this world of far-flung\ndistance knows not. There the stars are big and still, like the eyes of\na contented woman.\nThe hoofs of the horses beat the night away as regularly as the ticking\nof a clock. It grew darker as the night wore on, and sometimes a coyote\nwould yelp from the fringe of willows that bordered a creek in a way\nthat made Mary recall tales of banshees. And once, when the first pale\nstreak of dawn trembled in the east and the mountains looked like\njagged rocks heaved against the sky and in danger of toppling, the\nwhole dread picture brought before her one of Vedder\u2019s pictures that\nhung in the shabby old library at home.\nThey breakfasted somewhere, and Chugg put fresh horses to the stage.\nShe knew this from their difference of color; the horses that they had\nleft the second Dax ranch with had been white, and these that now\ntoiled over the sand and desolation were apparently brown. She could\nnot be certain that they were brown, or that they were toiling over the\nsand and desolation, or that her name was Mary Carmichael, or indeed of\nanything. Four days in the train, and what seemed like four centuries\nin the stage, eliminated any certainty as to anything. She could only\nsit huddled into a heap and wait for things to become adjusted by time.\nChugg was behaving in a most exemplary manner. He drove rigidly as an\nautomaton, and apparently he looked no longer on the \u201clightning\u201d when\nit was bottled. Once or twice he had applied his eye to the pane that\nseparated him from his passenger, and asked questions relative to her\ncomfort, but Mary was too utterly dejected to reply in more than\nmonosyllables. As they crept along, the sun-dried timbers of the stage\ncreaked and groaned in seeming protest at wearing its life away in\nendless journeyings over this desert waste, then settled down into one\nof those maddeningly monotonous reiterations to which certain inanimate\nthings are given in seasons of nervous tension. This time it was: \u201cAll\nthe world\u2019s\u2014a stage\u2014creak\u2014screech\u2014all\u2014the world\u2019s a\nstage\u2014creak\u2014screech!\u201d over and over till Mary found herself fast\nsuccumbing to the hypnotic effect of the constant repetition, listening\nfor it, even, with the tyrannous eagerness of overwrought nerves, when\nthe stage-driver broke the spell with, \u201cThis here stage gets to naggin\u2019\nme along about here. She\u2019s hungry for her axle-grease\u2014that\u2019s what ails\nher.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose,\u201d Mary roused herself to say, \u201cyou have quite a feeling of\ncomradeship for the stage.\u201d\n\u201cMe and Clara\u201d\u2014the stage had this name painted on the side\u2014\u201chave been\ntravelling together nigh onto four year. And while there\u2019s times that I\nwould prefer a greater degree of reciprocity, these yere silent\ncompanions has their advantages. Why, compare Clara to them female\nblizzards\u2014the two Mrs. Daxes\u2014and you see Clara\u2019s good p\u2019ints immejit.\nYes, miss, the thirst-quenchers are on me if either one of the Dax boys\nwouldn\u2019t be glad to swap, but I\u2019d have to be a heap more locoed than I\nam now to consent to the transaction.\u201d\nAt sunset the interminable monotony of the wilderness was broken by a\nhouse of curious architecture, the like of which the tired young\ntraveller had never seen before, and whose singular candor of design\nmade her doubt the evidence of her own thoroughly exhausted faculties.\nThe house seemed to consist of a series of rooms thrown, or rather\nblown, together by some force of nature rather than by formal design of\nbuilder or carpenter. The original log-cabin of this composite dwelling\nlooked better built, more finished, neater of aspect than those they\nhad previously stopped at in crossing the Desert. Springing from the\nmain building, like claws from a crustacean, were a series of rooms\nminus either side walls or flooring. Indeed, they might easily have\npassed for porches of more than usually commodious size had it not been\nfor the beds, bureaus, chairs, stove with attendant pots, kettles, and\nsupper in the course of preparation. Seen from any vantage-point in the\nsurrounding country, the effect was that of an interior on the\nstage\u2014the background of some homely drama where pioneer life was being\nrealistically depicted. The _dramatis persona_ who occupied the centre\nof the stage when Mary Carmichael drove up was an elderly woman in a\nrocking-chair. She was dressed in a faded pink calico gown, limp and\nbedraggled, whose color brought out the parchment-like hue and texture\nof her skin in merciless contrast. Perhaps because she still harbored\nillusions about the perishable quality of her complexion, which gave\nevery evidence of having borne the brunt of merciless desert suns,\nsnows, blizzards, and the ubiquitous alkali dust of all seasons, she\nwore a pink sun-bonnet, though the hour was one past sundown, and\nthough she sat beneath her own roof-tree, even if lacking the\nprotection of four walls. From the corner of her mouth protruded a\nsnuff-brush, so constantly in this accustomed place that it had come to\nbe regarded by members of her family as part and parcel of her\nattire\u2014the first thing assumed in the morning, the last thing laid\naside at night. Mary Carmichael had little difficulty in recognizing\nJudith Rodney\u2019s step-mother, _n\u00e9e_ Tumlin\u2014she who had been the heroine\nof the romance lately recorded.\nMrs. Rodney\u2019s interest in the girl alighting from the stage was evinced\nin the palsied motion of the chair as it quivered slightly back and\nforth in place of the swinging seesaw with which she was wont to wear\nthe hours away. The snuff-brush was brought into more fiercely active\ncommission, but she said nothing till Mary Carmichael was within a few\ninches of her. Then, shifting the snuff-brush to a position more\nfavorable to enunciation, she said: \u201cHowdy? Ye be Miz Yellett\u2019s\ngov\u2019ment, ain\u2019t ye?\u201d There was something threatening in her aspect, as\nif the office of governess to the Yelletts carried some challenging\nquality.\n\u201cGovernment?\u201d repeated Mary, vaguely, her head still rumbling with the\nnoise and motion of the stage; \u201cI\u2019m afraid I hardly understand.\u201d\n\u201cAin\u2019t you-uns goin\u2019 to teach the Yellett outfit ther spellin\u2019,\nwritin\u2019, and about George Washington, an\u2019 how the Yankees kem along\narter he was in his grave an\u2019 fit us and broke up the kentry so we had\nter leave our home in Tennessee an\u2019 kem to this yere outdacious place,\nwhere nobody knows the diffunce between aig-bread an\u2019 corn-dodger? I\nwar a Miss Tumlin from Tennessee.\u201d\nThe rocking-chair now began to recover its accustomed momentum. This\nmuch-heralded educational expert was far from terrifying. Indeed, to\nMrs. Rodney\u2019s hawklike gaze, that devoured every visible item of Mary\u2019s\nextremely modest travelling-dress, there was nothing so very wonderful\nabout \u201cthe gov\u2019ment from the East.\u201d With a deftness compatible only\nwith long practice, Mrs. Rodney now put a foot on the round of an\nadjoining chair and shoved it towards Mary Carmichael in hospitable\npantomime, never once relaxing her continual rocking the meantime. Mary\ntook the chair, and Mrs. Rodney, after freshening up the snuff-brush\nfrom a small, tin box in her lap, put spurs to her rocking-chair, so to\nspeak, and started off at a brisk canter.\n\u201cI \u2019low it\u2019s mighty queer you-uns don\u2019t recognize the job you-uns kem\nout yere to take, when I call it by name.\u201d From the sheltering flap of\nthe pink sun-bonnet she turned a pair of black eyes full of\nill-concealed suspicion. \u201cMiz Yellett givin\u2019 herself as many airs \u2019bout\nhirin\u2019 a gov\u2019ment \u2019s if she wuz goin\u2019 to Congress. Queer you don\u2019t know\nwhether you be one or not!\u201d She withdrew into the sun-bonnet, muttering\nto herself. She could not be more than fifty, Mary thought, but her\nhabit of muttering and exhibiting her depopulated gums while she was in\nthe act of revivifying the snuff-brush gave her a cronish aspect.\nA babel of voices came from the open-faced room on the opposite side of\nthe house corresponding to the one in which Mary and Mrs. Rodney were\nsitting. Apparently supper was being prepared by some half-dozen young\npeople, each of whom thought he or she was being imposed upon by the\nothers. \u201cHand me that knife.\u201d \u201cGit it yourself.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll tell maw how you\nair wolfing down the potatoes as fast as I can fry \u2019em.\u201d \u201cGo on,\ntattle-tale.\u201d This was the repartee, mingled with the hiss of frying\nmeat, the grinding of coffee, the thumping sound made by bread being\nhastily mixed in a wooden bowl standing on a wooden table. The babel\ngrew in volume. Dogs added to it by yelping emotionally when the smell\nof the newly fried meat tempted them too near the platter and some one\nwith a disengaged foot at his disposal would kick them out of doors.\nPersonalities were exchanged more freely by members of the family, and\nthe meat hissed harder as it was newly turned. \u201cLaws-a-massy!\u201d muttered\nMrs. Rodney; and then, shoving back the sun-bonnet, she lifted her\nvoice in a shrill, feminine shriek:\n\u201cEudory! Eu-dory! You-do-ry!\u201d\nA Hebe-like creature, blond and pink-cheeked, in a blue-checked apron\nbesmeared with grease and flour, came sulkily into her mother\u2019s\npresence. Seeing Mary Carmichael, she grasped the skirt of the greasy\napron with the sleight of hand of a prestidigitateur and pleated it\ninto a single handful. Her manner, too, was no slower of\ntransformation. The family sulks were instantly replaced by a company\nbridle, aided and abetted by a company simper. \u201cI didn\u2019t know the stage\nwas in yet, maw. I been talking to Iry.\u201d\n\u201cThis here be Miz Yellett\u2019s gov\u2019ment. Maybe she\u2019d like to pearten up\nsome before she eats.\u201d She started the rocking-chair at a gallop, to\nsignify to her daughter that she washed her hands of further\nresponsibility. Being proficient in the sign language of Mrs. Rodney\u2019s\nsecond self, as indeed was every member of the family, Eudora led Mary\nto a bench placed in one of the rooms enjoying the distinction of a\nside wall, and indicated a family toilet service, which displayed every\nindication of having lately seen active service. A roll-towel, more\nfrankly significant of the multitude of the Rodneys than had been the\nbabel of voices, a discouraged fragment of comb, a tin basin, a\nslippery atom of soap, these Eudora proffered with an unction worthy of\nbetter things. \u201cI declare Mist\u2019 Chugg have scarce left any soap, an\u2019 I\ndon\u2019t believe thar\u2019s \u2019nother bit in the house.\u201d Eudora\u2019s accent was but\nfaintly reminiscent of her mother\u2019s strong Smoky Mountain dialect, as a\ncrude feature is sometimes softened in the second generation. It was\nnot unpleasing on her full, rosy mouth. The girl had the seductiveness\nof her half-sister, Judith, without a hint of Judith\u2019s spiritual\nquality.\nMary told her not to mind about the soap, and went to fetch her\nhand-bag, which, consistent with the democratic spirit of its\nsurroundings, was resting against a clump of sage-brush, whither it had\nbeen lifted by Chugg. Miss Carmichael\u2019s individual toilet service,\nwhich was neither handsome nor elaborate, impressed Eudora far more\npotently in ranking Mary as a personage than did her dignity of office\nas \u201cgov\u2019ment.\u201d\n\u201cI reckon you-uns must have seen Sist\u2019 Judy up to Miz Dax\u2019s. I hope she\nwar lookin\u2019 right well.\u201d There was in the inquiry an unmistakable note\nof pride. The connection was plainly one to be flaunted. Judith, with\nher gentle bearing and her simple, convent accomplishments, was plainly\nthe _grande dame_ of the family. Eudora had now divested herself of the\ngreasy, flour-smeared apron, flinging it under the wash-bench with a\nsingle all-sufficient movement, while Mary\u2019s look was directed towards\nher dressing-bag. In glancing up to make some remark about Judith, Mary\nwas confronted by a radiant apparition whose lilac calico skirts looked\nfresh from the iron.\nAt the side of the house languished a wretched, abortive garden,\nrunning over with weeds and sage-brush, and here a man pottered with\nthe purposeless energy of old age, working with an ear cocked in the\ndirection of the house, as he turned a spade of earth again and again\nin hopeless, pusillanimous industry. But when his strained attention\nwas presently rewarded by a shouted summons to supper, and he stood\nerect but for the slouching droop of shoulders that was more a matter\nof temperament than of age, one saw a tall man of massive build, whose\nkeen glance and slightly grizzled hair belied his groping, ineffectual\nlabor. The head, and face were finely modelled. Unless nature had\nfashioned them in some vagrant, prankish mood, such elegance of line\nbetokened prior generations in which gentlemen and scholars had played\nsome part\u2014the vagabond scion of a good family, perhaps. A multitude of\nsuch had grafted on the pioneer stock of the West, under names that\ncarried no significance in the places whence they came.\nWeakness and self-indulgence there were, and those writ large and deep,\non the face of Warren Rodney; and, in default of an expression of\ndeeper significance, the wavering lines of instability produced a\ncuriously ambiguous effect of a fine head modelled by a \u2019prentice hand;\na lady\u2019s copy of the Belvidere, attempted in the ardors of the first\nlessons, might approximate it.\nA smoking kerosene lamp revealed a supper-table of almost institutional\nproportions. There were four sons and two daughters of the Tumlin\nunion, strapping lads and lasses all of them, with more than a common\ndower of lusty health and a beauty that was something deeper than the\nperishable iridescence of youth. There was Fr\u00e9mont, named for the\nexplorer-soldier; there was Orlando, named from his mother\u2019s vague,\nidle musings over paper-backed literature at certain \u201cunchancy\u201d\nseasons; there was Richards, named from pure policy, for a local great\nman of whom Warren Rodney had anticipated a helping hand at the time;\nthere was Eudora, whose nominal origin was uncertain, unless it bore\naffiliation to that of Orlando; there was Sadie, thus termed to avoid\nthe painful distinctions of \u201cold Sally\u201d and \u201cyoung Sally\u201d; and, lastly,\nlike a postscript, came Dan\u2014with him, fancy, in the matter of names,\nseemed to have failed. Dan was now six, a plump little caricature of a\nman in blue overalls, which, as they had descended to him from Richards\nin the nature of an heirloom, reached high under his armpits and\nshortened the function of his suspenders to the vanishing point.\nEudora was now sixteen, and the woman-famine in all the land had gifted\nher with a surprising precocity. Eudora knew her value and meant to\nmake the most of it. Unlike her mother in the old Black Hill days, she\nexpected more than a \u201chome of her own.\u201d To-night four suitors sat at\ntable with Eudora, and she might have had forty had she desired it. Any\none of the four would have cheerfully murdered the remaining three had\nopportunity presented itself. Supper was a mockery to them, a Barmecide\nfeast. Each watched his rivals\u2014and Eudora. This was a matter of life\nand death. There was no time for food. The girl revelled in the\nsituation to the full of her untaught, unthinking, primitive nature.\nShe gave the incident a tighter twist by languishing at them in turns.\nShe smiled, she sighed, she drove them mad by taking crescent bites out\nof a slice of bread and exhibiting the havoc of her little, white teeth\nwith a delectably dainty gluttony.\nHer mother, mumbling her supper with toothless impotency, renewed her\nyouth vicariously, and, while she quarrelled with her daughter from the\nrising of the sun to the setting of the same, she added the last straw\nto the burden of the distracted suitors by announcing what a comfort\nEudora was to her and how handy she was about the house.\nWarren Rodney supported the air of an exile at his own table. Beyond a\npreliminary greeting to his daughter\u2019s guests, he said nothing. His\nfamily, in their dealings with him, seemed to accord him the exemptions\nof extreme age. He ate with the enthusiasm of a man to whom meals have\nbecome the main business in life.\n\u201cHow\u2019s your mine up to Bad Water comin\u2019 along, Iry?\u201d Orlando inquired,\nnot from any hospitable interest in Ira\u2019s claim, but because he had\nsundry romantic interests in that neighborhood and hoped to make use of\nthe young prospector\u2019s interest in his sister by securing an invitation\nto return with him. Ira regarded the inquiry in the light of a special\nprovidence. Here was his chance to impress Eudora with the splendor of\nhis prospects and at the same time smite the claims of his rivals, and\nbehold! a brother of his lady had led the way.\nIra cleared his throat. \u201cThey tell me she air like to yield a million\nany day.\u201d At this Eudora gave him the wealth of her eyes, and her\nmother reached across two of the glowering suitors and dropped a hot\nflapjack on his plate.\n\u201cWho sez that she air likely to yield a million any day?\u201d inquired Ben\nSwift, openly flouting such prophecy. \u201cYes, who sez it?\u201d inquired Hawks\nand Taylor, joining forces for the overthrow of the common enemy.\n\u201c\u2018They sez\u2019 is easy talkin\u2019, shore \u2019nuff,\u201d mumbled Mrs. Rodney, as she\nhelped herself to butter with her own knife.\n\u201cA sharp from the Smithsonian Institute at Washington, he said it, and\nhe has taken back speciments with him.\u201d\n\u201cYe can\u2019t keep lackings from freightin\u2019 round speciments\u2014naw, sir, ye\ncan\u2019t, not till the fool-killer has finished his job.\u201d Ben Swift\ncharged the table with the statement as the prosecution subtly appeals\nto the high grade of intelligence on the part of the jury. The point\ntold. Eudora, wavering in her donation of hot flapjacks, gave them to\nBen Swift.\nHawks now leaned across the table with a sinuous, beguiling motion,\nand, extending his long neck towards the prospector, with the air of a\nturkey-gobbler about to peck, he crooned, softly: \u201cIra, it\u2019s a heap\nrisky puttin\u2019 your faith in maverick sharps that trail around the\ncountry, God-a\u2019mightying it, renaming little, old rocks into precious\nstones, seein\u2019 gold mines in every gopher-hole they come to. They names\nyour backyard and the rocks appertainin\u2019 thereunto a heap fashionable,\nand like as not some sucker gives him good money to float the trash\nback East.\u201d\nMrs. Rodney, whose partisanship in any discussion was analogous to the\nposition of a hen perching on a fence unable to decide on which side to\nflutter, was visibly impressed by Hawks\u2019s presentation of the case.\nLooking towards her daughter from under the eaves of her sun-bonnet,\nshe \u201c\u2019lowed she had hearn that Bad Water was hard on the skin, an\u2019 that\nit warn\u2019t much of a place arter all. Folks over thar war mostly\nhalf-livers.\u201d\nIra, now losing all semblance of policy at being thus grievously put\ndown by his possible mother-in-law, \u201creckoned that herdin\u2019 sheep over\nto the Basin was a heap easier on the skin than livin\u2019 in a comf\u2019table\nhouse over to Bad Water\u201d\u2014this as a fling at Hawks, who herded a small\nbunch of sheep \u201cover in the Basin.\u201d\n\u201cAi-yi,\u201d openly scoffed the former Miss Tumlin; \u201ctalk\u2019s cheap before\u2014\u201d\nShe would have considered it indelicate to supply the word \u201cmarriage,\u201d\nbut by breaking off her sentence before she came to the pith of it she\ncontinued to maintain the proprieties, and at the same time conveyed to\nher audience that she was too old and experienced to permit any\nfledgling from her nest to be caught, for want of a warning, by such\nobvious ante-matrimonial chaff as fair promises.\n\u201cLaws a massy!\u201d she continued, reminiscently, working her toothless jaw\nto free it from an escaped splinter from the snuff-brush. \u201cWhen me an\u2019\npaw war keepin\u2019 comp\u2019ny, satin warn\u2019t good enough for me. He lowed I\nwuz to have half creation. Sence we wuz married he \u2019ain\u2019t never found\ntime, endurin\u2019 all these years, to build me a bird-house.\u201d\nThe unbuilt bird-house was the Banquo\u2019s ghost at the Rodney board, Mrs.\nRodney hearkening back to it in and out of season. If the family made\nmerry over a chance windfall of game or fresh vegetables, a prospect of\npossible employment for one of the boys, a donation of money from\nJudith, Mrs. Rodney remembered the unbuilt bird-house and indulged\nherself to the full of melancholy. It is not improbable that, if she\nhad been asked to name the chiefest disappointment of her wretched\nmarried life, she would have mentioned the bird-house that was never\nbuilt.\nAt mention of it Warren Rodney murmured broken, deprecatory excuses.\nHis dull eyes nervously travelled about the table for some one to make\nexcuses for him. The family broke into hearty peals of laughter; the\ntragedy of the first generation had grown to be the unfailing source of\nmerriment for the second.\n\u201cMaw,\u201d began Orlando, \u201cthe reason you don\u2019t get no bird-house built out\nhyear is that they ain\u2019t no birds. We have offered time and time again\nto build you a house fo\u2019 buzzuds, they bein\u2019 the only birds\nhyearabouts, but you \u2019low that you ain\u2019t fav\u2019ble to tamin\u2019 \u2019em.\u201d\n\u201cI wuz raised in Tennessee, an\u2019 we-uns had a house for martins made\nout\u2019n gourds, an\u2019 it was pearty.\u201d The pride with which she repeated\nthis particular claim to honor in an alien land never diminished with\nrepetition. As she advanced further through the dim perspective of\nyears, the little mountain town in Tennessee became more and more the\ncentre of cultivation and civic importance. The desolate cabin that she\nhad left for the interminable journey westward was recalled\nflatteringly through the hallowing mists of time. The children, by\nreason of these chronicles, had grown to regard their mother as a sort\nof princess in exile.\n\u201cMrs. Rodney\u201d\u2014Swift leaned towards her and whispered something in her\near. She regarded him tentatively, then grinned. At her time of life,\nwhy should she put faith in the promises of men? \u201cYou fix it up, an\u2019\nyou get your bird-house,\u201d was the conclusion of his sentence.\nWhile this discussion had been in progress the viands had not been\nneglected except by such members of the company as had been bereft of\nappetite by loftier emotions\u2014in consequence of which the table appeared\nto have sustained a visitation of seventeen-year locusts. Eudora, ever\neconomic in the value she placed not only upon herself but her\nenvironment, proposed to her guests that they should wash the dishes,\nan art in which they were by no means deficient, being no exception to\nthe majority of range bachelors in their skill in homely pursuits. And\nthus it came to pass that Eudora\u2019s suitors, swathed in aprons, meekly\nwashed dishes shoulder to shoulder, while their souls craved the\nperformance of valorous deeds.\nAs this was the last stage station on the way to Lost Trail, Mary\nCarmichael was perforce obliged to content herself till Mrs. Yellett\nshould call or send for her. After supper, Chugg, with fresh horses to\nthe stage, left Rodney\u2019s, apparently for some port in that seemingly\npathless sea of foot-hills. That there should be trails and defined\nroutes over this vast, unvaried stretch of space seemed more wonderful\nto Mary than the charted high-roads of the Atlantic. The foot-hills\nseemed to have grown during the long journey till they were foot-hills\nno longer; they had come to be the smaller peaks of the towering range\nthat had formed the spine of the desert. The air, that seemed to have\nlost some of its crystalline quality on the flat stretches of the\nplains, was again sparkling and heady in the clean hill country. It\nstirred the pulses like some rare vintage, some subtle distillation of\nsun-warmed fruit that had been mellowing for centuries.\nVery lonely seemed the Rodney home among the great company of\nmountains. A brooding desolation had settled on it at close of day, and\nall the laughter and light footsteps and gayly ringing voices of the\nyoung folk could not dispel the feeling of being adrift in a tiny shell\non the black waters of some unknown sea; or thus it seemed to the\nstranger within their gate.\nMrs. Rodney retired within the flap of her sun-bonnet after the evening\nmeal, settling herself in the rocking-chair as if it were some sort of\nconveyance. Her family, who might have told the hour of day or her\npassing mood by the action of the chair, knew by her pacific gait that\nshe would lament the unbuilt bird-house no more that night. The\nsnuff-brush, newly replenished from the tin box, kept perfect time to\nthe motion of the chair. With the lady of the house it was one of the\nbrief seasons of passing content vouchsafed by an ample meal and a good\ndigestion.\nWarren Rodney took down a gun from the wall and began to clean it. His\nhands had the fumbling, indefinite movements, the obscure action,\ndirected by a brain already begun to crumble. His industry with the gun\nwas of a part with the impotent dawdling in the garden. His eyes would\nseek for the rag or the bottle of oil in a dull, glazed way, and,\nhaving found them, he would forget the reason of his quest. Not once\nthat evening had they rested on his wife or any member of his family.\nHe had shown no interest in any of the small happenings of home, the\nfrank rivalry of Eudora\u2019s suitors, the bickerings of the girls and boys\nover the division of household labor. The one thing that had\nmomentarily aroused his somnolent intelligence was a revival of his\nwife\u2019s plaint anent the unbuilt bird-house. That, and a certain furtive\nanxiety during supper lest his daughter Eudora should forget to keep\nhis plate piled high, were the only signs of a participation in the\nlife about him.\nFrom one of the rooms that opened to the world like a stage to the\naudience, Mrs. Rodney kept her evening vigil. The last faint\namethystine haze on the mountains was deepening. They towered about the\nvalley where the house lay, with a challenging immensity, mocking the\npitiful grasp of these pygmies on the thousand hills. The snow on the\ntaller of the peaks still held the high lights. But all the valleys and\nthe spaces between the mountains were wrapped in sombre shadows; the\ncrazy house invading the great company of mountains, penetrating\nbrazenly to the very threshold of their silent councils, seemed but a\npitiful ant-hill at the mercy of some possible giant tread. The\nill-adjusted family, disputing every inch of ground with the\nwilderness, became invested with a dignity quite out of keeping with\nits achievements. Their very weaknesses and vanities, old Sally still\nclinging to her sun-bonnet and her limp rose-colored skirts, an eternal\nrequiem for the dead and gone complexion, lost the picturesqueness of\nthe pioneer and ranked as universal qualities, admissible in the\nausterest setting. Perhaps in some far distant council of the Daughters\nof the Pioneers a prospective member of the house of Rodney would\nunctuously announce: \u201cMy great-great-grandmother was a Miss Tumlin of\nTennessee; great-great-grandfather\u2019s first wife had been a Sioux squaw.\nIsn\u2019t it interesting and romantic?\u201d\nEudora now came to her mother with great news. Hawks had taken the\nfirst opportunity of being alone with her to tell her of Jim\u2019s release\nfrom jail and of his abortive encounter with Simpson in the\neating-house. He had not deferred the telling from any feeling of\nreticence regarding the disclosure of family affairs before strangers.\nNews travels in the desert by some unknown agency. Twenty-four hours\nafter a thing happened it would be safe to assume that every cow and\nsheep outfit in a radius of three hundred miles would be discussing it\nover their camp-fires; and this long before there was an inch of\ntelegraph wire or a railroad tire in the country. Hawks had merely\nreserved the news for Eudora\u2019s private ear because he hoped thus to\ngain an advantage over his three rivals.\n\u201cAi-yi!\u201d said old Sally, sharply, and the chair came to an abrupt\nstand-still. \u201cIn the name o\u2019 Heaven, how kem they to let him out?\u201d Mrs.\nRodney\u2019s knowledge of the law was of the vaguest; and if incarceration\nwould keep a prisoner out of more grievous trouble, she could not\nunderstand giving him his freedom. To her the case was analogous to\nreleasing a child from the duress of a corner and turning him loose to\nplay with matches. \u201cHow kem they to let him out?\u201d she repeated, the\nstill rocking-chair conveying the impersonal dignity of the pulpit or\nthe justice-seat. \u201cI \u2019ain\u2019t hearn tell of so pearty a couple as the\njail an\u2019 Jim in years.\u201d\nThe meaning that she put into her words belied their harsh face-value.\nWith Jim in jail, her mind was comparatively at rest about him. She\nknew he had been branding other men\u2019s cattle since the destruction of\nhis sheep, and she knew the fate of cattle-thieves, and that Jim would\nbe no exception to the rule. With her purely instinctive maternity, she\nhad been fond of Jim. He had been one more boy to mother. She harbored\nno ill-feeling towards him that he was not her own. Moreover, she\nwanted no gallows-tree intermingled with the annals of her family. It\nsuited her convenience at this particular time that Jim should stay in\njail. That he had been given his freedom loosed the phials of her\ncondemnation on the incompetents that released him.\n\u201cI \u2019low they wuz grudgin\u2019 him the mouthful they fed to him, that they\nack so outdaciously plumb locoed as to tu\u2019n a man out to get hisself\nhanged. An\u2019 Jim never wuz a hearty eater. He never seemed to relish his\nfood, even when he wuz a growin\u2019 kid.\u201d\nA pale, twinkling point of light, faintly glimmering in the vast\nsolitudes above the billowing peaks, suddenly burst into a dazzling\nconstellation before the girl and her mother. \u201cIt\u2019s a warning!\u201d\nshivered the old woman. \u201cSome\u2019um\u2019s bound to happen.\u201d She began to rock\nherself slowly. The thing she dreaded had already come to pass in her\nimagination. Jim a free man was Jim a dead man. He was so dead that\nalready his step-mother was going on with a full acceptance of the\nidea. She reviewed her relationship to him. No, she had nothing to\nblame herself for. He had been more troublesome than any of her own\nchildren and for that reason she had been more liberal with the rod.\nAnd yet\u2014the face of the squaw rose before her, wraithlike, accusing!\n\u201cAi-yi!\u201d she said; but this time her favorite expletive was hardly more\nthan a sigh.\n\u201cI mind Jim when he first kem to us,\u201d she said, more to herself than to\nEudora, who sat at her feet. The impending tragedy in the family had\nrobbed her of all the joy in her suitors. They sat on a bench on the\nopposite side of the house, divided by the very nature of their\ninterests yet companions in misery.\n\u201cHe wuz scarce four, an\u2019 yet he had never been broke of the habit of\nsucking his thumb. Ef he\u2019d ben my child, I\u2019d a lammed it out\u2019n him\nbefore he\u2019d a seen two, but seem\u2019 he was aged for an infant havin\u2019 such\npractices, I tried to shame him out\u2019n it. But, Lord a massy, men folks\nis hard to shame even at four. I hissed at him like a gyander every\ntime I seen him do it. Now I\u2019d a knowed better\u2014I\u2019d a sewed it up in a\npepper rag.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s suckin\u2019 his thumb as an infant got to do with his gettin\u2019\nlynched now?\u201d demanded Eudora, with the scepticism of the second\ngeneration.\n\u201cWait till you-uns has children of your own,\u201d sniffed her mother, from\nthe assured position of maternal experience, \u201can\u2019 see the infant that\u2019s\nallowed to suck its thumb has the makin\u2019s in him of a felon or a\nunfortunit.\u201d She rocked a slow accompaniment to her dismal, prophecy.\nEudora\u2019s eyes, big with wonder, were fixed on the crouching flank of a\ndistant mountain. Her mother broke the silence. Not often did they\nspeak thus intimately. Old Sally belonged to that class of mothers who\nfeel a pride in their reticent dealings with their daughters, and who\nconsider the management of all affairs of the heart peculiarly the\nprovince of youth and inexperience.\nBut to-night she was prompted by a force beyond her ken to speak to the\ngirl. \u201cEudory, in pickin\u2019 out one of them men,\u201d she jerked her thumb\ntowards the opposite side of the house, \u201cgit one tha\u2019s clar o\u2019 the\ntrick o\u2019 stampedin\u2019 round other wimming. It\u2019s bound to kem back to ye,\nsame as counterfeit money.\u201d\nEudora giggled. She was of an age when the fascinations of curiosity as\nto the unknown male animal prompt lavish conjecture. \u201cI \u2019lowed they all\nstampeded.\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d leered the old woman\u2014and she grinned the whole horrid length of\nher empty gums\u2014\u201cthe most of \u2019em does. But you must shet your eyes to\nit. The moment they know you swallow it, they\u2019s wuthless, like horses\nthat has run away once.\u201d\n\u201cHark!\u201d said Eudora. \u201cAin\u2019t that wheels?\u201d\n\u201cIt be,\u201d answered her mother. \u201cIt be that old Ma\u2019am Yellett after her\ngov\u2019ment.\u201d\nIX.\nMrs. Yellett And Her \u201cGov\u2019ment\u201d\nThe buckboard drew up to the back or open-faced entrance of the Rodney\nhouse with a splendid sweep, terminating in a brilliantly staccato\nhalt, as if to convey to the residents the flattering implication that\ntheir house was reached via a gravelled driveway, rather than across\nlumpish inequalities of prairie overgrown with cactus stumps and clumps\nof sage-brush. From the buckboard stepped a figure whose agility was\ncompatible with her driving.\nNo sketchy outline can do justice to Mrs. Yellett or her costume. Like\nthe bee, the ant, and other wonders of the economy of nature, she was\nnot to be disposed of with a glance. And yet there was no attempt at\nsubtlety on her part; on the contrary, no one could have an appearance\nof greater candor than the lady whose children Mary Carmichael had come\nWest to teach. Her costume was a thing apart, suggesting neither sex,\nepoch, nor personal vanity, but what it lacked of these more usual\nsartorial characteristics, it more than made up in a passionate\nindividualism; an excessively short skirt, so innocent of \u201cfit\u201d or\n\u201chang\u201d in its wavering, indeterminate outline as to suggest the\npossible workmanship of teeth rather than of scissors; and riding-boots\ncoming well to the knee, displaying a well-shaped, ample foot, perched\naloft on the usual high heel that cow-punchers affect as the expression\nof their chiefest vanity. But Mrs. Yellett was not wholly mannish in\nher tastes, and to offset the boots she wore a bodice of the type that\na generation ago used to be known as a \u201cbasque.\u201d It fitted her ample\nform as a cover fits a pin-cushion, the row of jet buttons down the\nfront looking as if a deep breath might cause them to shoot into space\nat any moment with the force of Mauser bullets.\nSuch a garb was not, after all, incongruous with this original lady\u2019s\nweather-beaten face. Her skin was tanned to a fine russet, showing\ntiny, radiating lines about the eyes when they twinkled with laughter,\nwhich was often. No individual feature was especially striking, but the\ngeneral impression of her countenance was of animation and activity,\nmingled with geniality and with native shrewdness.\n\u201cHowdy, Miz Yellett,\u201d called out old Sally, hitching her rocker\nforward, in an excitement she could ill conceal. \u201cYou-uns\u2019 gov\u2019ment\ncome, an\u2019 she ain\u2019t much bigger\u2019n a lettle green gourd. Don\u2019t seem to\nhave drawed all the growth comin\u2019 to her yit.\u201d\n\u201cIn roundin\u2019 up the p\u2019ints of my gov\u2019ment, Mis\u2019 Rodney, you don\u2019t want\nto forget that green gourds and green grapes is mighty apt to belong to\nthe sour fambly, when they hangs beyant your reach.\u201d\n\u201cAi-yi!\u201d grimaced old Sally. \u201cIt\u2019s tol\u2019able far to send East for green\nfruit. We can take our own pep\u2019mint.\u201d\nThe prospective advent of a governess in the Yellett family, moreover,\none from that mysterious centre of culture, the East, had not only rent\nthe neighborhood with bitter factions, but had submitted the Yelletts\nto the reproach of ostentation. In those days there were no schools in\nthat portion of the Wind River country where the Yelletts grazed their\nflocks and herds. Parents anxious to obtain \u201ceducational\nadvantages\u201d\u2014that was the term, irrespective of the age of the student\nor the school he attended\u2014sent them, often, with parental blindness as\nto the equivocal nature of the blessing thus conferred, to visit\nfriends in the neighboring towns while they \u201cgot their education.\u201d Or\nthey went uneducated, or they picked up such crumbs of knowledge as\nfell from the scant parental board. But never, up to the present\nmoment, had any one flown into the face of neighborly precedent except\nsturdy Sarah Yellett.\nOld Sally, in her eagerness to convey that she was in no degree\nimpressed with the pedagogical importation, like many another\nbelligerent lost the first round of the battle through an excess of\npersonal feeling. But though down, Sally was by no means out, and after\na brief session with the snuff-brush she returned to the field prepared\nto maintain that the Yellett children, for all their pampering in the\nmatter of having a governess imported for their benefit, were no better\noff than her own brood, who had taken the learning the gods provided.\n\u201cToo bad, Miz Yellett, that you-uns had to hire that gov\u2019ment without\nlookin\u2019 over her p\u2019ints. I\u2019ve ben takin\u2019 her in durin\u2019 supper, and\nshe\u2019ll never be able to thrash \u2019em past Clem. She mought be able to\nthrash Clem if she got plumb mad, these yere slim wimmin is tarrible\nwiry \u2019n\u2019 active at such times, but she\u2019ll never be able to thrash\nbeyant her.\u201d And having injected the vitriolic drop in her neighbor\u2019s\ncup of happiness, Old Sally struck a gait on her chair which was the\nequivalent of a gallop.\nBut Mrs. Yellett was not the sort of antagonist to be left gaping on\nthe road, awed to silence by the action of a rocking-chair, no matter\nhow brilliant.\n\u201cI reckon I can thrash my own children when it\u2019s needed, without\ngettin\u2019 in help from the East, or hereabouts either, for that matter.\nIf other folks would only take out their public-spirited reformin\u2019\ntendencies on their own famblies, there\u2019d be a heap less lynchin\u2019\nlikely to happen round the country in the course of the next ten\nyears.\u201d\nOld Sally let the home-thrust pass. \u201cWho ever hearn tell of a good\nteacher that wasn\u2019t a fine thrasher in the bargain?\u201d She swung the\nchair about with a pivotal motion, as if she were addressing an\nassemblage instead of a single listener, and then, bethinking herself\nof a clinching illustration, she called aloud to her daughter to bear\nwitness. \u201cEudory! Eu-do-ry! You-do-ry!\u201d\n\u201cYe-\u2019s ma\u2019am,\u201d drawled the daughter, coming most unwillingly from the\nopen-faced room opposite, where she had been inciting all four of the\nsuitors to battle.\n\u201cWhat was it they called that teacher down to Caspar that larruped the\nhide off\u2019n the boys?\u201d\n\u201cA fine dis-a-ply-narian, maw.\u201d\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s it\u2014a dis-a-_ply_-narian. What kin a lettle green gourd\nlike her know \u2019bout dis-apply-in?\u201d\n\u201cYour remarks shore remind me of a sayin\u2019 that \u2018the discomfort of\nhavin\u2019 to swallow other folks\u2019 dust causes a heap of anxiety over their\nreckless driving.\u2019\u201d\nMrs. Yellett flicked her riding-boot with her whip. Her voice dropped a\ncouple of tones, her accent became one of honeyed sweetness.\n\u201cYour consumin\u2019 anxiety regardin\u2019 my gov\u2019ment and my children shore\nreminds me of a narrative appertainin\u2019 to two dawgs. Them dawgs was\nneighbors, livin\u2019 in adj\u2019inin\u2019 yards separated by a fence, and one day\none of them got a good meaty bone and settled hisself down to the\nenj\u2019yment thereof. And his intimate friend and neighbor on the other\nside of the fence, who had no bone to engage his faculties, he began to\nfret hisself \u2019bout the business of his friend. S\u2019pose he was to choke\nhisself over that bone. S\u2019pose the meat disagreed with him. And he\nbegins to bark warnin\u2019s, but the dawg with the bone he keeps right on.\nBut the other dawg he dashes hisself again the fence and he scratches\nwith his claws. He whines pitiful, he\u2019s that anxious about his friend.\nBut the dawg with the bone he went right on till he gnawed it down to\nthe last morsel, and, goin\u2019 to the hole in the fence whar his friend\nhad kep\u2019 that anxious vigil, he says: \u2018Friend, the only thing that\nconsoled me while having to endure the anguish of eatin\u2019 that bone was\nthe thought of your watchful sympathy!\u2019 Which bein\u2019 the case, I\u2019d thank\nyou to tell me whar I can find my gov\u2019ment.\u201d\n\u201cAi-yi!\u201d said old Sally. \u201cI ain\u2019t seein\u2019 no bone this deal. Just a\nlettle green gourd \u2019s all I see with my strongest specs.\u201d\nMary Carmichael, in one of the inner rooms, was writing a home letter,\nwhich was chiefly remarkable for what it failed to relate. It gave long\naccounts of the scenery, it waxed didactic over the future of the\ncountry; but the adventures of the trip, with her incidental\nacquaintance with the Daxes and Chugg, were not recorded. Eudora\nannounced the arrival of Mrs. Yellett, and Mary, at the news, dropped\nthe contents of her portfolio and started up with much the feeling a\nmarooned sailor might have on hearing a sail has been sighted. At this\nparticular stage of her career Miss Carmichael had not developed the\nphilosophy that later in life was destined to become her most valuable\nasset. Her sense of humor no longer responded to the vagaries of\npioneer life. The comedy element was coming a little too thick and\nfast. She was getting a bit heart-sick for a glimpse of her own kind, a\nword with some one who spoke her language. And here, at last, was the\nwoman who had written such a charming letter, who had so graciously\nintimated that there was room for her at the hearth-stone. Mary was,\nindeed, eager to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Yellett.\nTo the end of her life she never forgot that first meeting\u2014the perfect\nconfidence with which she followed Eudora to the open room, the ensuing\nblank amazement, the utter inability to reconcile the Mrs. Yellett of\nthe letter with the Mrs. Yellett of fact. The lamp on the table,\nburning feebly, seemed to burst into a thousand shooting-stars as the\ngirl struggled with her tears. Home was so far, and Mrs. Yellett was so\ndifferent from what she had expected! And yet, as she felt her fingers\ncrush in the grip of that hard but not unkindly hand, there was in the\nwoman\u2019s rugged personality a sustaining quality; and, thinking again of\nArchie\u2019s prospects, Mary was not altogether sorry that she had come.\n\u201cYou be a right smart young maverick not to get lost none on this long\ntrail, and no one to p\u2019int you right if you strayed,\u201d commented Mary\u2019s\npatroness, affably. \u201cBut we won\u2019t roominate here no longer than we can\nhelp. It\u2019s too hard on old Ma\u2019am Rodney. She\u2019s just \u2019bout the color of\nwithered cabbage now, \u2019long of me havin\u2019 you.\u201d\nWhile she talked, Mrs. Yellett picked up Mary\u2019s trunk and bags and\nstowed them in the back of the buckboard with the ease with which\nanother woman might handle pasteboard boxes. One or two of the male\nRodneys offered to help, but she waved them aside and lashed the\nluggage to the buckboard, handling the ropes with the skill of an old\nsailor. The entire Rodney family and the suitors of Eudora assembled to\nwitness the departure. \u201cIt\u2019s a heap friendly of you to fret so,\u201d was\nthe parting stab of Sarah Yellett to Sally Rodney; and she swung the\nbackboard about, cleared the cactus stumps in the Rodney door-yard, and\ngained the mountain-road.\n\u201cAi-yi!\u201d said old Sally. \u201cWhat\u2019s this country comin\u2019 to?\u201d\n\u201cA few more women, thank God!\u201d remarked Ira. Eudora had just snubbed\nhim, and he put a wealth of meaning into his look after the vanishing\nbuckboard.\nThe night was magnificent. From horizon to horizon the sky was sown\nwith quivering points of light. Each straggling clump of sage-brush,\nrocky ledge, and bowlder borrowed a beauty not its own from the yellow\nradiance of the stars.\nThey had gone a good two miles before Mary\u2019s patroness broke the\nsilence with, \u201cNothing plumb stampedes my temper like that Rodney\noutfit\u2014old Sally buckin\u2019 an\u2019 pitchin\u2019 in her rockin\u2019-chair same as if\nshe was breakin\u2019 a bronco, an\u2019 that Eudory always corallin\u2019, deceivin\u2019,\nand jiltin\u2019 one outfit of men after another. If she was a daughter of\nmine, I\u2019d medjure her length across my knee, full growed and courted\nthough she is. The only one of the outfit that\u2019s wuth while is Judith,\nan\u2019 she ain\u2019t old woman Rodney\u2019s girl, neither. You hyeard that\nalready, did you? Well, this yere country may be lackin\u2019 in population,\nbut it\u2019s handy as a sewin\u2019-circle in distributin\u2019 news.\u201d\nMary mentioned Leander. \u201cYes,\u201d answered Mrs. Yellett, reflectively,\n\u201cLeander\u2019s mouth do run about eight and a half octaves. Sometimes I\ndon\u2019t blame his wife for bangin\u2019 down the lid.\u201d\nThey talked of Jim Rodney\u2019s troubles, and the growing hatred between\nsheep and cattle men, because of range rights.\n\u201cNow that pore Jim had a heap of good citizen in him, before that\npestiferous cattle outfit druv\u2019 his sheep over the cliff. Relations\n\u2019twixt sheep and cattle men in this yere country is strained beyant the\ngoin\u2019-back place, I can tell you. My pistol-eye \u2019ain\u2019t had a wink of\nsleep for nigh on eighteen months, an\u2019 is broke to wakefulness same as\na teethin\u2019 babe.\n\u201cJim was wild as a coyote \u2019fore he marries that girl. She come all the\nway from Topeka, Kansas, thinking she was goin\u2019 to find a respectable\nhome, and when she come out hyear and found the place was a dance-hall,\nshe cried all the time. She didn\u2019t add none to the hilarity of the\nplace. An\u2019 one day Jim he strolled in, an\u2019 seem\u2019 the girl a-cryin\u2019 like\na freshet and wishin\u2019 she was dead, he inquired the cause. She told him\nhow that old harpy wrote her, an\u2019, bein\u2019 an orphant, she come out\nthinkin\u2019 she was goin\u2019 to a respectable place as waitress, an\u2019 Jim he\n\u2019lowed it was a case for the law. He was a little shy of twenty at the\ntime, just a young cockerel \u2019bout br\u2019ilin\u2019 size. Some of the old\nhangers-on \u2019bout the place they see a heap of fun in Jim\u2019s takin\u2019 on\n\u2019bout the girl, he bein\u2019 that young that he had scarce growed a pair of\nspurs yet. An\u2019 one of \u2019em says to him,\u2019 Sonny, if you\u2019re afeerd that\nthis yere corral is onjurious to the young lady\u2019s morals, we\u2019ll call in\nthe gospel sharp, if you\u2019ll stand for the brand.\u2019 Now Jim hadn\u2019t a\ncent, nor no callin\u2019, nor a prospect to his back, but he struts up to\nthe man that was doin\u2019 the talkin\u2019, game as a bantam, an\u2019 he says, \u2018The\nlady ain\u2019t rakin\u2019 in anythin\u2019 but a lettle white chip, in takin\u2019 me,\nbut if she\u2019s willin\u2019, here\u2019s my hand.\u2019\n\u201cAt which that pore young thing cried harder than ever. Well, Jim he up\nan\u2019 marries the girl an\u2019 it turns out fine. He gets a job herdin\u2019 sheep\non shares, an\u2019 she stays with the Rodney outfit till he saves enough to\nbuild a cabin. Things is goin\u2019 with Jim like a prairie afire. In a few\nyears he acquires a herd of his own, a fine herd, not a scabby sheep in\nthe bunch. Alida she makes him the best kind of a wife, them kids is\nthe pride of his life, and then, them cursed cattle-men do for him. Of\ncourse, he takes to rustlin\u2019; I\u2019d do more\u2019n rustle if they\u2019d touch\nmine.\u201d\nThe pair of broncos that Mrs. Yellett was driving humped their backs\nlike cats as they climbed the steep mountain-road. With her, driving\nwas an exact science. It was a treat to see her handle the ribbons.\nMary asked some trifling question about the children and it elicited\nthe information that one of the girls was named Cacta. \u201cYes,\u201d she said,\n\u201cI like new names for children, not old ones that is all frazzled out\nand folks has suffered an\u2019 died to. It seems to start \u2019em fair, like\nplayin\u2019 cards with a new deck. Cacta\u2019s my oldest daughter, and I named\nher after the flowers that blooms all over the desert spite of\neverything, heat, cold, an\u2019 rain an\u2019 alkali dust\u2014the cactus blooms\nright through it all. Even its own thorns don\u2019t seem to fret it none. I\ncalled her plain Cactus till she was three, and along came a sharp\nstudyin\u2019 the flowers an\u2019 weeds out here, and he \u2019lowed that Cactus was\na boy\u2019s name an\u2019 Cacta was for girls\u2014called it a _fee_minin tarnation,\nor somethin\u2019 like that, so we changed it. My second daughter \u2019ain\u2019t got\nquite so much of a name. She\u2019s called Clematis. That holds its own out\nhere pretty well, \u2019long by the willows on the creek. Paw \u2019lowed he was\nterrible afraid that I\u2019d name the youngest girl Sage-brush, so he spoke\nto call her Lessie Viola, an\u2019 I giv\u2019 in. The boys is all plain named,\nBen, Jack, and Ned. Paw wouldn\u2019t hear of a fancy brand bein\u2019 run onto\n\u2019em.\u201d\nThe temperature fell perceptibly as they climbed the heights, and the\nair had the heady quality of wine. It was awesome, this entering into\nthe great company of the mountains. Presently Mary caught the glimmer\nof something white against the dark background of the hills. It gleamed\nlike a snow-bank, though they were far below the snow-line on the\nmountain-side they were climbing.\n\u201cWell, here be camp,\u201d announced Mrs. Yellett. What Mary had taken for a\nbank of snow was a huge, canvas-covered wagon. Several dogs ran down to\ngreet the buckboard, barking a welcome. In the background was a shadowy\ngroup, huge of stature, making its way down the mountain-path. \u201cAnd\nhere\u2019s all the children come to meet teacher.\u201d Mrs. Yellett\u2019s tone was\ntenderly maternal, as if it was something of a feat for the children to\nwalk down the mountain-path to meet their teacher. But Mary, straining\nher eyes to catch a glimpse of her little pupils, could discover\nnothing but a group of persons that seemed to be the sole survivors of\nsome titanic race. Not one among them but seemed to have reached the\nhigh-water mark of six feet. Was it an optical illusion, a\nhallucination born of the wonderful starlight? Or were they as huge as\nthey seemed? The young men looked giants, the girls as if they had\nwandered out of the first chapters of Genesis. Their mother introduced\nthem. They all had huge, warm, perspiring hands, with grips like bears.\nMary looked about for a house into which she could escape to gather her\nscattered faculties, but the starlight, yellow and luminous, revealed\nnone. There was the huge covered wagon that she had taken for a\nsnow-bank, there was a small tent, there were two light wagons, there\nwere dogs innumerable, but there was no sign of a house.\n\u201cWhat do you think of it?\u201d inquired Mrs. Yellett, smilingly,\nanticipating a favorable answer.\n\u201cIt\u2019s almost too beautiful to leave.\u201d Mary innocently supposed that\nMrs. Yellett referred to the starlit landscape. \u201cBut I\u2019m so tired, Mrs.\nYellett, and so glad to get to a real home at last, that I\u2019m going to\nask if you will not show me the way to the house so that I may go to\nbed right away.\u201d\nThis apparently reasonable request was greeted by a fine chorus of\ntitanic laughter from Mary\u2019s pupils. Mrs. Yellett waved her hand over\nthe surrounding landscape in comprehensive gesture.\n\u201cAin\u2019t all this large enough for you?\u201d she asked, gayly.\n\u201cYou mean the mountains? They\u2019re wonderful. But\u2014I really think I\u2019d like\nto go in the house.\u201d\n\u201cI shore hope you ain\u2019t figgerin\u2019 on goin\u2019 into no house, \u2019cause there\nain\u2019t no house to go into.\u201d She laughed merrily, as if the idea of such\nan effete luxury as a house were amusing. \u201cThis yere family \u2019ain\u2019t ever\nhad a house\u2014it camps.\u201d\nMary gasped. The real meaning of words no longer had the power of\nmaking an impression on her. If Mrs. Yellett had announced that they\nwere in the habit of sleeping in the moon, it would not have surprised\nher.\n\u201cIf you are tired, an\u2019 want to go to bed, you can shuck off and lie\ndown any time. Ben, Jack, Ned, go an\u2019 set with paw in the tent while\nthe gov\u2019ment gets ready for bed. Cacta and Clem, you help me with them\nquilts.\u201d\nMary stood helpless in the wilderness while quilts and pillows were\nfetched somewhere from the adjacent scenery, and Mrs. Yellett asked\nher, with the gravity of a Pullman porter interrogating a passenger as\nto the location of head and foot, if she liked to sleep \u201clight or\ndark.\u201d She chose \u201cdark\u201d at random, hating to display her ignorance of\nthe alternatives, with the happy result that her bed was made up to\nleeward of the great sheep-wagon, in a nice little corner of the State\nof Wyoming. Mary was grateful that she had chosen dark.\nAs she dozed off, she was reminded of a certain magazine illustration\nthat Archie had pinned over his bed after the aunts had given a\ngrudging consent to this westward journey. There was a line beneath the\npictorial decoy which read: \u201cRanch Life in the New West.\u201d And there\nwere piazzas with fringed Mexican hammocks, wild-grass cushions, a\ntea-table with a samovar, and, last, a lady in white muslin pouring\ntea. The stern reality apparently consisted in scorching alkali plains,\nwith houses of the packing-box school of architecture at a distance of\nseventy or eighty miles apart. No ladies in white muslin poured tea;\nthey garbed themselves in simple gunny-sacking, and their repartee had\nan acrid, personal note. But Mary was glad to know that Archie had that\npicture, and that he thought of her in such ideal surroundings.\nX.\nOn Horse-thief Trail\nJudith, on her black mare, Dolly, left the Dax ranch after the mid-day\nmeal to go in quest of her brother. He had left his comfortable cabin\non the Bear Creek, when he had turned rustler, and moved into the \u201cbad\nman\u2019s country,\u201d one of those remote mountain fastnesses that abound in\nWyoming and furnish a natural protection to the fugitive from justice.\nJudith took the left fork of the road even as Peter Hamilton had chosen\nthe right, the day she had watched him gallop towards Kitty Colebrooke\nwith never a glance backward. Judith strove now to put him and the\nmemory of that day from her mind by turning towards the open country\nwithout a glance in the direction he had taken. But her thoughts were\nweary of journeying over that trail that she would not look towards; in\nimagination she had travelled it with Peter a hundred times, saw each\ndip and turn of the yellow road, each feature of the landscape as he\nrode exultant to Kitty, to be turned, tried, taken or left as her mood\nshould prompt. But Judith was more woman than saint, and in her heart\nthere was a blending of joy and pain. For she knew\u2014such skill has love\nin inference from detail\u2014that the mysterious far-away girl, who was so\npowerful that she could have whatever she wanted, even to Peter, loved\nher own ambitions better than she did Peter or Peter\u2019s happiness, and\nthat she would not marry him except as a makeshift. For Miss Colebrooke\nwrote verses; Peter had a white-and-gold volume of them that Judith\nfancied he said his prayers to.\nAs for Peter himself, he had never been able to explain the magic Kitty\nhad brewed for him. There was a heady quality in the very ring of her\nname. His first glimpse of her, on Class Day, in a white gown and a hat\nthat to his manly indiscrimination looked as guileless as a sheaf of\npoppies nodding above the pale-yellow hair that had the sheen of\ncorn-silk, had been a vision that stirred in him heroic promptings. He\nhad no difficulty in securing an introduction. She was a connection of\nthe Wetmores, as was he, though through opposite sides of the house. In\nthe few minutes\u2019 talk that followed, he had the disconcerting sensation\nof being \u201ctalked down to.\u201d There was the indulgent tolerance of the\nwoman of the world to the \u201cnice boy\u201d about this amazing young woman,\nwho might have been eighteen. Hamilton had repudiated the very\nsuggestion of being a \u201cnice boy.\u201d But he felt himself blushing, groping\nfor words, saying stupid things, supplying every requisite of the \u201cnice\nboy\u201d as if he were acting the part. Her chaperon bore her away\npresently, and he was left with a radiant impression of corn-silk hair\nand a complexion that justified Bouguereau\u2019s mother-of-pearl flesh\ntints. And when she had tilted the ruffled lace parasol over her\nshoulder, so that it framed her head like a fleecy halo, he had seen\nthat her eyes were green as jade. Withal he had a sense of having\nacquitted himself stupidly.\nLater, when he ran the gamut of some friends, they had chaffed him on\nhis hardihood. By Jove! He had nerve to look at her! Didn\u2019t he know she\nwas \u201cthe\u201d Miss Colebrooke? Now Hamilton was absolutely ignorant of Miss\nColebrooke\u2019s right of way to the definite article, but it was\ncharacteristic of him to make no inquiries. On the whole, he found the\nsituation meeting with a greater number of the artistic requirements\nthan such situations usually presented. He was still dallying with this\npleasant vagueness of sensation when he picked up a copy of a magazine,\nand the name Katherine Colebrooke caught his eye and held it like the\nflight of a comet. Her contribution was a sonnet entitled \u201cThe\nMiracle.\u201d As a na\u00efve emotional confession, \u201cThe Miracle\u201d interested\nhim; as a sonnet, he rent it unmercifully.\nPeter was to learn, however, that this sonnet was but a solitary flake\nin a poetic fall of more or less magnitude. He rather conspicuously\navoided a reference to her poetry when they met again. To him it was\nthe very least of her gifts. Her hair, that had the tender yellow of\nripening corn, was worthy a cycle of sonnets, but pray leave the making\nof them to some one else! By daylight the jade-colored eyes seemed to\nshut out the world. The pupils shrank to pin-points. The green looked\ndeep\u2014as many fathoms as the sea. She was all Diana by daylight, a\nhuntress, if you will, of the elusive epithet, but essentially a maiden\ngoddess, who would add no sprightly romance to the chronicles of\nOlympus. By lamp-light she suggested quite another divinity. The\npin-points expanded; they burned black, like coals newly breaking into\nflame.\nWhen Hamilton knew her better, he did not like to think that he had\nthought her eighteen at their first meeting. It impugned his judgment\nas a man of the world. Young ladies of eighteen could not possibly be\ncontributors of several years\u2019 standing to the various magazines.\nDisconcerting scraps of gossip floated to him. He heard of her as\nbridesmaid at a famous wedding of six years back, when she had\ndeflected the admiration from the bride and remained the central figure\nof the picture. Her portrait by Sargent had been the sensation of the\nSalon when he had been a grubby-faced boy with his nose in a Latin\ngrammar. An unusual situation was abhorrent to him. That he should\nmarry an older woman, one, moreover, who had gained her public in a\nfield to which he had not gained admission, was doubly distasteful by\nreason of his deference to the conventional. If she had flirted with\nhim, his midsummer madness would have evaporated into thin air; but she\nkept him at arm\u2019s-length, ostensibly took him seriously, and the boy\nproposed.\nHer rejection of him was a matter of such consummate skill that\nHamilton did not realize the keenness of his disappointment till he was\nswinging westward over the prairies. She had confided to him that her\nwork claimed her and that she must renounce those sweet\nresponsibilities that made the happiness of other women. It was with\nthe protective mien of one who sought to shield him from an adverse\ndestiny that she declined his suit.\nThis had all happened seven years ago. In the mean time he had adjusted\nhis disappointment to the new life of the West. To say that he had\nfallen in love with the situation would be to misrepresent him. But the\nr\u00f4le of lonely cow-puncher loyally wedded to the thought of his first\nlove was not without charm to Peter. How long his constancy would have\nsurvived the test of propinquity to a woman of Judith Rodney\u2019s\ncompelling personality, other things being equal, it would be difficult\nto hazard a guess. The coming of Judith from the convent increased the\nperspective into which Kitty was retreating. With the vivid plainswoman\nin the foreground, the pale-haired writer of verse dwindled almost to\nreminiscence. But the reverence for the usual, that made up the\nunderlying motive for so much of Hamilton\u2019s conduct, presented barriers\nalongside of which his previous quandary regarding Miss Colebrooke\u2019s\nseniority shrank to insignificance. He might marry a woman older than\nhimself and swallow the grimace of it, but by no conceivable system of\nargument could he persuade himself to marry into a family like that of\nthe Rodneys\u2014the girl herself, for all her beauty and rare womanliness,\na quarter Indian, her father the synonyme for obloquy, her brother a\ncattle thief. Hamilton preferred that other men should make the heroic\nmarriages of a new country. He was prepared to applaud their hardihood\nof temperament, but in his own case such a thing was inconceivable.\nSimilar arguments have ensnared multitudes in the web of caution and\nprovided a rich feast for the arch-spider, convention, the shrivelled\nflies dangling in the web conveying no significance, apparently, beyond\nthat of advertising the system.\nWhen Peter went East, he had expected to find Kitty worn by the pursuit\nof epithets, haunted by the phantom of a career, resigned to the slings\nand arrows of remorseful spinsterhood. An obvious regret, or, at least,\nresignation tempered with remembrance, was the unguent he anticipated\nat the hands of Kitty. But alas for sanctuaries built to refuge wounded\npride! He found Kitty the pivot of an adoring coterie, the magazines\nflowing with the milk and honey of her verse and she looking younger,\nif possible, than when he had first known her. Time, experience, even\nthe pangs of literary parturition had not writ a single character on\nthat alabaster brow. The very atrophy of the forces of time which she\nhad accomplished by unknown necromancy seemed to endow her with an\nelfin youth, making her seem smaller, more childlike, more radiantly\nelusive than when she had worn the poppy hat at Cambridge.\nThe tan and hardship of the prairie had adjusted the blunder of their\nages. Stark conditions had overdrawn his account perhaps a decade; she\nretained a surplus it would be rude to estimate. Her greeting of him\nwas radiant, her welcome panoplied in words that verged close to\ninspiration. A woman would have scented warning instantly, deep feeling\nand the curled and perfumed phrase being suspicious cronies and sure to\nrouse those lightly slumbering watch-dogs, the feminine wits. But Peter\nonly turned the other cheek. More than once, in the days that followed,\nhe devoutly thanked his patron saint, caution, that his relations with\nJudith had been governed by characteristic prudence. Kitty admitted him\nto her coterie, but he had lost nothing of his attitude of grand Turk\ntowards her verses. The sin be upon the heads of whomever took such\nthings seriously! The irony of fate that compelled a class poet to\npunch cows may have tinctured his judgment.\nA telegram recalled him to the ranch and prevented a final leave-taking\nwith Miss Colebrooke. He made his adieux by letter, and they were\nfrankly regretful. Miss Colebrooke\u2019s reply mingled sorrow in parting\nfrom her old friend with joy in having found him. Her letter, a\nmasterpiece of phrase-spinning, presented to Peter the one significant\nfact that she would not be averse to the renewal of his suit. In\nreading her letter he made no allowance for the fact that the lady had\nmade a fine art of saying things, and that her joy and regret at their\nmeeting and parting might have been reminiscent of the printed passion\nthat was so prominent a feature of magazinedom. Her letters\u2014the like of\nthem he had never seen outside printed volumes of letters that had\nachieved the distinction of classics\u2014culminated in the one that Judith\nhad given him that morning, announcing that unexpectedly she had\ndecided to join the Wetmore girls and would be glad to see him at the\nranch.\nThat he had flown at her bidding, Judith knew. What she would least\nhave suspected was that Miss Colebrooke had received her visitor as if\nhis breakneck ride across the desert had been in the nature of an\nafternoon call. If Judith, knowing what she did of this long-drawn-out\nromance, could have known likewise of her knight\u2019s chagrin, would she\nhave pitied him?\nIgnorant of the recent anticlimax, and with a burden of many heavy\nthoughts, Judith was penetrating a world of unleavened desolation.\nBeneath the scourge of the noon-day sun the desert lay, stripped of\nevery illusion. Vegetation had almost ceased, nothing but sun-scorched,\ndust-choked sage-brush could spring from such sterility. The fruit of\ndesolation, it gave back to desolation a quality more melancholy than\nutter barrenness. Glittering in the sunlight, the beds of alkali\ngleamed leper white; above them the agitated air was like the hot waves\nthat dance and quiver about iron at white heat. From horizon to horizon\nthe curse of God seemed to have fallen on the land; it was as if,\ncursing it, He had forgotten it, and left it as the abomination of\ndesolation. Judith scarce heeded, her thoughts straying after first one\nthen another of the group that made up her little world\u2014Peter Hamilton,\nKitty Colebrooke, Jim, his family\u2014thoughts inconsequent as the dancing\ndust-devils that whirled over that infinity of space, and, whirling,\ndisappeared and reappeared at some new corner of the compass.\nThe trail that she must take to Jim\u2019s camp in the mountain was known to\nbut few honest men. Fugitives from justice\u2014the grave, impersonal\njustice of the law, or the swift justice of the plains\u2014found there an\nasylum. And while they sometimes suffered, in death by thirst or\nhunger, a sentence more dreadful than the law of the land or the law of\nthe rope would have given them, the desert, like the sea, seldom gave\nup her own. It was more than probable that no woman except Alida Rodney\nhad ever taken that trail before, and reasonably certain that no woman\nhad ever taken it alone. Dolly, when she saw the beds of alkali grow\nmore frequent, and that the trails of the range cattle turned back,\nsniffed the lack of water in the air, slackened her pace, and turned an\ninterrogatory ear towards her mistress.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right, old girl\u201d; the gauntleted hand patted the satin neck.\n\u201cWe\u2019re in for\u201d\u2014Judith flung her head up and confronted the infinite\ndesolation yawning to the sky-line\u2014\u201cGod knows what.\u201d\nDolly broke into a light canter; this evidently was not an occasion for\ndawdling. There was a touch of business about the way the reins were\nheld that made the mare settle down to work. But her flying hoofs made\nlittle apparent progress against the space and silence of the desert.\nFive, ten, fifteen miles and the curving shoulder of the mountain, that\nshe must cross, still mocked in the distance. Only the sun moved in\nthat vast world of seemingly immutable forces.\nThere was no stoic Sioux in Judith now. The girl that breasted the\ncrests of the foot-hills shrank in terror from the loneliness and the\nsuggestion of foes lurking in ambush. The sun dropped behind the\nmountain, leaving a blood-red pool in his wake, like fugitive Cain.\nAlready night was sweeping over the earth from mountain shadows that\nflowed imperceptibly together like blackened pools. To the girl\nfollowing the trail the silence was more dreadful than a chorus of\nthreatening voices. She listened till the stillness beat at her ears\nlike the stamping of ten thousand hoofs, then pulled up her horse, and\nthe desert was as still as the chamber of death.\n\u201cAh, Dolly, my dear, a house is the place for women folk when the night\ncomes\u2014a house, the fire burning clear, the kettle singing, and\u2014\u201d Dolly\nwhinnied an affirmative without waiting for the picture to be\ncompleted. The wilderness was being gradually swallowed by the shadows,\nas deliberately as a snake swallows its victim. They were nearing the\nmountains. The hot blasts of air from the desert blew more and more\nintermittently. The breeze swept keen from the hills, towering higher\nand higher, and Judith breathed deep of the piny fragrance and felt the\ntension of things loosen a little.\nWhitening cattle bones gleamed from the darkness, tragic reminders of\nhard winters and scant pasturage, and Judith, with the Indian\nsuperstition that was in the marrow of her bones, read ghostly warnings\nin the empty eye-sockets of the grinning skulls that stared up at her.\nShe dared not think of the dangers that the looming darkness might\nconceal, or of what she might find at her journey\u2019s end, or\u2014\u201cWhoa,\nDolly! softly, girl. Is it my foolish, white-blood nerves, or is some\none following?\u201d\nThe mare had been trained to respond to the slightest touch on her\nmouth, and stopped instantly. Judith swayed slightly in the saddle with\nthe heaving of the sweating horse. The blood beat at her temples,\nconfusing what she actually heard with what her imagination pictured.\nShe was half-way up a towering spur of the Wind River when she slid\nfrom the saddle, and putting her ear to the ground listened, Indian\nfashion. Above the throbbing stillness of the desert night, that came\nto her murmurously, like the imprisoned roar of the sea from a shell,\nshe could hear the regular beat of horse\u2019s hoofs following up the steep\nmountain grade. She scrambled up with the desperate nimbleness of a\nhunted thing, but when she attempted to vault to the saddle her limbs\nfailed and she sank clinging to the pommel. Twice she tried and twice\nthe trembling of her limbs held her captive. With the loss of each\nmoment the beat of the hoofs on the trail below became more distinct.\nThe very desperation of her plight kept her clinging to the pommel,\nincapable of thought, so that when she finally flung herself to the\nsaddle she was surprised to find herself there. To the left the trail\ndropped sharply to a precipice, choked by the close crowding of many\nscrub pines. To the right the snow-clad spires of the Wind River kept\ntheir eternal vigil. If she should call aloud for help, these white,\nstill mountains would echo the anguish of her woman\u2019s cry and give no\nfurther heed to her plight.\nThe trail had begun to widen. The horse behind her again stumbled,\nloosening a stone that rolled with crashes and echoings down to the\nprecipice below. She took advantage of the widening of the trail to\nurge Dolly forward. Her impulse was to put spurs to the mare and run,\nto take chances with loose stones, a narrowing trail, and the\npossibility of Dolly\u2019s stumbling and breaking a leg; but discretion\nprompted the showing of a brave front, the pleasantries of the road,\nwith flight as the last resource of desperation.\nSuddenly gaining what seemed to be a plateau, she wheeled and waited\nthe coming of this possible friend or foe. The thudding of hoofs\nthrough the inferno of darkness stopped, as the rider below considered\nthe latest move of the horseman above. They were so near that Judith\ncould hear the labored breathing of the sweating horse. The blackness\nof the night had become a tangible thing. The towering mountains were\none piece with the gaping precipice, the trail, the scrub pines, the\ngauntlet on her hand. The horse below resumed its stumbling gait.\nJudith crowded Dolly close to the rocky wall. If the chance comrade of\nthe wilderness should pass her by in the darkness\u2014God speed him!\n\u201cWhat the devil are you blocking the trail for?\u201d sung out a voice from\nthe darkness. At sound of it Judith\u2019s heart stopped beating. The voice\nwas Peter Hamilton\u2019s.\nXI.\nThe Cabin In The Valley\nAnd Judith, taken unawares by the unexpected turn of things, comforted\nas a lost child that is found, told all her feeling for him in the way\nshe called his name. The easy tenderness of the man awoke; his senses\nswayed to the magic of her voice, the mystery of the night, the shadow\nworld in which they two, \u2019twixt earth and sky, were alone. They rode\nwithout speaking. Peter\u2019s hand sought hers, and all her woman\u2019s terror\nof the desolation, her fear of the vague terrors of the dreadful night,\nspoke in her answering pressure. It was as if the desert had given them\nto each other as they groped through the silent darkness. In the great\ncompany of earth, sky, silence, and this great-hearted woman, Peter\ngrew conscious of a real thrill. There were depths to life\u2014vast, still\ndepths; this woman\u2019s unselfish love for him made him realize them. He\nfelt his soul sweeping out on the great tide of things. Farther and\nfarther it swept; his patron saint, caution, beckoning frantically from\nthe receding shore, was miles behind. \u201cJudith!\u201d he said, and he scarce\nrecognized his own voice. \u201cJudith!\u201d he struggled as a swimmer in a\ndrowning clutch. Then his patron saint threw him a life-line and he\nsaved the situation.\n\u201cJudith!\u201d he said, a third time, and now he knew his voice. It was the\nvoice of the man who tilted at life picturesquely in a broad-brimmed\nhat, who loved his darling griefs and fitted them as a Rembrandt fits\nits background. And still, in the same voice, the voice he knew, he\nsaid: \u201cI feel as if we had died and our souls were meeting. You know\nAldrich\u2019s exquisite lines:\n\u201cSomewhere in desolate, wind-swept space,\n    In twilight land\u2014no man\u2019s land\u2014\nTwo hurrying shapes met face to face\n    And bade each other stand.\n\u201c\u2018And who are you?\u2019 cried one, agape,\n    Shuddering in the gloaming light.\nI know not,\u2019 said the other shape,\n    \u2018I only died last night.\u2019\u201d\n\u201c\u2018I only died last night!\u2019\u201d she repeated the line, slowly,\nsignificantly. In her questioning she forgot the night, the desolation,\nthe presence of the man. Had she died last night? Had youth, the joy of\nliving, her infinite capacity for love, had they died when Peter, with\nthe ugly haste of the man without a nice sense of the time that should\nelapse between the old and the new love, had spurred away cheerfully at\nthe beck of another woman? And now the desert, this earth-mother as she\ncalled it, in the Indian way, had given him back to her, thrown them\ntogether as driftwood in the still ocean of space. She drew a long\nbreath, the breath of one waking from an anguished dream. A wild,\nunreasoning gladness woke in her heart, the joy of living swept her\nback again to life. She had not died last night, she was riding through\nthe wilderness with Peter.\n\u201cLook!\u201d she whispered. The sky had lost its forbidding blackness. The\nsharp notches of the mountains, faintly outlined in white, undulated\nthrough an eternity of space. Venus hung in the west, burning softly as\na shaded lamp. The trail they climbed seemed to end in her pale yellow\nlight.\nPeter had saved the situation, but the wild beauty of the night stirred\nin him that gift of silvery speech that was ever his tribute to the\nsex, rather than the woman. He bent towards Judith. A loosened strand\nof her hair blew across his cheek. The breakneck ride to Kitty was\nalready the madness of a dead and gone incarnation. He pointed to the\npale star, and told her it was the omen of their destiny; the formless\nblackness through which they had groped was the way of life, but for\nsuch as were not condemned to eternal darkness Venus held high her lamp\nand they scaled the heights.\nAnd Judith, listening, found her heart a battle-field of love and hate.\n\u201cWere women dogs, that men should play with them in idle moods, caress\nthem, and fling them out for other toys?\u201d she demanded of herself, even\nwhile the tones of his voice melted her innermost being to thankfulness\nfor this hour that he was wholly hers.\nGayly, with ready turns of speech and snatches of song, trolled in his\nmusical barytone, Peter rode through the night, even as he rode through\nlife, a Sir Knight of the Joyous Heart, unbrushed by the wing of\nsorrow, loving his pale griefs for the values they gave the picture.\nAnd Judith understood by reason of that exquisite perception that was\nhers in all matters pertaining to him, and, knowing, only loved the\nmore.\nDown the valley came the sharp yelp of a coyote, and in a moment the\ntowering crags had taken it up, the echo repeating it and giving it\nback to the valley, where the coyote barked again at the shadow of his\nvoice. The night was full of the eerie laughter. Peter put a\nrestraining hand on Dolly\u2019s bridle, and, waiting for the coyote to\nstop, called Judith\u2019s name, and all the mountains made music of it. The\necho sang the old Hebrew name as if it had been a psalm. Peter\u2019s voice\ngave it to the mountains joyously, but the mountains gave it back in\nthe minor. And Judith was reminded of the soft, singing syllables that\nher mother, in the Indian way, had made of her daughter\u2019s Indian name.\nThe remembrance tugged at her heart. In her joy at seeing Peter she had\nforgotten that the errand that had brought her was an errand of life\nand death\u2014life and death for her brother!\nBut Peter\u2019s ready enthusiasms pressed him hard. Surely love-making was\nthe business of such a night. \u201cAh, Judith, goddess of the heights, if I\ncould sing your name like the mountains, would you love me a little?\u201d\nFor his pains he had a flash of white teeth in a smile that recalled\nhis first acquaintance with Kitty, the sort of smile one would give to\na \u201cnice boy\u201d when his man\u0153uvres were a trifle obvious. \u201cNot if you sang\nmy name as the chorus of all the Himalayas and the Rockies and Andes,\nand with the fire of all their volcanoes and the beauty of their snows\nand the strength of all their hills, for it\u2019s not my way to love a\nlittle!\u201d\nHe bent towards her; to brush her cheek lightly as they rode was but to\nimply his appreciation of the scene as a bit of chiaroscuro, the\npanorama of the desert night, eternal romance typified by the man and\nwoman scaling the heights, the goddess of love lighting them on their\nway by her flaming torch. But Judith, who said little because she felt\nmuch, was in no mood to brook such dalliance, and, urging the mare\nsharply, she cantered down the divide at peril of life and limb. Peter,\ncursing the heavy-footed beast he rode, came stumbling after.\nJudith rode wildly through the night, leaving Peter laps behind, to\nbeseech, to prophesy dire happening if she should slip, and to scramble\nafter, as best he might, on the heavy-footed beast he repudiated, with\nall his ancestors, as oxen, to the fourth generation. But the woman\nkept her pace. She had stern questions to put to herself, and they were\nlikely to have truer answers if Peter were elsewhere than riding beside\nher. Whither was he going? They had met casually on a trail known to\nfew honest men. It led over a spur of the Wind River to a sort of no\nman\u2019s land, the hiding-place of horse and cattle thieves. She had gone\nto warn her brother. Could he be going there\u2014She could not bring\nherself to finish.\nHer heart was divided against itself. Within it were fought again the\nred and the white man\u2019s battles, bitterly, and to the finish. And now\nthe white man, with his open warfare, won, and all her love rose up and\nscourged her little faith. She would wait on the trail for Peter,\npenitent and ashamed. And while she waited suspicions bred of her\nIndian blood stirred distrustfully, and she told herself that her\nmother\u2019s daughter made a worthy champion of the ways of white men. Did\nHamilton hunt her brother gallowsward, making merry with her the\nmeantime? He had not even been courteously concerned as to where she\nwas going when they met on the divide. They had met and ridden together\nas casually as if it had been the most natural thing for them both to\nbe taking the horse-thief trail as a summer evening\u2019s ride. And she had\nnot thought to wonder at his possible destination, when the man from\nwhom she rode in terror through the night proved to be Peter, because\nthe lesser question of his errand had been swallowed up in the greater\nmiracle of his presence.\nShe was by this time well down the divide. The temperature had risen\nperceptibly on the down grade. The heat of the plains had already\nmingled with the cool hill air; the heights, where Venus kept her love\nvigil, were already past. Judith gave Dolly a breathing spell, herself\nlounging easily meanwhile. She knew how to take her ease in the saddle\nas well as any cow-puncher on the range.\n\u201cThe Hayoka has dominion over me,\u201d she mused, with Indian fatalism. \u201cAs\nwell resign myself to sorrow with dignity. Hayoka, Hayo\u2014ka!\u201d and she\nbegan to croon softly a hymn of propitiation to the Hayoka, the Sioux\ngod of contrariety. According to the legends, he sat naked and fanned\nhimself in a Dakota blizzard and huddled, shivering, over a fire in the\nheat of summer. Likewise the Hayoka cried for joy and laughed for\nsorrow.\nShe remembered how the nuns at Santa F\u00e9 had been shocked at her for\npraying to Indian gods, and how once she had built a little mound of\nstones, which was the Sioux way of making petition, in the shadow of\nthe statue of the Virgin Mary, and how Sister Angela had scattered the\nstones and told her to pray instead to the Blessed Lady. She still\nprayed to the Blessed Lady every day; but sometimes, too, she reared\nlittle mounds of stones in the desert when she was very sad and the\nkinship between her and the dead gods of her mother\u2019s people seemed the\ncloser for their common sorrow.\nPeter, coming up with a much-blown horse, found her still chanting the\nIndian song.\n\u201cSing him a verse for me, Judith. Heaven knows I need something to\nstraighten out my infernal luck. Tell the Hayoka that I\u2019m a good fellow\nand need only half a chance. Tell him to prosper my present venture.\u201d\nShe had begun to chant the invocation, then stopped suddenly. \u201cI must\nnot; you know I am a Catholic.\u201d Suspicion that had been scotched, not\nkilled, raised its head. \u201cWhat was his present venture?\u201d Her eye had\nnot changed in expression, nor a tone of her voice, but in her heart\nwas a sickening distrust for all things.\nA belated moon had come up. The level plain, on which their horses\nthrew grotesque, elongated shadows, was flooded with honey-colored\nlight. Each straggling clump of sage-brush, whitening bone and bowlder,\ngleamed mysterious, ghostly in the radiant flood-tide. They seemed to\nbe riding through a world that had no kinship with that black, formless\nvoid through which they had groped but yet a little while. Then\ndarkness had been upon the face of the deep. Now there was a miracle of\nlight such as only the desert, in its desolation, knows. To Judith,\nwith a soul attuned to every passing expression of nature, there was\nsignificance in this transition from darkness to light. The sudden\nradiance was emblematic of her belated perception, coming as it did\nafter a blindness so dense as to appear almost wilful. Her mind was\nbusy with a multitude of schemes. Fool though she had been, she would\nnot be the instrument of her brother\u2019s undoing.\n\u201cI\u2019ve come too far,\u201d she cried, in sudden dismay. \u201cI should have\nstopped at the foot of the divide. I\u2019ve never been over the trail\nbefore.\u201d\n\u201cYou foolish child, why should you stop in the middle of the\nwilderness?\u201d\nShe wheeled the mare about and faced him, a figure of graven\nresolution.\n\u201cI promised to meet Tom Lorimer there\u2014now you know.\u201d\nWith which she cracked Dolly sharply with her heel and began to retrace\nher way over the trail. Peter turned his horse and followed, with the\nfeeling of utter helplessness that a man has when confronted with the\ngranite obstinacy of women. Judith had meanwhile expected that the\nannouncement of her mythical appointment with Tom Lorimer would be\nreceived differently. Tom Lorimer\u2019s reputation was of the worst. An\nEastern man formerly, an absconder from justice, rumor was busy with\ntales of ungodly merrymaking that went on at his ranch, where no woman\nwent except painted wisps from the dance-halls. But Peter was too loyal\na friend, despite his shortcomings as a lover, to see in Judith\u2019s\nstatement anything more than a sisterly devotion so deeply unselfish\nthat it failed to take into account the danger to which she subjected\nherself.\nHowever, it was plainly his duty to prevent an unprotected rendezvous\nwith Lorimer, to reason, to plead, and, if he should fail to bring her\nto a reasonable frame of mind, to go with her, come what would of the\nresult. There were reasons innumerable why he, a cattle-man, should\navoid the appearance of dealing with the sheep faction, he reflected,\ngrimly. Lorimer owned sheep, many thousand head. His herds had been\nallowed to graze unmolested, while smaller owners, like Jim Rodney, had\nbeen crowded out because his influence, politically, was a thing to be\nreckoned with. So Peter followed Judith, pleading Judith\u2019s cause; she\ndid not understand, he told her, what she was doing; and while perhaps\nthere was not another man in the country who would not honor her\nunselfishness in coming to him, Lorimer\u2019s chivalry was not a thing to\nbe reckoned with, drunken beast that he was. And Judith, worn with the\nstruggle, tried beyond measure, made reckless by the daily infusion of\nill-fortune, pulled up the mare and laughed unpleasantly.\n\u201cYou think I\u2019m going to see Lorimer about Jim? I\u2019m going with him to a\nmerrymaking. We\u2019re old pals, Lorimer and I.\u201d\n\u201cJudith, dear, has it come to this, that you not only distrust an old\nfriend, but that you try to degrade yourself to hide from him the fact\nthat you are going to your brother\u2019s? You\u2019ve never spoken to Lorimer. I\nheard him say, not a week ago, that he had never succeeded in making\nyou recognize him. You deceived me at first when you spoke of meeting\nhim\u2014I thought you had a message from Jim\u2014but this talk of merrymaking\nis beneath you.\u201d He shrugged his shoulders in disgust. He felt the\ntorrent of grief that rent her. No sob escaped her lips; there was no\nconvulsive movement of shoulder. She rode beside him, still as the\ndesert before the sand-storm breaks, her soul seared with white-hot\niron that knows no saving grace of sob or tear. She rode as Boadicea\nmight have ridden to battle; there was not a yielding line in her body.\nBut over and over in her woman\u2019s heart there rang the cry: \u201cI am so\ntired! If the long night would but come!\u201d\nPeter drew out his watch. \u201cIt\u2019s a quarter to eleven. We\u2019ll have a hard\nbit of riding to reach Blind Creek before midnight.\u201d\nThen he knew as well as she, perhaps better, the route to Jim\u2019s\nhiding-place; she had never been there as yet. And if Peter knew,\ndoubtless every cattle-man in the country knew. What a fool she had\nbeen with her talk of meeting Tom Lorimer! A sense of utter defeat\nseemed to paralyze her energies. She felt like a trapped thing that\nafter eluding its pursuers again and again finds that it has been but\nrunning about a corral. Physical weariness was telling on her. She had\nbeen in the saddle since a little past noon and it was now not far from\nmidnight. And still there was the unanswered question of Peter\u2019s\nerrand. It was long since either had broken the silence. A delicious\ncoolness had crept into the air with the approach of midnight. Judith,\nbreathing deep draughts of it, reminded herself of the stoicism that\nwas hers by birthright.\n\u201cPeter\u201d\u2014her voice lost some of its old ring, but it had a deeper\nnote\u2014\u201cPeter, we make strange comrades, you and I, in a stranger world.\nWe meet on Horse-Thief Trail, and there is reason to suppose that our\nerrands are inimical. You\u2019ve pierced all my little pretences; you know\nthat I am going to my brother, who is an outlaw\u2014my brother, the rope\nfor whose hanging is already cut. And yet we have been friends these\nmany years, and we meet in this world of desolation and weigh each\nother\u2019s words, and there is no trust in our hearts. Our little faith is\nmore pitiful than the cruel errands that bring us. I take it you, too,\nare going to my brother\u2019s?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going there to see that you arrive safe and sound, but I had no\nintention of going when I left camp. You\u2019ve brought me a good twenty\nmiles out of my way, not to mention accusing me of ulterior motives.\nNow, aren\u2019t you penitent?\u201d He smiled at her, boyish and irresistible.\nTo Judith it was more reassuring than an oath. \u201cIt\u2019s like dogs fighting\nover a picked bone; the meat\u2019s all gone. The range is overworked; it\nneeds a good, long rest.\u201d He turned towards Judith, speaking slowly.\n\u201cWhat you have said is true. We\u2019re friends before we\u2019re partisans of\neither faction. I\u2019m on my way to a round-up. There\u2019s been an unexpected\norder to fill a beef contract\u2014a thousand steers. We\u2019re going to furnish\nfive hundred, the XXX two hundred and fifty, and the \u201cCircle-Star\u201d two\nhundred and fifty. Men have been scouring the enemy\u2019s country for days\nrounding up stragglers. It will go hard with the rustlers after this\nround-up, Judith.\u201d\nShe felt a great wave of penitence and shame sweep over her. She had\nnot trusted him; in her heart she had nourished hideous suspicions of\nhim, and he was telling her, quite simply, of the plans of his own\nfaction, trusting her, as, indeed, he might, but as she never expected\nto be trusted.\n\u201cPeter, do you know that sometimes I think Jim has gone quite mad with\nthese range troubles. He\u2019s acted strangely ever since his sheep were\ndriven over the cliff. He\u2019s not been home to Alida and the children\nsince he has been out of jail, and you know how devoted to them he has\nalways been! He spends all his time tracking Simpson. Alida wrote me\nthat she expects him to-night, and I\u2019m going there on the chance.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s the devil\u2019s own hole for desolation that he\u2019s come to.\u201d Peter\nlooked about the cup-shaped valley that was but a _cul-de-sac_ in the\nmountains. Its approach was between the high rock walls of a ca\u00f1on.\nPassing between them, the rise of temperature was almost incredible.\nThe great barrier of mountain-range, that cut it off from the rest of\nthe world, seemed also to cut it off from light and air. The atmosphere\nhung lifeless, the occasional bellow of range-cattle sounded far-off\nand muffled. Vegetation was scant, the sage-brush grew close and\nscrubby, even the brilliant cactus flowers seemed to have abandoned the\nvalley to its fate. A lone group of dead cotton-woods grew like\nsentinels close to the rocky walls. Their twisted branches, gaunt and\nbare, writhed upward as if in dumb supplication. There was about them a\nsomething that made Judith come closer to Peter as they passed them by.\nThe night wind sang in their leafless branches with a long-drawn,\nshuddering sigh. The despair of a barren, deserted thing seemed to have\nsettled on them.\n\u201cThose frightful trees, how can Alida stand them?\u201d She looked back.\n\u201cOh, I wish they were cut down!\u201d\nBefore them was the cabin, its ruined condition pitifully apparent even\nby night. It had been deserted ten years before Jim brought his family\nto it. Rumor said it was haunted. Grim stories were told of the death\nof a woman who had come there with a man, and had not lived to go away\nwith him. The roof of the adjoining stable had fallen in, the bars of\nthe corral were missing. The house was dark but for a feeble light that\nglimmered in one window, the beacon that had been lighted, night after\nnight, against Jim\u2019s coming. It added a further note of apprehension,\npeering through the dark, still valley like a wakeful, anxious eye,\nkeeping a long and unrewarded vigil. Judith felt the consummation of\nthe threatening tragedy after her first glimpse of the sentinel trees.\nShe could not explain, but her heart cried, even as the wind in them\nhad sung of death. Perhaps her mother\u2019s spirit spoke to her, just as\nshe had said, on that memorable drive, that the Great Mystery spoke to\nhis people in the earth, the sky, and the frowning mountains.\n\u201cPeter\u201d\u2014she had slid from her horse and was clinging to his arm\u2014\u201cwhen\nit happens, Peter, you will have no part in it?\u201d\n\u201cIt won\u2019t happen, Judith, if I can help it.\u201d\nShe kissed his hand as it held the loose reins.\n\u201cLord, I am not worthy!\u201d was the thought in his heart. He sat graven in\nthe saddle. Sir Knight of the Joyous Heart though he was, the unsought\nkiss of trust gifted him with a self-reverence that would not soon\nforsake him.\nJudith was rapping on the door and calling to Alida not to be\nfrightened. And presently it was opened. Peter wanted to leave Judith,\nnow that she was safely at the end of her journey, but she would not\nhear of it till he had eaten.\n\u201cYou would have had your comfortable supper five hours ago had you not\nbeen playing cavalier to me all over the wilderness.\u201d And Peter\nyielded.\nJudith busied herself about the kitchen. Her mood of racking\napprehension had disappeared. Indian stoicism had again the guiding\nhand. She waved Peter from the fire that she was kindling, as if he\nwere a blundering incompetent. But she let him slice the bacon and\ngrind the coffee as one lets a child help. Alida came in, white-faced\nand anxious over the long absence of her husband, but conscientiously\nhospitable nevertheless. Peter noticed that Judith made a gallant\npretence of eating, crumbling her bread and talking the meanwhile. The\npale wife, who had little to say at the best of times, was put to the\ntest to say anything at all. But, withal, their intent was so genuinely\nhospitable that Peter himself could not speak with the pity of it.\nAccustomed as he was to the roughness of these frontier cabins, never\nhad he seen a human habitation so desolate as this. The mud plaster had\nfallen away from between the logs, showing cross sections of the\nmelancholy prospect. An atmosphere of tragedy brooded over the place.\nWhether from its long period of emptiness, or from the vaguely hinted\nmurder of the woman who had died there, or whether it took its\ncharacter from the prevailing desolation, the cabin in the valley was\nan unlovely thing. Nor did the cleanliness, the conscientious making\nthe best of things, soften the woful aspect of the place. Rather was\nthe appeal the more poignant to the seeing eye, as the brave makeshift\nof the self-respecting poor strikes deeper than the beggar\u2019s whine. The\nhouse was bare but for the few things that Alida could take in the\nwagon in which they made their flight. And all through the pinch of\npoverty and grinning emptiness there was visible the woman-touch, the\nbrave making the best of nothing, the pitiful preparation for the\ncoming of the man. Wild roses from the creek bloomed against the\ngnarled and weather-warped logs of the walls. Sprays of clematis\ntrailed their white bridal beauty from cans rescued from the ashes of a\ncamp-fire. But Alida was a strategist when it came to adorning her\nhome, and the rusty receptacle was hid beneath trailing green leaves.\nThere was at the window a muslin curtain that in its starched and\nruffled estate was strongly suggestive of a child\u2019s frock hastily\nconverted into a window drapery. The curtain was drawn aside that the\nlamp might shed its beam farther on the way of the traveller who came\nnot. There was but one other light in the place, a bit of candle. Alida\napologized for the poor light by which they must eat, but she did not\noffer to take the lamp from the window.\nPeter was no longer Sir Knight of the Joyous Heart as he watched the\nlittle, white-faced woman, who went so often to the door to look\ntowards the road that entered the valley that she was no longer aware\nof what she did. He saw her wide eyes full of fear, the bow of the\nmouth strained taut with anxiety, her unconscious fear of him as one of\nthe alien faction, and withal her concern for his comfort. Judith\u2019s\ncontrol was far greater, but though she hid it skilfully, he knew the\nsorrow that consumed her.\nThere was a cry from the room beyond, and Judith, snatching up the\ncandle, went in to the children. All three of them were sleeping\ncross-ways in one bed, their small, round arms and legs striking out\nthrough the land of dreams as swimmers breasting the waves. She gave a\nlittle cry of delight and appreciation, and called Peter to look.\nLittle Jim, who had cried in some passing fear, sat up sleepily. He\nstretched out his small arms to Peter, whom he had never seen before.\nPeter took him, and again he settled to sleep, apparently assured that\nhe was in friendly hands.\nThe warm, small body, giving itself with perfect confidence, strongly\naffected Peter\u2019s heightened susceptibilities. In the very nature of the\nsituation he could be no friend to Jim Rodney, yet here in his arms lay\nJim Rodney\u2019s son, loving, trusting him instinctively. Judith noticed\nthat his face paled beneath its many coats of tan. He was afraid of the\nlittle sleeping boy, afraid that his unaccustomed touch might hurt him,\nand yet loath to part with the small burden. Judith took the boy from\nPeter and placed him between the two little girls on the bed.\nThrough the window they could see Alida\u2019s dress glimmering, like a\nphantom in the darkness, as she strained her eyes towards the path.\nPeter hated to leave the women and children in this desolate place. The\nnight was far spent. To reach the round-up in season, he could at best\nsnatch a couple of hours\u2019 sleep and be again in the saddle while the\nstars still shone. His saddle and saddle blanket were enough for him.\nThe broad canopy of heaven, the bosom of mother earth, had given him\nsound, dreamless sleep these many years. He bade the women good-night,\nand made his bed where the ca\u00f1on gave entrance to the valley. But sleep\nwas slow to come. Now, in that vague, uncertain world where we fall\nthrough oceans of space, and the waking is the dream, the dream the\nwaking, Peter caught pale flashes of Kitty\u2019s gold head as she ran and\nran, ever in the pursuit of something, she knew not what. And as she\nran hither and thither, she would turn her head and beckon to Peter,\nand as he followed he felt the burden of years come upon him. And then\nhe saw Judith\u2019s eyes, still and grave. He turned and wakened. No, it\nwas not Judith\u2019s eyes, but the stars above the mountain-tops.\nXII.\nThe Round-up\nThe stars were still shining when Peter Hamilton looked at his watch\nnext morning, but he sternly fought the temptation to lie another two\nminutes by remembering the day\u2019s work before him, and went in search of\nthe horse that he had not picketed overnight, as the beast required a\nfull belly after the hard night\u2019s ride he had given him. Peter had\nrolled out of his blankets with a keen anticipatory relish for the day\nahead. It was well, he knew, that there was ample work of a definite\nnature for Peter the cow-puncher; as for Peter the man, he was\nsingularly at sea. Had Judith Rodney been his desert comrade all these\ncheerful years for him to get his first belated insight into the real\nJudith only a few little hours back? Or was it, he wondered, her\nseeming unconsciousness of him, as she rode brave and sorrowful through\nthe night, to avert, if might be, her brother\u2019s death\u2014at all events, to\ncomfort and inspirit the frightened woman and her little children\u2014that\nhad freshly tinged the friendship he had so long felt for her? Many\nwere the questions that Peter vaguely put to himself as he started out\nfor his long day in the saddle; and none of them he answered. Indeed,\nhe could not satisfactorily explain to himself why he should think of\nJudith at all in this way\u2014Judith, whom he had known so long, and upon\nwhom he counted so securely\u2014Judith, who understood things, and was as\ngood a comrade as a man. Surely it was a strange thing that he should\ndiscover himself in a sentimental dream of Judith!\nFor it was in such dreams that Katherine Colebrooke had figured ever\nsince Peter could remember. For years, indeed\u2014and Judith knew it!\u2014he\nhad stood, tame and tractable, waiting for Chloe to throw her dainty\nlariat. But Chloe had intimated that her graceful fingers were engaged\nwith the inkpot and her head with schemes for further sonneting. Chloe\nwas becoming famous. To Peter, who was unmodern, there was little to be\ngained in arguing against a state of affairs so crassly absurd as\ncareer-getting for women. At such seasons it behooved sane men to pray\nfor patience rather than the gift of tongues. When the disheartened\nfair should weary of the phantom pursuit, then might the man of\npatience have his little day. Peter winced at the picture. To the world\nhe knew that his long waiting on the brink of the bog, while his\nambitious lady floundered after false lights, was, in truth, no more\nimpressive a spectacle than the anguished squawking of a hen who\nwatches a brood of ducklings, of her own hatching, try their luck in\nthe pond.\nAnd there was Judith the great-hearted, Judith who was as inspiring as\na breath of hill air, Judith with no thought of careers beyond the\nloyal doing of her woman\u2019s part, Judith, trusty and loyal\u2014and Judith\nwith that accursed family connection!\nPeter tightened his cinch and turned his horse westward. The stars had\ngrown dim in the sky. The world that the night before had seemed to\nfloat in a silvery effulgence looked gray and old. The cabin in the\nvalley flaunted its wretched squalor, like a beggar seeking alms on the\nhighway. Riding by, Peter lifted his sombrero. \u201cSweet dreams, gentle\nlady!\u201d He dug the rowel into his horse\u2019s side and began his day at no\nlaggard pace. Nor did he spare his horse in the miles that lay between\nhim and breakfast. The beast would have no more work to do that day,\nwhen once he reached camp, and Peter was not in his tenderest mood as\nhe spurred through the gray of the morning. The pale, chastened world\nwas all his own at this hour. Not a creature was stirring. The\nmountains, the valleys, the softly huddled hills slept in the deep hush\nthat is just before the dawn. He looked about with questioning eyes.\nLast night this very road had been a pale silver thread winding from\nthe mountain crests into a world of dreams. To-day it was but a trail\nacross the range. \u201cWhere are the snows of yester year?\u201d he quoted, with\na certain early-morning grimness. At heart he was half inclined to\nbelieve Judith responsible for the vanished world; Judith, Judith\u2014he\nwas riding away from her as fast as his horse could gallop, and yet his\nthoughts perversely lingered about the cabin in the valley.\nAfter a couple of hours\u2019 hard riding he could dimly make out specks\nmoving on that huge background of space, and presently his horse\nneighed and put fresh spirit into his gait, recognizing his fellows in\nmoving dots on the vast perspective. And being a beast of some\nintelligence, for all his heavy-footed failings, he reasoned that food\nand rest would soon be his portion. Peter had no further use for the\nrowel.\nBreakfast was already well under way when he reached camp. The outfit,\nseated on saddles in a semicircle about the chuck wagon, ate with that\npeculiar combination of haste and skill that doubtless the life of the\nsaddle counteracts, as digestive troubles are apparently unknown among\nplainsmen. The cook, in handing Peter his tin plate, cup, spoon, and\nblack-handled fork, asked him if \u201che would take overland trout or\nCincinnati chicken, this morning?\u201d The cook never omitted these jocular\ninquiries regarding the various camp names for bacon. He seemed to\nthink that a choice of alias was as good as a change of menu. There was\nlittle talk at breakfast, and that bearing chiefly on the day\u2019s work.\nEvery one was impatient for an early start. The horse wrangler had his\nstring waiting, the cook was scouring his iron pots, saddles were\nthrown over horses fresh from a long night\u2019s good grazing, cinches were\ntightened, slickers and blankets were adjusted, and camp melted away in\na troup of horsemen winding away through the gray of early morning.\nThe scene of the beef round-up was a mighty plain, affording limitless\nscope for handling the cattle of a thousand hills. In the distance rose\nthe first undulations of the mountains, that might be likened to the\nsurplusage of space that rolled the length of the sweeping levels, then\nheaped high to the blue. The specks in the far distance began to grow\nas if the screw of a field-glass were bringing them nearer, turning\nthem into horsemen, bunches of cattle, \u201cchuck-wagons\u201d of the different\noutfits, reserves of horses restrained by temporary rope-corrals, all\nthe equipment of a great round-up. Dozens of men, multitudes of horses,\nhordes of cattle\u2014the mighty plain swallowed all the little, prancing,\ngalloping, bellowing things, and still looked mighty in its loneliness.\nFling a handful of toys from a Noah\u2019s Ark\u2014if they make such simple toys\nnow\u2014in an ordinary field, and the little, wooden men, horses and cows,\nwill suggest the round-up in relation to its background. Men darted\nhither and thither, yelling shrilly; cows\u2014born apparently to be\nleaders\u2014broke from the bunches to which they had been assigned and\nstarted at a clumsy run, followed by kindred susceptible to example.\nCow-punchers, waiting for just such manifestations of individuality,\nwhirled after them like comets, and soon they were again in the pawing,\nheaving, sweltering bunch to which they belonged.\nPeter Hamilton, whose particular skill as a cow-puncher lay in that\nbranch of the profession known as \u201ccutting out,\u201d found that the work of\nthe rustlers had been carried on with no unsparing hand since the early\nspring round-up. Calves bearing the \u201cH L\u201d brand\u2014that claimed by a\ncompany known to be made up of cattle-thieves\u2014followed mothers bearing\nalmost every brand that grazed herds in that part of the State. The\nWetmore outfit, that used a \u201cW\u201d enclosed in a square, were apparently\nthe heaviest losers. The cows and calves were herded at the right of\nthe plain, convenient to the branding-pen, the steers well away to the\nopposite side. As Peter drove a \u201cW-square\u201d cow, followed by a little,\nwhite-faced calf, whose brand had plainly been tampered with, he heard\none of his associates say:\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing small about the \u2018H L\u2019 except their methods.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s \u2018H L\u2019 stand for, anyway?\u201d the other cow-puncher asked.\n\u201cWhy, Hell, or, How Long; depends whether you\u2019re with \u2019em or again\n\u2019em.\u201d\nPeter wheeled from the men and headed for the bunch he was cutting out.\nHe fancied that the man had looked at him strangely as he offered a\nchoice of meanings for the \u201cH L\u201d\u2014and yet he could not have known that\nPeter had gone to Rodney\u2019s cabin last night. He flung himself heart and\nsoul into his work, dashing full tilt at the snorting, stamping bedlam,\nenveloped in clouds of dust that dimmed the very daylight. Calves\nbleated piteously as they were jammed in the thickening pack. Peter\nshouted, swung the rope right and left, thinning the bunch about him,\nand a second later emerged, driving before him a cow, followed by a\ncalf. These were turned over to cow-boys waiting for them. Time after\ntime Hamilton returned to that mass of unconscious power, that with a\nsingle rush could have annihilated the little band of horsemen that\nhandled them with the skill of a dealer shuffling, cutting, dealing a\npack of cards.\nTo the left were the steers, pawing and tearing up the earth in a very\necstasy of impotent fury. Picture the giant propeller of an ocean liner\nthrashing about in the sands of the desert and you will have an\napproximate knowledge of the dust raised by a thousand steers. Their\nlong-drawn, shrieking bellow had a sinister note. Horns, hoofs, tails\nbeat the air, their bloodshot eyes looked menacingly in every\ndirection; but a handful of cow-boys kept them in check, circling round\nand round them on ponies who did their work without waiting for quirt\nor rowel.\nThe noonday sun looked down upon a scene that to the eye unskilled in\nthese things was as confusion worse confounded. Cow-boys dashed from\nnowhere in particular and did amazing things with a bit of rope,\nsending it through the air with snaky undulations after flying cattle.\nThe rope, taking on lifelike coils, would pursue the flying beast like\nan aerial reptile, then the noose would fall true, and the thing was\ndone. A second later a couple of cow-boys would be examining the\ndisputed brand on the prone animal.\nThe smell of burning flesh and hair rose from the branding-pen and\nmingled with the stench of the herds in one noisome compound. The yells\nof the cow-punchers, each having its different bearing on the work in\nhand, were all but lost in the dull, steady roar of the cattle,\nbellowing in a chorus of fear, rage, and pain. And still the work of\nsorting, branding, cutting-out, went steadily on. Though an outsider\nwould not have perceived it, the work was as crisp-cut and exact in its\nmethods as the work in a counting-house. One of the cow-boys, in hot\npursuit of a fractious heifer, encountered a gopher-hole, and horse and\nrider were down in a heap. In a second a dozen helping hands were\ndragging him from under the horse. He limped painfully, but stooped to\nexamine his horse. The beast had broken a leg, and turned on the man\neyes almost human in their pain.\n\u201cBob, Bob!\u201d The cow-puncher went down on his knees and put his arms\nabout the neck of his pet. \u201cMy God!\u201d he said, \u201cme and Bob was just like\nbrothers. Everybody knowed that.\u201d He uncinched the saddle with clumsy\ntenderness; not a man thought a whit less of him because he could not\nsee well at the moment. He turned his head away, that he might not see\nthe well-aimed shot that would release his pet from pain. Then he\nlimped away after another horse\u2014it was all in the day\u2019s work.\nThe beef contract called for a thousand steers, four and five years\nold, and these having been well and duly counted, and some dozen extra\nhead added in case of accident, they were immediately started on the\ntrail, as they could accomplish some seven or eight miles before being\nbedded down for the night. Hamilton, who had crossed to the beef side\nof the round-up to have a necessary word with the \u201cCircle-Star\u201d\nforeman, was amazed to find Simpson making ready to start with the\ntrail herd. Peter inquired, with a few expletives, \u201chow long he had\nbeen a cow-man, in good and regular standing?\u201d\n\u201cAs far as the regularity is concerned, that would be a pretty hard\nthing to answer, but he\u2019s had an interest in the \u2018XXX\u2019 since\u2014since\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHe drove Rodney\u2019s sheep over the cliff?\u201d\n\u201cAin\u2019t you a little hard on the beginning of his cattle career? It\nusually goes by a more business-like name, but\u2014\u201d he shrugged his\nshoulders\u2014\u201cit\u2019s up to the \u2018XXX.\u2019 We wouldn\u2019t have him help to pull\nbogged cattle out of a creek.\u201d\nThe beeves, hidden in a simoom of their own stamping, were gradually\nbeing pressed forward on the trail, a huge pawn, ignorant of its own\nstrength, manipulated by a handful of men and horses. Its bellowing,\nlike the tuning of a thousand bass-fiddles, shook the stillness like\nthe long, sullen roar of the sea, as out of the plain they thundered,\nto feed the multitude.\n\u201cWell, there goes as pretty a bunch of porterhouses as I\u2019d want to put\ntooth to. If I get away from here within the next two months, as I\u2019m\nexpecting, doubtless I\u2019ll meet some of you again with your personality\nsomewhat obscured by reason of fried onions.\u201d\nThe foreman of the \u201cCircle-Star\u201d waved his hand after the slowly moving\nherd that gradually pressed forward like an army in loose marching\norder. Outriders galloped ahead, like darting insects, and pointing the\nlumbering mass that trailed its half-mile length at a snail\u2019s-pace. The\ngreat column steadily advanced, checked, turned, led as easily as a\nchild trails his little steam-cars after him on the nursery floor, and\nalways by the little force of a handful of men and a few horses.\nAfter supper came general relaxation around the camp-fire. The men, who\nhad all day been strung to a keen pitch of nervous energy, lounged in\nloose, picturesque uncouthness, while each began to unravel his own\nlively miscellany of information or invention. There was jest,\nlaughter, spinning of yarns, singing of songs. As Peter lay in the\nfire-light, smoking his brier-wood, he noticed that the man next him\nspent a great deal of time poring over a letter, holding it close to\nthe blaze, now at arm\u2019s-length, which was hardly surprising,\nconsidering the penmanship of the more common variety of _billet-doux_.\nThe man was plainly disappointed that Peter would not notice or\ncomment. Finally he folded it up, and with sentimental significance\nreturned it to the left side pocket of his flannel shirt, and remarked\nto Peter, \u201cIt\u2019s from her.\u201d\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d said Peter, who had not the faintest notion who \u201cher\u201d could\nbe. \u201cLet me congratulate you.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d and there was conviction in the cow-puncher\u2019s tone; \u201cit\u2019s\nfrom old man Kinson\u2019s girl, up to the Basin, and the parson\u2019s goin\u2019 to\ngive us the life sentence soon. A man gets sick o\u2019 helling it all over\ncreation.\u201d He rolled a cigarette, lit it, took a puff or two, then\nturned to Peter, as one whose acquaintance with the broader side of\nlife entitled him to speak with a certain authority. \u201cIs it that, or is\nit that we\u2019re getting on, a little long in the tooth, logy in our\nmovements?\u201d\n\u201cI think we\u2019re just sick of helling it.\u201d Peter looked towards the star\nthat last night had been the beacon towards which he and Judith had\nscaled the heights. \u201cYes, we get sick of helling it after we\u2019ve turned\nthirty.\u201d\n\u201cThen I can\u2019t be making a mistake. If I thought it was because I was\ngetting on, I\u2019d stampede this here range. It don\u2019t seem fair to a girl\nto allow that you\u2019re broke, tamed, and know the way to the corral, when\nit\u2019s just that you\u2019re needin\u2019 to go to an old man\u2019s home.\u201d\n\u201cNow this is really love,\u201d said Peter to himself, with interest. \u201cThis\nis humility.\u201d A sympathetic liking for the self-distrustful lover\nsurged hot and generous into Peter\u2019s heart, and he continued to\nhimself: \u201cNow that\u2019s what Judith would appreciate in a man, some\ndirectness, some humility!\u201d Poor Judith! Poor burden-bearer! Who was to\nlove her as she deserved to be loved, even as old man Kinson\u2019s girl, of\nthe Basin, was loved? Yet suppose some one did love her in such fashion\nand she returned it? It was a picture Peter had never conjured up\nbefore. Nonsense! he was accustomed to think of Judith a great deal,\nand that was not the way to think of her. \u201cDear Judith!\u201d said Peter,\nhalf unconsciously to himself, and looked again at the fellow, who had\ngone back to his dingy letter and continued to reread it in the\nfire-light as if he hoped to extract some further meaning from the now\nfamiliar words. Nature had fitted him out with a rag-bag assortment of\nfeatures\u2014the nose of a clown, the eyes of a ferret, the mouth that\nhangs agape like a badly hinged door, the mouth of the incessant\ntalker. And withal, as he lounged in the fire-light, dreamily turning\nhis love-letter, he had a sort of superphysical beauty, reflected of\nthe glow that many waters cannot quench.\nCostigan, who had led the merriment against Simpson at Mrs. Clark\u2019s\neating-house, was playing \u201cmumbly-peg\u201d with Texas Tyler. They had been\nworking like Trojans all day at the round-up, but they pitched their\npocket-knives with as keen a zest as school-boys, bickering over points\nin the game, accusing each other of cheating, calling on the rest of\nthe company to umpire some disputed point.\nBut presently, from the opposite side of the fire, some one began to\nsing, in a rich barytone, a dirgelike thing that caught the attention\nof first one then another of the men, making them stop their yarning\nand knife-throwing to listen. The tune, in its homely power to evoke\nthe image of the ceremonial of death, was more or less familiar to most\nof them. There was a conscious funeral pageantry in the ring of its\nmeasured phrases that recalled to many burials of the dead that had\ntaken place in their widely scattered homes. Mrs. Barbauld\u2019s hymn,\n\u201cFlee as a Bird to the Mountain,\u201d are the words usually sung to the\nair.\nCostigan presently cut across the dirgelike refrain with: \u201cPhwat th\u2019\ndivil is ut about that chune that Oi\u2019m thinkin\u2019 of?\u201d\n\u201cThis,\u201d said the man with the barytone voice, \u201cis the tune that Nick\nSteele saved his neck to.\u201d\n\u201cBegorra, that\u2019s ut. I wasn\u2019t there mesilf, but Oi\u2019ve heard th\u2019 story\ntold more times than Oi\u2019ve years to me credit.\u201d\n\u201cMy father was in that necktie party,\u201d spoke up a young cow-puncher,\n\u201cand I\u2019ve heard him tell the story scores of times, and he always\nwondered why the devil they let Steele off. Never could understand it\nafter the thing was done. He was talking of it once to a man who was a\nsharp on things like mesmerism, and the man called it hypnotic\nsuggestion. Said that Steele got control of the whole outfit and\nmesmerized \u2019em so they couldn\u2019t do a thing to him.\u201d\nSeveral of the men asked for the story, echoes of which had come down\nthrough all the forty years since its happening. And the cow-puncher,\nlighting a cigarette, began:\n\u201cIt was in the good old forty-nine days in California, when gold was\nsometimes more plentiful than bread, and women were so scarce that one\nday when they found a girl\u2019s shoe on the trail they fitted a gold heel\nto it and put it up in camp to worship. But sentiment wasn\u2019t exactly\ntheir long suit, and any little difficulties that cropped up were\nstraightened out by the vigilance committee\u2014and a rope. One day a\nsaddle, or maybe it was a gun, that didn\u2019t belong to him, was found\namong this man Steele\u2019s traps, and though he swore that some one had\nput it there for a grudge, the committee thought that a hemp necktie\nwas the easiest way out of the argument. And this here Steele party\nfinds himself, at the age of twenty-four, with something like thirty\nminutes of life to his credit. He don\u2019t take on none, nor make a play\nfor mercy, nor try any fancy speech-making. He just waits round, kinder\npale, but seemin\u2019 indifferent, considerin\u2019 it was his funeral that was\nimpendin\u2019. I\u2019ve heard my father say that he was a tall, slim boy, with\na kind of girlish prettiness, and the committee looked some for\nhysterics and they didn\u2019t get none. The noose was made ready and they\ntold Steele he could have five minutes to pray, if he wanted to, or he\ncould take it out in cursing, just as he chose. The boy said he felt\nthat he hadn\u2019t quite all that was coming to him in the way of\nenjoyment, and that while he was far from criticising the vigilance\ncommittee, he was not altogether partial to the nature of his demise,\nand if it was just the same to them, instead of praying or cursing,\nhe\u2019d take that five minutes for a song.\n\u201cThey was agreeable, and he up and steps on the scaffold, what they was\nmighty proud of, it bein\u2019 about the only substantial structure the town\ncould boast. He began to sing that thing you\u2019ve all been listening to,\nand he had a voice like water falling light and fine in a pool below.\nThey crowded up close about the scaffold and listened. The words he put\nto it were his own story, just like those old minstrels that you read\nabout, and at the end of each verse came the chorus, slow and solemn as\nthe moment after something great has happened. There wasn\u2019t a\nhangin\u2019-face in the crowd after he was started. At some time or other\nevery man had heard somebody he thought a heap of, buried to that tune,\nand his voice got to workin\u2019 on their imaginations and turned their\nhearts to water. I don\u2019t remember anything but the chorus\u2014that went\nlike this:\n\u201c\u2018Who\u2019ll weep for me, on the gallows tree,\n    As I sway in the wind and swing?\nIs there never a tear to be shed for me,\n    As I swing by a hempen string?\nWho\u2019ll weep, who\u2019ll keep\nWatch, as I\u2019m rocked to sleep,\n    Rocked by a hempen string?\u2019\u201d\nThere was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the logs in the\ncamp-fire and the night sounds of the lonely plain. The leaping flames\nshowed a group of thoughtful faces. Finally, Costigan broke the silence\nwith:\n\u201cBegorra, \u2019tis some av thim \u2019ud be doin\u2019 well to be lukin\u2019 to their\nmusic-lessons about here, Oi\u2019m thinkin\u2019, afther th\u2019 day\u2019s wurruk.\u201d\nThe Irishman, with his instinctive loquacity, had expressed what none\nof the rest would have considered politic to hint. It was like the\ngiving way of the pebble that starts the avalanche. Soon they were deep\nin tales of lynchings. Peter knew only too well the trend of their\ntalk, the \u201cXXX\u201d men were feeling the public pulse, as it were. Now,\naccording to the unwritten code of the plains, lynching was \u201cmeet,\nright, just, and available\u201d for the cattle-thief. And Peter felt\nhimself false to his creed, false to his employer, false to himself, in\nseeking to evade the question. And yet that pitiful cabin, the\nwhite-faced woman running to the door so often that she knew not what\nshe did, and the little rosy boy, who had put out his arms so\ntrustfully! Peter broke into their grewsome yarning. \u201cLord, but you\u2019re\nlike a lot of old women just come from a funeral!\u201d\n\u201cWhin the carpse died hard, and th\u2019 wake was a success.\u201d Costigan\nturned over. \u201cWerra, werra, but we\u2019ll be seein\u2019 fairies the night!\u201d\nA \u201cXXX\u201d man turned his head with a deliberate slowness and regarded\nPeter with narrowing eyes: \u201cIf the subject of cattle-thieves and their\npunishment is unpleasant to the gentleman from New York, perhaps he\nwill favor us with something more cheerful.\u201d It was the same man who\nhad given the two definitions of the \u201cH L\u201d brand that morning at the\nround-up.\n\u201cDelighted,\u201d said Peter, affecting not to notice the significance of\nthe man\u2019s remark. \u201cDid you ever hear of the time that Tony Neville was\nburned with snow?\u201d\nThe \u201cXXX\u201d man yawned long and audibly. No one seemed especially\ninterested in Tony Neville\u2019s having been burned with snow, but Peter\nstruck out manfully, just in time to head off a man who said that he\nhad seen Jim Rodney or some one who looked like him, following the\ntrail-herd.\n\u201cOnce on a time, when it paid to be a cattle-man,\u201d began Peter, \u201cthere\nwas an outfit near Laramie that hailed from the United Kingdom, every\nmother\u2019s son of them. A fine, manly lot of fellows, but wedded to\ncalamity along of their cooks\u2014not the revered range article,\u201d and Peter\nwaved his hand towards the \u201cW-square\u201d cook, who was one of the party,\n\u201cbut the pampered ranch article that boasts a real stove, planted in a\nreal kitchen, the spoiled darling that never has to light a fire out of\nwet wood in the rain.\n\u201cThese unhappy Britons had every species of ill luck that could befall\nan outfit, in the way of cooks; they were of every nationality, age,\nand sex, and they stole, drank, quarrelled, till the outfit determined\nto sweep the house clear of them and do its own cooking. Every man was\nto have a turn at it for a week. There was a Scotchman, who gave them\nsomething called \u2018pease bannocks,\u2019 three times a day; followed by an\nIrishman, who breakfasted them on potatoes and whiskey. There was an\nEnglishman, who had a beef slaughtered every time he fancied a\ntenderloin. There was a Welshman, who sang as he cooked. There were as\nmany different kinds of indigestion as there were men in the outfit.\nThey would beg to do night-herding, anything to get them away from that\nranch. Finally, when their little tummies got so bad that their\novercoats thickened, or wore through, or whatever happens to stomachs\u2019\novercoats that are treated unkindly, some one\u2019s maiden aunt sent him a\ntract saying that rice was the salvation of the human race, as witness\nthe Chinese. Whosever turn it was to cook that week determined to try\nthe old lady\u2019s prescription. Rice was procured, about a peck, I think;\nand the man who was cooking, pro tem, put the entire quantity on to\nboil in a huge ham-boiler, over a slow fire, as per the directions of\nthe maiden aunt. The rice seemed to be doing nicely, when some one came\nin and said that a bunch of antelope was over on the hills and there\nwas a good chance to get a couple. Every man got his gun, all but the\ncook, and he looked at the rice, that hadn\u2019t done a thing over the slow\nfire, in a way that would melt your heart. \u2018Just my luck that it should\nbe my week to pot-wrestle when there\u2019s good hunting right at one\u2019s\nfront door.\u2019\n\u201c\u2018Oh, come on,\u2019 some one said. \u2018Didn\u2019t Kellett\u2019s aunt say the rice\nought to be cooked over a slow fire? Kellett, get your aunt\u2019s letter\nand read the directions for cooking that rice again.\u2019\n\u201cThe cook didn\u2019t need a second invitation, and they got into their\nsaddles, cook and all, and went for the antelope.\n\u201cNow antelope are not like stationary wash-tubs; they move about. And\nwhen that particular outfit arrived at the spot where those antelope\nwere last seen, they had moved, but the boys found traces of them, and\ncontinued on their trail. They went in the foot-hills and they searched\nfor those antelope all day. They caught up with old man Hall\u2019s outfit\nat dinner-time and were invited to take a bite. Coming home by way of\nthe \u2018Circle-Star\u2019 ranch, Colonel Semmes asked them in to have a\nmint-julep; the colonel was a South Carolinian, and he had just\nsucceeded in raising some mint. They had several\u2014I fear more than\nseveral\u2014drinks before leaving for home, with never a trace of antelope\nnor a thought of the rice cooking over the slow fire. The colonel\nremembered some hard cider that he had, and topping off on that, they\nset out. The weather was pretty warm, and on their way home they\nexperienced some remorse over the hard cider. Now hard cider is an\naccumulative drink; it piles up interest like debt or unpaid taxes. And\nby the time those Englishmen had turned the little lane leading into\ntheir home corral, they saw a sight that made their sombreros rise. As\nI have said before, it was hot, being somewhere in the month of August.\nGentlemen, I hardly expect you to believe me when I say it was snowing\non their house, and not on another God blessed thing in the landscape.\n\u201cThe blame thing about it was, that every man took the phenomenon to be\nhis own private view of snakes, or their bibulous equivalent,\nmanifested in another and more terrifying form. Here was the August sun\npouring down on the plain where their ranch-house was situated;\neverything in sight hot and dry as a lime-kiln, grasshoppers chirping\nin a hot-wave prophecy, and snow covering the house and the ground,\nabout to what seemed a depth of four inches. Every one of them felt\nsensitive about mentioning what he saw to the others. You see,\ngentlemen, being unfamiliar with American drinks, and especially old\nMassachusetts cider, they merely looked to keep their saddles and no\nquestions asked.\n\u201cBut when they got a bit closer the horror increased. Flying right out\nof their windows were perfect drifts of snow, banks of it, gentlemen,\nand the thermometer up past a hundred. One of the men looked about him\nand noticed the pallor on the faces of the rest:\n\u201c\u2018Do you notice anything strange, old chap? These cursed American\ndrinks!\u2019\n\u201c\u2018Strange!\u2019\u2014the boy he had spoken to was about eighteen, a nice,\nred-cheeked English lad out with his uncle learning the cattle\nbusiness. \u2018Good God!\u2019 the boy said. \u2018I\u2019ve always tried to lead a good\nlife, and here I am a paretic before I\u2019ve come of age.\u2019\n\u201cThey halted their horses and held a consultation. The boss came to the\nconclusion that since they had all seen it, there was nothing to do but\ncontinue the investigation and send the details to the \u2018Society for\nPsychical Research,\u2019 when he got down from his horse and walked towards\nthe door of the house. At his approach, as if to rebuke his wanton\ncuriosity, a great blast of snow blew out of the window and got him\nfull in the face. He howled\u2014the snow was scalding hot.\n\u201cThen they remembered the rice.\u201d\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d demanded the man who had wanted to talk about rustling.\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it enough?\u201d said Peter, who could afford to be magnanimous, now\nthat he had accomplished his point.\n\u201cWhen I first heard that story, \u2019bout ten years ago, it ended with the\nBritishers riding like hell over to the Wolcott ranch to borrow\numbrellas to keep off the hot rice while they got into the house,\u201d said\nthe man, still sulky.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way they tell it to tenderfeet,\u201d and Peter turned on his\nheel. The story-telling for the evening was over, the boys got their\nblankets and set about making their beds for the night.\nXIII.\nMary\u2019s First Day In Camp\nThe first day spent as governess to the family of Yellett reminded Mary\nCarmichael of those days mentioned in the opening chapter of Genesis,\ndays wherein whole geological ages developed and decayed. Any era,\ngeological or otherwise, she felt might have had its rise, decline, and\nfall during that first day spent in a sheep camp.\nShe awoke to the sound of faint tinklings, and accepted the towering\npeaks of the Wind River mountains, with their snowy mantles all shadowy\nin the whitening dawn, and the warmer grays of huddling foot-hills, as\none receives, without question, the fantastic visions of sleep. The\nfaint tinkling grew nearer, mingled with a light pitter patter and a\nfar off baa-ing and bleating; then, as shadowy as the sheep in dreams,\na great flock came winding round the hill; in and out through the\nsage-brush they went and came, elusive as the early morning shadows\nthey moved among. The air was crystalline and sparkling; creation\u2019s\nfirst morning could not have promised more. It would have been\ninconsistent in such a place to waken in a house; the desert, that\nseemed a lifeless sea, the sheep moving like gray shadows, were all\nparts of a big, new world that had no need of houses built by hands.\nBen, oldest of the Brobdingnag tribe, who had greeted Mary\u2019s request to\nbe directed to \u201cthe house\u201d as a bit of dry Eastern humor, led the herd\nto pasture. Ben\u2019s right-hand man was \u201cStump,\u201d the collie, so named\nbecause he had no tail worth mentioning, but otherwise in full\npossession of his faculties. Stump was newly broken to his official\nduties and authority sat heavily on him. Keenly alert, he flew hither\nand thither, first after one straying member of the herd, then another,\nbarking an early morning roll-call as he went. Two other male\nBrobdingnags came from some sequestered spot in the landscape and\njoined Ben\u2014Mary recognized two more pupils.\nMrs. Yellett then unrolled the pillow constructed the night previous of\nsuch garments as she had been willing to dispense with, and put them\non. The vastness of her surroundings did not prevent her from locating\nthe minutest article, and Mary gave her the respectful admiration of a\nwoman who has spent a great deal of time searching for things in an\ninfinitely smaller space. The matriarch then called the remaining\nmembers of her household officially\u2014the Misses Yellett accomplished\ntheir early morning toilets with the simplicity of young robins. Only\nthe new governess hung back, but finally mustered up enough courage to\nsay that if such a thing was possible she would like to have a bath.\nMrs. Yellett greeted her request with the amused tolerance of one who\nhas never given such a trifle a thought.\n\u201cThe habit of bathing,\u201d she commented, \u201cis shore like religion: them\nthat observes it wonders how them that neglects it gets along.\u201d She\nbeckoned Mary to follow, and led the way to a bunch of willows that\ngrew about a stone\u2019s-throw from the camp. \u201cHere be a whole creek full\nof water, if you don\u2019t lack the fortitood. It\u2019s cold enough to sell for\nten cents a glass down to Texas.\u201d\nSomewhat dismayed, Mary stepped gingerly into the creek. Its intense\ncold numbed her at first, but a second later awoke all her young\nlustiness, and she returned to camp in a fine glow of courage to\nencounter whatever else there might be of novelty. Mrs. Yellett was\npreparing breakfast at a sheet-iron stove, assisted by Cacta and\nClematis.\n\u201cYour hankering after a bath like this\u201d\u2014she added another handful of\nflour to the biscuit dough\u2014\u201cdo shore remind me of an Englishman who\ncome to visit near Laramie in the days of plenty, when steers had\njumped to forty-five. This yere Britisher was exhibit stock, shore\nenough, being what\u2019s called a peer of the realm, which means, in his\nown country, that he is just nacherally entitled from the start to\nh\u2019ist his nose high.\n\u201cThe outfit he was goin\u2019 to visit wasn\u2019t in the habit of havin\u2019 peers\ndrop in on them casual, but they aimed to make him feel that he wasn\u2019t\nthe first of the herd that headed that way by a quart\u201d\u2014she cut four\nbiscuits with a tin cup, and resumed\u2014\u201cto which end they rounded up\nevery specimen of canned food that\u2019s ever come across the Rockies.\n\u201c\u2018Let him ask for \u201csalmon esplinade,\u201d let him ask for \u201cchicken\nmarine-go,\u201d let him ask for plum-pudding, let him ask for hair-oil or\nthroat lozengers, this yere outfit calls his bluff,\u2019 says Billy Ames,\nwho owns the \u2018twin star\u2019 outfit and is anticipatin\u2019 this peer as a\nguest.\n\u201cWell, just as everything is ready, the can-opener, sharp as a razor,\nwaitin\u2019 to open up such effete luxuries as the peer may demand, Bill\nAmes gets called to California by the sickness of his wife. He feels\nmean about abandonin\u2019 the peer, but he don\u2019t seem to have no choice,\nhis wife bein\u2019 one of them women who shares her bad health pretty\nimpartially round the family. So Billy he departs. But before he goes\nhe expounds to Joplin Joe, his foreman, the nature of a peer and how\nhis wants is apt to be a heap fashionable, and that when he asks for\nanything to grasp the can-opener and run to the store-house\u2014Cacta, you\nput on the coffee!\n\u201cThat peer arrives in the afternoon, and he never makes a request any\nmore than a corpse. Beyond a marked disposition to herd by himself and\nto maintain the greatest possible distance between his own person and a\nsix-shooter, he don\u2019t vary none from the bulk of tenderfeet. At night,\nwhen all parties retires, and Joplin Joe ponders on them untouched,\neffete luxuries in the store-room, and how the can-opener \u2019ain\u2019t once\nbeen dimmed in the cause of hospitality, it frets him considerable, and\nhe feels he ain\u2019t doin\u2019 his duty to the absent Billy Ames.\n\u201cAt sunrise he can stand it no longer. He thunders on the Britisher\u2019s\ndoor with the butt of his six-shooter, calling out:\n\u201c\u2018Peer, peer, be you awake?\u2019\n\u201cThe peer allowed he was, though his teeth was rattling like broken\ncrockery.\n\u201c\u2018Peer, would you relish some \u201csalmon esplinade\u201d?\u2019\n\u201cThe peer allowed he wouldn\u2019t.\n\u201c\u2018Peer, would you relish some \u201cchicken marine-go\u201d?\u2019\n\u201cThe peer allowed he shore wouldn\u2019t, and the crockery rattled harder\nthan ever. Joplin Joe then tried him on the hair-oil and the throat\nlozengers, the peer declining each with thanks.\n\u201c\u2018Peer,\u2019 said Joplin Joe, fair busting with hospitality, \u2018is there\nanything in this Gawd\u2019s world that you do want?\u2019\n\u201cThe crockery rattled an interlood, then Joplin Joe made out:\n\u201c\u2018Thanks, very much. I should like a ba-ath\u2019\u2014Clematis, you see if them\nbiscuits is brownin\u2019.\n\u201cJoe he ran to the store-room, and his eye encountered a barrel of\ncorned-beef. He calls to a couple of cow-punchers, and the first thing\nyou know that late corned steer is piled onto the prairie and them\ncow-punchers is hustling the empty barrel in to the peer. Next they\ndetaches the steps from the kitchen door, ropes \u2019em to the barrel and\nintroduces the peer to his bath. He\u2019s good people all right, and when\nhe sees they calls his bluff he steps in all right and lets \u2019em soak\nhim a couple of buckets. This here move restores all parties to a\nmutual understanding, and the peer he bathes in the corned-beef barrel\nregular durin\u2019 his stay\u2014you see the habit had cinched him.\u201d\nNed had shot an antelope a day or two previous, and antelope steak,\nbroiled over a glowing bed of wood coals, with black coffee, stewed\ndried apples, and soda biscuit made up what Mary found to be an\nunexpectedly palatable breakfast. As camp did not include a cow, no\nmilk or butter was served with meals. Nevertheless, the hungry\ntenderfoot was quite content, and missed none of the appurtenances she\nhad been brought up to believe essential to a civilized meal, not even\nthe little silver jug that Aunt Martha always insisted came over with\nWilliam the Conqueror\u2014Aunt Martha scorned the _May-flower_ contingent\nas parvenus.\nThe family sat on the grass, tailor fashion, and every one helped\nhimself to what appetite prompted, in a fashion that suggested\nbrilliant gymnastic powers. To pass a dish to any one, the governess\ndiscovered, was construed as an evidence of mental weakness and\neccentricity. The family satisfied its appetite without assistance or\namenities, but with the skill of a troupe of jugglers.\nBreakfast was half over when Mrs. Yellett laid down her knife, which\nshe had handled throughout the meal with masterly efficiency. Mary\nwatched her in hopeless embarrassment, and wondered if her own timid\nuse of a tin fork could be construed as an unfriendly comment upon the\nYelletts\u2019 more simple and direct code of table etiquette.\n\u201cLand\u2019s sakes! I just felt, all the time we\u2019ve been eating, we was\nforgettin\u2019 something. You children ought to remember, I got so much on\nmy mind.\u201d\nAll eyes turned anxiously to the cooking-stove, while an expression of\nfrank regret began to settle over the different faces. The backbone of\ntheir appetites had been broken, and there was something else, perhaps\nsomething even more appetizing, to come.\nInterpreting the trend of their glance and expression, up flared Mrs.\nYellett, with as great a show of indignation as if some one had set a\nmatch to her petticoats.\n\u201cI declare, I never see such children; no more nacheral feelin\u2019s than a\nherd of coyotes; never thinks of a plumb thing but grub. No, make no\nmistake about the character of the objec\u2019 we\u2019ve forgot. \u2019Tain\u2019t sweet\npertaters, \u2019tain\u2019t molasses, \u2019tain\u2019t corn-bread\u2014it\u2019s paw! It\u2019s your\npore old paw\u2014him settin\u2019 in the tent, forsook and neglected by his own\nchildren.\u201d\nAll started up to remedy their filial neglect without loss of time, but\nMrs. Yellett waved them back to their places.\n\u201cDon\u2019t the whole posse of you go after him, like he\u2019d done something\nand was to be apprehended. Ben, you go after your father.\u201d\nBen strode over to the little white tent that Mary had noticed\nglimmering in the moonlight the preceding evening, and presently\nemerged, supporting on his arm a partially paralyzed old man, who might\nhave been Rip Van Winkle in the worst of tempers. His white hair and\nbeard encircled a shrivelled, hawklike face, the mouth was sucked back\nin a toothless eddy that brought tip of nose and tip of chin into\nwhispering distance, the eyes glittered from behind the overhanging,\nragged brows like those of a hungry animal searching through the brush\nfor its prey.\n\u201cIf you\u2019ve done eatin\u2019,\u201d whispered Mrs. Yellett to Miss Carmichael,\n\u201cyou\u2019d better run on. Paw\u2019s langwidge is simply awful when we forget to\nbring him to meals.\u201d Mary ran on.\nWhen, after the lapse of some thirty minutes or so, the stentorian\nvoice of Mrs. Yellett recalled Mary to camp, she found that the tin\nbreakfast service had been washed and returned to the mess-box, the\nbeds had been neatly folded and piled in one of the wagons\u2014in fact, the\nextremely simple tent-hold, to coin a word, was in absolute order. It\nwas just 6 A.M., and Mrs. Yellett thought it high time to begin school.\nMary tried to convey to her that the hour was somewhat unusual, but she\nseemed to think that for pupils who were beginning their tasks\ncomparatively late in life it would be impossible to start sufficiently\nearly in the morning. So at this young and tender hour, with many\nmisgivings, Mary set about preparing her _al fresco_ class-room.\nShe chose a nice, flat little piece of the United States, situated in\nthe shade of the clump of willows that bordered a trickling creek not\nfar from her sylvan bath-room of the early morning. How she was to sit\non the ground all day and yet preserve a properly pedagogical demeanor\nwas the first question to be settled. That there was nothing even\nremotely resembling a chair in camp she felt reasonably assured, as\n\u201cpaw\u201d was sitting on an inverted soap-box under a pine-tree, and \u201cpaw,\u201d\nby reason of age and infirmity, appropriated all luxuries. Mrs.\nYellett, with her usual acumen, grasped the situation.\n\u201cI\u2019m figgerin\u2019,\u201d she commented, \u201cthat there must be easier ways of\ngovernin\u2019 than sittin\u2019 up like a prairie-dog while you\u2019re at it.\u201d\nMrs. Yellett took a hurried survey of the camp, lessening the distance\nbetween herself and one of the light wagons with a gait in which grace\nwas entirely subservient to speed; then, with one capacious wrench of\nthe arms, she loosened the spring seat from the wagon and bore it to\nthe governess with an artless air of triumph. It was difficult, under\nthese circumstances, to explain to Mrs. Yellett that without that\nsymbol of scholastic authority, a desk, the wagon seat was useless.\nNevertheless, Mary set forth, with all her eloquence, the mission of a\ndesk. Mrs. Yellett was genuinely depressed. Had she imported the\nmagician without his wand\u2014Aladdin without his lamp? She proposed a\nbewildering choice\u2014an inverted wash-tub, two buckets sustaining the\nrelation of caryatides to a board, the sheet-iron cooking-stove. In an\nexcess of solicitude she even suggested robbing \u201cpaw\u201d of his soap-box.\nMary chose the wash-tub on condition that Mrs. Yellett consented to\nsacrifice the handles in the cause of lower education. She felt that an\ninverted tub that was likely to see-saw during class hours would tend\nrather to develop a sense of humor in her pupils than to contribute to\nher pedagogical dignity.\nThe camp, as may already have been inferred, enjoyed a matriarchal form\nof government. Its feminine dictator was no exception to the race of\nautocrats in that she was not an absolute stranger to the rosy byways\nof self-indulgence. There was a strenuous quality in her pleasuring\nperhaps not inconsistent in one whose daily tasks included\nsheep-herding, ditch-digging, varied by irrigating and shearing in\ntheir proper seasons. Under the circumstances, it was not surprising\nthat her wash-tub bore about the same relationship to her real duties\nas does the crochet needle or embroidery hoop to the lives of less\narduously engaged women. It was at once her fad and her relaxation, the\ndainty feminine accomplishment with which she whiled away the hours\nafter a busy day spent with pick and shovel. Of all this Mary was\nignorant when she proposed that Mrs. Yellett saw off the tub-handles in\nthe cause of culture. However, Mrs. Yellett procured a saw, yet the\nhand that held it lingered in its descent on the handles. She\ncontemplated the tub as affectionately as Hamlet regarding the skull of\n\u201cAlas, poor Yorick!\u201d\n\u201cThis,\u201d she observed, \u201cis the only thing about camp that reminds me I\u2019m\na woman. I\u2019d plumb forget it many a time if it warn\u2019t for this little\ntub. The identity of a woman is mighty apt to get mislaid when dooty\ncompels her to assoome the pants cast aside by the nacheral head of the\nhouse in sickness or death. It\u2019s ben six years now since paw\u2019s done a\nthing but set \u2019round and wait for meals.\u201d Mrs. Yellett sighed\nlaboriously. \u201cNot that I\u2019m holdin\u2019 it agin him none. When a man sees\neighty, it\u2019s time he bedded himself down comfortable and waited for the\nnacheral course of events to weed him out. But when the boys get old\nenough to tend to herdin\u2019, irrigatin\u2019, and the work that God A\u2019mighty\nprovided that man might get the chance to sweat hisself for bread,\naccordin\u2019 to the Scriptures, I aim to indulge myself by doin\u2019 a wash of\nclothes every day, even if I have to take clean clothes and do \u2019em over\nagain.\u201d\nThe poor \u201cgov\u2019ment\u2019s\u201d tender heart could not resist this presentation\nof the case.\n\u201cWe won\u2019t touch the handles, Mrs. Yellett,\u201d she laughed. \u201cI\u2019m glad you\ntold me you had a personal sentiment for the tub. There are some things\nI should feel the same way about\u2014my hoe and rake, for instance, that I\ncare for my garden with, at home. And that suggests to me, why not dig\ntwo little trenches for the handles and plant the tub? Then I shall\nhave an even firmer foundation on which to arrange the\u2014the\u2014the\neducational miscellany.\u201d\nThe suggestion of this harmless expedient was gratefully received, and\nthe \u201cdesk\u201d duly implanted, whereupon Mary pathetically sought to\nembellish her \u201cclass-room\u201d from such scanty materials as happened to be\nat hand. A hemstitched bureau scarf that she had tucked in her trunk,\nin unquestioning faith in the bureau that was to be part of the ranch\nequipment, took the \u201craw edge,\u201d as it were, off the desk. A bunch of\nprairie flowers, flaming cactus blossoms in scarlet and yellow, ox-eyed\ndaisies, white clematis from the creek, seemed none the less decorative\nfor the tin cup that held them. Mary grimly told herself that her\nschool was to have refining influences, even if it had no furniture.\nThe books, pencils, and paper arranged in decorous little piles, Miss\nCarmichael announced to her patroness that school was ready to open.\nMrs. Yellett, who had never heard that \u201ca soft voice is an excellent\nthing in woman,\u201d and whose chest-notes were not unlike those of a\nDurham in sustained volume of sound, made the valley of the Wind River\necho with the summons of the pupils to school, upon which the teacher\nherself was overcome by the absurdity of the situation and had barely\ntime to escape back of the willows, where she laughed till she cried.\nAs the pupils trooped obediently to school, Mary noted that they\ncarried no flowers to their dear teacher, but that Ben, the oldest\npupil, twenty-one years old, six feet four inches in height and deeply\nsaturnine in manner, carried a six-shooter in his cartridge-belt. The\nteacher felt that she was the last to deny a pupil any reasonable\npalliative of the tedium of class-hours\u2014the nearness of her own\nschool-days inclined her to leniency in this particular\u2014but she was\nhardly prepared to condone a six-shooter, and confided her fears to\nMrs. Yellett, who received them with the indulgent tolerance a\nstrong-minded woman might extend to the feminine flutter aroused by a\nmouse. She explained that Ben did not shoot for \u201cglory,\u201d but to defend\nthe herd from the casual calls of mountain-lions, bears, and coyotes.\nJack and Ned, who were very nearly as tall as their older brother,\ncarried similar weapons. Mary prayed that a fraternal spirit might\ndwell among her pupils.\nThe Misses Yellett were hardly less terrifying than their brothers.\nThey had their father\u2019s fierce, hawklike profile, softened by youth,\nand the appalling height and robustness due to the freedom and fresh\nair of a nomadic existence. Their costumes might, Mary thought, have\nbeen fashioned out of gunny-sacks by the simple expedient of cutting\nholes for the head and arms. The description of the dress worn by the\ncharcoal-burner\u2019s daughter in any mediaeval novel of modern\nconstruction would approximate fairly well the school toilets of these\nyoung lady pupils. The boys wore overalls and flannel shirts, which, in\ncontrast to the sketchy effects of their sisters\u2019 costumes, seemed\nalmost modish. Mrs. Yellett then left the \u201cclass-room,\u201d saying she must\ntake Ben\u2019s place with the sheep.\nThe Brobdingnags, huge of stature, sinister of aspect, deeply\ndistrustful of the rites in which they were about to participate,\nclosed in about their teacher. From the pigeon-holes of memory Mary\ndrew forth the academic smile with which a certain teacher of hers had\ninvariably opened school. The pupils greeted the academic smile with\nobvious suspicion. No one smiled in camp. When anything according with\ntheir conception of the humorous happened, they laughed uproariously.\nThus, early in the morning, on his way to breakfast, Ned had stumbled\nover an ax and severely cut his head. Every one but Ned saw the point\nof this joke immediately, and hearty guffaws testified to their\nappreciation.\nMiss Carmichael took her place behind the upturned tub.\n\u201cWill you please be seated?\u201d she said.\nThe class complied with the instantaneous precision of automata newly\ngreased and in excellent working order. Their abrupt obedience was\ndisconcerting. Some one must have been drilling them, thought their\nanxious teacher, in the art of simultaneous squatting. The temper of\nthe class respecting scholastic deportment leaned towards rigidity\nbordering on self-torture.\nMary made out a roll-call, and by unanimous consent it was agreed to\narrange the class as it then stood, or rather squatted, with the\nHerculean Ben at the top, and gradually diminishing in size till it\nreached the vanishing point with Cacta, who was ten and the least\nterrifying of all.\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d ventured the teacher, with the courage of a white rabbit,\n\u201cwhat have you been in the habit of studying?\u201d\nAbsolute silence on the part of the class, which confronted its\nquestioner straight as a row of bottles, presenting faces imperturbable\nas so many sphinxes.\nOther questions met with an equally disheartening response. Miss\nCarmichael sat up straight, pushed back the persistent curls from her\nface, and bent every energy towards the achievement of a \u201cfirm\u201d\ndemeanor.\n\u201cClematis,\u201d said she, wisely selecting perhaps the least formidable of\nthe class, \u201cI want you to give me some idea of the kind of work you\nhave been doing, so that we may all be able to understand each other.\nNow, in your mathematics, for instance, which of you have finished with\nyour arithmetic, and which\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d begged Clematis, somewhat tearful.\n\u201cWhere are you in your arithmetic?\n\u201cNowhere, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n\u201cDo you mean you have never learned any?\u201d Mary Carmichael shuddered as\nshe icily put the question.\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n\u201cIs that the case with all of you?\u201d\nEmphatic nods left no room for doubt.\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll leave that for the present. If you will tell me, Clematis,\nwhat kind of work you have been doing in your history and English, we\nwill get to work on those to-day. What books have you been using?\u201d\nNot unnaturally, Clematis, who was emotional and easily impressed,\nbegan to feel as though she were a criminal. She sobbed in a helpless,\nfeminine way. Ben spoke up, fearsomely, from the top of the class.\n\u201cWe \u2019ain\u2019t got no books,\u201d said he, in grim rebuke, as though to put an\nend to a profitless discussion.\n\u201cDo you wish me to understand,\u201d quavered Mary, \u201cthat you have had no\nstudies\u2014that you\u2014can\u2019t read?\u2014that you\u2014don\u2019t know\u2014anything?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s it,\u201d said Ben, with the nearest approach to cheerfulness he had\nyet manifested.\nMeanwhile there lay on the teacher\u2019s \u201cdesk\u201d copies of Clodd\u2019s\n_Childhood of the World_, two of that excellent series of _History\nPrimers_, and _The Young Geologist_, all carefully selected, in the\nfulness of Mary\u2019s ignorance, for the little pupils of her imagination.\nShe had brought no primer, as Mrs. Yellett\u2019s letter had distinctly said\nthat the youngest child was ten and that all were comparatively\nadvanced in their studies. More than ever Mary longed to penetrate the\nmystery of that Irish linen decoy, for without doubt it was to be her\nmelancholy fate to conduct this giant band through the alphabet!\nAccordingly she wrote out the letters of the alphabet with large\nsimplicity and a sublime renunciation of flourish. The class received\nit tepidly. Mary grew eloquent over its unswerving verities. The class\nremained lukewarm. The difference between a and b was a matter of\nindifference to the house of Yellett. They regarded their teacher\u2019s\nstrenuous efforts to furnish a key to the acquirement of the alphabet\nwith the amused superiority of \u201cgrown-ups\u201d watching infant antics with\npencil and paper. Meanwhile her fear of the class increased in\nproportion as her ability to hold its attention diminished. The\nbackbone of the school was plainly wilting. The little scholars, armed\nto the teeth, no longer sat up straight as tenpins. After twenty-five\nminutes of educational experience, satiety bowled them over.\nA single glance had convinced Ben that the alphabet was beneath\ncontempt. He yawned automatically at regular intervals\u2014long, dismal\nyawns that threatened to terminate in a howl, the unchecked, primitive\ntype of yawn that one hears in the cages of the zoological gardens on a\ndull day. Miss Carmichael raised interrogatory eyebrows, but she might\nas well have looked reproof at a Bengal tiger.\nThe class was rapidly promoted to c-a-t, cat; but these dizzy\nintellectual heights left them cold and dull. Ben began to clean his\nrevolver, and on being asked why he did not pay attention to his\nlessons, answered, briefly:\n\u201cIt\u2019s all d\u2014\u2014d foolishness.\u201d\nCacta and Clem were pulling each other\u2019s hair. Mary affected not to see\nthis sisterly exchange of torture. Ned whittled a stick; and, in\nchorus, when their teacher told them that d-o-g spelled dog, they\nshouted derision, and affirmed that they had no difficulty in\ncompelling the obedience of Stump even without this particular bit of\nerudition. Though Mary had always abhorred corporal punishment, she\nbegan to see arguments in its favor.\nWith the handleless tub as an elbow-rest the teacher took counsel with\nherself. Strategy must be employed with the intellectual conquest of\nthe Brobdingnags. Summoning all the pedagogical dignity of which she\nwas capable, she asked:\n\u201cBoys, don\u2019t you want to know how to read?\u201d\n\u201cNoap,\u201d responded the head of the class.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you want to know how to write?\u201d\n\u201cNoap.\u201d\n\u201cBut, my dear boy, what would you do if you left here and went out into\nthe world, where every one knows these things and your ignorance would\nbe evident at every turn. What would you do?\u201d\n\u201cSlug the whole blamed outfit!\u201d\nMary looked at her watch. School had lasted just forty-five minutes.\nHad time become petrified?\nXIV.\nJudith Adjusts The Situation\nMary had been a member of the Yellett household for something over a\nweek, and the intellectual conquest of her Brobdingnag pupils seemed as\nhopeless as on that first day. School seemed to be regarded by them as\na sort of neutral territory, admirably adapted for the settlement of\nlong-standing grudges, the pleasant exchange of practical jokes, peace\nand war conferences; also as a mart of trade, where fire-arms, knives,\nbear and elk teeth might be swapped with a greater expenditure of time\nand conversation than under the maternal eye. \u201cTeacher,\u201d as she was\nunderstood and accepted by the house of Yellett, undoubtedly filled a\nlong-felt want. Presiding over a school of six-imp power for a week,\nhowever, had humbled Mary to the point of seriously considering a\nletter to the home government, meekly asking for return transportation.\nBut this was before feminine wile had struggled with feminine vanity,\nand feminine wile won the day. School still continued to open at six,\nfrom which early and unusual hour it continued, without recess or\ninterruption, till noon, when dinner pleasantly invaded the scholastic\nmonotony, to the infinite relief of all parties concerned.\nMary had dismissed her pupils a few minutes before the usual hour, on a\nparticularly bad day, that she might rally her scattered faculties and\npresent something of a countenance to the watchful eye of Mrs. Yellett.\nEvery element of humor had vanished from the situation. The inverted\ntub was no longer a theme for merriment in her diary; home-life without\na house was no longer a diverting epigram; she had closed her eyes that\nshe might not see the mountains in all their grandeur. In her present\nmood of abject homesickness the white-capped peaks were part and parcel\nof the affront. With head sunk in the palms of her hands, and elbows\nresting on the inverted tub, Mary presented a picture of woe, in which\nthe wicked element of comedy was not wholly lacking. Looking up\nsuddenly, she saw Judith Rodney advancing. The first glimpse of her put\nMary in a more rational mood.\n\u201cI\u2019m so glad to see you! Behold my class-room appointments! They may\nseem a trifle novel, but, for that matter, so are my pupils,\u201d began\nMary, determining to present the same front to Judith that she had to\nMrs. Yellett. But Judith was not to be put off. She looked into Mary\u2019s\neyes and did not relax her gaze until she was rewarded with an\nanswering twinkle. Then Mary laughed long and merrily, the first good,\nhearty laugh since the beginning of her teaching.\n\u201cTell me,\u201d Mary broke out, suddenly, \u201cor the suspense will kill me, who\nwrote that lovely letter\u2014on such good quality Irish linen, too? Snob\nthat I was, it was the letter that did it.\u201d\n\u201cSo you have your suspicions that it was not a home product?\u201d\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t do it, did you?\u201d\n\u201cOh no; though I was asked, and so was Miss Wetmore, I believe. Of\ncourse poor Mrs. Yellett had no other recourse, as I suppose you know.\nI chose to be disobliging that time, and was sorry for it\nafterwards\u2014sorry when I heard about the letter that really went! Do you\nfind the sheep-wagon so very dreadful?\u201d\n\u201cI thought,\u201d laughed Mary, \u201cthat it was going to be like a picture I\nsaw in a magazine, Mexican hammocks, grass cushions, and a lady pouring\ntea from a samovar; instead it was the sheep-wagon and \u2018Do you sleep\nlight or dark?\u2019 There is Mrs. Yellett calling us to dinner. Shall I\nhave a chance to talk to you alone afterwards?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve come all the way from Dax\u2019s to see you,\u201d explained Judith, with\ncharacteristic directness. \u201cWe have all the afternoon.\u201d\n\u201cReally!\u201d Mary displayed a flash of school-girl enthusiasm. \u201cI feel as\nif I could almost bear the scenery.\u201d\nPresumably Judith was a favorite guest of the Yellett household, and\nnot without reason. She took her place in the circle about the homely,\nsteaming fare, with an ease and grace that suggested that dining off\nthe ground was an every-day affair with her, and chairs and tables\nundreamed-of luxuries. Mary envied her ready tact. Why could she not\nmeet these people with Judith\u2019s poise\u2014bring out the best of them, as\nshe did? The boys talked readily and naturally\u2014there was even a flavor\nto what they said. As for herself, try never so conscientiously and she\nwould be confronted by frank amusement or shy distrust. Even \u201cpaw\u201d\nbeamed at Judith appreciatively as he consumed his meal with infinite,\ntoothless labor. The Spartan family became almost sprightly under the\npleasantly stimulating influence of its guest.\n\u201cWhat kind of basques are they wearing this summer, Judy?\u201d inquired\nMrs. Yellett, regarding her guest\u2019s trim shirt-waist judicially. \u201cI\nreckon them loose, meal-sack things must be all the go since you and\nMiss Mary both have \u2019em; but give me a good, tight-fittin\u2019 basque,\nevery time. How\u2019s any one to know whether you got a figure or not, in a\nthing that never hits you anywhere?\u201d questioned the matriarch, not\nwithout a touch of pride anent her own fine proportions.\n\u201cYou really ought to have a shirt-waist, Mrs. Yellett. You\u2019ve no idea\nof the comfort of them, till you\u2019ve worn them.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t see but I\u2019ll have to come to it.\u201d Her tone was frankly\nregretful, as one who feels obliged to follow the behests of fashion,\nyet, in so doing, sacrifices a cherished ideal. Mary Carmichael choked\nover her coffee in an abortive attempt to restrain her audible\nhilarity. Judith, without a trace of amusement, was discussing\nmaterials, cut, and buttons; the plainswoman had proved herself the\nbetter gentlewoman of the two.\n\u201cGet me a spotty calico, white, with a red dot, will you, the next time\nyou\u2019re over to Ervay? Buttons accordin\u2019 to your judgment; but if you\ncould get some white chiny with a red ring, I think they\u2019d match it\nhandsome.\u201d She frowned reflectively. \u201cYou\u2019re sure one of them loose,\nhangy things \u2019d become me? Then you can bring it over Tuesday, when you\ncome to the hunt.\u201d\n\u201cWhat hunt?\u201d asked Judith, in all simplicity.\n\u201cWhy, the wolf-hunt. Peter Hamilton come here three days ago and made\narrangements for \u2019em all to have supper here after it was done. \u2019Lowed\nthere was a young Eastern lady in the party, Miss Colebrooke, who\ncouldn\u2019t wait to meet me. Course you\u2019re goin\u2019, Judy? You\u2019ve plumb\nforgot it, or somethin\u2019 happened to the messenger. Who ever hyeard tell\nof anythin\u2019 happenin\u2019 in this yere county \u2019thout you bein\u2019 the very\naxle of it?\u201d\nJudith had not betrayed her chagrin by the least change of countenance.\nTo the most searching glance every faculty was intent on the\nshirt-waist with the ringed buttons. Yet both women felt\u2014by a species\nof telepathy wholly feminine\u2014that Judith was deeply wounded. Loyal\nSarah Yellett decided that Hamilton\u2019s guests would get but a scant\nsupper from her if her friend Judith was to be unfavored with an\ninvitation, while Judith, in her own warm heart, resented as deeply as\nPeter\u2019s slight of herself, his tale of Miss Colebrooke\u2019s impatience to\nmeet Mrs. Yellett. The matriarch\u2019s dominant personality evoked many a\nsmile even from those most deeply conscious of her worth; but it wasn\u2019t\nlike Peter to make a spectacle of his ruggedly honest neighbor.\nNevertheless she remarked, coolly:\n\u201cI sha\u2019n\u2019t be able to bring your shirt-waist things up Tuesday, I\u2019m\nafraid, Mrs. Yellett, but I\u2019ll try to bring them towards the end of the\nweek.\u201d Then, with a swift change of subject, \u201cHow are the boys getting\non with their education, Miss Carmichael?\u201d\nThe boys looked at Mary out of the corners of their eyes. Their prowess\nin the field of letters had not been publicly discussed before. Mary\nCarmichael, emboldened by Judith\u2019s presence, looked at her tormentors\nwith a judicious glance.\n\u201cThe girls are doing fairly well,\u201d she replied, suppressing the\nmischief in her eyes, \u201cbut the boys, poor fellows, I think something\nmust be the matter with them. Did they ever fall on their heads when\nthey were babies, Mrs. Yellett?\u201d\n\u201cNot more than common. All babies fall on their heads; it\u2019s as common\nas colic.\u201d\n\u201cPoor boys!\u201d said Mary, with a manner that suggested they were miles\naway, rather than within a few feet of her. \u201cPoor boys! I\u2019ve never seen\nanything like it. They try so hard, too, yet they can make nothing of\nwork that would be play for a child of three. They must have fallen on\ntheir heads harder than you supposed, Mrs. Yellett.\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps their skulls were a heap frailer than I allowed for at the\ntime,\u201d said Mrs. Yellett, with similar remoteness, yet with a twinkle\nthat showed Mary she understood the situation.\n\u201cAn infant\u2019s skull doesn\u2019t stand much knocking about, I suppose, Mrs.\nYellett?\u201d\n\u201cNot a great deal, if there ain\u2019t plenty of vinegar and brown paper\nhandy, and I seldom had such fancy fixings in camp. It\u2019s too bad my\nboys should be dumb \u2019n account of a little thing like vinegar and brown\npaper.\u201d\n\u201cMaw, they be dumb as Injuns,\u201d declared Cacta, preening herself, while\nthe Messrs. Yellett reapplied themselves to their dinner with\nostentatious interest.\n\u201cWell, well!\u201d said Mrs. Yellett; \u201cit be a hard blow to me to know that\nmy sons are lackings; there\u2019s mothers I know as would give vent to\ntheir disapp\u2019inted ambition in ways I\u2019d consider crool to the\nabsent-minded. Now hearken, the whole outfit of you! Any offspring of\nmine now present and forever after holding his peace, who proves\nfeebleminded by the end of the coming week, takes over all the work,\nlabor, and chores of such offspring as demonstrates himself in full\npossession of his faculties, the matter to be reported on by the\ngov\u2019ment.\u201d\nNo sovereign, issuing a proclamation of war, could have assumed a more\nformidable mien than Mrs. Yellett, squatting erect on the prairie,\ncrowned by her rabbit-skin cap. Mary and Judith, with bland, impassive\nexpressions, noted the effect of the mandate. There was not the\nfaintest symptom of rebellion; each Brobdingnag accepted the\nmatriarch\u2019s edict without a murmur.\nWith an air of further meditation on the efficacy of brown paper and\nvinegar at the crucial moment, Mrs. Yellett suddenly observed:\n\u201cThe lacking, like the dog, may be taught to fetch and carry a book;\nbut to learn it he is unable.\u201d\n\u201cMaw, does it say that in the Book of Hiram?\u201d asked Clematis.\n\u201cIt says that, an\u2019 more, too. It says, \u2018The words of the wise are an\nexpense, but the lovin\u2019 parent don\u2019t grudge \u2019em.\u2019\u201d\nMary Carmichael had noticed, as her alien presence came to be less of a\ncheck on Mrs. Yellett\u2019s natural medium of expression, that she was much\naddicted to a species of quotation with which she impartially adorned\nher conversation, pointed family morals, or administered an occasional\nreproof. These family aphorisms were sometimes semi-legal, sometimes\nsemi-scriptural in turn of phrase, and built on a foundation of homely\nphilosophy. They were ascribed to the \u201cBook of Hiram\u201d and never failed\nof salutary effect in the family circle. But the apt quotations that\nshe had just heard piqued Mary\u2019s curiosity more than before.\n\u201cDo you happen to have a copy of the Book of Hiram, Mrs. Yellett?\u201d she\nasked, in all innocence, supposing that the \u2018homely apothegms were to\nbe found at the back of some patent-medicine almanac. Judith Rodney\nlistened in wonder. The question had never before been asked in her\nhearing.\n\u201cI lost mine.\u201d Mrs. Yellett folded her arms and looked at her\nquestioner with something of a challenging mien.\n\u201cWhat a pity! I\u2019ve been so interested in the quotations I\u2019ve heard you\nmake from it.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with \u2019em?\u201d she demanded, pride and apprehension\nequally commingled.\nJudith Rodney rushed to the rescue:\n\u201cNothing is the matter with them, Mrs. Yellett,\u201d she said, with her\ndisarming smile, \u201cexcept that there is not quite enough to go around.\u201d\nThe matriarch had the air of gathering herself together for something\nreally worth while. Then she tossed off:\n\u201c\u2018\u2019Tain\u2019t always the quality of the grub that confers the flavor, but\nsometimes the scarcity thereof.\u2019\u201d\nPerhaps it has been the good-fortune of some of us to say a word of\npraise to an author, while unconscious of his relationship to the book\npraised. Mark the genial glow radiating from every feature of our\nauditor! How we feel ourselves anointed with his approval, our good\ntaste and critical faculty how commended! It is a luxury that goes a\nlong way towards mitigating the discomfitures caused by the reverse of\nthis unctuous blunder.\n\u201cThe Book of Hiram,\u201d said Mrs. Yellett, angling for time, \u201cis a book\u2014it\ndo surprise me that it escapes your notice back East. You ever heard\ntell of the Book of Mormon?\u201d\nMary assented.\n\u201cWell, the Book of Hiram is like the Book of Mormon, only a heap more\nundefiled. The youngest child can read it without asking a single\nembarrassing question of its elder, and the oldest sinner can read it\nwithout having any fleshly meditations intrudin\u2019 on his piety.\u201d\nThe Yellett family had by this time dispersed itself for the afternoon,\nand the matriarch and the two girls started in to clear away the meal\nand wash the dishes.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the kind of book for me,\u201d continued Mrs. Yellett, vigorously\nswishing about in the soapy water. \u201cStory-books don\u2019t count none with\nme these days. It\u2019s my opinion that things are snarled up a whole lot\ntoo much in real life without pestering over the anguish of print\nfolks. Flesh and blood suffering goes without a groan of sympathy from\nthe on-lookers, while novel characters wade to the neck in compassion.\nI\u2019ve pondered on that a whole lot, seem\u2019 a heap of indifference to\nevery-day calamity, and the way I assay it is like this: print folks\nhas terrible fanciful layouts given to their griefs and worriments by\nthe authors of their being. The trimmings to their troubles is mighty\nattractive. Don\u2019t you reckon I\u2019d be willin\u2019 to have a spell of trouble\nif I had a sweeping black velvet dress to do it in? Yes, indeed, I\u2019d be\nwillin\u2019 to turn a few of them shades of anguish, \u2018gray\u2019s ashes,\u2019 \u2018pale\nas death,\u2019 and so on, if they\u2019d give me the dress novel ladies seems to\nhave for them special occasions.\u201d\n\u201cBut you used to like novels, you know you did, Mrs. Yellett,\u201d observed\nJudith Rodney.\n\u201cYes, I didn\u2019t always entertain these views concernin\u2019 romance. You\nwouldn\u2019t believe it, but there was a time when I just nacherally went\ncareerin\u2019 round enveloped in fantasies. I was young then\u2014just about the\ntime I married paw. Every novel that was read to me, I mean that I\nread\u201d\u2014Mrs. Yellett blushed a deep copper color through her many coats\nof tan\u2014\u201cconvinced me that I was the heroine thereof. And, nacherally, I\nturned over to paw the feachers and characteristics of the hero in said\nbook I happened to be enjoyin\u2019 at the time. Paw never knew it, but\nsometimes he was a dook, and it was plumb hard work. Just about as hard\nas ropin\u2019 a mountain-lion an\u2019 sayin\u2019, \u2018remember, you are a sheep from\nthis time henceforth, and trim your action accordin\u2019.\u2019 I\u2019d say to paw,\n\u2018Let\u2019s walk together in the gloaming, here in this deserted garden\u2019;\nand paw would say, \u2018Name o\u2019 Gawd, woman, have you lost your mind? It\u2019s\nplumb three hundred and fifty miles to the Tivoli beer-garden in\nCheyenne, and it ain\u2019t deserted, either!\u2019\n\u201cThen I\u2019d wring my hands in anguish, same as the Lady Mary, an\u2019 paw\nwould declare I was locoed. He seemed a heap more nacheral when I\npretended he was \u2018Black Ranger, the Pirate King.\u2019 His language came in\nhandy, and his cartridge-belt and pistol all came in Black Ranger\u2019s\noutfit. Yes, it was a heap easier playing he was a pirate than a dook.\nAll this happened back to Salt Lake, where me an\u2019 paw was married.\u201d\nMrs. Yellett looked towards the mountain-range that separated her from\nthe Mormon country, and her listeners realized that she was verging\nperilously close to confidences. Mary Carmichael, who dreaded missing\nany detail of the chronicle that dealt with paw in the r\u00f4le of\napocryphal duke, hastened to say:\n\u201cAnd you lost your taste for romance, finally?\u201d\n\u201cIn Salt Lake I was left to myself a whole lot-there was reasons why I\ndidn\u2019t mingle with the Mormon herd. Paw was mighty attentive to me, but\nthem was troublous times for paw. I pastures myself with the fleetin\u2019\nfigures of romance the endoorin\u2019 time and enjoys myself a heap. When\npaw wasn\u2019t a dook or a pirate king, unbeknownst to himself, like as not\nhe was Sir Marmaduke Trevelyun, or somebody entitled to the same amount\nof dog.\n\u201c\u2019Bout this time a little stranger was due in our midst, and the woman\nwho came to take care of me was plumb locoed over novels, same as me,\nonly worse. She just hungered for \u2019em, same as if she had a longin\u2019 for\nsomething out of season. She brought a batch of them with her in her\ntrunk, we borrowed her a lot more, some I don\u2019t know how she come by.\nBut they didn\u2019t have no effect; it was like feedin\u2019 an\u2019 Injun\u2014you\ncouldn\u2019t strike bottom. She read out of \u2019em to me with disastrous\nresults happenin\u2019, an\u2019 that cured me. The brand on this here book that\neffected my change of heart was _The Bride of the Tomb_. I forget the\nname of the girl in that romance, but she was in hard luck from the\nstart. She couldn\u2019t head off the man pursooin\u2019 her, any way she turned.\nShe\u2019d wheel out of his way cl\u2019ar across country, but he\u2019d land thar\nfust an\u2019 wait for her, a smile on his satanine feachers.\n\u201cI got so wrought up along o\u2019 that book, an\u2019 worried as to the outcome,\n\u2019most as bad as the girl. Think of it! An\u2019 me with only three\nbaby-shirts an\u2019 a flannel petticoat made at the time! Seemed \u2019s if I\ncouldn\u2019t hustle my meals fast enough, I just hankered so to know what\nwas goin\u2019 to happen next! I plumb detested the man with the handsome\nfeachers, same as the girl. Me an\u2019 her felt precisely alike about him.\nAnd when he shut her up in the family vault I just giv\u2019 up an\u2019 was took\nthen an\u2019 there, an\u2019 me without so much as finishin\u2019 the flannel\npetticoat! I never could endure the sight of a novel since. Perhaps\nthat\u2019s why Ben is so dumb about his books\u2014just holds a nacheral grudge\nagainst \u2019em along of my havin\u2019 to borrow slips for him.\u201d\n\u201cHas the Book of Hiram anything to say against the habit of novel\nreading, Mrs. Yellett?\u201d inquired Judith, demurely.\nShe paused for a moment. \u201cIt\u2019s mighty inconvenient that I should have\nmislaid that book, but rounding up my recollections of it, I recall\nsomething like this: \u2018Romance is the loco-weed of humanity.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cSo you don\u2019t approve of the Mormon Bible?\u201d ventured Mary.\n\u201cI jest nacherally execrates Mormonism, spoken, printed, or in action,\u201d\nshe said, with an emphasis that suggested the subject had a strong\npersonal bearing. \u201cI recall a text from the Book of Hiram touching on\nMormon deportment in particklar an\u2019 human nature at large. It says,\n\u2018Where several women and one man are gathered together for the purpose\nof serving the Lord, the man gets the bulk of the service.\u201d\nShe broke off suddenly, as if she feared she had said too much. \u201cJudy,\u201d\nshe demanded, \u201cis Mis\u2019 Dax busy with Leander now?\u201d\n\u201cNot more than usual,\u201d smiled Judith.\n\u201cJest tell her for me, will you, that I want to hire her husband to do\nsome herdin\u2019; Leander\u2019s handy, \u2019n\u2019 can work good an\u2019 sharp, if he is an\ninfidel. An\u2019 I like to have him over now an\u2019 then, as you know, Judy.\nAs the Book of Hiram says, \u2018It\u2019s neighborly to ease the check-rein of a\ngentled husband.\u2019 But you tell him I don\u2019t want to hear any of his\never-lastin\u2019 fool argufyin\u2019 \u2019bout religion. Leander \u2019d stop in the\nmiddle of shearin\u2019 a sheep to argue that Jonah never came out o\u2019 the\nwhale\u2019s belly. I ain\u2019t no use for infidels, \u2019less they\u2019re muzzled,\nwhich Leander mos\u2019 generally is.\u201d\nWith the feeling that there was an excellent though unspoken\nunderstanding between them, the two girls walked together to the top of\nthe path that wandered away from camp towards a bluff overlooking wave\nafter wave of foot-hills, lying blue and still like a petrified sea.\n\u201cI\u2019m still dying to know who wrote that letter,\u201d begged Mary.\n\u201cIt was written by a lady who is very anxious to return to Washington,\nand she took that means of getting one more vote. Her husband is going\nto run for the Senate next term. We hear a good deal of that side of\npolitics, you know.\u201d\n\u201cIt was certainly convincing,\u201d remarked the victim of the letter. \u201cMy\naunts detected many virtues in the handwriting.\u201d\n\u201cBut now that you are really here, isn\u2019t it splendid? Mountains are\nsuch good neighbors. They give you their great company and yet leave\nyou your own little reservations.\u201d\n\u201cBut I fear I can never feel at home out-of-doors,\u201d Mary announced,\nwith such a rueful expression that they both smiled.\n\u201cPerhaps, then, it depends on the frame of mind. I\u2019ve had longer than\nyou to cultivate it.\u201d\nMary looked towards the mountains, serene in their strength. \u201cAwesome\nas they are,\u201d she laughed, \u201cthey don\u2019t frighten me nearly as much as\nBen and Ned. They are really very difficile, my pupils, and I feel so\nridiculous sitting up back of that tub, teaching them letters and the\nspelling of foolish words, when they know things I\u2019ve never dreamed of.\nThe other day, out of a few scratches in the dust that I should never\nhave given a second glance, one of them made out that some one\u2019s horses\nhad broken the corral and one was trailing a rope. Whereupon my pupil\ngot on a horse, went in search of the strays, and returned them to men\ngoing to a round-up. After that, the spelling of cat didn\u2019t seem quite\nso much of an achievement as it had before.\u201d\n\u201cBut they need the spelling of cat so much more than you need to\nunderstand trail-marks. Why don\u2019t you try a little strategy with them?\nPerhaps a bribe, even? It seems to me I remember something in history\nabout the part played in colonization by the bright-colored bead.\u201d\nSundry wood-cuts from a long-forgotten primer history of the United\nStates came back to Mary. In that tear-stained, dog-eared volume, all\nexplorers, from Columbus down to Lewis and Clarke, were unfailingly\ndepicted in the attitude of salesmen displaying squares of cloth to\nsavages apparently in urgent need of them.\n\u201cHow stupid of me not to remember Father Marquette concluding\nnegotiations with a necklace!\u201d\n\u201cFrankly plagiarize the terms of your treaty from P\u00e8re Marquette, and\nthere you are!\u201d\n\u201cYou are so splendid!\u201d said Mary, impulsively, remembering Judith\u2019s own\nsorrows and the smiling fortitude with which she kept them hidden. \u201cYou\nmake me feel like a horrid little girl that has been whining.\u201d\nJudith looked towards the mountains a long time without speaking.\n\u201cWhen you know them well, they whisper great things that little folk\ncan\u2019t take away.\u201d\nShe turned back towards camp, walking lightly, with head thrown back.\nMary watched her. Yes, the mountains might have admitted her to their\ncompany.\nXV.\nThe Wolf-hunt\nJudith awakened with all the starry infinitude of sky for a canopy. In\nthe distance loomed the foot-hills, watchful sentinels of her slumbers;\nand, sloping gently away from them, rolled the plain, like some smooth,\ndark sea flowing deep and silently. Judith, a solitary figure adrift in\nthat still ocean of space, sat up and watched the stars fade and saw\nthe young day peer timorously at the world that lay before it. Her\nmind, refreshed by long hours of dreamless sleep, turned to the problem\nof impending things, serenely contemplative. The passing of many\nmornings and many peoples had the mountains seen as the wreathed mists\ncame and went about their brows, and to all who knew the value of the\ngift they gave their great company, and to such as could hear, they\ntold their great secrets. Judith\u2019s prayer was an outflowing of soul to\nthe great forces about her, a wish to be in harmony with them, to\nremember her kinship, to keep some measure of their serenity in the\npress of burdens. The way of the Indian was ever her way when\ncircumstance raised no barriers; the four walls of a house were a\nprison to her after the days lengthened and the summer nights grew\nwarm. To the infinite disapproval of that custodian of propriety, Mrs.\nDax, she would make her bed beneath the stars, night after night, and\nbathe in the cold, clear waters of the stream that purled from the\nwhite-capped crest of the mountains.\n\u201cNasty Injun ways!\u201d scoffed Leander\u2019s masterful lady, consciously\nsuperior from the intrenchment of her stuffy bedroom, that boasted\ncrochet-work on the backs of the chairs and a scant lace curtain at its\nsolitary window.\nJudith, going to her favorite pool to bathe, saw that it had shrunk\ntill it seemed but a fairy well hid among the willows. A quarter of a\nmile above was another pool, hidden like a jewel in its case of green,\nbroidered with scarlet roseberries and white clematis; and towards this\nshe bent her steps, as time was a-plenty that morning. She kept to the\nstones of the creek for a pathway, jumping lightly from those that were\nmoss-grown to those that hid their nakedness in the dark, velvet\nshadows of early morning, her white feet touching the shallow stream\nlike pale gulls that dipped and skimmed. \u201cDiana\u2019s Pool,\u201d as she called\nit, was always clear. It lay half hid beneath a shelving rock, a fount\nfor the tiny, white fall that crooned and sang as it fell. And here she\nbathed, as the east flamed where the mountains blackened against it.\nGold halos tipped the clouds, that melted presently into fiery waves,\nthen burst into one great aureole through which the sun rode\ntriumphant, and it was day.\nShe had kept post-office the day before, and it would not be till day\nafter to-morrow that the squires of the lariat would come again to\noffer their hearts, their worldly goods, their complete reformation, if\nshe would only change her mind. It was all such an old story that she\nhad grown to regard them with a tenderness almost maternal. But to-day\nwas all her own, and the spirit of adventure swelled high in her bosom\nas she thought of what she had planned. It was warm and close and still\nin the Dax house as Judith made her way softly to her own room and\nbegan her preparations for the long journey she was to take afoot. To\nwalk in the abominations devised by the white man for the purpose of\ncramping his feet would have been a serious handicap to Judith. The\ntwenty miles that she would walk before nightfall was no very great\nundertaking to her, but it was part of her primitive directness to\naccomplish it with as little expenditure of fatigue and comfort as\npossible. Moreover, who could steal through the forest in those heeled\nthings without announcing his coming and frightening the forest folk,\nand sending them skurrying? And Judith loved to surprise them and see\nthem busy with their affairs\u2014to creep along in her soft, elk-hide\nmoccasins and catch their watchful eyes and see the things that were\nnot for the heavy-booted white man.\nShe might have inspired Kitty Colebrooke to a sonnet as she stepped out\ninto the glad morning light, in short skirt and jacket, green-clad as\nthe pines that girdled the mountains, with a knapsack with rations of\nbread and meat and the wherewithal to build a fire should she wander\nbelated. She softly closed the door, not to awaken Leander and his\nslumbering lady, and broke into the running gait that the Indians use\non their all-day journeys, the elk-hide moccasins falling soft as\nsnow-flakes on the trail. Dolly she missed chiefly for her\ncompanionship, for Judith had not the white man\u2019s utter helplessness\nwithout a horse in this country of high altitudes. When she walked she\nbreathed, carried herself, covered ground like her mother\u2019s people, and\nloved the inspiration of it.\nThe eerie shadows of the desert drew back and hid themselves in the\nmountains. The day began with splendid promise\u2014the day of the\nwolf-hunt, of which no word had been spoken to her by Peter. She, too,\nwas going hunting, but silently and unbidden she would steal through\nthe forest and see this mysterious woman who played fast and loose with\nPeter, who loved her apparently all the better for the game she played.\nWhat manner of woman could do these things? What manner of woman could\nbe indifferent to Peter? Judith was consumingly curious to see. And,\napart from this naked and unashamed curiosity, there was the\npossibility that at sight of Miss Colebrooke there might come a\nrelaxation of Peter\u2019s tyrannous hold upon her thoughts, her life, her\nvery heart\u2019s blood. Would her loyalty bear the test of seeing Peter\nmade a fool of by a woman she could dismiss with a shrug\u2014a softly\nspeaking shrew, perhaps, who played a waiting game with her finger on\nthe pulse of Peter\u2019s prospects? For there was talk of a partnership\nwith the Wetmores. Or a fool, perhaps, for all her sonneting, for there\nare men who relish a weak headpiece as the chiefest ornament of women,\nespecially when its indeterminate vagaries boast an escape-valve\nremotely connected with the fine arts. Or a devil-woman, perhaps\u2014an\nupright wanton who could think no wrong from very poverty of\ntemperament, yet kept him dangling. The possibility of Kitty\u2019s honesty,\nJudith in her jealousy would not admit. Had she gone to the devil for\nhim, stood and faced the drift of opinion for his sake, that Judith\ncould have understood. But what was the spinning of verses to a woman\u2019s\nportion of loving and being loved? Even Alida, through all her\ndistracting anxieties, had in her heart the thrice-blessed leaven,\nreasoned the woman of the plains, who might, according to modern\nstandards, be reckoned a trifle primitive in her psychological\ndeductions. And, withal, Judith was forced to admit that there was\nsomething simple and true about a man who would let a woman make a fool\nof him, whoever the woman was.\nPerhaps with this hunting would end the long reign of Peter as a\ndivinity. Judith was tired, not in her vigorous young body, because\nthat was strong and healthful as the hill wind, but tired in heart and\nmind and life. Her destiny had not been beautiful or happy before he\ninvaded it, but it had been calm, and now serenity seemed the worthiest\ngift of the gods. It was not that she loved him less, but that she had\nso long reflected upon him that her imagination was numb; her thoughts,\narid, unfruitful as the desert, turned from him to the problems that\nbeset her, and from them back to him again, in dull, subconscious\nyearning. She could no longer project an anguished consciousness to\nthose scenes wherein he walked and talked with Kitty. Her Indian\nfatalism had intervened. \u201cLife was life,\u201d to be lived or left. And yet\nshe felt herself a poor creature, one who had lived long on illusion,\nwho had bent her neck to the yoke of arid unrealities. The pale-haired\nwoman who kept him with her miserliness of self, who intruded no sombre\ntragedy of loving, was well worth a trip across the foot-hills to see.\nAnd yet, Judith reflected, it was the portion of her mother\u2019s daughter\nto make of loving the whole business of life, even if she rebelled and\nfought against it as an accursed destiny. It was in her inheritance to\nknow and live for the wild thrill of ecstasy in her pulses, to feel\ntrembling joy and despair and frantic hope, that exacted its tribute\nhardly less poignant; as it was, also, to feel a shivering\nsensitiveness in regard to the loneliness and bitterness of her life,\nto have the same measureless capacity for sorrow that she had for\nloving, to have a soul attuned to the tragedy of things, to love the\nmighty forces about her, to feel the reflection of all their moods in\nher heart, and, lastly, it was her destiny to be the daughter of a\nhalf-Sioux and a border adventurer, and to feel the counter influences\nof the two races make forever of her heart a battleground.\nHer light feet scarcely touched the ground as she sped swiftly through\nall the network of the hills; and more than once her woman\u2019s heart\nasked the question, \u201cAnd, prithee, Judith, if from henceforth you are\nonly to hold fellowship with the stars and have no part in the ways of\nmen, why do you walk a day\u2019s journey to catch a glimpse of a\npale-haired woman?\u201d\nShe knew the probable course of the wolf-hunt. She had been on scores\nof them, galloped with Peter after the fleeing gray thing that swept\nalong the ground like the nucleus of a whirling dust-devil. At least\nshe was sure of the place of their nooning\u2014a limpid stream that ran\nclose to many young pine-trees. Here was a pause in the rugged ascent,\na level space of open green, thick with buffalo grass. Many times had\nshe been here with Peter, sometimes with many other people on the\nchase\u2014sometimes, and these occasions were enshrined in her memory, each\nwith its own particular halo, with Peter alone; and they had fished for\ntrout and cooked their supper on the grassy levels. It was in Judith\u2019s\nplanning to arrive before the hunting-party, to hide among the thickets\nof scrub pine that grew along the steep cliffs and overlooked the\ngrassy level, to take her fill of looking at the pale-haired girl and\nthe hunters at their merrymaking, and, when she had seen, to steal back\nacross the trail to the Daxes\u2019. They would not penetrate the thickets\nwhere she meant to hide, and, should they, she was prepared for that\ncontingency, too. She had brought with her a bright-colored shawl that\nshe would throw over her head, and with the start of them she could\noutrun them all, even Peter. Had she not outdistanced him easily, many\ntimes, in fun? Through the tangle of tree-trunks that grew not far from\nthe thicket, they would think she was but a poor Shoshone squaw lying\nin wait for the broken meat of the revellers.\nBy crossing and recrossing the tiny creeks that trickled slow and\nobstructed through the gaunt levels of plain and foot-hill, she had\ncome by a direct route to the fringes of the pine country. And here she\nfound a world dim, green, and mysterious. It was wellnigh inconceivable\nthat the land of sage-brush and silence could, within walking distance\nof desolation, show such wealth of young timber, such shade and beauty.\nHer noiseless footfalls scarce startled a sage-hen that, realizing too\nlate her presence, froze to the dead stump\u2014a ruffled gray excrescence\nwith glittering bead eyes that stared at her furtively, the one live\nthing in the tense body.\nThe sun wanted an hour of noon when Judith rested by the stream, bathed\nher face and hands, flushed from the long walk, ate the bread and meat,\nthen lay on the bed of pine-needles, brown and soft from the weathering\nof many suns and snows. She had been all day in the company she loved\nbest\u2014the earth, the sky, the sun and wind\u2014and in her heart at last was\na deep tranquillity. Thus she could face life and ask nothing but to\nwatch the cloud fleeces as they are spun and heaped high in the long\ndays of summer; in soberer moods to watch the thoughts of the Great\nMystery as He reveals them in the shifting cloud shapes; to penetrate\nfurther and further into the councils of the great forces. Thus did she\ndream the moments away till the sun was high in the blue and threw\nlong, yellow splashes of light on her still body, on the soft\npine-needles, beneath the boughs. But there was no time for further\nday-dreams if she intended to forestall the hunters at the place of\nnooning. She followed a game trail that lay along the stream, ascending\nthrough the dense growths till she reached the top of the jutting\nrocks. Her hair was loosened, her skirt awry, and the pine-needles\nstood out from it as from a cushion. Much of the way she gained by\ncreeping beneath the low branches on her hands and knees. No white\nwoman would be likely to follow her reasoned the daughter of the\nplains. It would be a little too hard on her appearance. And here, by\nlying flat and hanging over the jutting knob of rock, with a pine\nbranch in her hand, she could see this mysterious woman and Peter and\nthe hunters.\nShe broke a branch to shade her face, she looked down on the grassy\nlevel. She waited, but there was no sound of hoofs falling muffled on\nthe soft ground. The shadows of the pines contended with the splashes\nof sunlight for the little world beneath the trees. They trembled in\nmimic battle, then the shadows stole the sunlight, bit by bit, till all\nwas pale-green twilight, and there was no sound of the hunters.\nThe hunters, meanwhile, had not been altogether successful in the\nchase. The necessary wolf had been coy, and they, perforce, had to\ncompromise with his poor relation, the coyote\u2014a poor relation, indeed,\nwhose shabby coat, thinned by the process of summer shedding, made it\nan unworthy souvenir to Miss Colebrooke. But it was not the lack of a\nwolf that robbed the hunting-party of its zest for Kitty. She could not\ntell what it was, but something seemed to have gone wrong with the day\nfrom the beginning. She rode beside her cavalier in a habit the like of\nwhich the country had never before seen, and Peter, usually the most\nobservant of men, had no word for its multitude of perfections. In the\nfirst realization of disappointment with the day, the hunt, the\nhardships of the long ride, her perturbed consciousness took up the\nproblem of this missing element and tried to adjust itself to the\nirritating absence. Kitty wondered if it were something she had\nforgotten. No, there were her two little cambric pocket-handkerchiefs,\nremotely suggestive of orris, and bearing her monogram delicately\nwrought and characteristic. It was not her watch, the ribbon fob of\nwhich fluttered now and then in the breeze. It was not veil nor\nscarf-pin nor any of the paraphernalia of the properly garbed\nhorsewoman. And yet there was something missing, something she should\nhave had with her, something the absence of which was taking the savor\nfrom the day\u2019s hunting.\nIt must be the very bigness of this great, splendid world that gave her\nthe sense of being alone at sea. Intuitively she turned and looked at\nPeter riding beside her. There was something in his face that made her\nlook again before accepting the realization at first incredulously,\nthen with frank amusement. Peter had scarcely spoken since they left\nthe ranch. She had come down to breakfast so sure of her new\nriding-habit. The Wetmore girls had been moved to hyperboles about its\ncut and fit and the trim shortness of the skirt\u2014short riding-skirts\nwere something of a novelty then. The fine gold hair, twisted tight at\nthe back of the shapely head, was like a coiled mass of burnished\nmetal, some safe-keeping device of mint or gold-worker till the season\nof coining or fashioning should come round. The translucent\nflesh-tints, pearl-white flushing into pink\u2014\u201cBouguereau realized at\nlast,\u201d as Nannie Wetmore was in the habit of summing up her cousin\u2019s\ncomplexion\u2014was as marvellous as ever. The delicate firmness of profile\ngave to the face the artificial perfection of an old miniature, rather\nthan of a flesh-and-blood countenance, and all these were there as of\nyore, but the marvel of them failed of the customary tribute. Kitty, on\nscanty reflection, was at no loss to translate Peter\u2019s reserve into a\nlanguage at once flattering and retributive. In her scheme of life he\nwas always to be her devoted cavalier, as indeed he had been from the\nbeginning. She loved her own small eminence too well to imperil her\ntenure of it by sharing its pretty view of men and things with any one.\nIn country house parties she loved the mild wonder that the successful\n_litt\u00e9rateuse_ could fight and play and win her social triumphs so\nwell. She loved the star part, and next to playing it she enjoyed\nwresting it from other women or eclipsing them completely in some\nconspicuously minor r\u00f4le, while, in the matter of dress, Miss\nColebrooke went beyond the point decreed by the most exigent mandates\nof fashion. When hats were worn over the face, her admirers had to\ncontent themselves with a glimpse of her charming mouth and chin. When\nthey flared, hers fairly challenged the laws of equilibrium. She danced\nwith the same facility with which she rode, swam, and played tennis. In\ndoing these things supremely well she felt that she vindicated the\nposition of the woman of letters. Why should one be a frump because one\nwrote?\nHer friendship with Peter was to endure to greenest old age, more\nplatonic, perhaps, than that of Madame R\u00e9camier and Chateaubriand. It\nwas to be fruitful in letters that would compare favorably with the\nbest of the seventeenth century series. Even now her own letters to\nPeter were no sprightly scrawl of passing events, but efforts whose\nseriousness suggested, at least in their carefully elaborated stages of\nstructure, the letters of the ladies of Cranford.\nBut in the course of these Western wanderings, undertaken not wholly\nwithout consideration of Peter, there had appeared in the maplike\nexactness of her plans an indefinite territory that threatened\nundreamed-of proportions. It menaced the scheme of the letters, it\nshook the foundations of the Chateaubriand-R\u00e9camier friendship. The\nunknown quantity was none other than the frequent and irritating\nmention of one Judith Rodney, who, from all accounts, appeared a\nhalf-breed. Her name, her beauty, some intrinsic charm of personality\nmade her an all too frequent topic, except in the case of Peter. He had\nbeen singularly keen in scenting any interrogatory venue that led to\nthe mysterious half-breed; when questioned he persistently refused to\nexhibit her as a type.\nKitty knew that she had treated her long-suffering cavalier with scant\nconsideration the day he had spurred across the desert to see her.\nTrue, she had written him on her arrival, but, with feminine perversity\nof logic, thought it a trifle inconsiderate of him to come so soon\nafter that trying railroad journey. An ardent resumption of his\nsuit\u2014and Peter could be depended on for renewing it early and often\u2014was\nfarthest from her inclination at that particular time. She intended to\nsalve her conscience at the wolf-hunt for her casual reception of his\nimpetuous visit. But apparently Peter did not intend to be prodigal of\nopportunity.\n\u201cHow garrulous you people are this morning!\u201d Nannie Wetmore challenged\nthem. Peter came out of his brown study with the look of one who has\nagain returned to earth.\n\u201cYou don\u2019t find it like the drop-curtain of a theatre, now that you\u2019ve\nseen it?\u201d he questioned Kitty. For she had doubted her pleasure in the\nmountains, in the conviction that they would be too dramatic for her\nsimple taste.\nKitty closed her eyes and sighted the peaks as if she were getting the\ncolor scheme for an afternoon toilet.\n\u201cMass, bulk, rather than line\u2014no, it\u2019s not like a drop-curtain, but\nit\u2019s distinctly \u2018hand-painted.\u2019 All it needs is a stag surveying the\nprospect from that great cliff. It\u2019s the kind of thing that would sound\nwell in a description. Oh, I assure you I intend to make lavish use of\nit, but it leaves nothing to one\u2019s poor imagination!\u201d\nPeter had a distinct feeling of being annoyed. No, she could not\nappreciate the mountains any more than they could appreciate her. They\nwere incongruous, antipathetic, antipodal. Kitty, in her pink and white\nand flaxen prettiness and her trim habit, was in harmony with the\nbridle-path of a city park; in this great, lonely country she was an\nalien. He thought of Judith and the night they had climbed Horse-Thief\nTrail, of her quiet endurance, her keen pleasure in the wild beauty of\nthe night, her quality of companionship, her loyalty, her silent\nbearing of many burdens. Yet until he had seen them both against the\nsame relentless background, he had never been conscious of comparing\nthe two women.\nNannie Wetmore had fallen behind. She was riding with a bronzed young\nlieutenant from Fort Washakie. The two ahead rode long without\nspeaking. Then Peter broke the silence impatiently:\n\u201cYou did not really mean that, did you?\u201d He was boyishly hurt at her\nflippant summing up of his beloved blue country. And Kitty, tired with\nthe long, hard ride, and missing that something in Peter that had\nalways been hers, turned on him a pair of blue eyes in which the tears\nwere brimming suspiciously. They were well out of sight of the others,\nand had come to the heavy fringes of a pine wood. Was it the\npsychological moment at last? Then suddenly their horses, that had been\nsniffing the air suspiciously, stopped. Kitty\u2019s horse, which was in\nadvance of Peter\u2019s, rushed towards the thicker growth of pines as if\nall Bedlam were in pursuit. Peter\u2019s horse, swerving from the cause of\nalarm, bolted back across the trail over which they had just made their\nway. A large brown bear, feeding with her cub, and hidden by the trees\ntill they were directly in front of her, had caused the alarm.\nAnd presently the hush of the shadowy green world in which Judith lay\nwas broken by a light, sobbing sound. It had been so still that, lying\non her bed of pine-needles, she had likened it to great waves of\nsilence, rolling up from the valley, breaking over her and sweeping\nback again, noiseless, green from the billowing ocean of pine branches,\nand sunlit. Judith bent over the rocky ledge and saw a girl making her\nway down the game trail, dishevelled and tearful. Her hat was gone, her\npale-yellow hair, that in shadow had the greenish tinge of corn-silk,\nblew about her shoulders, her trim skirt was torn and dusty, and she\nlooked about, bewildered, hardly realizing that through the unexpected\ncourse of things she had been stranded in this great world of sunlit\nsplendor and loneliness. She closed her eyes. The awful vastness and\nsolitude oppressed her with a deepening sense of calamity. Suppose they\nnever found her? How could she find her way in this endless wilderness,\nafoot? She sank to the turf and began to cry hysterically.\nJudith knew in a flash of instant cognition that this was Miss\nColebrooke. Amazement seemed to have dulled her powers of\naction\u2014amazement that she, who had stolen to this place and crouched\nclose to earth that she might see the triumph of this preferred woman,\nand, having seen and paid her grievous dole, steal away and take up the\nthread of endless little things that spun for her the web of life, was\nforced instead to be an unwilling witness of the other\u2019s distress.\nJudith had risen with her first impulse, which had been to go to Kitty,\nbut half-way through the thicket she hesitated and reconsidered.\nUndoubtedly Peter would come soon, and Peter\u2019s consolation would be\nmore potent than any she could offer. She shrank in shuddering\nself-consciousness at the thought of her presence at their meeting, the\nuninvited guest, the outgrown friend and confidante, blundering in at\nsuch a time, pitifully full of good intentions. She recoiled from the\npicture as from a precipice that all unwittingly she had escaped. What\nmadness had induced her to come on this expedition? A sudden panic at\nthe possibility of discovery possessed her; suppose Peter should find\nher skulking like a beggar, waiting for broken meats? She looked at the\nimage of herself that she carried in her heart. It was that of a proud\nwoman who made no moan at the scourge of the inevitable. Many burdens\nhad she carried in her proud, lonely heart, but of them her lips gave\nno sign. In her contemplative stoicism she felt with pride that she was\nno unworthy daughter of her mother\u2019s people, and catching a glimpse\nthrough the trees of the abjectly waiting woman who, though safe and\nsound, could but wait, wretched and dispirited, for some one to come\nand adjust her to the situation, Judith felt for her a wondering pity\nat her helplessness. She waited, expectant, for the sound of Peter\u2019s\nhorse. Surely he must come at any moment, overcome with apologies, and\nshe\u2014Judith hid her face in her hands at the thought\u2014she would steal\naway through the thicket at the first sound of hoofs. But as the\nminutes slipped by and still no sign of Peter, a sickening anxiety\nbegan to gnaw at her heart. Had something happened to him?\nShe did not wait to ask herself the question twice. She crawled the\nlength of the thicket with incredible rapidity, gained the pine forest,\nand made her way beneath the low-hanging boughs; without stopping to\nprotect herself from them she gained the open space and ran quickly to\nKitty.\n\u201cAre you hurt? What has happened?\u201d\nKitty looked up, startled at the voice. She had not heard the sound of\nthe moccasined feet. Her wandering, forlorn thoughts crystallized at\nsight of the woman before her. A new lightning leaped into her eyes as\nshe recognized Judith. There was between them a thrilling consciousness\nthat gave to their mutual perception a something sharp and fine, that\ngrasped the drama of the moment with the precision and fidelity of a\ncamera. And through all the wonder of the meeting there was in the\nheart of each an outflowing that met and mingled and understood the\npotential tragedy element of the situation.\n\u201cYou are Miss Rodney, I believe?\u201d\nKitty was conscious of something strange in her voice as she looked\ninto the dark eyes, wide with questioning fear. Ah, but she had amazing\nbeauty, and a something that seemed of the very essence of deep-souled\nwomanliness! The two women presented a fine bit of antithesis, Kitty,\nflower-like, small, delicately wrought, the finished product of the\ntown, exotic as some rare transplanted orchid growth. And in Judith\nthere was a gemlike quality: it was in the bloom of her skin, the\niridescent radiance of her hair, that was bluish, like a plum in\nsunlight; it was in the warm, red life in her lips, in the pulsing\nvitality of the slim, brown throat; in every line was sensuous force\nrestrained by spiritual passion.\nKitty told of the accident in which her horse had thrown her and\ndisappeared in the pine fringes, leaving her stunned for a moment or\ntwo; and how she had finally pulled herself together and followed what\nappeared to be a trail, in the hope of finding some one. She dwelt long\non the details of the accident.\n\u201cYes, but Peter, what has happened him?\u201d Judith chose her words\nimpatiently. She was racked with anxiety at his long delay, and now she\nhung over Kitty, waiting for her answer, without the semblance of a\ncloak for her alarm.\nThere was reproof in Kitty\u2019s amendment. \u201cI don\u2019t know which way Mr.\nHamilton\u2019s horse went. It started back over the trail, I think.\u201d\nJudith clasped her hands. \u201cLet us go and look for him. Why do we waste\ntime?\u201d But Kitty hung back. She was shaken from her fall, and upset by\nthe events of the morning. Besides, her faith in Peter\u2019s ability to\ncope with all the exigencies of this country was supreme. And chiefest\nreason of all for her not going was a something within her that winced\nat the thought of this fellowship that had for its object the quest of\nPeter.\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t you see,\u201d pleaded Judith, \u201cthat if something had not\nhappened to him he would have been here long ago?\u201d\nJudith\u2019s anxiety awoke in Kitty a new consciousness. What was she to\nhim, that at the possibility of harm, a fear not shared by Kitty, she\nshould throw off a reserve that every line of her face pronounced\nhabitual? In her very energy of attitude, an energy that all\nunconsciously communicated itself to Kitty, there was the power that\nbelongs to all elemental human emotion\u2014the power that compels. Kitty\nrose to follow Judith, then hesitated.\n\u201cI\u2019m sure nothing has happened him. No, I\u2019m really too unstrung by my\nfall to walk.\u201d She sank again to the bowlder on which she had been\nsitting.\nTo the woman of the world, Judith\u2019s ingenuous display of feeling had in\nits very sincerity a something pitiable. How could she strip from her\nsoul every fold of reserve and stand unloved and unashamed, sanctified,\nas it were, by the very hopelessness of her passion? How could women\nmake of their whole existence a thing to be rejected, reflected Kitty,\nwho, giving nothing, could not understand. She looked again at the\nbronzed face beside her, so bold in outline, so expressive in detail.\nYes, she was beautiful, and yet, what had her beauty availed her? The\nthought that she herself was the preferred woman throbbed through her\nfor a moment with a sense of exaltation. The next moment a haunting\ndoubt laid hold of her heart, held up mockingly the little that she and\nPeter had lived through together, the lofty plane of friendship along\nwhich she had tried to lead his unwilling feet sedately, his protests,\nhis frank amusement at her serious pretensions to a career. How much\nfuller might not have been the intercourse between him and this woman,\nwho, in all probability, had been his comrade for years? And she had\nbeen idealizing him, and his love for her, and his loneliness! Kitty\nstood with eyes cast down, while images crowded upon her, leaving her\ncold and smiling.\n\u201cBut think,\u201d pleaded Judith; \u201cif you don\u2019t come it will take me longer\nto search the trail-marks. You could show me just where the horses\nran\u2014\u201d\nKitty\u2019s eyes were still on the ground. She did not lift them, and\nJudith, realizing that further appeal was but a waste of time, turned\nand ran swiftly down the trail.\n\u201cHe is her lover,\u201d said Kitty; and all the wilderness before her was no\nlonelier than her heart.\nSwift, intent, Judith traced Kitty\u2019s footprints. They followed the game\ntrail, the one she herself had taken earlier in the day. She traced\nthem back through the pine wood about a hundred rods, and then the\ntrail-marks grew confused. This was unquestionably the place where the\nhorses had taken fright, circled, reared, then dashed in different\ndirections. She traced the other horse, whose tracks led under\nlow-hanging boughs. It would have been a difficult matter for a horse\nwith a rider to clear; and now the impression of the horse\u2019s shoes grew\nfainter, from the lighter footfalls of a horse at full gallop.\n\u201cAh!\u201d A cry broke from her as she saw the marks had become almost\neliminated by something that had dragged, something heavy. Those\nlong-drawn lines were finger-prints, where a hand had dragged in its\nvain endeavor to grasp at something. A sickening image came\npersistently before her eyes\u2014Peter\u2019s upturned face, blood-smeared and\ndisfigured.\n\u201cSh-sh-sh!\u201d She put her hand to her breast to still the beating of her\nheart. She could hear the sound of hoofs falling muffled on the soft\nground, and a man\u2019s voice speaking in a soothing sing-song. She\nlistened. It was Peter\u2019s voice, reassuring the horse, asking him what\nkind of a bag of nerves he was for a cow pony, to get frightened at a\nbear? Judith stood tall and straight among the pines. Surely he could\nnot blindly pass her by. He must feel the joy in her heart that all was\nwell with him. The hoofs came nearer, the man\u2019s voice sounded but\nintermittently, as he got his horse under better control. She felt as\nif he must come to her, as if some overpowering consciousness of her\npresence would speak from her heart to his; but his eyes scanned the\ndistant trail for a glimpse of Kitty or Kitty\u2019s horse. Judith saw that\nhis head was bound in something white and that it bore a red stain, but\nhe held himself well in the saddle. He was not the man to heed a\ntumble. He urged the horse forward, never looking towards the\ntree-trunks, his face white and strained with anxiety as he scoured the\ntrail for evidences of Kitty. The horse, with a keener sense than his\nmaster, shied slightly as he passed the group of pines where Judith\nstood; but Peter\u2019s glance was for the open trail, and as she heard him\ncanter by, so close that she could have touched his stirrup with her\nhand, it seemed as if he must hear the beating of her heart.\n\u201cOh, blind eyes, and ears that will not hear, and heart that has\nforgotten how to beat! Yes, go to that pale, cold girl! You speak one\nlanguage, and life for you is the way of little things!\u201d\nShe waited till the last sound of the horse\u2019s hoofs had died away and\nall was still in the tremulous green of the forest. Judith\u2019s mind was\nbusy with the image of their meeting, the man bringing the joy of his\nyouth to the calm divinity who could feel no thrill of fear in his\nabsence. She broke into the running gait and hurried through the forest\nto the Daxes\u2019.\nXVI.\nIn The Land Of The Red Silence\nThe beef-herd, that had been the pivotal point of the round-up and had\nmade the mighty plain echo to its stampings and bellowings, beating up\nsimooms that choked it with thirst, blinded it with dust, confounding\nitself on every side by the very fury of its blind force, had trailed\nfor a week, tractable as toys in the hands of children. Little had\nhappened to vary the monotony for the cow-punchers that handled the\nherd\u2014they grazed, guarded, watered, night-herded the cattle day after\nday, night after night. Pasturage had been sufficient, if not abundant.\nThe creeks were running low and slimy with the advance of summer, but\nthere had been sufficient water to let the herd drink its fill at least\nonce a day.\nThe outfit ate its \u201csow-belly,\u201d soda-biscuit, and coffee three times a\nday, and smoked its pipes, but was a little shy on yarns round the\ncamp-fire.\n\u201cThis yere outfit don\u2019t lather none,\u201d commented the cook to the\nhorse-wrangler, over the smoke of an early morning fire.\n\u201cDon\u2019t lather no more than a chunk of wood,\u201d agreed the horse-wrangler.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the trouble with a picked-up outfit like this. Catch \u2018W-square\u2019\nmen kowtowing to a \u2018XXX\u2019 boss, even if he is only acting foreman.\u201d\nSimpson, the origin of whose connection with the \u201cXXX\u201d was rather a\nsensitive subject with that outfit, had begun to take his duties as a\ncattle-man with grim seriousness; he was untiring in his labors; he\nspent long hours in the saddle, he took his turn at night herding,\nthough he was old for this kind of work. He condemned the sheep-men\nwith foul-mouthed denunciations, scoffed at their range-rights, said\nthe sheep question should be dealt with in the business-like manner in\nwhich the Indian question had been settled. He was an advocate of\nviolence\u2014in short, a swaggering, bombastic wind-bag. He talked much of\n\u201chis outfit\u201d and \u201chis men.\u201d \u201cWhat was good enough for them was good\nenough for him,\u201d he would announce at meal-time, in a snivelling tone,\nwhen the food happened to be particularly bad. He split the temporary\noutfit, brought together for the purpose of handling the beef-herd,\ninto factions. He put the \u201cXXX\u201d in worse repute than it already\nenjoyed\u2014he was, in fact, the discordant spirit of the expedition. The\nmen attended to their work sullenly. Discord was rife. The one thought\nthey shared in common was that of the wages that would come to them at\nthe end of the drive; of the feverish joy of \u201cblowing in,\u201d in a single\nnight; perchance, of forgetting, in one long, riotous evening, the\nmonotony, the hardship, the lack of comradery that made this particular\ndrive one long to be remembered in the mind of every man who had taken\npart in it.\nMeanwhile the herd trailed its half-mile length to the slaughtering\npens day after day, all unconscious of its power. When the steers had\ntrailed for about a fortnight, the question of finding sufficient water\nfor them began to be a serious one. The preceding winter had been\nunusually mild, the snow-fall on the mountains averaging less than in\nthe recollection of the oldest plains-man. Summer had begun early and\nwaxed hot and dry. The earth began to wrinkle, and cracked into\ntrenches, like gaping mouths, thirsty for the water that came not. Such\nstreams as had not dried shrank and crawled among the willows like\nslimy things, that the herd, thirsty though it was from the long\ndrives, had to be coaxed to drink from.\nDiscontent grew. The acting foreman, who was a \u201cXXX\u201d man, and a\ncomparative stranger to that part of the country, refused to consult\nwith the \u201cW-square\u201d men in the outfit, who knew every inch of the\nground. The acting foreman thought the Wetmore men looked down on him,\n\u201cput on dog\u201d; and, to flaunt his authority, he ordered the herd driven\ndue west instead of skirting to the north by the longer route, where\nthey would have had the advantage of drinking at several creeks before\ncrossing Green River. Moreover, the acting foreman was drinking hard,\nand he insisted upon his order in spite of the Wetmore men\u2019s\nprotestations.\nThe character of the country began to change, the soil took on the\ncolor of blood, even the omnipresent sage-brush began to fail the\nlandscape; sun-bleached bones glistened on the red soil, white as\nulcers. All the animal trails led back from the country into which they\nwere proceeding. The sky, a vivid, cloudless blue, paled as it dipped\nearthward. The sun looked down, a flaming copper shield. There was no\nsign of life in all the land. Even the grasshoppers had left it to the\nsun, the silence, and the desolation. To ears accustomed to the\nincessant shrilling of the insects, the cessation was ominous, like the\nsudden stopping of a clock in a chamber of death. Above the angry\nbellow of the thirsty herd the men strained their ears again and again\nfor this familiar sound of life, but there was nothing but the\nbellowing of the cattle, the trampling of their hoofs, and sometimes\nthe long, squealing whinny of a horse as he threw back his head in\nseeming demand to know the justice of this thing.\nAcross the red plain snailed the herd, like a many-jointed, prehistoric\nreptile wandering over the limitless spaces of some primeval world. A\ncloud of red dust hung over them in a dense haze, trailed after them a\nweary length, then all was featureless monotony as before. What were a\nthousand steers, a handful of men and horses, in the land of the red\nsilence? It had seen the comings and goings of many peoples, and once\nit had flowed with streams; but that was before the curse of God came\nupon it, and in its harsh, dry barrenness it grew to be a menace to\nliving things.\nThe saddle-stock had been watered at some fetid alkali holes that had\nscarce given enough to slake their thirst. The effect of the water had\nweakened them, and the steers that had been without water for\nthirty-six hours were being pushed on a course slightly northwest as\nrapidly as the enfeebled condition of the saddle-horses would permit.\nCreek after creek that they had made for proved to be but a dry bed.\nThe glare of the red earth, under the scourge of the flaming sun,\ntormented the eyes of the men into strange illusions. The naked red\nplain stretched flat like the colossal background of a screen, over\nwhich writhed a huge dragon, spined with many horns, headless, trailing\nits tortuous way over the red world. Sometimes it was as unreal as a\nfever-haunted dream, a drug-inspired nightmare, when a Chinese screen,\nperchance, has stood at the foot of the sleeper\u2019s bed. Sometimes the\ndragon curled itself into a ball, and the foreman sung out that they\nwere milling, and the men turned and rode away from it, then dashed\nback at it, after getting the necessary momentum, entered like a flying\nwedge, fought their way into the rocking sea of surging bodies, shouted\nfrom their thirst-parched throats imprecations that were lost in the\ndull, sullen roar. Then the dragon would uncoil and again trail its way\nover the red waste-lands.\nA red sun had begun to set over a red earth, and the men who had been\nout since noon-scouring the country for water, returned to say that\nnone had been found, and they began to look into each other\u2019s faces for\nthe answer that none could give. At sunset they made a dry camp; there\nwas but enough water left to cook with. Each man received, as a\nthirst-quenching ration, a can of tomatoes. After supper they\nconsulted, and it was agreed to trail the herd till midnight, taking\nadvantage of the coolness to hurry them on as fast as possible to Green\nRiver. The grave nature of their plight was indicated by the fact that\nno one smoked after supper. Silent, sullen, they sat round, waiting for\nthe foreman to give the order to advance. He waited for the moon to\ncome up. Slowly it rose over the Bad Land Hills and hung round and full\nlike a gigantic lantern. The watches were arranged for the night with a\ndouble guard. Every man in the outfit was beginning to have a feeling\nof panic that communicated itself to every other man, and as they\nlooked at the herd, tractable now no longer, but a blind force that\nthey must take chances with through the long watches of the night,\nwhile the thirst grew in the beasts\u2019 parched throats, they foresaw what\nwould in all probability happen; they thought of their women, of all\nthat most strongly bound them to life, and they sat and waited dumbly.\nThe moon that night was too brilliant for benisons; the gaunt, red\nworld lay naked and unshriven for the sin that long ago had brought\nupon it the wrath of God. The picture was still that of the grotesque\nChinese screen, with the headless dragon crawling endlessly; but the\ndream was long, centuries long, it seemed to the men listening to the\nbellowing of the herd. And while they waited, the red grew dull and the\ndragon dingy, and its fury made its contortions the more horrible; and\nthat was all the difference between day and night in the land of the\nred silence. Sometimes the dragon split, and joints of it tried to turn\nback to the last water it had drunk; for cattle, though blinded with\nthirst, never forget the last stream at which they have quenched\nthirst, and will turn back to it, though they drop on the way. But the\nmen pressed them farther and farther, and for yet a little while the\ncattle yielded.\nAt midnight the saddle-stock was incapable of moving farther. One horse\nhad fallen and lay too weak to rise. The others, limping and foot-sore,\nno longer responded to quirt and rowel. The foreman ordered the herd\nthrown on the bed ground for the night. The herders for the first watch\nbegan to circle. The rest of the outfit took to its blankets to snatch\na little rest for the double duty that awaited every man that night.\nNow it is a time-honored belief among cow-men that the herd must be\nsung to, particularly when it is restless, and to-night they tried all\nthe old favorites, the \u201cCow-boy\u2019s Lament\u201d being chief among them. But\nthe herd refused to be soothed, and round and round it circled; not\nonce would it lie down.\nThe moon gleamed almost brazen, showing the cruel scars, the trenches\ntorn by cloud-bursts, the lines wrought by the long, patient waiting of\nthe earth for the lifting of the wrath of God. Imperishable grief was\nwrit on the land as on a human face. The night wore on, the watches\nchanged, the herd continued restless; not more than a third of it had\nbedded down. The third watch was from one o\u2019clock to half-past three in\nthe morning. Simpson and another \u201cXXX\u201d man, with two of the Wetmore\noutfit, made up a double watch, and rode, singing, about the herd, as\nthe long, dreary watch wore away. The cattle\u2019s lowing had taken on a\ngasping, cracked sound that was more frightful than the maddened bellow\nof the early evening. Simpson, who was past the age when men live the\nlife of the saddle, felt the hardship keenly. He had ridden since\nsunrise, but for the respite at noon and the scant time at the dry camp\nwhile the evening meal was being eaten. He was more than half asleep\nnow, as he lurched heavily in the saddle, crossing and recrossing his\npartner in the half-circle they completed about the herd. Suddenly the\nsharp yelp of a coyote rang out; it seemed to come from no farther than\ntwenty yards away. The cattle heard it, too, and a wave of panic swept\nthrough them. Simpson stiffened in his saddle. The sound, which was\nrepeated, was an exact reproduction of a coyote\u2019s yelp, yet he knew\nthat it was not a coyote.\nThe herd rose to its feet as a single steer, and for a second stood\nundetermined. From a clump of sage-brush not more than two feet high\nfluttered something long and white like a sheet. It waved in the wind\nas the cry was repeated. The herd crashed forward in a stampede,\nSimpson in the lead on a tired horse, but a scant length ahead of a\nthousand maddened steers bolting in a panic of thirst and fear.\n\u201cHell\u2019s loose!\u201d yelled the men in their blankets, making for the\ntemporary rope corral to secure horses. Simpson, tallow-colored with\nfear, clung like a cat to his horse, and dug the rowels in the beast\u2019s\nflanks till they were bloody and dripping. He had seen Jim Rodney\u2019s\nface above the white cloth as it fluttered in the face of the herd that\ncame pounding behind him with the rumble of nearing thunder. He was too\nclose to them to attempt to fire his revolver in the air in the hope of\nturning them, but the boys had evidently got into their saddles, to\njudge by the volley of shots that rang out and were answered. Simpson\nalone rode ahead of the herd that tore after him, ripping up the earth\nas it came, bellowing in its blind fury. His horse, a thoroughly\nseasoned cow-pony, sniffed the bedlam and responded to the goading\nspur. She had been in cattle stampedes before, and, though every fibre\nached with fatigue, she flattened out her lean body and covered ground\nto the length of her stride at each gallop. The herd was so close that\nSimpson could smell the stench of their sweating bodies, taste their\ndust, and feel the scorch of their breath. The sound of their hoofs was\nlike the pounding of a thousand propellers. From above looked the moon,\nround and serene; she had watched the passing of many peoples in the\nland of the red silence. The horse seemed to be gaining. A few more\nlengths ahead and Simpson could turn her to one side and let the\nmaddened cattle race to their own destruction. All he asked of God was\nto escape their trampling hoofs, and though he gained he dug the rowel\nand plied the quirt, unmindful of what he did. On they came; the chorus\nof their fear swelled like the voice of a mighty cataract, the pound,\npound, pound of their hoofs ringing like mighty sledge-hammers.\nSuddenly he felt himself sinking, horribly, irresistibly. \u201cGod! What is\nit?\u201d as his horse went down with her foreleg in a gopher-hole. \u201cUp, up,\nyou damned brute!\u201d but the mare\u2019s leg had cracked like a pipe-stem. In\nhis fury at the beast Simpson began kicking her, then started to run as\nthe cattle swept forward like a black storm-cloud.\nThe next second the great sea of cattle had broken over horse and\nrider. When it had passed there was not enough left of either to\nwarrant burial or to furnish a feast for the buzzards. A few shreds of\nclothes, that had once been a man, lay scattered there; a something\nthat had been a horse.\nXVII.\nMrs. Yellett Contends With A Cloudburst\nThe matriarch had delayed longer in moving camp than was consistent\nwith her habitual watchfulness where the interests of the sheep were\ninvolved. Mary Carmichael, who had already become inured to the\nexperience of moving, was even conscious of a certain impatience at the\ndelay, and could only explain the apathy with which Mrs. Yellett\nreceived reports of the dearth of pasturage on the ground that she\nwished each fresh educational germ to take as deep root as possible\nbefore transplantation. So that when Mrs. Yellett, shortly after\nLeander Dax\u2019s arrival at camp in the capacity of herder, announced that\nshe and Leander were to make a trip to the dipping-vat that had kept\nBen from his classes for the past ten days, and invited the \u201cgov\u2019ment\u201d\nto join the expedition, Mary accepted with fervor.\nThe Yelletts\u2019 \u201cbunch\u201d of sheep did not exceed three thousand head, and\nthe matriarch had wisely decreed that it should be restricted to that\nnumber, as she wished always to give the flock her personal\nsupervision.\n\u201c\u2018The hen that\u2019s the surest of her chicks is the one that does her own\nsettin\u2019,\u2019\u201d was the adage from the Book of Hiram with which Mrs. Yellett\nsuccinctly summed up the case.\nEach autumn, therefore, the wethers and the dry-bag ewes were sent to\nthe market, and as the result of continual weeding of the stock the\nmatriarch had as promising a herd of its size as could be found in\nWyoming. Often she had explained to Mary, who was learning of the\nwonders of this new world with remarkable aptness, that she had\nconstantly to fight against the inclination to increase her business of\nsheep-raising, but that as soon as she should begin to hire herders or\ndepend on strangers things would go wrong. With the assistance of her\nsons, she therefore managed the entire details of the herd, with the\nexception of those occasions on which Leander lent his\nsemi-professional co-operation.\nAs a workman Leander was, considering his size and apparent weakness,\nsurprisingly efficient. It was as a dispenser of anti-theological\ndoctrine that Mrs. Dax\u2019s husband annoyed his temporary employer. Freed\nfrom his wife\u2019s masterful presence, Leander dared to be an \u201cagnostic,\u201d\nas he called himself, of an unprecedentedly violent order. His\niconoclasm was not of a pattern with paw\u2019s gusty protests against life\nin general, but it was Leander\u2019s way of asserting himself, on the rare\noccasions when he got a chance, to deny clamorously every tenet\nadvanced by every religion. The mere use of certain familiar expletives\ndrove him, ordinarily mild and submissive though he was, to frantic\ngesticulation and diatribe. Mary Carmichael could not make out, as she\nwatched the comedy with growing amusement, whether poor Leander really\nbelieved that he was the first of doubting Thomases, or whether he took\nan unfair advantage of the lack of general information in his casual\naudiences to set forth well-known opinions as his own. Whatever its\nbasis may have been, Leander sustained the r\u00f4le of doubter with\npassionate zeal, wearing himself to tatters of rage and hoarseness over\narguments maliciously contrived beforehand by cow-punchers and\nsheep-herders in need of amusement; and yet he never saw the traps,\ngoing out of his way, apparently, to fall into them, tumbling headlong\ninto the identical pits time after time. Jonah and the whale\nconstituted one bait by means of which Leander could be lured from\nfood, sleep, or work of the most pressing nature.\n\u201cThe poor fool would stop in the middle of shearing a sheep to argue\nthat Jonah never come out of the whale\u2019s belly,\u201d the matriarch had told\nMary Carmichael, in summing up Leander\u2019s disadvantages as a herder. And\nthe first remark she had addressed to him on his arrival was: \u201cLeander\nDax, you\u2019d have to be made over, and made different, to keep you from\nbein\u2019 a infidel, but there\u2019s one p\u2019int on which you are particularly\nlocoed, and that\u2019s Jonah and the whale. Now at this particular time in\nthe hist\u2019ry of the United States, nobody in his faculties has got no\ncall to fret hisself over Jonah and his whereabouts\u2014none whatever.\nThere\u2019s a lot of business round this here camp that\u2019s a heap more\npressin\u2019. Now, Leander Dax, if I do hereby undertake to hire, engage,\nand employ you to herd sheep, do you agree to renounce discussions,\narguments, and debates on the late Jonah and his whereabouts durin\u2019\nthem three days? God A\u2019mighty, man, any one would think you was Jonah\u2019s\nwife, the interest you have in his absence!\u201d\n\u201cI come here to herd sheep,\u201d Leander had brazenly retaliated. \u201cI \u2019ain\u2019t\ncome to try to make you think.\u201d\nNevertheless, he appeared docile enough as the time came for the\njourney to the dipping-vat, and did his part in making ready. The wagon\nwas the rudest of structures; it consisted merely of one long, stout\npole. Though she saw the horses being harnessed to this pole, Mary\nCarmichael, discreetly exercising her newly acquired wisdom, forbore to\nask where she was going to sit, and listened with interest to a\ndiscussion between Mrs. Yellett and Leander as to the number of horses\nit would take to get the dip up the mountain. Leander, who loved pomp\nand splendor, was for taking six, but Mrs. Yellett, who carried\nsimplicity to a fault, was in favor of only two. They finally\ncompromised on four, and Leander went to fetch the extra two.\nMrs. Yellett, ever economical of the flitting moment, took advantage of\nthe delay to give Mr. Yellett a dose of \u201cBrainard\u2019s Beneficial\nBlackthorn.\u201d\n\u201cPaw\u2019s as hard to manage as a bent pin,\u201d she remarked, in an aside to\nMary, while he protested and fought her off with his stick. But she,\nwith the agility of an acrobat, got directly back of him, took his head\nunder her arm, pried open his mouth, and poured down the unwelcome, if\nbeneficial, dose.\n\u201cThere, there, paw,\u201d she said, wiping his mouth as if he had been a\nbaby, \u201cdon\u2019t take on so! It\u2019s all gone, and I can\u2019t have you sick on my\nhands.\u201d\nBut Mr. Yellett continued to splutter and flare and use violent\nlanguage, whereupon the matriarch went into the tent and returned with\na drink of condensed-milk and water, \u201cto wash down the nasty taste,\u201d\nshe told him, soothingly.\nA moment afterwards she and Leander were engaged in rolling the barrels\nof sheep-dip to the wagon, Mary Carmichael helplessly looking on while\nMrs. Yellett looked doubtfully at a \u201cgov\u2019ment\u201d who could not handle\nbarrels. Finally, under the skilful manipulation of Mrs. Yellett and\nLeander, the long pole took on the aspect of a colossal vertebral\ncolumn, from which huge barrel-ribs projected horizontally, leaving at\nthe rear a foot or so of bare pole as a smart caudal appendage, bearing\nabout the same proportion to the wagon as the neatly bitten tail of a\nfox-terrier does to the dog.\nMrs. Yellett kissed \u201cpaw\u201d good-bye, explaining to Mary, in extenuation\nof her weakness, that she would never forgive herself if she neglected\nit and anything happened to him during her absence. She then climbed to\nthe front barrel and secured the ribbons. Leander had brought out three\nrolls of bedding of the inevitable bed-quilt variety, but Mrs. Yellett\nscorned such luxury while driving, and accordingly gave hers to the\n\u201cgov\u2019ment\u201d for a back-rest. Mary sat on the lower row of barrels, with\nher feet dangling, using one roll of bedding for a seat and the other\ncomfortably arranged at her back as a cushion.\nMadam called sharply to the horses, \u201cHi-hi-hi-kerat! hi-kerat-kerat!\u201d\nand they started off at a rattling pace, the barrels of dip creaking\nand squeaking as they swayed under their rope lashings. Mary bounced\nabout like a bean in a bag, working loose from between the bed-quilt\nrolls at each gulley, clinging frantically to barrel ends, shaken back\nand forth like a shuttle. Indeed, the drive seemed to combine every\nknown form of physical exercise. Mrs. Yellett herself was in fine\nfettle; she drove sitting for a while, then rose, standing on a narrow\nledge while she held the four ribbons lightly in one hand and tickled\nthe leaders with a long whip carried in the other. She drove her four\nhorses over the rough road with the skill of a circus equestrienne,\nbalancing easily on the crazy ledge, shifting her weight from side to\nside as the wagon rattled down gullies and up ridges, the horses\nresponding gallantly to the shrill \u201cHi-hi-kerat! hi-kerat! hi-kerat!\u201d\nHer costume on this occasion represented joint concessions to her sex\nand the work that was before her, as the head of a family at the\ndipping-vat. She still wore the drum-shaped rabbit-skin cap pulled well\ndown over her forehead for driving. The great, cable-like braids of\nhair stood out well below the cap, giving her head an appearance of\ndenseness and solidity, but the rambling curls were still blowing about\nher face, perhaps adding to the sum total of grotesqueness. She wore a\nman\u2019s shirt of gray flannel, well open at the neck, from which the\nbronzed column of the throat rose in austere dignity. A pair of Mr.\nYellett\u2019s trousers, stuffed into high, cow-puncher\u2019s boots, that met\nthe hem of a skirt coming barely to the knees, contributed to the\noriginality of her dress.\nThe wagon had been pitching like a ship at sea through the desert\ndreariness for about an hour, when Mary Carmichael suddenly became\nconscious that the prods she had been receiving from time to time in\nher back were not due either to their manner of locomotion or to the\nfreight carried. Clinging to two barrels, she waited for the next lurch\nof the wagon to shake her free from the rolls of bedding, and, at the\nperil of life and limb, looked round. Leander hung over the top row of\nbarrels, gesticulating wildly. The change in the man, since leaving\ncamp some two hours previous, was appalling. He seemed to have\nshrivelled away to a wraith of his former self. His cheeks, his chin,\nhad waned to the vanishing point. He opened his lips and mouthed\nhorribly, yet his frightful grimacings conveyed no meaning. Mary called\nto Mrs. Yellett, but her voice was drowned in the rattle of the wagon,\nthe clatter of four horses\u2019 hoofs, and the continual \u201cHi-hi-hi-kerat!\nhi-kerat!\u201d of the driver. In the mean time Leander pointed to his mouth\nand back to the road in indescribably pathetic pantomime. \u201cPerhaps the\npoor creature wants to turn back and die in his bed, like a Christian,\neven if he isn\u2019t one,\u201d thought Mary, as she called and called, Leander\nstill emitting the most inhuman of cries, like the sounds made by deaf\nmutes in distress. Presently Mrs. Yellett drew up, and asked in the\nname of many profane things what was the matter with her companions.\nLeander resumed his mouthings and his dumb show, but Mrs. Yellett\nproved a better interpreter than Mary Carmichael.\n\u201cGod A\u2019mighty!\u201d she said, \u201che\u2019s lost his false teeth!\u201d And without\nanother word she turned the four horses and the wagon with a skill that\nfell little short of sleight-of-hand.\nThe dialogue that followed between Mrs. Yellett and Leander as to how\nfar back he had dropped his teeth, cannot be given, owing to the\ninadequacy of the English language to reproduce his toothless\nenunciation. Catching, as Mary did, the meaning of Mrs. Yellett\u2019s\nremarks only, she received something of the one-sided impression given\nby overhearing a telephone conversation:\n\u201cWhat did you have \u2019em out for?... You didn\u2019t have \u2019em out?... I just\nshook \u2019em out? Then what made you have your mouth open? Ef your mouth\nhad been shut, you couldn\u2019t have lost \u2019em.... You was a-yawnin\u2019, eh?\nWell, you are a plumb fool to yawn on this kind of a waggin, with your\nmouth full o\u2019 china teeth. Your yawnin\u2019 \u2019ll put us back a good hour an\u2019\nwe won\u2019t reach camp before sundown.\u201d\nAt this point of the diatribe the Infidel left the wagon and began to\nsearch along the road. He said he had noticed a buffalo skull near the\nplace where he had dropped the teeth, and thought he could trace them\nby this landmark. Mrs. Yellett held the ribbons and suggested that Mary\nget down \u201cand help to prospect for them teeth.\u201d As Mary clambered down\nshe heard a fragment of the matriarch\u2019s monologue, which, being duly\nexpurgated for polite ears, was to the effect that she would rather\ntake ten babies anywhere than one grown man, and that as for getting in\nthe way, hindering, obstructing, and being a nuisance, generally\nspeaking, man had not his counterpart in the scheme of creation.\n\u201cTalk about a woman bein\u2019 at the bottom of everything!\u201d sniffed Mrs.\nYellett; \u201cI be so sick of always hearin\u2019 about \u2018the woman in the case!\u2019\nHalf the time the case would be a blame sight worse if it was left\nexclusive to the men. The Book of Hiram says: \u2018A skunk may have his\ngood p\u2019ints, but few folks is takin\u2019 the risk of waitin\u2019 round to get\nacquainted with \u2019em.\u2019\u201d\nWhile Mary was still \u201cprospecting,\u201d a glad cry roused her attention,\nand Leander came up smiling, with his dental treasures nicely adjusted.\n\u201cQuit smilin\u2019 like a rattlesnake, you plumb fool!\u201d called out Mrs.\nYellett. \u201cDo you want to lose \u2019em again?\u201d\nSo, curtailing the muscular contraction indicative of his pleasure, the\nInfidel again took his place among the bed-quilts and the journey was\nresumed.\nIt was now about five in the afternoon. The heat, which had been\noppressive all day, suddenly relaxed its blistering grip, and a keenly\npenetrating dampness, not unlike that of a sea-fog, came from some\nunknown quarter of the arid wastes and chilled the three travellers to\nthe marrow. The horses flung up their heads and sniffed it, rearing and\nplunging as if they had scent of something menacing. Across the horizon\na dark cloud scudded, no bigger than your hand.\n\u201cCloud-burst!\u201d announced Mrs. Yellett.\n\u201cCloud-burst, all right enough,\u201d agreed Leander, and he turned up his\ncoat-collar in simple preparation for the deluge.\nThere flashed into Mary Carmichael\u2019s mind a sentence from her physical\ngeography that she had been obliged to commit to heart in her\nschool-days: \u201cA cloud-burst is a sudden, capricious rainfall, as if the\nwhole cloud had been precipitated at once.\u201d She wanted to question her\ncompanions as to the accuracy of this definition, but before she had\ntime to frame a sentence the real cloud-burst came, with a splitting\ncrack of thunder; then the lightning flashed out its message in the\nshort-hand of the storm, across the inky blackness, and the water fell\nas if the ocean had been inverted. In the fraction of a second all\nthree were drenched to the skin, the water pouring from them in sheets,\nas if they had been some slight obstruction in the path of a waterfall.\nThe wagon was soon in a deep gully, with frothing, foaming, yellow\nwater up to the hubs of the wheels. Mrs. Yellett, like some goddess of\nthe storm, lashed her horses forward to keep them from foundering in\nthe mud, and the wagon creaked and groaned in all its timbers as it\nlurched and jolted through the angry torrents.\nEach moment Mary expected to be flung from the barrels, and clung till\nher finger-tips were white and aching. From the drenched red bedquilts\na sticky crimson trail ran over the barrel heads, as well as over\nMary\u2019s hands, face, and dress. Still they forged on through the deluge,\nMrs. Yellett shouting and lashing the horses, holding them erect and\nsafe with the skill she never lost. The fur on her rabbit-skin cap was\nbeaten flat. The great, wet braids had fallen from the force of the\nwater and hung straight and black, like huge snakes uncoiled. She was\nfar from losing her grip on either the horses or the situation, and\nfrom the inspiring ring of her voice as she urged them forward it was\nplain that she took a fierce joy in this conflict of the elements.\nIt was bitterly cold, and Mary reflected that if Leander\u2019s teeth\nchattered half as hard as hers did, without breaking, they must,\nindeed, be of excellent quality. The storm began to abate, and the sky\nbecame lighter, though the water still poured in torrents. As soon as\nher responsibility as driver left her time to speak, Mrs. Yellett lost\nno time in fastening the cloud-burst to Leander.\n\u201cThis here is what comes of settin\u2019 up your back against God A\u2019mighty\nand encouragin\u2019 the heathen and the infidel in his idolatry. I might\n\u2019a\u2019 knowed somethin\u2019 would happen, takin\u2019 you along! \u2018And the heathen\nand the infidel went out, and the Lord God sent a cloud-burst to wet\nhim,\u2019\u201d quoted Mrs. Yellett from the apocryphal Scriptures that never\nyet failed to furnish her with verse and text.\nThe infidel, from his side of the wagon, began to display agitation.\nHis jaws worked, but he said nothing.\n\u201cYou \u2019ain\u2019t lost them teeth again, have you?\u201d\nHe nodded his head wretchedly.\n\u201c\u2018And the Lord took away the teeth of his enemy, so that he could\nneither bite nor talk,\u2019\u201d quoted Mrs. Yellett to the miserable man, who\ncould make no reply.\n\u201cWonder you wouldn\u2019t see the foolishness o\u2019 being a heathen and a\ninfidel, and turn to the Lord! You \u2019ain\u2019t got no teeth, and it takes\nyour wife to herd you. \u2018And the Lord multiplied the tribulations of his\nenemy.\u2019 You got no more show standin\u2019 up agin the Lord than an insect\nwould have standin\u2019 up agin me.\u201d\nShe had Leander, at last, just where she wanted him. He was forced to\nlisten, and he could make no reply. She alternately abused him for his\nlack of faith and urged him to repentance. Leander raged, gesticulated,\nturned his back on her, mouthed, and finally put his fingers in his\nears. But nothing stemmed the tide of Mrs. Yellett\u2019s eloquence; it was\nas inexhaustible and as remorseless as the cloud-burst.\nIt continued bitterly cold, even after the rain had stopped falling,\nand the heap of sodden bedclothes furnished no protection against the\nchilling dampness. It was growing dark; there was no red in the sunset,\nonly a streak of vivid orange along the horizon, chill and clear as the\nempty, soulless flame of burning paper. There were no deep, glowing\ncoals, no amethystine opalescence, fading into gold and violet. All was\ncold and subdued, and the scrub pines on the mountain-tops stood out\nsharply against this cold background like an etching on yellow paper.\nMrs. Yellett\u2019s self-inspired scriptural maxims were discontinued after\na while, either because she could think of no more, or because the\nrain-soaked, shivering, chattering object towards which they were\ndirected was too abject to inspire further efforts. Leander huddled on\nthe barrel that was farthest from Mrs. Yellett, and wrapped himself in\nthe soaked red bedquilt. The dye smeared his face till he looked like\nan Indian brave ready for battle, but there was no further suggestion\nof the fighting red man in the utter desolation of his attitude. Mary\nCarmichael, on her barrel, shivered with grim patience and longed for a\ncup of tea. Only Mrs. Yellett gave no sign of anxiety or discomfort;\nshe drove along, sometimes whistling, sometimes swearing, erect as an\nIndian, and to all appearances as oblivious of cold and wet as if she\nwere in her own home.\nThe gathering darkness into which the horses were plunging was\nmysterious and appalling. Objects stood out enormously magnified, or\ndistorted grotesquely, in the uncertain light. It was like penetrating\ninto the real Inferno, like stumbling across the inspiration of Dante\nin all its sinister splendor. It was the Inferno of his dream rather\nthan the Inferno of his poem; it had the ghastly reality of the unreal.\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t surprise me if we had a smash-up in Clear Creek,\u201d said\nMrs. Yellett, just by way of adding her quota of cheerful speculation.\nShe ducked her head and whispered in Mary\u2019s ear:\n\u201cIt\u2019s all along of me hirin\u2019 _him!_ I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if paw\ndied. I\u2019m thinkin\u2019 of shakin\u2019 him out after his teeth. \u2018Take not up\nwith the enemy of the Lord, lest he make of you also an enemy.\u2019\u201d\nBut there was no accent of apprehension in Mrs. Yellett\u2019s dismal\nprognostications of the evil that might befall her for employing\nLeander. She spoke more with the air of one who produces incidents to\nprove an argument than of one who anticipates a calamity.\nLeander, toothless and wretched, sitting on the side of the wagon,\nbegan to show symptoms of joy comparable to that of the vanguard of the\nIsraelites, catching their first glimpse of the Promised Land. Touching\nMary Carmichael on the shoulder, he pointed to a white tent and the\nremains of a camp-fire. Already Mrs. Yellett had begun to \u201cHallo, Ben!\u201d\nBut Ben was at work at the vat, which was still a quarter of a mile\nfurther up the mountain; so Mrs. Yellett, throwing the reins to Leander\nand bidding him turn out the horses, lost no time in building a fire,\nputting on coffee, and making her little party comfortable. So various\nwas her efficiency that she seemed no less at home in these simple\ndomestic tasks than when guiding her horses, goddess-like, through the\ncloud-burst. And Mary Carmichael, succumbing gradually to the\nrevivifying influence of the fire and the hot coffee, acknowledged\nhonestly to herself a warmth of affection for her hostess and for the\natmosphere Mrs. Yellett created about her that made even Virginia and\nher aunts seem less the only pivot of rational existence. She felt that\nshe had come West with but one eye, as it were, and countless\nprejudices, whereas her powers of vision were fast becoming increased a\nhundredfold. How very tame life must be, she reflected, as she sat\nsmiling to herself, to those who did not know Mrs. Yellett, how\nover-serious to those who did not know Leander! Yet, after all, she\nknew that the real basis of her readjusted vision was her brief but\nilluminating acquaintance with Judith Rodney. To Mary, freed for the\nfirst time in her life from the most elegantly provincial of\nsurroundings, Judith seemed the incarnation of all the splendor and\nheroism of the West. And in the glow of her enthusiasm she decided then\nand there not to abandon the Yellett educational problem till she\nshould have solved it successfully. She might not be born to valiant\nachievement, like these sturdy folk about her, but she might as well\nprove to them that an Eastern tenderfoot was not all feebleness and\ninefficiency.\n\u201cLeander!\u201d called Mrs. Yellett. \u201cJust act as if you was to home and\nwash up these dishes.\u201d\nXVIII.\nForeshadowed\nAlida awoke, knowing what was to happen. She had dreamed of it, just\nbefore daylight, and lay in bed stupefied by the horror of it, living,\nagain and again, through each frightful detail. It had happened\u2014there,\nin the very room, and before the children; the noise of it had startled\nthem; and then she woke and knew she had been dreaming. In the dream\nthe noise had wakened the children\u2014when it really happened they must\nnever know. It wouldn\u2019t be fair to them; they needed a \u201cclean start.\u201d\nWhat had she done to keep them quiet? There had been a thunderous\nknocking at the door. She had expected it and was prepared; because the\nlock was feeble, she had shoved the old brown bureau against the door.\nNothing had happened. What a fool she was to lie there and think of it!\nThere was the brown bureau against the wall; she could hear the deep\nbreathing of Jim in the room beyond. Jim had been unequal to the task\nof conventionally going to bed the night before, and she had put a\npillow under his head and a quilt over him. She was the last woman in\nthe world to worry about Jim, drunk, or to nag him for it when sober.\nBut she didn\u2019t like the children to see him that way.\nWhat was it that she had done to quiet the children when \u201cthey\u201d rode\nup? She had done something and they had gone to sleep again, and\nshe\u2014and she\u2014oh no, it hadn\u2019t happened. What a fool she was to lie there\nthinking! There were the children to rouse and dress, and breakfast to\ncook, and Jim\u2014Jim would be feeling pretty mean this morning; he\u2019d like\na good cup of coffee. She was glad he was alive to make coffee for.\nShe got up and, in the uncertainty bred of the dream, felt the brown\nbureau, felt it hungrily, almost incredulously. The brown bureau had\nbeen pushed against the door when they had come, and knocked and\nknocked. Then they had thundered with the butts of their six-shooters,\nand the children had wakened, and she had called out to them:\n\u201cSh-sh! It\u2019s only a bad dream. Mammy will give you some dough to bake\nto-morrow.\u201d\nAnd she had gone to press her face flat to the thin wall, and call,\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, don\u2019t wake the children!\u201d\nAnd they had called out, \u201cLet him come out quiet, then.\u201d\nAnd then she could feel that they put their shoulders to the door\u2014the\nweather-beaten door\u2014with its crazy lock that didn\u2019t half catch. The\nbrown bureau had spun across the floor like a top, and they had crowded\nin. Then she had done something to quiet the children\u2014it was queer that\nshe could not remember what it was, when everything else in the dream\nstill lived within her, horribly distinct and real.\nWhat a fool she was, with Jim asleep in the next room; she would not\nthink about it another minute. She began to dress, but her fingers were\nheavy, and the vague oppression of nightmare blocked her efficiency.\nRepeatedly she would detect herself subconsciously brooding over some\none of the links in that pitiless memory\u2014what they had said to Jim; his\nundaunted replies; how she had left him and gone into the next room\nbecause Jim had told her to.\nShe called the children, but the sight of them, happy and flushed with\nsleep, did not reassure her.\n\u201cMammy,\u201d said Topeka, eldest of the family, and lately on the invalid\nlist, the victim of a cactus thorn, \u201cmy toe\u2019s all well; can I go\nbarefoot?\u201d\n\u201cTopeka Rodney, what kind of feet do you expect to have when you are a\nyoung lady, if you run barefoot now?\u201d\nTopeka, sitting on the side of the bed, with tousled hair, put her\nsmall feet together and contemplated them. The toe was still\nsuspiciously inflamed for perfect convalescence, although Topeka, with\na Spartan courage that won her a place in the annals of household\nvalor, had the day before allowed her mother to pick out with a needle\nthe torturing cactus thorn, scorning to shed a tear during the\noperation, though afterwards she had taken the piece of dried apple\nthat was offered her and devoured it to the last bite, as only just\ncompensation for her sufferings.\n\u201cDimmy dot a tore toe, too.\u201d But Jimmy showed a strange reticence about\noffering proofs of his affliction. At the peril of his equilibrium, he\nclasped the allegedly injured member in his chubby hand and rolled over\non the bed in apparent anguish.\n\u201cLess see, Jimmy,\u201d asked his mother, anxiously.\n\u201cDon\u2019t bleeve him, mammy. He \u2019ain\u2019t ever cried. He\u2019d a cried, for sure,\nif his toe was sore.\u201d At the age of five, little Judith, namesake of\nher aunt, was something of a doubting Thomas.\n\u201cLet mammy see, Jimmy,\u201d and Alida bent over her son and heir.\n\u201cDoth Dimmy det any apple?\u201d The wee man sometimes succeeded in making\nterms with his mother, when the other children were not present. Though\nfeeling himself a trifle over-confident, he held the disputed toe with\nthe air of one keeping back a trump card, and looked his mother\nsquarely in the eyes.\nShe struggled with the temptation to give him the apple. He had lifted\nthe horrors of her dream as nothing else could have done, but she\nanswered him with quiet firmness.\n\u201cJimmy must not tell stories.\u201d\n\u201cLess see,\u201d insisted Topeka.\n\u201cHe dassent,\u201d affirmed Judith, junior, of little faith.\n\u201cIt hurths me,\u201d and Jimmy tried to squeeze out a tear. \u201cIt hurths me,\nmy tore toe!\u201d\nHis mother tipped him over on his fat little back and opened the chubby\nhand that held the trump toe. It was white from the pressure applied by\nthe infant dissembler, but there was no trace of the treacherous cactus\nthorn. She gave him an affectionate spank and went into the kitchen to\nmake coffee.\n\u201cI with I had a tore toe,\u201d he crooned, quite unabashed at the discovery\nof his deception. \u201cI with I toud det a tore toe \u2019thout the hurt.\u201d\nBut the horror of the dream gripped her when she found herself alone in\nthe kitchen; and she remembered she had not told the children not to go\ninto the room where their father was sleeping. She went back and found\nthat Jimmy had not left his post on the side of the bed, where he still\nregretted that his perfectly well toe did not entitle him to\ngastronomic consideration. Topeka, who had arrived at an age where\nlittle girls, in the first subconscious attempt at adornment, know no\nkeener delight than plastering their heads with a wet hairbrush, till\nthey present an appearance of slippery rotundity equalled only by a\npeeled onion, put down the brush with guilty haste at sight of her\nmother.\n\u201cI\u2019m goin\u2019 to dress him soon as I\u2019ve done my hair.\u201d\n\u201cAny one think you was goin\u2019 to be married, the time you\u2019ve took to\nit.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s gettin\u2019 so long,\u201d urged Topeka.\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t give it a chance to grow no longer while Jimmy was waitin\u2019\nto get dressed. And don\u2019t go into the front room. Your father\u2019s gettin\u2019\nhis sleep out.\u201d\nTopeka opened her round eyes. There was always something suspicious\nabout that sleep her father had to get out, but she felt it was\nsomething she must not ask questions about. Her mother lingered; she\ndreaded to be alone in the kitchen. The little, familiar intimacies\nbetween herself and her children scattered the horrors of the dream\nwhich would come back to her when she was again at the mercy of her\nthoughts.\n\u201cJudy, s\u2019pose you dress Jimmy this morning! I want Topeka to help me\nget breakfast.\u201d\n\u201cYessum,\u201d said Judith, dutifully. \u201cIs he to have his face washed?\u201d\n\u201cHe certainly is, Judy. I\u2019s ashamed to have you ask such a question.\n\u2019Ain\u2019t you all been brought up to have your faces washed?\u201d\nBut young Judith seemed disinclined to take up this phase of family\nsuperiority. She merely inquired further:\n\u201cIs he to have it washed with soap, maw?\u201d\n\u201cHe shore is. Any one would think you had been born and raised in\nArizony or Nebrasky, to hear you talk. I\u2019m plumb ashamed of you, Judy.\u201d\n\u201cBut, \u2019deed, maw, I ain\u2019t big enough to wash his face with soap. It\ntakes Topeka to hold his head.\u201d\nThe subject of the discussion still sat on the edge of the bed, a small\nlord of creation, letting his women folk arrange among themselves who\nshould minister to his wants. As an instrument of torture the\nwashcloth, in the hands of his sister Judy, was no ignoble rival of the\ncactus thorn. The question of making terms for his sufferings again\nappealed to him in the light of a feasible business proposition.\n\u201cMuvvy, tan\u2019t I have the apple? Judy hurts me a lot when she wathes my\nface wis soap.\u201d\n\u201cYes, you can have the apple, honey; and, Judy, you be gentle with him.\nDon\u2019t rub his features up, and be careful and don\u2019t get soap in his\neyes.\u201d\n\u201cNo\u2019m.\u201d And Judy heroically stifled the longing to slick her hair, like\nTopeka\u2019s, with the wet hairbrush. There were easier tasks than washing\nthe face of her younger brother.\nWhen Topeka and her mother were alone in the kitchen, Topeka grinding\nthe coffee and all unconsciously working her jaw in an accompaniment to\nthe coffee-mill, her mother bent over her and said:\n\u201cDid you dream of anything last night?\u201d\nTopeka simultaneously stopped working the coffee-mill and her jaw, and\nregarded her mother solemnly. She did not remember having been thus\nquestioned about her dreams before.\n\u201cNo\u2019m,\u201d she answered, after laborious consideration. But something in\nher mother\u2019s face held her.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure you didn\u2019t dream nothing?\u201d\n\u201cYes, maw.\u201d\n\u201cDid Judy or Jim say that they dreamed anything?\u201d\n\u201cJim said he dreamed he had a pup.\u201d\n\u201cWas that all? Think hard, Topeka!\u201d\nTopeka held the handle of the coffee-mill in her hand; her jaw\ncontinued to work with the labor of her mental process. \u201cI\u2019ve thought\nhard, maw, and all he told was about the pup.\u201d\nAlida went back to her bedroom and again felt the brown bureau. \u201cWhat\u2019s\nthe matter with me, anyhow? It\u2019s the lonesomeness, and they bein\u2019 agin\nJim the way they are. God, this country\u2019s hard on women and horses!\u201d\nWhen breakfast was over, and young Jim had received the reward of his\nvalor in presenting a brave face to his ablution, and Judith the reward\nof her skill, the evidence of which almost prevented the young martyr\nfrom smiling while he enjoyed his treat, their mother sent them all to\nplay in the ca\u00f1on. She told them not to come home till she should come\nfor them, and if any one should ask about their father, to say that he\nwas away from home. And this, as well as the mystery of her father\u2019s\n\u201cgetting his sleep out,\u201d roused some slight apprehension in Topeka, who\nwas old for her age. They were seldom sent to the ca\u00f1on to play. Topeka\nlooked at her mother as she had when questioned about the dream, but\nthere was no further confidence between them.\n\u201cYou do as your sister Topeka tells you, and remember what I said about\nyour papa,\u201d Alida said to the younger children. Jim and Judy clasped\neach other\u2019s hands in mute compact at the edict. Their sister Topeka\nhad a real genius for authority; they were minded all too well when she\nswayed the maternal sceptre vicariously.\nAlida made fresh coffee for Jim when the children had gone. She made it\ncarefully; there was this morning, unconsciously, about each little\nthing that she did for him, the solemnity of a funeral rite. Struggle\nas she would, she could not divest her mind of the conviction that what\nshe did this day she did for the dead. She would go to the door and\nlisten to his breathing, and tell herself that she was a fool, then\nwring her hands at the remembrance of the dream.\nAs he tossed, half waking, she heard him groan and curse the cattle-men\nwith oaths that made her glad she had sent the children from home. Then\nshe bent over him and woke him from his uneasy slumber.\n\u201cJim, don\u2019t you want me to bathe your head? And here\u2019s some nice, hot\ncoffee all ready for you.\u201d\nJim woke slowly to a realization of his troubles and his blessings. His\nwife was bathing his head with hands that trembled. Not always had she\ngreeted his indiscretions with such loving forbearance. He noticed,\nthough his waking faculties were not over-keen, that her face was pale\nand frightened, and that her eyes, meeting his, held a dumb,\nmeasureless affection.\n\u201cWhat th\u2019 hell are you babying me for?\u201d But his roughness did not\ndeceive her woman\u2019s wits. He was not getting the lecture he\nanticipated, and this was his way of showing that he was not\nembarrassed by her kindness. The morning sunlight was pitilessly frank\nin its exposure of the grim pinch of poverty in the mean little room,\nbut the woman was unconscious of these things; what she saw was that\nJim, the reckless, Jim, the dare-devil terror of the country, Jim, who\nhad married and settled with her into home-keeping respectability, Jim,\nwho had struggled with misfortune and fallen, had, young as he was,\nlost every look of youth; that hope had gone from his dull eyes, and\nthat his face had become drawn until the death\u2019s-head grinned beneath\nthe scant padding of flesh. But he was to-day, as always, the one man\nin the world for her. In making a world of their own and reducing their\nparents to supplementary consideration, their children, whom she had\nsent away that she might be alone with him, had given a different\nquality to the love of this pair that had known so many curious\nvicissitudes. The responsibilities of parenthood had placed them on a\ntenderer, as well as a securer footing; and as she saw his age and\nweariness, he recognized hers, and both felt a self-accusing twinge.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a blamed good cup of coffee,\u201d he said, by way of relieving the\ntension that had crept into the situation. \u201cAny one would think you was\nsettin\u2019 your cap for me \u2019stead of us being married for years.\u201d\nAlida sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s better to end than to begin like this,\u201d she said,\nin the far-away voice of one who thinks aloud. The word \u201cend\u201d had\nslipped out before she realized what she was saying, and the knowledge\nhaunted her as an omen. She glanced at him quickly, to see if he had\nnoticed it.\n\u201cWhy did you say end?\u201d He saw that her eyes were full of tears and\nchafed her. \u201cYou ain\u2019t thinking of divorcing me, like Mountain Pink\ndone Bosky?\u201d\n\u201cOh, Jim,\u201d she said, and her face was all aquiver, \u201cI never could\ndivorce you, no matter what you done.\u201d And then the grim philosophy of\nthe plains-woman asserted itself. \u201cI never can understand why women\nfeed their pride on their heart\u2019s blood; it never was my way.\u201d\nHe did not like to remember that he had given her cause for a way.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a lot of women as wouldn\u2019t exactly regard me as a Merino, or a\nSouthdown, either;\u201d he gulped the coffee to ease the tightness in his\nthroat.\n\u201cThey\u2019d be women of no judgment, then,\u201d she said, with conviction.\nJim\u2019s head was tilted back, resting in the palm of his hand. His\nprofile, sharpened by anxiety, more than suggested his quarter-strain\nof Sioux blood. He might almost have been old Chief Flying Hawk\nhimself, as he looked steadily at the woman who had been a young girl\nand reckless, when he had been a boy and reckless; who had paid her\nwoman\u2019s penalty and come into her woman\u2019s kingdom; who had made a man\nof him by the mystery of her motherhood, and who had uncomplainingly\ngone with him into the wilderness and become an alien and an outcast.\nThese things unmanned him as the sight of the gallows and the rope for\nhis hanging could not have done. Shielding himself with an affected\nroughness, he asked:\n\u201cWhat the hell\u2019s the matter with you? I\u2019ve been drinking like a beast\nof an Indian, and you give me coffee instead of a tongue-lashing.\u201d\nThe color had all gone out of her face. She gasped the words:\n\u201cJim, I dreamed it last night\u2014they came for you!\u201d\nShe cowered at the recollection.\n\u201cDid they get me?\u201d he asked. There was no surprise in his tone. He\nspoke as one who knew the answer.\n\u201cYes, the children saw. The noise woke them.\u201d\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t let \u2019em see, when\u2014they come. They\u2019ve a right to a fair\nstart; we didn\u2019t get it, old girl.\u201d\n\u201cThe children gave it to us,\u201d and she faced him.\n\u201cYes, yes, but we want them to have it from the start, like good\nfolks.\u201d\nThey looked into each other\u2019s eyes. The memory of dead and gone madness\ntwinkled there a moment, then each remembered:\n\u201cYou must hurry, Jim. You haven\u2019t a moment to lose. I dreamed it was to\nbe to-night\u2014they\u2019ll come to-night!\u201d\n\u201cThe game\u2019s all up, old girl! If I had a month I couldn\u2019t get away.\nMorrison\u2019s been looking for me over to the Owl Creek Range; he\u2019s\nback\u2014Stevens told me yesterday. He\u2019ll be heading here soon. The price\non my head is a strain on friendship.\u201d\n\u201cHave the sheep-men gone back on you?\u201d\n\u201cYes, damn them! A thousand dollars is big money, and they\u2019ve had hard\nluck!\u201d\n\u201cThey deserve it; I hope every herd in the State dies of scab.\u201d\n\u201cThere wasn\u2019t a scabby sheep in our bunch. What a sight they were,\nloaded with tallow! There wasn\u2019t one of them that couldn\u2019t have\nweathered a blizzard; they could have lived on their own tallow for a\nmonth.\u201d\nShe tried to divert his attention from his lost flock. When he began to\ntalk about them the despair of his loss drove him to drink. She was\nground between the millstones of his going or staying. If he stayed\nthey would come for him; if he went, they would apprehend him before he\nwas ten miles from the house.\n\u201cJim, we got to think. If there\u2019s a chance in a thousand that you can\nget away, you got to take it; if there ain\u2019t, the children mustn\u2019t\nknow. We got to think it out!\u201d\n\u201cThere ain\u2019t a chance in a thousand, old girl. There ain\u2019t one in a\nmillion. They\u2019re circling round in the hills out here now, waitin\u2019 for\nme, like buzzards waitin\u2019 for the eyes of a dyin\u2019 horse.\u201d\nShe rocked herself, and the clutching fingers left white marks on her\nface, but the eyes that met his glittered tearless:\n\u201cThen there ain\u2019t nothing left but to face it like a man?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s all there be.\u201d He might have been giving an opinion on a matter\nin which he had no interest.\n\u201cThen there ain\u2019t no use in our having any more talk about it?\u201d\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t just what you\u2019d call an agreeable subject,\u201d he answered, with\nthe sinister humor of the frontiersman who has learned to make a crony\nof death.\nShe was tempted to kiss him\u2014they were not given to demonstrations, this\npair\u2014then decided it were kinder to him, less suggestive of what they\nanticipated, not to deviate from their undemonstrative marital routine.\n\u201cDo you want your breakfast now?\u201d\n\u201cI guess you might bring it along.\u201d\nAnd for the same reason that she refrained from kissing him, she\nrepressed a desire to wring the neck of a young broiler and cook it for\nhis breakfast, remembering that she had heard they gave folks pretty\nmuch what they wanted when they wouldn\u2019t want it long. So Jim got his\nusual breakfast of bacon, uncooked canned tomatoes, soda-biscuit, and\ncoffee. She sat with him while he ate, but they spoke no more of \u201cthem\u201d\nor of how soon \u201cthey\u201d might be expected. She told him that young Jim\nhad pretended that morning that he had a cactus thorn in his foot, so\nthat he might have a piece of dried apple. And old Jim, in an excess of\nparental fondness and pride, said: \u201cThe damned little liar, he\u2019ll get\nto Congress yet!\u201d\nBut the children were a dangerous topic for overstrained nerves at this\nparticular time, so Alida told Jim that she had put the black hen to\nset and she thought they\u2019d have some chickens at last. Jim smoked while\nAlida washed the dishes, and when Jim\u2019s back was turned she examined\nthe lock on the door\u2014a good push would open it. Then she looked at the\nbrown bureau, and the recklessness of despair came into her eyes. In\nthe room beyond, Jim was reading a two weeks\u2019 old newspaper and\nsmoking. He looked like a lazy ranchman taking his ease.\nAs she went about her household tasks that morning, Alida noticed\nthings as she had never noticed them before. A sunbeam came through the\nshutterless window of the house and writhed and quivered on the wall as\nif it were a live thing. She read a warning in this, and in the color\nof the sun, that was red, like blood, and in the whirr of the\ngrasshoppers, that was sinister and threatening. The creeks had dried,\nand their slimy beds crept along the willows like sluggish snakes.\nGaunt range-cattle bellowed in their thirst, and the parched earth\ncrackled beneath the sun that hung above the house like a flaming disk.\nSometimes she sank beneath the burden of it; then she would wring her\nhands and call on God to help them; they were beyond human power. She\nand Jim were alone all the morning; they did not again refer to what\nthey knew would happen. He read his old paper and she put her house in\norder. She did it with especial care. It was meet to have things seemly\nin the house of the dead. And every time she glanced at Jim she\nrepressed the desire to fling herself on his breast and cry out the\nanguish that consumed her.\nAt noon she brought the children home to dinner, and afterwards Jim\ntaught them to throw the lasso and played buffalo with them. Alida did\nnot trust herself to watch them; she stayed in the kitchen and saw the\nsunbeam grow pale with the waning of the day, the day whose minutes\ndragged like lead, yet had rushed from her, leaving her the night to\nface. At sundown she cooked supper, but she no longer knew what she\ndid. A crazy agility had taken possession of her and she spun about the\nkitchen, doing the same errand many times, finding herself doing always\nsomething different from that she had set about doing. The molten day\nwas burning itself out like a fever; hot gusts of air beat up from the\nearth, but the woman who waited felt chilled to the marrow, and took a\ncloak down from a peg and wrapped it about her while she waited for the\nbiscuit to bake. At supper they sat down together, the man and his wife\nand their three children. The children were in fine spirits from the\nfun they had had that afternoon. Never had daddy been so nice to them.\nHe had taught Topeka to throw the lasso so well that she had caught the\ncat once and little Jim twice; and daddy had played he was a buffalo\nand had charged them all with his head down, till they screamed in\nterror. But daddy seemed more quiet through the meal, and once mother\nstarted up and cried:\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\nShe ran to the door with her hand pressed to her side, but daddy called\nafter her:\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know the cowards better than that? They\u2019ll wait for\nnightfall.\u201d\nBut these things had not worried the children, with their heads full of\nplaying buffalo and throwing the lariat.\n\u201cJim,\u201d said his father, before they went to bed, \u201cremember you are the\nman of the family.\u201d But young Jim was already nodding with sleep.\nTopeka and Judith were sleepy, too; they kissed their father and were\nglad to go to bed.\nThe night began menacingly to close over the wilderness. Where the sun\nhad hung above the mountain a moment before there glowed a great pool\nof red that dripped across the blackness in faint tricklings. The\noutlines of the foot-hills loomed huge, formless, uncouth. In the\nhalf-light it seemed a world struggling in the birth-throes. All day\nthe dry, burning heat had quivered over the desert, like hot-air waves\nflickering over a bed of live coals, and now the very earth seemed to\npalpitate with the intensity of its fever. The bellowing of the\nthirst-maddened cattle had not stopped with the twilight that brought\nno dew to slake their parched throats. In the hills the coyotes wailed\nlike lost souls. It was night bereft of benisons, day made frightful by\ndarkness. All the heat of a cycle of desert summers seemed concentrated\nin that house in the valley where the man and his wife waited. Each\nsound of the desert night Alida translated into the trampling of\nhorses\u2019 feet; then, as the sound would die away, or prove to be but\nsome night noise of the wilderness, the pallor would lose its pinch on\nher features, and she would stare into her husband\u2019s face with eyes\nthat did not see. Jim smoked his pipe and refilled it, smoked and\nfilled again, but gave no sign of the object of his waiting.\n\u201cJim,\u201d she said, when the clock had struck ten, then eleven, \u201cI am\ngoing to fasten up the house.\u201d\n\u201cDo you hear them?\u201d he asked, without emotion, but as one who deferred\nto the finer senses of women.\nShe shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.\nHe looked at the door that was shrunken and warped from the heat till\nit barely held together, and there was no measure to the tenderness he\nput into:\n\u201cOh, you poor little fool, do you think you could keep them out by\nfastening that?\u201d\n\u201cJim, I must,\u201d and her voice broke. \u201cThey may think you are not here,\nthat it\u2019s only me and the children, and that\u2019s why the house is\nfastened.\u201d She got up and began to move about as though her thoughts\nscourged her to action, even if futile. He shook the ashes from his\npipe.\n\u201cDo anything you blame please,\u201d he said, more by way of humoring her\nthan from faith in her stratagem. He felt strong enough to face his\ndestiny, to meet it in a way worthy of his mother\u2019s people.\nAlida seemed under a spell in her preparations for the night. Each\nthing she did as she had done it in her dream the night before; it was\nas if she were constrained by a power greater than her will to fulfil a\nsinister prophecy. Yet now and then she would stop and wonder if she\nmight not break the spell by doing things differently from the way she\nhad dreamed them. Her hand grasped the knob of the door uncertainly,\nand she swung it to and fro on its creaking hinges, while her mind\nseemed likewise to sway hither and thither. Should she fasten the door\nand push the bureau against it, as it had been in the dream, or should\nshe leave door and windows gaping wide for them? And then, as one who\nwalks and does familiar things in sleep, she shut the door and turned\nthe key. Jim smiled at her, but she could no longer look at him. One of\nthe children wailed fretfully from the room beyond. Sleep had become a\nscourge in the stifling heat. One by one she lowered the windows and\nnailed them down; then she dragged the brown bureau against the door,\ntook the brace of six-shooters from the wall, and sat down with Jim to\nwait.\n\u201cWhat are you going to do with them toys?\u201d he asked, as he saw her\nexamine the chambers of one of the six-shooters.\n\u201cYou ain\u2019t going to let yourself be caught like a rat in a hole, are\nyou?\u201d she reproached him.\n\u201c\u2019Ain\u2019t we agreed that it\u2019s best to keep onpleasant family matters from\nthe kids?\u201d He smiled at her bravely. \u201cThe remembrance of what we\u2019re\nanticipatin\u2019 ain\u2019t going to help young Jim to get to Congress when his\ntime comes, nor it ain\u2019t going to help the girls get good husbands,\neither. This here country ain\u2019t what it was in the way of liberality\nsince it\u2019s got to be a State.\u201d\n\u201cSh-sh-sh!\u201d she said. \u201cIs that the range-cattle stampedin\u2019 after water,\nor is it\u2014\u201d They listened. The furniture in the room crackled; there was\nnot a fibre of it to which the resistless heat had not penetrated. On\nthe range the cattle bellowed in their thirst-torture; in the intervals\nof their cries sounded something far off, but regular as the thumping\nof a ship\u2019s screw. The woman did not need an answer to her question.\nThe steady trampling of hoofs came muffled through the dead air, but\nthe sound was unmistakable. She put her arms about the man\u2019s neck and\ncrushed him to her with all her woman strength. \u201cOh, Jim, you\u2019ve been a\ngood man to me!\u201d\n\u201cSteady\u2014steady.\u201d He strained her close to him. \u201cThey\u2019d be, by the sound\nof them, on the straight bit of road now, before the turn. Soon we\u2019ll\nhear their hoofs ring hollow as they cross the plank bridge.\u201d\nHis plainsman\u2019s faculty was as keen as ever; his calculation of the\nhorsemen\u2019s distance was made as though he were the least concerned. All\nAlida\u2019s courage had gone, with the dread thing at hand. She clung to\nhim, dazed.\n\u201cThey\u2019re sober, all right enough.\u201d\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019d be cursing and bellowing if they were drunk.\u201d\nThe hoofs rang hollow on the little plank bridge that crossed the ditch\nabout a stone\u2019s-throw from the door. Not a word was said either within\nor without. The lynchers seemed to have drilled for their part; there\nwas no whispering, no deferring to a leader. On they came, so close\nthat Jim and Alida could hear the creaking of their saddles. There was\nthe clank of spurs and the straining of leather as they dismounted,\nthen some one knocked at the door till the warped boards rattled.\nJim could feel the thudding of Alida\u2019s heart as she clung to him, but\nwhen the knock was repeated a new courage came to her, and she left Jim\nand went on her knees close to the outer wall.\n\u201cJim, is that you?\u201d she called, and now every sense was trained to\nbattle; her voice had even a sleepy cadence, as if she had been\nsuddenly roused.\n\u201cThat won\u2019t do at all, Miz Rodney. We know you got Jim in there, just\nas certain as we\u2019re out here, and we want him to come out and we\u2019ll do\nthe thing square, otherwise he can take the consequences.\u201d\nJim opened his mouth to speak, but she, still on her knees beside the\nwall, gained his silence by one supplicating gesture. There was a\nsleepy, fretful cry from the room beyond\u2014the noise had roused one of\nthe children.\n\u201cSh-sh, dear,\u201d she called. \u201cIt\u2019s only a bad dream. Go to sleep again;\nmother is here.\u201d\nThrough the warped door came sounds of the whispering voices without,\ndrowned by the shrieking bellow of the cattle. There was not a breath\nof air in the suffocating room. Jim bent towards Alida:\n\u201cI\u2019m goin out to \u2019em. They\u2019ll do it square, over on the cotton-woods;\nthis rumpus\u2019ll only wake the kids.\u201d\nBut she shook her head imploringly, putting her finger to her lips as a\nsign that he was not to speak, and he had not the heart to refuse,\nthough knowing that she made a desperate situation worse.\n\u201cGentlemen\u201d\u2014she spoke in a low, distinct voice\u2014\u201cJim ain\u2019t here. He\u2019s\nbeen away from home five days. There\u2019s no one here but me and the\nchildren; you\u2019ve woke them up and frightened them by pounding on the\ndoor. I ask you to go away.\u201d\n\u201cIf he ain\u2019t in there, will you let us search the house?\u201d It was\nHenderson that spoke, Henderson, foreman of the \u201cXXX\u201d outfit.\n\u201cI can\u2019t have them frightened; please take my word and go away.\u201d\n\u201cWhas er matter, muvvy?\u201d called Judith, sleepily. Young Jim was by this\ntime crying lustily. Only Topeka said nothing. With the precocity of a\nfrontier child, she half realized the truth. She tried to comfort\nlittle Jim, though her teeth chattered in fear and she felt cold in the\nhot, still room. Then Judith called out, \u201cMake papa send them away.\u201d\n\u201cYour papa ain\u2019t here, Judith.\u201d But the fight had all gone out of\nAlida\u2019s voice; it was the groan of an animal in a trap.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s papa gone to?\u201d\n\u201cSh-sh, Judith! Topeka, keep your sister quiet.\u201d\nIt was absolutely still, within and without, for a full minute. Then\nAlida heard the shoving of shoulders against the door. Once, twice,\nthrice the lock resisted them. The brown bureau spun across the room\nlike a child\u2019s toy. The lynchers, bursting in, saw Alida with her arms\naround Jim. When the last hope had gone it was instinct with her to\nprotect him with her own body.\n\u201cGo into the kids, old girl, this is no place for you.\u201d And there was\nthat in his voice that made her obey.\nSomething of the glory of old Chief Flying Hawk, riding to battle, was\nin the face of his grandson.\n\u201cRemember, the children ain\u2019t to know,\u201d he said to his wife; and to the\nlynchers, \u201cGentlemen, I\u2019m ready.\u201d\nXIX.\n\u201cRocked By A Hempen String\u201d\nAlida heard the mingled sounds of footsteps and hoofs grow fainter on\nthe trail. The children looked at her to tell them why this night was\ndifferent from all others\u2014what was happening. But she could only cower\namong them, more terrified than they. She seemed to be shrunken from\nthe happenings of that day. They hardly knew the little, shrivelled,\ngray woman who looked at them with unfamiliar eyes. Alida gazed at the\nlittle Judith, and there was something in her mother\u2019s glance that made\nthe little one hide her face in her sister\u2019s shoulder. Young Judith it\nwas who all unwittingly had told the lynchers that her father was at\nhome, and in Alida\u2019s heart there was towards this child a blind,\nunreasoning hate. Better had she never been born than live to do this\nthing!\nIt was the wee man, Jim, who first began to reflect resentfully on this\nintrusion on his slumbers. He had been sleeping well and comfortably\nwhen some grown-ups came with a lot of noise, and his father had gone\naway with them. It had frightened him, but his mother was here, and why\nshould she not put him to sleep again?\n\u201cMuvvy, sing \u2018Dway Wolf.\u2019\u201d And as she paid no heed, but looked at him,\nwhite-faced and strange, he again repeated, with his most insinuating\nand beguiling tricks of eye and smile:\n\u201cMuvvy, sing \u2018Dway Wolf\u2019 for Dimmy.\u201d\nThe child put his head in his mother\u2019s lap, and Alida began, scarce\nknowing what she did:\n\u201c\u2018The gray wolves are coming fast over the hill,\n    Run fast, little lamb, do not baa, do not bleat,\nFor the gray wolves are hungry, they come here to kill,\n    And the lambs shall be scattered\u2014\u2019\nNo, no, Jimmy, muvvy cannot sing. Oh, can\u2019t you feel, child? Judith,\nJudith, why were you ever born?\u201d\nIt was still in the valley. Had they come to the dead cotton-woods yet?\nHad they begun it? The children shrank from this gray-faced woman whom\nthey did not know and but yet a little while had been their mother. An\nawful silence had fallen on the night. The range-cattle no longer\nbellowed in their thirst; the hot wind no longer blew from the desert.\nA hush not of earth nor air nor the things that were of her ken seemed\nto have fallen about them, muffing the dark loneliness as by invisible\nflakes. The children had crouched close together for comfort. They\nfeared the little, gray-faced woman who seemed to have stolen into\ntheir mother\u2019s place and looked at them with strange eyes.\nJimmy looked at the woman who held him, hoping his mother would come,\nand he could see them both. And while he waited he dropped off to\nsleep; and little Judith, hiding her head on Topeka\u2019s shoulder, that\nshe might not see the look in those accusing eyes, presently dreamed\nthat all was well with her again; and Topeka reflected that if her\nmother should ask her in the morning whether she had dreamed last\nnight, she would have a fine tale to tell of men riding up, and loud\nvoices, and trying of the door, and father going away with them. Her\nmother had questioned her this morning when nothing had happened to\nwarrant it. Surely she would ask again to-morrow, and Topeka could\ntell\u2014she could tell\u2014all.\nAlida looked at her three sleeping children\u2014his children, and yet they\ncould sleep. Into her mind came that cry of utter desolation, \u201cCould ye\nnot watch with me one hour?\u201d And God had been deaf to Him, His son,\neven as He was deaf to her.\nThe children were sleeping easily. The hush that had hung like a pall\nover the valley had not lifted. Had they done it? Was it over yet? She\nwent to the door and listened. Surely the silence that wrapped the\nvalley was a thing apart. It was as no other silence that she could\nremember. It was still, still, and yet there was vibration to it, like\nthe muffled roar within a shell. She strained her ears\u2014was that the\nsound of horsemen going down the trail? No, no, it was only the beating\nof her foolish heart that would not be still, but beat and fluttered\nand would not let her hear. Yes, surely, that was the sound of hoofs.\nIt was over then\u2014they were going.\nShe would go and look for him. Perhaps it would not be too late\u2014she had\nheard of such things. A dynamic force consumed her. She had no\nconsciousness of her body. Her feet and hands did things with\nincredible swiftness\u2014lighted a lantern, selected a knife, ran to the\ncorral for an old ladder that had been there when they took possession\nof the deserted house; and through all her frantic haste she could feel\nthis new force, as it were, lick up the red blood in her veins, burn\nher body to ashes as it gave her new power. She felt that never again\nwould she have need of meat and drink and sleep. This force would abide\nwith her till all was over, then leave her, like the whitened bones of\nthe desert.\nIt was dark in the valley, but the menacing stillness seemed to be\nlifting. The range-cattle had again taken up their plaint, the sounds\nof the desert night swept across the stony walls of the ca\u00f1on. Alida\nknew that it must have happened at the dead cotton-woods. There were no\nother high trees about for miles. Again she listened before advancing.\nThere was no sound of hoof or champing bit or men moving quickly. They\nhad gone their way into the valley. She ran swiftly, her lantern\nthrowing its beam across the scrubby inequalities of ground, but for\nher there was no need of its beacon. To-night she was beyond the\nhalting, stumbling uncertainties of tread to which man is subject.\nThere was magic in her feet and in her hands and brain. Like the wind\nshe ran, the wind on the great plain where there are no foot-hills to\nhinder its course. The black, dead trees stood out distinctly against\nthe starry sky, and from a cross-limb of one of them dangled something\nwith head awry, like a broken jumping-jack, something that had once\nbeen a man\u2014and her husband. She could touch the feet of this frightful\nthing and feel its human warmth. A wind came up from the desert and\nblew across the ca\u00f1on\u2019s rocky walls into the valley, and the parody of\na man swayed to it.\nShe had been expecting this thing. For weeks the image of it had been\ngraven on her heart. Sleeping or waking, she had seen nothing but his\ndangling body from the cross-limb. Yet with the actual consummation\nbefore her, she felt its hideous novelty as though it were unexpected.\nAt sight of it the force that had borne her up through the happenings\nof that day went out of her, and as she stood with the knife and the\nrope, that she had brought in the hope of cheating the lynchers,\ndangling from her nerveless hand her helplessness overcame her. Again\nand again she called to the dead man for help, called to him as she had\nbeen accustomed to call when her woman\u2019s strength had been unequal to\nsome heavy household task.\nFar down the trail she could hear the gallop of a horse coming closer,\nand mingled with the sounds of its flying feet was a voice urging the\nhorse to greater speed in the shrill cabalistic \u201cHi-hi-hi-ki!\u201d of the\nplains-man. What was it\u2014one of them returning to see that she did not\ncheat the rope of its due?\u2014to hang her beside him, as an after-thought,\nas they hanged Kate Watson beside her man? Let them. She was standing\nnear the swaying thing when horse and rider gained the ground beside\nher, and what was left to her of consciousness made out that the rider\nwas Judith. She pointed to it, and stood helpless with the dangling\nrope in her hand.\n\u201cAre we too late?\u201d Judith almost whispered, as she caught Alida\u2019s cold,\ninert hands. \u201cI dreamed it all and came. If I could have dreamed it\nsooner!\u201d\nAlida did not seem to hear, neither could she speak. She only pointed\nagain to the thing beside her.\nJudith understood. The women had a task to share, and in silence they\nbegan it. The lynchers had done their work all too well. Again and\nagain the women strove with all their strength to take down the\ndangling parody of a man, which in its dead-weight resistance seemed in\nleague with the forces against them. At last the thing was done. Down\nto a pale world, that in the haggard gray of morning seemed to bear in\nits countenance something of the pinch of death, Judith lowered the\nthing that had so lately been a man. She cut the rope away from the\nneck, she straightened the wry neck that seemed to wag in pantomimic\nrepresentation of the last word to the lynchers. They\u2019d have to reckon\nwith him on dark nights, and when the wind wailed like a famished wolf\nand when things not to be explained lurked in the shadows of the\ndesert.\nThe morning stillness came flooding into the cup-shaped valley like a\nsoft, resistless wave. Something had come to the gray, old\nearth\u2014another day, with all its human gift of joy and woe, and the\nearth welcomed it though it had known so many. The sun burst through\nthe gold-tipped aureole of cloud, scattering far and wide lavish\npromises of a perfect day. The earth seemed to respond with a thrill.\nNo longer was the pinch of death in her countenance. The valley, the\nmountains, the invisible wind, even the dead cotton-woods, seemed\nendowed with throbbing life that contrasted fearsomely with the\nterrible nullity of this thing that once had been Jim Rodney.\nAlida had ceased to take any part in the hideous drama. She sat on the\nground, a crouching thing with glittering eyes. It was past\ncomprehension that the sun could shine and the world go on with her man\ndead before her. Judith had become the force that planned and did to\nsave the family pride. While her hands were busy with preparations for\nthe dead, she rehearsed what she would say to this and that one to\naccount for Jim\u2019s absence. The silence of the men who had done this\nthing would be as steadfast as their own.\nAnd there were the children. Through all her frantic search for things\nin the house, Judith remembered that she must step softly and not waken\nthe children. With each turn of the screw, as her numbed consciousness\nrallied and responded afresh to the hideous realization of this thing,\nthere came no release from the tyrannous hold of petty detail. She\nremembered that she must be back at noon to hold post-office, and there\nwould be the endless comedy to be played once more with her cavaliers.\nThey must never suspect from word or look of hers. And there was the\ndance to-night at the Benton ranch\u2014she hid her face in her hands. Ah,\nno, she could not do this thing! And yet they must not suspect. She\nmust contrive to give the impression that Jim had cheated the rope.\nYes, she must go and dance, and, if need be, dance with his very\nmurderers. Jim\u2019s children were to have the \u201cclean start\u201d that he\nintended, and they would have to get it here. There was no money for an\nexodus and a beginning elsewhere.\nAlida still crouched beside the long, even tarpaulin roll that Judith\nhad prepared with hands that knew not what they did. But now Judith\ngently roused her and put in her hand a spade; already she herself had\nbegun. But Alida stared at it dully, as if she did not understand. Then\nJudith pointed to something black that had begun to wheel in the sky,\nwheel, and with each circular swoop come closer to the roll of\ntarpaulin. Then Alida knew, and, taking the spade, she and Judith began\nto dig the grave.\nXX.\nThe Ball\nThe dance in the Benton ranch was the great social event of the\nmidsummer season. The Bentons had begun to give dances in the days of\nplenty, when the cattle industry had been at its dizziest height; and\nthey had continued to give dances through all the depressing\nfluctuations of the trade, perhaps in much the same spirit as one\nwhistles in the dark to keep up his courage. Thus, though cattle fell\nand continued to fall in the scale of prices till the end no man dared\nsurmise, the Benton \u201cboys\u201d\u2014they were two brothers, aged respectively\nforty-five and fifty years\u2014continued to hold out facilities to dance\nand be merry.\nAll day strange wagons\u2014ludicrous, makeshift things\u2014had been discharging\nloads of women and children at the Benton ranch, tired mothers and\ntheir insistent offspring. To the women this strenuous relaxation came\nas manna in the wilderness. What was the dreary round of washing,\nironing, baking, and the chain of household tasks that must be done as\nprimitively as in Genesis, if only they might dance and forget? So the\nmothers came early and stayed late, and the primary sessions of the\ndances fulfilled all the functions of the latter-day mothers\u2019\ncongresses\u2014there were infant ailments to be discussed, there were the\nquestions of food and of teething, of paregoric and of flannel bands,\nwhich, strange heresy, seemed to be \u201cgoing out,\u201d according to the\nlatest advices from those compendiums of all domestic information, the\n\u201cWoman\u2019s Pages\u201d of the daily papers.\nInasmuch as these more than punctual debaters must be cooked for, there\nwas, to speak plainly, \u201cfeeling\u201d on the part of the housekeeper at the\nBentons\u2019. Wasn\u2019t it enough for folks to come to a dance and get a good\nsupper, and go away like Christians when the thing was over, instead of\ncoming a day before it began and lingering on as if they had no home to\ngo to? This, at least, was the housekeeper\u2019s point of view, a crochety\none, be it said, not shared by the brothers Benton, whose hospitality\nwas as genuine as it was primitive. To this same difficult lady the\ninfants, who were too tender in years to be separated from their\nmothers, were as productive of anxiety as their elders. A room had been\nset apart for their especial accommodation, the floor of which,\ncarefully spread with bed-quilts and pillows, prevented any great\ndamage from happening to the more tender of the guests; and they rolled\nand crooned and dug their small fists into each other\u2019s faces while\ntheir mothers danced in the room beyond.\nBy nightfall the Benton ranch gleamed on the dark prairie like a\nconstellation. Lights burned at every window; a broad beam issued from\nthe door and threw a welcoming beacon across the darkness and silence\nof the night. The scraping of fiddles mingled with the rhythmic scuffle\nof feet and the singsong of the words that the dancers sung as they\nwhirled through the figures of the quadrille and lancers. About the\nwalls of the room where the dancing was in progress stood a fringe of\ngallants, their heads newly oiled, and proclaiming the fact in a\nbewildering variety of strong perfumes. Red silk neckerchiefs knotted\nwith elaborate carelessness displayed to advantage bronzed throats; new\noveralls, and of the shaggiest species, amply testified to the social\nimportance of the Benton dance.\nAs yet the dancing was but intermittent and was engaged in chiefly by\nthe mothers with large progeny, who felt that after the arrival of a\ngreater number of guests, and among them the unmarried girls, their\nopportunities might not be as plentiful as at present. One or two\ncow-punchers, in an excess of civility at the presence of the fair, had\ninsisted on giving up their six-shooters, mumbling something about\n\u201cthere being ladies present and a man being hasty at times.\u201d In the\n\u201cbunk-room,\u201d which did duty as a gentleman\u2019s cloak-room, things were\nreally warming up. There was much drinking of healths, as the brothers\nBenton had thoughtfully provided the wherewithal, and that in excellent\nquality.\nCostigan was there, and Texas Tyler, who had ridden sixty miles to\n\u201cswing a petticoat,\u201d or, if there were not enough to go round, to dance\nwith a handkerchief tied to some fellow\u2019s sleeve. By \u201cswinging a\npetticoat\u201d it was perfectly understood among all his friends that he\nmeant a chance to dance with Judith Rodney. Year in and year out Texas\nnever failed to present himself at the post-office on mail-days, if his\nwork took him within a radius of fifty miles of the Daxes. No dance\nwhere the possibility of seeing Judith was even remote was too long a\nride for him to undertake, even when it took him across the dreariest\nwastes of the desert. Texas had been devoted to Judith since she had\nleft the convent, and sometimes, perhaps twice a year, she told him\nthat she valued his friendship. On all other occasions she rejected his\nsuit as if his continual pressing of it were something in the nature of\nan affront. Yet Texas persevered.\n\u201cWell, here\u2019s lukin\u2019 at you, since in the way of a frind there\u2019s\nnothing better to look at!\u201d and Costigan drained a tin cup at Texas\nTyler.\n\u201cYour very good health,\u201d said Texas, who was somewhat embarrassed by\nwhat was regarded as Costigan\u2019s \u201cfloweriness.\u201d\n\u201cBegorra, is that Hinderson or the ghost av the b\u2019y?\u201d Costigan\u2019s roving\neye was arrested by the foreman of the \u201cXXX,\u201d who stood drinking with\ntwo or three men of his outfit. He was pale and ill-looking. He drank\nseveral times in succession, as if he needed the stimulant, and without\nthe formality of drinking to any one. The two or three \u201cXXX\u201d men who\nwere with him seemed to be equally in need of restoratives.\nThey talked of the cattle stampede in which several of the outfits had\nbeen heavy losers. Some nine hundred head of cattle had been recovered,\nand members of the different outfits were still scouring the Red Desert\nfor strays.\nSomething in the nature of a sensation was created by the arrival of\nthe Wetmore party. The women were frankly interested in the clothes,\nbearing, and general deportment of the New-Yorkers. Rumors of Miss\nColebrooke\u2019s beauty were rife, and there was a general inclination to\ncompare her with local belles. Such exotic types\u2014they had seen these\ncity beauties before\u2014were as a rule too colorless for their\nappreciation. They liked faces that had \u201cmore go to them,\u201d was the\nverdict passed upon one famous beauty who had visited the Wetmores the\nyear before. In arrangement of the hair, perhaps, in matters of dress,\nthe judges were willing to concede the laurels to city damsels, but\nthere concession stopped. But evidently Kitty, to judge from the\nelaboration of her toilet, did not intend to be dismissed thus\ncursorily. She herself was delicately, palely pretty, as always, but\nher hair was tortured to a fashionable fluffiness, and the simplicity\nof her green muslin gown was only in the name. It was muslin disguised,\nelaborated, beribboned, lace-trimmed till its identity was all but lost\nin the multitude of pretty complications.\n\u201cDid you know that old Ma\u2019am Yellett had a school-marm up to her\nplace?\u201d asked one of the men, apropos of Eastern prettiness.\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d Costigan reminisced, \u201c\u2019tis some av thim Yillitt lambs\nthot\u2019s six fut in their shtockings, if Oi be rimimbering right. Sure,\nthe tacher ought to be something av a pugilist, Oi\u2019m thinkin\u2019.\u201d\n\u201cI seen her the other day, and a neater little heifer never turned out\nto pasture. Lord, I\u2019d like to be gnawing the corners of the primer\nright now, if she was there to whale the ruler.\u201d\n\u201cArrah,\u201d bayed Costigan, \u201cbut the women question is gittin\u2019 complicated\nontoirely, wid Miss Rodney\u2014an\u2019 herself lukin\u2019 loike a saint in a church\nwindow\u2014dalin\u2019 the mails an\u2019 th\u2019 other wan tachin\u2019 in the mountains.\nSure, this place is gittin\u2019 to be but a sorry shpot for bachelors loike\nmesilf.\u201d\n\u201cI ain\u2019t mentionin\u2019 no names, but there\u2019s a man here ain\u2019t treatin\u2019 a\nmighty fine woman square and accordin\u2019 to the way she ought to be\ntreated.\u201d\nThe information ran through the circle like an electric shock. Men\nstopped in the act of pledging each other\u2019s healths to listen. Loungers\nstraightened up; every topic was dropped. The man who had made the\nstatement was the loose-lipped busybody who had suggested to his host\nthat he give up his six-shooter since there were \u201cladies present.\u201d\n\u201cWhat the hell are you waiting for?\u201d queried Texas Tyler, savagely.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve cracked your whip, made your bow, and got our attention; why\nthe hell don\u2019t you go on?\u201d\nThe man looked about nervously. He was rather alarmed at the interest\nhe had excited. The next moment Peter Hamilton had walked into the\nroom. There was something crucial in his entrance at this particular\ntime; it crystallized suspicion. The gossip took advantage of the\ngreetings to Hamilton to make his escape. Texas Tyler left the\nbunk-room immediately and looked for him in the room with the dancers.\nThe fiddles, in the hands of a couple of Mexicans, had set the whole\nroom whirling as if by magic. As they danced they sang, joining with\nthe \u201ccaller-out,\u201d who held his vociferous post between the rooms, till\nthe room was full of singing, dancing men and women, who spun and\npirouetted as if they had not a care in the world. But Texas Tyler was\nnot of these, as he looked through the dancers for his man. There was a\nred flash in the pupils of his eyes, and he told himself that he was\ngoing to do things the way they did them in Texas, for, of course, he\nknew that the loose-lipped idiot had meant Judith Rodney and Peter\nHamilton. Never before had such an idea occurred to him, and now that\nit had been presented to his mind\u2019s eye, he wondered why he had been\nsuch a blind fool. Never had the singing to these dances seemed so\nabsurd.\n\u201cHawk hop out and the crow hop in,\nThree hands round and go it ag\u2019in.\nAllemane left, back to the missus,\nGrande right and left and sneak a few kisses.\u201d\nHe rushed from the room and down to the stable. At sight of him some\none leaped on a horse and rode out into the darkness.\n\u201cWho was that?\u201d asked Texas of a man lounging by the corral.\n\u201cThat was\u2014\u201d and he gave the name of the loose-lipped man.\nTexas cursed long and picturesquely. Then he went back to the bunk-room\nand tried to pick a quarrel with Peter Hamilton, who good-naturedly\nassumed that his old friend had been drinking and refused to take\noffence.\nPeter went in to ask Kitty to dance with him. All that evening he had\nbeen waiting anxiously for Judith. Meanwhile he had used all his\ninfluence as a newly appointed member of the Wetmore outfit to soothe\nthe ruffled feelings of the cattle-men. Of the tragedy in the valley he\nhad heard no rumor.\nKitty had come to the point where she was willing to waive the\nR\u00e9camier-Chateaubriand friendship in favor of one more personal and\nordinary. In fact, as Peter showed a disposition to regard as final her\nanswer to him on the day he had spurred across the desert, Kitty, with\ntrue feminine perversity, inclined to permit him to resume his suit.\nHis acquiescence in her refusal she had at first regarded as the\nturning of the worm; after the wolf-hunt, however, her meditations were\nmore disturbing. She had never told Peter of that strange woodland\nmeeting with Judith, yet Judith\u2019s beauty, her probable hold over Peter,\nthe degree of his affection for her were rankling questions in Kitty\u2019s\nconsciousness. In the stress of these considerations Kitty lost her\nhead completely for so old a campaigner. She drew the apron-string\ntight\u2014attempted force instead of strategy.\nKitty and Peter finished their waltz, one of the few round dances of\nthe evening.\n\u201cHow perfectly you dance, Kitty! It\u2019s a long time since we\u2019ve had a\nwaltz together.\u201d\nThe cow-punchers looked at Kitty as if she were not quite flesh and\nblood. Such flaxen daintiness, femininty etherealized to angelic\nperfection, was new to them, but their admiration was like that given\nto a delicate exotic which, wonderful as it is, one is well pleased to\nview through the glass of the florist\u2019s window.\nPeter was deferentially attentive and zealous to make the Wetmore party\nhave a thoroughly good time, yet he did all these things, as it were,\nwith his eye on the door. He was not obviously distrait; he was the man\nof the world, talking, making himself agreeable, \u201cdoing his duty,\u201d\nwhile his subconsciousness was busy with other matters. It was rather\nthrough telepathy than through any lack of attention paid to her that\nKitty realized the state of things, and in proportion to her\nrealization came a feeling of helplessness; it was so new, so\nunexpected, so cruel. He seemed drifting away from her on some tide of\naffairs of the very existence of which she had been unconscious.\nFurther and further he had drifted, till intelligible speech no longer\nseemed possible between them. They said the foolish, empty things that\npeople call out as the boat glides away from the shore, the things that\nall the world may hear, and in his eyes there was only that smiling\nkindness. How had it come about after all these years? What was it that\nhad first cut the cable that sent him drifting? What was it? She must\nthink. Oh, who could think with that noise! How silly was their singing\nas they danced, how uncouth!\n\u201cAll dance as pretty as you can,\nTurn your toes and left alleman;\n    First gent sashay to the right,\nNow swing the girl you last swung about,\nAnd now the one that\u2019s cut her out,\n    And now the one that\u2019s dressed in white,\nAnd now the belle of the ball.\u201d\nThe dancers seemed bitten to the quick with the tarantula of an\necstatic hilarity; their bodies swayed in perfect harmony to the swing\nof the fiddles and the swell of the chorus. The most uncouth of them\ncame under the spell of that mad magic. Their movements, that in the\nbeginning of the dance had been shy and awkward, became almost\nbeautiful; they forgot arms, hands, feet; their bodies had become like\nthe strings of some skilfully played instrument, obediently responsive\nto rhythm, and in that composite blending of races each in his dancing\nbrought some of the poetry of his own far land. The scene was amazing\nin its beauty and simplicity, like the strong, inspirational power and\nrugged rhythm of some old border minstrel. One by one the dancers\nglowed with better understanding; discordant elements, alien nations\nwere fused to harmony in this vivid picture.\nPeter turned to Kitty, expecting to see her face aglow with the warmth\nof it. She stood beside him, the one unresponsive soul in the room, on\nher lips a pale, tolerant smile.\n\u201cAren\u2019t they splendid, Kitty, these women? More than half of them work\nlike beavers all day, and they have young children and dozens of\nworries, but would you suspect it? They\u2019re just the women for this\ncountry.\u201d\nNow in the present state of affairs almost any other subject would have\nbeen better calculated to promote good feeling than the one on which\nPeter had alighted. Kitty\u2019s thoughts had perversely lingered about one\nwho, though not one with these women, had yet their sturdy\nself-reliance, their acquiescence in grim conditions, their pleasure in\nsimple things. Kitty\u2019s apprehension, slow to kindle, had taken fire\nlike a forest, and by its blaze she saw things in a distorted light;\nher present vision magnified the relations of Peter and Judith to a\ndegree that a month ago she would have regarded as impossible. \u201cHe is\nher lover!\u201d was the accusation that suddenly flashed through her mind,\nand with the thought an overwhelming desire to say something unkind,\nsomething that should hurt him, supplanted all judgment and reason.\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s a decidedly remarkable scene, pictorially, I agree with you.\nAnd an artist, of course\u2014but isn\u2019t it a trifle quixotic, Peter, to\nidealize them because they are having a good time? There\u2019s no virtue in\nit. It is conceivable that they might have to work just as hard and\nhave just as many little children to look after, and yet not have these\ndances you praise them for coming to.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you find us and our amusements a little crude. Evidently\nthe spirit of our dances does not appeal to you; but I did not suppose\nit necessary to remind you that they should not be judged by the\nstandard of conventional evening parties,\u201d said Peter, hurt and angry\nin his turn.\n\u201cUs, our amusements, our dances? So you are quite identified with these\npeople, my dear Peter, and I had thought you an ornament of cotillions\nand country clubs. I can only infer that it is somebody in particular\nwho has brought about your change of heart.\u201d\nPeter flushed a little, and Kitty kept on: \u201cSome of the native belles\nare quite wonderful, I believe. Nannie Wetmore tells of a half-breed\nwho is very handsome.\u201d\nPeter set his lips. \u201cAt the expense of spoiling Nannie\u2019s pretty\nromance, I must tell you that the lady she refers to is not only the\nmost beautiful of women, but she would be at ease in any drawing-room.\nIt would be as ridiculous to apply the petty standards of ladyhood to\nher as it would to\u2014well, imagine some foolish girl bringing up the\nquestion at a woman\u2019s club\u2014\u2018Was Joan of Arc a lady?\u2019\u201d Peter spoke\nwithout calculating the conviction that his words carried. He was\nangry, and his manner, voice, intonation showed it.\nKitty, now that her most unworthy suspicions had been confirmed by\nPeter\u2019s ardent championing of Judith, lost her discretion in the pang\nthat gnawed her little soul: \u201cI beg your pardon, Peter. When I spoke I\ndid not, of course, know that this young woman was anything to you.\u201d\n\u201cAnything to me? My dear Kitty, I\u2019ve never had a better friend than\nJudith Rodney.\u201d\nThe dance was at its flood-tide. The exhilaration had grown with each\nsweep of the fiddle-bow, with the sorcery of sinuous, swaying bodies,\nwith the song of the dancers as they joined in the calling out of the\nfigures, with the rhythmic shuffle of feet, with the hum of the pulses,\nwith the leaping of blood to cheek and heart till the dancers whirled\nas leaves circling towards the eddies of a whirlpool. The dancing Mrs.\nDax split her favors into infinitesimal fragments, for each measure of\nwhich her long list of waiting gallants stood ready to pick a quarrel\nif need be. Her dancing, in the splendor of its spontaneity, had\nsomething of the surge of the west wind sweeping over a field of grain.\nSometimes she waved back her partner and alone danced a figure, putting\nto the music her own interpretation\u2014barbaric, passionate, rude, but\nmagnificently vivid. And the dancers would stop and crowd about her,\nclapping hands and stamping feet to the rhyming movement of her body,\nwhile against the wall her hostile sister-in-law, Mrs. Leander, stood\nand glared in a fury of disapproval, Leander himself smiling broadly\nmeanwhile and exercising the utmost restraint to keep from joining Mrs.\nJohnnie\u2019s train.\nThe \u201cXXX\u201d men, who had remained aloof from the dancers and the\nmerriment, keeping a faithful vigil in the bunk-room, where the\nhospitable bottles were to be found, seemed to awaken from the spell\nthat had bound them all day. Henderson, the foreman, whose face had not\nlost its tallow paleness despite the number of his potations, put his\nhead through the door to have a look at the dancing Mrs. Dax, was\ncaught in the outermost eddy of the whirling throng, and was soon\ndancing as madly as the others. The rest of the \u201cXXX\u201d party still\nhugged the bunk-room, where the bottles gleamed hospitable. They were\nstill dusty from their long ride of the early morning, and more than\nonce their fear-quickened imaginations had been haunted by the spectre\nof the dead cotton-woods, from which something heavy and limp and warm\nhad been swaying when they left it. Henderson had secured the dancing\nMrs. Dax for a partner. The \u201ccaller-out,\u201d stationed between the two\nrooms, warmed to his genial task. He improvised, he put a wealth of\nimagination and personality into his work, he showered compliments on\nthe nimbleness of Mrs. Dax\u2019s feet, he joked Henderson on his pallor, he\nattempted a florid venture at Kitty. Miguel put fresh magic into his\nbowing, Jos\u00e9\u2019s fiddle rioted with the madness of it.\nJudith stood for a moment in the kindly enveloping darkness, and her\nheart cried out in protest at the thing she must do. It was the utmost\ncruelty of fate that forced her here to dance on the evening of the day\nthat they had killed him. But she must do it, that his children might\nevade the stigma of \u201ccattle-thief,\u201d that the shadow of the gallows-tree\nmight not fall across their young lives, that the neighbors might give\ncredence to the tale of Jim\u2019s escape from his enemies, that Alida and\nshe might earn the pittance that would give the children the \u201cclean\nstart\u201d that Jim had set his heart on so confidently. And she must dance\nand be the merriest of them all that these things might happen, but\nagain and again she deferred the dread moment. The light, the music,\nthe voices, the shuffle of the feet came to her as she stood forlorn in\nthe grateful darkness. On the wall the shadows of the dancers,\nmagnified and grotesque, parodied their movements, as they contended\nthere, monstrous, uncouth shapes, like prehistoric monsters gripping,\nclinching in some mighty struggle; and above it all sang out the wild\nrhythm of Miguel\u2019s fiddle, and young Jos\u00e9\u2019s bow capered madly.\nJudith drew close to the window, and the merriment struck chill at her\nheart like the tolling of a knell. She saw the pale face of Henderson\ngleam yellow-white among the dancers, and, watching him, the blood-lust\nof the Indian woke in her heart. The rest of the room was but a blur;\nthe dancers faded into swaying shadows; she saw nothing but Henderson\nas he danced that he might forget the gray of morning, the black, dead\ntrees, and the grotesque thing with head awry that swayed in the breeze\nlike a pendulum. He dreaded the long, black ride that would bring him\nto his camp, for he alone of the lynchers remained. Something was\ndrawing his gaze out into the blackness of the night. He struggled\nagainst the temptation to look towards the window. He whirled the Dax\nwoman till her twinkling feet cleared the floor. He sang to the\naccompaniment of Miguel\u2019s fiddle. He was outwitting the thing that\ndangled before his eyes, having the incontrovertible last word with a\nvengeance. And as he danced and swayed, all unwittingly his glance fell\non the window opposite, and Jim Rodney\u2019s face looked in at him,\nbeautiful in its ecstasy of hate\u2014Rodney\u2019s face, refined, sharpened,\ntried in some bitter crucible, but Rodney\u2019s face! Henderson could not\nwithdraw his fascinated gaze. He stood in the midst of the dancers like\na man turned to stone. He put up his hand to his eyes as if to brush\naway a cloud of swarming gnats, then threw up his arms and rushed from\nthe room. The dancers paused in their mad whirl. Miguel\u2019s bow stopped\nwith a wailing shriek. Every eye turned towards the window for an\nexplanation of Henderson\u2019s sudden panic, but all was dark without on\nthe prairie. The magic had gone from the dance, the whirlwind of\ndrapery that had swung like flags in a breeze dropped in dead air.\n\u201cWhat was it?\u201d the dancers asked one another in whispers.\nAnd for answer Judith entered, but a Judith that was strange to them.\nThere was about her a white radiance that kept the dancers back, and in\nher eyes something of Mary\u2019s look, as she turned from Calvary. The\ndancers still kept the position of the figures, the men with their arms\nabout their partners\u2019 waists, the women stepping forward; they were\nlike the painted figures of dancers in a fresco. And among them stood\nJudith, waiting to play her part, waiting to show her world that she\ncould dance and be merry because all was well with her and hers. But\nthe bronzed sons of the saddle hung back, they who a day before would\nhave quarrelled for the honor of a dance. They were afraid of her; it\nwould be like dancing with the death angel. She looked from face to\nface. Surely some one would ask her to dance, and her eyes fell on\nHenderson, returning from the bottled courage in the bunk-room. Some\nword was due from him to explain his terror of a moment ago.\n\u201cOh, Miss Judith, I thought you was a ghost when I seen you at the\nwindow.\u201d\n\u201cA ghost that\u2019s ready to dance.\u201d She held out her hand to him. In her\ngesture there was something of royal command, and Henderson, reading\nthe meaning in her eyes, stepped forward. Her face, almost a perfect\nreplica of the dead man\u2019s, looked at him.\n\u201cI bring you greeting from my brother,\u201d she said. \u201cHe has gone on a\nlong journey.\u201d\nHenderson started. Through the still room ran the murmur, \u201cRodney\u2019s\noutwitted them; he\u2019s played a joke on the rope!\u201d And Judith, his\ndare-devil sister, had come with his greetings to Henderson, leader of\nthe faction against him! The tide had turned. The applause that is ever\nthe meed of the winner was hers to command. The cattle faction were\nready to sing the praises of her splendid audacity. In their hearts\nthey were glad in the thought that Jim had outwitted them.\nMiguel\u2019s bow dashed across the strings, and he drew from the little\nbrown fiddle music that again made them merry and glowing. The magic\ncame back to the dance, the blood leaped again with the merry madness,\nand they swept to the bowing like leaves when the first faint wail of\nwinter cries in the trees.\nHamilton, standing apart with Kitty Colebrooke, had been a dazed\nwitness of the scene. With the rest he had watched the entrance of\nJudith, had been stunned by the change in her appearance, had seen her\ntriumph and heard the rumor of Jim\u2019s escape, and his heart had warmed\nwith the good word. She had probably managed the plan, and had come\nto-night, in the joy of her triumph, to hurl in their faces that she\nhad outwitted them. And she had paid the penalty of her courage\u2014her\nface told that. What a woman she was! Her heart would pay the penalty\nto the last throb, and yet she could dance with the merriest of them.\nAnd as she danced she seemed to Peter Hamilton, in her white draperies,\nlike a cloud of whirling snow-flakes drifting across the silence of the\ndesert night. She was the one woman in all the world for him, though\nhis blind eyes had faced the light for years and had not known it. He\nhad squandered the strength of his youth in the pursuit of a little wax\nlight, and had not marked the serene shining of the moon.\n\u201cAnd a man there was and he made his prayer\u2014\u201d he quoted to himself.\nWell, thank God that it had not been answered. He would take her away\nfrom here. She could take her place in his family and reflect credit on\nhis choice. His family, his friends\u2014he winced at the thought of their\npossible reception of the news. But Judith\u2019s presence would adjust\nthese difficulties. He would present her to Kitty now, that his old\nfriend might see what manner of woman she was. Kitty, he felt, would be\nkind in memory of the old days. She would give to them both in\nfriendship what she had denied him in love. And as he warmed to the\nthought he turned to the woman of his youth. And she read a look in his\nface that had not been there in a long time. Had he, then, come back to\nher? Was the distance from bark to shore lessening as the sea of\nmisunderstanding diminished?\n\u201cKitty, we were speaking a moment ago of Miss Rodney. You would like to\nknow her, I\u2019m sure. We\u2019ve been such good friends all these years while\nyou were deciding that what I wanted was not good for us\u2014and deciding\nwisely, as I know now. Look at her! You\u2019ll understand how she has\nhelped me keep the balance of things. When she\u2019s finished dancing\nyou\u2019ll let me bring her to you, won\u2019t you?\u201d\nAnd Kitty, who had expected much different words, struggled with the\nmeaning of these unexpected ones. The strangeness of the pain\nbewildered her. Her dazed consciousness refused to accept that Peter\nwas asking permission to present to her a woman whom she thought should\nnot have been permitted to enter her presence. There was about her a\nwhite flame of anger that seemed to lick up the red blood in her veins\nas she turned to answer:\n\u201cShe is undeniably handsome, Peter, but I do not care to meet your\nmistress.\u201d\nHe bowed low to her as Lieutenant Swift, of Fort Washakie, who was of\nthe Wetmore party, came to claim Kitty\u2019s hand for the next dance.\nJudith and Henderson were leading the last figure, their hands clasped\nhigh in an arch through which the dancers trooped in couples. Again and\nagain he tried to catch Judith\u2019s eye, but her glance never once met\nhis. Her great, wide eyes had a far-away look as if they saw some\ntragedy, the shadow of which would never fall from her. She was,\nindeed, the tragic muse in her floating white drapery, the tragic muse\nwhose grief is too deep for tears. He watched her as she swept towards\nhim in the figure of the dance, the head thrown back, slightly\nforeshortened, the mouth smiling with the smile that knows all things,\nthe eyes holy wells of truth. He saw in her something of the tenderness\nof Eve, for all the blending of the calm modern woman, capable in\naffairs, equal to emergency. It was like her to contrive her brother\u2019s\nescape and then to dance with the very men who had knotted the noose\nfor his hanging. Henderson was bowing to her, the dance was over, and\nthe next moment she was alone.\n\u201cIs it you, Peter?\u201d She thrust a strand of hair back from her temple.\nHer eyes rested on him for a moment, then wandered, till in their\nabsent look was the rapt expression of the sleep-walker. The\ndark-rimmed eyes had in their depths the quiet of a conflagration, and\nPeter, seeing these things, and knowing the gamut of all her moods, saw\nthat he had been mistaken. She had not come, to dance in triumph, in\nthe face of her brother\u2019s enemies. There was no triumph in her face,\nbut white, consuming despair.\n\u201cDid you ask me to dance?\u201d Again she put back the strand of hair.\n\u201cForgive me for being so stupid, but I\u2019ve kept post-office to-day, and\nhad a long ride, and I danced with Henderson.\u201d\nHe drew her arm within his and led the way out through the crowd of\ndancers to the star-strewn night. She did not speak again, nor did she\nseem to notice that they had left the room with the dancers. She turned\nher face towards the lonely valley, where the drama of her brother\u2019s\npassing had been consummated, and something there was in her look as it\nturned towards the hills that told Peter.\n\u201cTell me, Judith, \u2018what has happened?\u201d\nFor answer she pointed towards the valley. \u201cThey did it last night at\nthe dead cotton-woods. Henderson led them. I could not stay with Alida.\nI had to come here to dance that no one might suspect.\u201d\nHer voice was steady, but low and thrilling. In its deep resonance was\nthe echo of all human sorrow. There was no hint of accusation, yet\nPeter felt accused. He felt, now when it was too late, that his\nposition had been one of almost pusillanimous negligence. From the\nbeginning he had taken a firm stand against violent measures. He had\ntalked, argued, reasoned, inveighed against violence; no later than a\nweek ago he had ridden across the desert to tell Henderson that the\nWetmore outfit would take no part in violence of any sort, and that the\ncattle outfit that did resort to extreme measures would miss the\nsupport of the \u201cW-Square\u201d in any future range business. But it had not\nbeen enough. He should have made plain his position in regard to\nJudith. With her as his future wife the tragedy of the valley would not\nhave been possible.\nFrom the ranch-house came the swell of the fiddles, the rhythmic\nshuffle of feet, the song of the dancers, dulled by distance. Beside\nhim was Judith, a white spirit, the woman in her dead of grief. And\nyet, through all the grim horror of the tragedy she remembered the part\nthat had been allotted to her, threw all the weight of her personality\non the side of the game she was playing.\n\u201cYou must be on our side, Peter, and when there is talk of Jim\u2019s\nabsence you must imply that he is East somewhere. You will know how to\nmeet such inquiries better than we women. Henderson will be only too\nglad. You should have seen the wretch when I held out my hand to him\nand told him to dance with me. He came, white and shambling; we have\nnothing to fear from Henderson. Alida has no money to go away with. She\nand I must stay here and make a beginning for the children, and, Peter,\nwe want you to help us.\u201d\nHe had no voice to answer her brave words for a minute, and then his\nsentences came uncertain and halting.\n\u201cYou must think me a poor sort of friend, Judith, one who has been\nblind till the eleventh hour and is then found wanting. I feel so\nguilty to you, to your brother\u2019s wife, to that little child who put out\nhis arms so trustfully to me that night, but I never imagined that\nthings would come to such a pass as this. The smaller cattle outfits\nhave been doing a good deal of blustering, but the more conservative\nelement supposed that they had them in check, and did not for a moment\nthink that they would take the law into their own hands. Believe me,\nthis lawlessness has been in the face of every influence that could be\nbrought to bear, and it shall not go unpunished.\u201d\nShe spoke to him from the darkness, as the spirit of grief might speak.\n\u201cAn eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that is the justice of the\nplains. But, Peter, it is but poor justice. What\u2019s done is done, and\nfresh violence will not give back Alida her husband nor the little ones\ntheir father. What we need is friends, one or two loyal souls who,\nthough knowing the hideous truth of this thing, will stand by us in our\npitiful falsehood. I have told no one, nor shall I, but you and\u2014Peter,\nyou must not laugh at your fellow-conspirator\u2014Leander.\u201d\nHe took her hands in his and pressed them; big hands they were, and\nhardened by many a homely task, but withal tender and with the healing\nquality of womanliness in the touch of their warm, supple fingers. But\nto-night she did not seem to know that he held them, nor to be\nconscious of his presence. The woman in her was dead of grief. The\nwhite spirit in her place, that plotted and planned that Jim\u2019s children\nand Jim\u2019s wife might not from henceforth walk in the shadow of the\ngallows, was beyond the prompting of the flesh. And again she spoke to\nhim in the same far-away voice, with the same far-away look in her\neyes.\n\u201cYou must know, Peter, that Leander is at heart of the salt of the\nearth. I told him about it all, and he asked to be given the commission\nto deal with the men. He has risen to his post magnificently. I heard\nhim swear the wretches to secrecy, hint to them that he had a great\nstory to tell them. They were frightened, and listened. And the poor\nlittle man that we have so despised told them convincingly how Jim had\nmade good his escape\u2014even Henderson half believes we saved him.\u201d\nPeter hoped that she would accuse him of his half-heartedness\nindirectly, if not openly. It would have made his conscience more\ncomfortable, and his conscience troubled him sorely to-night. It was\nthat fatal habit of procrastination that had brought this thing about.\nHe had hesitated all these weeks about Judith, and while he had\nthreshed out the pro and con of her disadvantageous family connection,\nthis hideous tragedy had happened.\n\u201cPeter\u201d\u2014and now her eyes seemed to come back to earth again, to lose\nsomething of the far-away look of the sleep-walker\u2014\u201cPeter, I\u2019m cruel to\nspeak to you of these things now. When your heart is full of your own\nhappiness, I come to you like a dark shadow with this tragedy. But I am\nglad for the good that has come to you, Peter. Perhaps Miss Colebrooke\ntold you of the day I met her in the wood, the day of the wolf-hunt.\nShe was so beautiful, I understood\u2014\u201d\n\u201cJudith, I hardly know how to say what I am going to, I feel that I\nhave been such a bad friend to you, but you must hear me patiently.\nTogether, if you are willing, after knowing all of me that you do, we\nmust look after your brother\u2019s children. That night in the little house\nin the valley, when the little chap came to me, don\u2019t you remember,\nthere was something fine and fearless in the way he did it. \u2018You may\nbelong to the cattle side of the argument,\u2019 he seemed to say, \u2018but I\ntrust you.\u2019 Now, Judith dear, that boy\u2019s faith in me is not going to be\nshaken. We must look after them together. It is a very little thing you\nhave asked of me, my dearest, but a very big one that I am asking of\nyou. Do you understand, my Judith, it is you that I want? Don\u2019t think\nof me as I have been, Judith, but as you are going to make me. I want\nyou to give me the right now, this evening, to share all this trouble\nwith you. Do we understand each other, Judith? Is it to be? And will\nyou come back with me now, into the room where they are dancing, and\nlet me present you to them, to the Wetmores, as _my_ Judith, my\nbetrothed?\u201d\n\u201cBut, Peter, I don\u2019t understand. I\u2014I thought you and Miss Colebrooke\nwere\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s all over, Judith. I did love her once. Oh, you dear, brave\nwoman, I\u2019m not a hero from any point of view, and you know it. It\u2019s but\na sorry lover that\u2019s making his prayer to you, my dearest; but you\nwon\u2019t judge, I know, beloved, you will love me instead?\u201d\nJudith turned towards the valley. Her whole being throbbed with a\npassionate response to the man who stood so humbly before her, but\nthere were duties that came first. Her mind was full of Alida and her\nchildren, and her eyes still sought Peter\u2019s imploringly.\n\u201cYou will be a good friend to them, Peter\u2014to Jim\u2019s people? I cannot\ntalk to you of anything else to-night. Your heart is big, Peter, but\nyou cannot feel, perhaps\u2014\u201d\n\u201cListen, Judith. Whatever friendship and protection I can give your\nfamily you may count upon from now till the end of time. I will be\ntheirs as I am yours. I feel your grief, but I want to soothe it, too.\nAnd if you love me, and I feel, Judith, that you do, you must let them\nall see to-night, these people who know us both, that we stand together\nbefore all the world for better or worse. Think, Judith, and you will\nsee that you owe it to yourself, to me, to all these men, who reverence\nyou as the one woman, the one ideal in their lonely lives.\u201d\nShe could not speak. The moment was too full, the strain had been too\ngreat; but she smiled surrender, and Peter caught her tenderly in his\narms and kissed her once\u2014his Judith she was now, his heroine. Then,\nwithout another word, he drew her arm through his and led her back to\nthe lights, where the dancers still held high carnival.\nJudith\u2019s half-sister, Eudora, was making a pretty quarrel by perversely\nforgetting the order in which she had given her dances. The girl was so\nundeniably happy that Judith dreaded the grim news she must tell her.\nEudora blushed as she encountered Judith\u2019s eye. Her half-sister ever\noffered a check on Eudora\u2019s exuberant coquetry, with its precipitation\nof discussions that often ended in bullets. Leander stood on the\noutermost fringe of Eudora\u2019s potential partners. He would not have\ndared to maintain it openly, yet he was sure the pretty minx had\npromised that dance to him.\n\u201cDance with Leander, dear, and don\u2019t let those men begin quarrelling.\nI\u2019ve something to tell you, presently,\u201d said Judith.\nTexas Tyler stood glowering at them from the doorway. He would not\ncatch Judith\u2019s eye as she tried to speak to him. Kitty sat alone for\nthe moment. She had sent the young lieutenant to fetch her a cup of\ncoffee, but as Peter approached with Judith she averted her eyes.\n\u201cKitty, may I present to you my fianc\u00e9e, Miss Rodney?\u201d\nKitty rose superbly to the situation. She might, indeed, have made the\nmatch she was so overjoyed in the good-fortune of her old friend Peter.\nShe made no reference to the woodland meeting\u2014she hoped for the\nhappiness of seeing them in town. And she bade Peter tell the good news\nto Nannie Wetmore, they would be so glad. Nannie swallowed a grimace\nand proffered a cousinly hand. She had suspected some such news as this\nwhen she saw that things were not going well with Kitty and Peter.\n\u201cBetter one dance with a good partner that can swing ye than several\nwith a feeble partner that leaves ye to swing your own corners!\u201d\nJudith looked up, smiling. She recognized the characteristic utterance\nof her old friend Mrs. Yellett. The matriarch had sustained a\nbreakdown, and arrived, in consequence, when the dance was half over,\nbut she was philosophical, as always, in the face of misfortune, and\nloudly attested her pleasure in the renowned pedal feats of her\npartner, Costigan.\nBehind came Mary Carmichael, looking brown and happy. From the attitude\nof the group around Judith and Peter Mary divined what had happened,\nand came to add her congratulations. Even Mrs. Yellett forgot to choose\nan axiom as her medium of expression, and kissed Judith publicly, with\naffectionate unction. Henderson had effaced himself, and Leander, proud\nof his triumph and Judith\u2019s commendation, sat in a corner and smiled\ncontentedly. Ignorant of the drama to which they had played chorus, the\ndancers still riotously swung one another up and down the length of the\nroom, and from the little brown fiddles came the gay music of Judith\u2019s\nbetrothal.\nTHE END", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Judith Of The Plains\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustration.\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/4/0/19403/19403-h/19403-h.htm)\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/4/0/19403/19403-h.zip)\nMURDER AT BRIDGE\nA Mystery Novel\nby\nANNE AUSTIN\nAuthor of \"Murder Backstairs\"\nGrosset & Dunlap Publishers New York\nSet up and electrotyped. Published February, 1931. Reprinted March,\nApril, 1931; February, 1932.\nPrinted in the United States of America\nFor ARLINE AND F. HUGH HERBERT\n[Illustration: Ground-floor plan of Nita Selim's house in Primrose\nMeadows, showing the bedroom in which the murder was committed.]\nCHAPTER ONE\nBonnie Dundee stretched out a long and rather fine pair of legs,\nregarding the pattern of his dark-blue socks with distinct satisfaction;\nthen he rested his black head against the rich upholstery of an armchair\nnot at all intended for his use.\nHis cheerful blue eyes turned at last--but not too long a last--to the\nsmall, upright figure seated at a typewriter desk in the corner of the\noffice.\n\"Good morning, Penny,\" he called out lazily, and good-humoredly waited\nfor the storm to break.\n\"Miss Crain--to _you_!\" The flying fingers did not stop an instant, but\nDundee noticed with glee that the slim back stiffened even more rigidly\nand that there was a decided toss of the brown bobbed head.\n\"But Penny is so much more like you,\" Dundee protested, unruffled. \"And\nwhy should I be forced always to think of you as a long-legged bird,\nwhen even our mutual boss, District Attorney William S. Sanderson, has\nthe privilege of calling you what you are--a bright and shining new\npenny?\"\n\"I've known Bill Sanderson since I was born,\" the unseen lips informed\nhim truculently, even as the unseen fingers continued their fiercely\nstaccato typing.\n\"Ah! That explains a lot!\" Dundee conceded handsomely. \"I just wondered,\namidst all this bonhommie of 'Bill' and 'Penny,' why I--\"\n\"I only call Mr. Sanderson 'Bill' when I forget!\" the small creature\ndefended herself sharply. \"Goodness knows I _try_ to be an efficient\nprivate secretary! And I could be a lot more efficient if lazy strangers\ndidn't plump themselves down in our best visitors' chair, and try to\nflirt with me. I don't flirt! Do you hear?--_I don't flirt with\nanybody!_\"\n\"Flirt with you, you funny little Penny?\" Dundee's voice was a little\nsad, the voice of a man who finds himself grievously misunderstood. \"I\nonly want you to like me, if you can, and be a little nice to me, for\nafter all I--\"\n\"Oh, I know!\" Penny Crain jerked the finished letter from her typewriter\nand spun about on her narrow-backed swivel chair to face him. \"I know\nyou are 'Mr. James F. Dundee, Special Investigator attached to the\noffice of the District Attorney,' and that you have a right to drive me\ncrazy if you want to.\"\n\"_Crazy?_\" Dundee was genuinely amazed, contrite. \"I beg your pardon\nmost humbly, Miss Crain. I'll go back to my cell--\"\n\"Your office is almost as big and nice as this one,\" Penny retorted, but\nher sharp, bright brown eyes--really almost the color of a new\npenny--softened until they took on a velvety depth.\nDundee did not fail to notice the softening, nor did the little\nheart-shaped face, with its low widow's-peak, its straight, short nose,\nand its pointed little chin, made almost childish by the deep cleft\nwhich cut through its obvious effort to look mature and determined, fail\nto please him any more acutely than on the other days of the one short\nweek he had been privileged at intervals to gaze upon it.\n\"But the files, and--other things--are in this office,\" he told her, his\nblue eyes twinkling happily once more.\n\"Don't you _dare_ touch my files again!\" Penny cried, springing to her\nfeet and running toward the wall which was completely concealed by\ndrawers, cabinets and shelves, filled with the records of which she was\nthe proud custodian. \"That's why I said just now that you were driving\nme crazy. Thursday you took a whole folder of correspondence out of the\nletter files and put it back under the wrong initial. I had to hunt for\nit for two hours, with Bill--I mean, Mr. Sanderson--gnawing his nails\nwith impatience. He thought I had filed it wrong, and you might have\nmade me lose my job.\"\nUnconsciously her slightly husky contralto voice had sunk lower and\ntrembled audibly.\n\"I'm awfully sorry. I shan't touch your files again, Miss Crain.\"\n\"Oh--go on and call me Penny,\" she conceded impatiently. \"What do you\nwant now?... And you can get anything you need out of the files if\nyou'll just put the folder in the bottom drawer of my desk, so that I\ncan file it myself--correctly!\"\n\"Thank you, Penny,\" Bonnie Dundee said gravely. \"I'd like awfully to\nhave the complete transcript of 'The State versus Maginty.' Mr.\nSanderson is determined to get a conviction where our former district\nattorney most ingloriously failed. The new trial comes up in two weeks,\nand he wants me to try to uncover a missing link of evidence.\"\n\"I know,\" she nodded, and stretched her short, slender body to pull down\nthe two heavy volumes he required.\nWithout a by-your-leave, Special Investigator Dundee resumed his\ncomfortable seat, and laid the first of the volumes open upon his knees.\nBut he did not seem to take a great deal of interest in the impanelling\nof jurors in the case of one Rufus Maginty, who had won the temporary\ntriumph of a \"hung jury\" under the handling of the state's case by\nDistrict Attorney Sherwood, deposed in November's election.\nRather, his eyes followed the small, brisk figure of Miss Penelope\nCrain, as it moved about the room, and his ears listened to the somehow\ncharming though emphatic tapping of her French heels.... French heels!\nHadn't she been wearing sensible, Cuban-heeled Oxfords all other days of\nthis first week of his \"attachment\" to the district attorney's\noffice?... Cunning little thing, for all her thorniness and her\nsharpness with him, which he now saw that he had deserved.... Pretty,\ntoo.... Damned pretty!... What color was that dress of hers?... Ummm,\nlet's see ... Chartreuse, didn't they call it? Chartreuse with big brown\ndots in it. Bet it was sleeveless under that short little jacket of\ngolden-brown chiffon velvet.... By Jove--and Dundee lapsed into one of\nthe Englishisms he had picked up during his six months' work in England\nas a tyro in the records department of Scotland Yard, before he had come\nto Hamilton to make a humble beginning as a cub detective on the\nHomicide Squad--yes, by Jove, she was all dressed up, for some reason or\nother.\n\"Of course! Because it's Saturday and you have the afternoon off!\"\nDundee finished his reverie aloud, to the astonishment of the small\nperson trying to reach a file drawer just a little too high for her. \"I\nmean,\" he hastened to explain, \"that I've just noticed how beautiful\nyour costume is, and found a reason for it.\"\nThere was sudden color in the creamy face. The French heels tapped an\nangry progress across the big office, and Penny sat down abruptly in her\nswivel chair, reached across the immaculate desk, snatched up a morning\npaper and tossed it, without a glance, in the general direction of her\ntormentor.\n\"Page three, column two, first item,\" she informed him ungraciously, and\nthen began to search with a funny sort of desperation for more work to\nconsume her extraordinary energy.\nBonnie Dundee grinned indulgently as he opened _The Hamilton Morning\nNews_ and turned to the specified page and column.\n\"Ah! My old friend, the 'society editress,' in her very best style,\" he\ncommented as he began to read aloud:\n\"'Mrs. Juanita Selim, new and charming member, is entertaining the\nForsyte Alumnae Bridge Club this afternoon, luncheon to be served at the\nexclusive new Breakaway Inn on Sheridan Road--'\"\n\"I've read it--and I'm busy, so shut up!\" Penny commanded, as she\ngathered up pencils to sharpen.\nQuite meekly, Bonnie Dundee subsided into silent perusal of an item he\nwas sure could have no possible interest for himself, in either a\npersonal or professional capacity, unless Penny's name was in it\nsomewhere:\n\"--after which the jolly party of young matrons and maids will adjourn\nto Mrs. Selim's delightful home in the Primrose Meadows Addition.\" He\nchuckled, and dared to interrupt the high importance of pointing-up\npencils. \"I say, that's funny, isn't it?... 'Primrose Meadows\nAddition'!\"\n\"I don't think it's funny,\" Penny retorted coldly. \"It so happens that\nmy mother named it, that my father went into bankruptcy trying to make a\ngo of it, and that 'Mrs. Selim's delightful home' was built to be our\nhome, and in which we were fortunate enough to live only two months\nbefore the crash came.\"\n\"Oh!\" Dundee groaned. \"Penny, Penny! I'm dreadfully sorry.\"\n\"Shut up!\" she ordered, but her voice was huskier than ever with tears.\nDundee's now thoroughly interested eyes raced down the absurdly written\nparagraphs:\n\"Although not an alumna of that famous and select school for girls,\nForsyte-on-the-Hudson, graduation from which places any Hamilton girl in\nthe very inner circle of Hamilton society, Mrs. Selim has been closely\nidentified with the school, having for the past two years directed and\nstaged Forsyte's annual play which ushers in the Easter vacation.\n\"Indeed it was Mrs. Selim's remarkable success with this year's play\nwhich caused Mrs. Peter Dunlap, long interested in a Little Theater for\nHamilton, to induce the beautiful and charming young directress to come\nto Hamilton with her. Plans for the Little Theater are growing apace,\nand it is safe to conjecture that not all the conversation flying thick\nand fast about 'Nita's' bridge tables this afternoon will be concerned\nwith contract 'conventions,' scores, and finesses which failed.\n\"Lovely 'Nita' was elected to membership a fortnight ago, when a vacancy\noccurred, due to the resignation of Miss Alice Humphrey, who has gone\nabroad for a year's study in the Sorbonne. The two-table club now\nincludes: Mesdames Hugo Marshall, Tracey A. Miles, Peter Dunlap, John C.\nDrake, Juanita Selim, and Misses Polly Beale, Janet Raymond, and\nPenelope Crain.\"\nDundee lowered the paper and stared at the profile of District Attorney\nSanderson's private secretary. So she was a \"society girl,\" a \"Forsyte\"\ngirl! Was that the reason, perhaps, why she had been so thorny with him,\na mere \"dick\"? Well, he wasn't just a dick any longer. He was a Special\nInvestigator ... A society girl, playing at work....\nBut there was more, and he read on: \"As is well known, the 'girls' have\ntheir 'hen-fight' bridge-luncheon every Saturday afternoon from the\nfirst of October to the first of June, and a bridge-dinner, in which\nmere men are graciously included, every other Wednesday evening during\nthe season. Mr. and Mrs. Tracey A. Miles are scheduled as next\nWednesday's host and hostess.\"\n\"I take off my hat to your 'society editress',\" Dundee commented with\nfalse cheerfulness, when he had laid the paper back upon Penny's desk.\n\"She makes half a column of this one item in what must be a meager\nSaturday bunch of 'Society Notes,' then writes it all over again, in the\npast tense, for an equally meager Monday column.... Like bridge, Miss\nCrain?\"\nPenny snatched up the paper and crushed it into her wastebasket. \"I do!\nAnd I like my old friends, even if I am not able, financially, to keep\nup with them.... If that's why you've suddenly decided to stop\nbeing--comrades--\"\n\"Please forgive me again, Penny,\" he begged gently.\n\"I was born into that crowd, and I still belong to it, because all of\nthem are my real friends, but get this into your thick Scotch-Irish\nhead, Mr. Dundee--I'm working because I have to, and--and because I love\nit, too, and because I want to earn enough before I'm many years older\nto give Mother some of the things she's missing so dreadfully\nsince--since my father failed and--and ran away.\"\n\"Ran away?\" Dundee echoed incredulously. How could any man desert a\ndaughter like this!\n\"Yes! Ran away!\" she repeated fiercely. \"I might as well tell you\nmyself. Plenty of others will be willing to, as soon as they know you\nare--my friend.... As I told you, my father\"--her voice broke--\"my\nfather went bankrupt, but before the courts knew it he had sent some\nsecurities to a--to a _woman_ in New York, and when he--left us, he went\nto her, because he left Mother a note saying so. His defrauded creditors\nhere have tried to--to catch him, but they haven't--yet--\"\nVery gently Bonnie Dundee took the small hand that was distractedly\nrumpling the brown waves which swept back from the widow's-peak. It lay\nfluttering in his bigger palm for a moment, then snatched itself away.\n\"I won't have you feeling sorry for me!\" she cried angrily.\n\"Who owns your--the Primrose Meadows house now?--Mrs. Selim?\" he asked.\n\"The 'lovely Nita'?\" Her voice was scornful. \"No. She rents it from\nJudge Hugo Marshall--or is supposed to pay him rent,\" she added with a\ntrace of malice. \"Hugo is an old darling, but he is fearfully weak where\npretty women are concerned. Nita Selim had known Hugo in New\nYork--somehow--and as soon as Lois--Mrs. Dunlap, I mean--had got Nita\noff the train, the stranger in our midst hied herself to Hugo's office\nand he's been tagging after her ever since.... Though most of the men in\nour crowd are as bad as or worse than poor old Hugo. How Karen keeps on\nlooking so blissfully happy--\"\n\"Karen?\" Dundee interrupted.\n\"Mrs. Hugo Marshall,\" she explained impatiently. \"Karen Plummer made her\ndebut a year ago this last winter--a darling of a girl. Judge\nMarshall--retired judge, you know--had been proposing to the prettiest\ngirl in each season's crop of debs for the last twenty years, and Hugo\nmust have been the most nonplussed 'perennial bachelor' who ever led a\ngrand march when Karen snapped him up.... Loved him--actually! And it\nseems to have worked out marvelously.... A baby boy three months old,\"\nshe concluded in her laconic style. Then, ashamed; \"I don't know why I'm\ngossiping like this!\"\n\"Because you can't find another blessed scrap of work to do, you little\nefficiency fiend,\" Dundee laughed, \"Come on! Gossip some more. My\nMaginty case will wait till afternoon, to be mulled over while you're\nlosing your hard-earned salary at bridge with rich women.\"\n\"We don't play for high stakes,\" she corrected him. \"Just a twentieth of\na cent a point, though contract can run into money even at that. The\nwinnings all go to the Forsyte Scholarship Fund. On Wednesday evenings\nthe crowd plays for higher stakes--a tenth--and winners keepers.\nTherefore I can't afford to go, unless I sink so low as to let my escort\npay my losses--which I sometimes do,\" she confessed, her brown head low\nfor a moment.\n\"Is this Mrs. Peter Dunlap a deep-bosomed club woman, who starts\nMovements?\" he asked, more to bring her out of her depression than\nanything else. \"Bigger and Better Babies Movements, and Homes for Fallen\nGirls, and Little Theater Movements?\"\nThe brown head flung itself up sharply, and the brown eyes hardened into\nbright pennies again. \"Lois Dunlap is the sweetest, finest, most\n_comfortable_ woman in Hamilton, and I adore her--as does everyone else,\nPeter Dunlap hardly more than the rest of us. She _is_ interested in a\nLittle Theater for Hamilton, but she won't manage it. That's why she got\nhold of Nita Selim. Lois will simply put up barrels of money, without\nmissing them, and give a grand job to a little Broadway gold-digger.\nFunny thing is, she really delights in Nita. Thinks she's sweet and has\nnever had a real chance.\"\n\"And what do you think?\" Dundee asked softly.\n\"Oh--I suppose I'm a cat, but I can see through her so clearly. Not that\nshe's bad; she's simply an opportunist. She's awfully sweet and\ndeferential and 'frank' with women, but with men--well, she simply tucks\nher head so that her shoulder-length black curls fall forward\nenchantingly, gives them one wistful smile out of her big eyes that are\nlike black pansies and--the clink of slave chains!... Now go on and\nthink I'm catty, which I suppose I am!\"\nBonnie Dundee grinned at her reassuringly. Not for him to explain that\npractically all women and many men found themselves \"gossiping\" when he\nled them on adroitly, for reasons of his own. Which of course helped\nmake him the excellent detective he was.\n\"So all the men in your crowd have fallen for Nita Selim, have they?\"\n\"Practically all, in varying degrees, except Peter Dunlap, who has never\nlooked at another woman since he was lucky enough to get Lois, and Clive\nHammond, who's engaged to Polly Beale,\" Penny answered reluctantly, her\ncolor high.\n\"Including _your_ young man?\"\n\"I haven't a 'young man,' in the sense of being engaged,\" Penny\nretorted, then added honestly: \"I _have_ been letting Ralph\nHammond--that's Clive's brother, you know--take me about a good\ndeal.... Ralph and Clive have plenty of money,\" she defended herself\nhastily. \"They are architects, Clive being the head of the firm and\nRalph, who hasn't been out of college so very long, a junior partner.\nIt was the Hammond firm that drew up the plans for Dad's--I mean, my\nfather's--Primrose Meadows Addition houses. He had our house built as a\nsort of show-place, you know, so that prospective builders out there\ncould see how artistic a home could be put up for a moderate sum of\nmoney. But he didn't quite finish even that--left half the gabled top\nstory unfinished, and Nita has been teasing Hugo to finish it up for\nher. It looks,\" she added with a shrug, \"as if Nita will get what she\nwants--as usual.\"\n\"And Ralph has acquired a set of slave chains?\" Dundee suggested, with\njust the slightest note of sympathy.\n\"_And how!_\" Penny assured him, grimly. \"A simile as out-of-date as my\nclothes are going to be if I don't get some new ones soon. Not that the\ncrowd minds what I wear,\" she added loyally. \"I could dress up in a\nwindow drape--\"\n\"And be just as charming as you are in that grand new party dress you\nhave on now,\" Dundee finished for her gallantly.\n\"_New!_\" Penny snorted and turned back to her desk in a futile effort to\nfind something left undone.\nDundee ignored the rebuff. \"How many suckers--I mean, how many gentlemen\nwith moderate incomes actually built in Primrose Meadows?\"\n\"You are inquisitive, aren't you?... None! Our house, or rather the one\nNita Selim is living in now, is the only house on what used to be a big\nfarm.... Why?\"\n\"I was just wondering,\" Dundee said softly, almost absent-mindedly,\n\"why the 'lovely Nita' chose so isolated a place in which to live,\nwhen Hamilton has rather a large number of 'For Rent' signs out just\nnow.... By the way, know what time it is now?... Twenty to one! Get your\nhat on, young woman. I'm going to drive you out to Breakaway Inn.\"\n\"You're not! I'm going to take a bus. One runs from the Square right\npast the Inn,\" she told him firmly.\nAnd just as firmly Dundee escorted her out of the almost deserted,\nrather dirty old courthouse to where his brand-new sports\nroadster--bought \"on time\"--was awaiting them in the parking space\ndevoted to the motors of those who officially served Hamilton County.\n\"I know why you want to drive me out to the Inn,\" Penny told him\nsuddenly, as the proud owner maneuvered his car through Saturday noon\ntraffic. \"You want to see Nita Selim. Clank! Clank! I can hear the\npadlocks snapping on the slave chains right now.\"\n\"Meow!\" Dundee retorted, then grinned down at her with as much comradely\naffection as if they had been friends for years instead of for a couple\nof hours. \"Is Nita very small?\" he added.\n\"Little enough to tuck herself under the arm of a man a lot shorter than\nyou,\" Penny assured him with curious vehemence. \"And if Penelope Crain\nis no mean prophet, that's exactly what she'll do within five minutes\nafter she meets you--just as she is wistfully inviting you to join the\nother men for the cocktail party which is scheduled to break up the\nbridge game at 5:30. Then, of course, you'll be urged to join us all at\nthe dinner-dance at the Country Club tonight.\"\n\"Will she?\" Dundee pretended to be vastly intrigued, which caused the\nremainder of the drive to be a rather silent one, due to Penny's\nunresponsiveness.\nBreakaway Inn was intensely Spanish in architecture and transplanted\nshrubbery, but its stucco walls were of a rather more violent raspberry\ncolor than is considered quite esthetic in Spain or Mexico.\n\"There's Lois Dunlap's car just driving up,\" Penny cried, her face\nsoftening with the adoration she had freely professed for her friend.\nBut it clouded again almost instantly. \"And Nita Selim. I suppose Nita\nwas a little ashamed to drive up in her own Ford coupe.\"\nAs Dundee helped his new friend to alight his eyes were upon the two\nwomen being assisted by a uniformed chauffeur from Lois Dunlap's\nlimousine.\nIn a moment the four were a laughing, exclamatory group.\n\"Oh, what a tall, grand man you've got yourself, Penny darling!\" the\ntiny, beautiful creature who could only be Mrs. Selim cried out happily.\n\"_May_ I meet him?\"\n\"I shouldn't let you,\" Penny answered frankly, \"but I will.... Mrs.\nSelim, Mr. Dundee.... And Mrs. Dunlap, Mr. Dundee.... How are you, Lois?\nAnd Peter and the brats?\"\n\"All well, Penny. Petey's off on a week-end fishing trip, and not one of\nthe brats has measles, scarlet fever or hay fever, thank God,\" Dundee\nheard Mrs. Dunlap say in the comfortable, affectionate voice that went\nwith her comfortable, pleasant face and body.... Nice woman!\nBut his eyes were of necessity upon Nita Selim, for that miniature Venus\nwas, as Penny had predicted, almost tucked under his arm by this time,\nher black-pansy eyes wide and wistful, her soft black curls falling\nforward as she coaxed:\n\"You'll come to the cocktail party at my house at 5:30, won't you, Mr.\nDundee?\"\n\"Afraid I can't make it,\" Dundee smiled down at her. \"I'm a busy man,\nMrs. Selim.... You see, I'm Special Investigator attached to the\nDistrict Attorney's office,\" he explained very deliberately.\n\"O-o-oh!\" Nita Selim breathed. Than, step by step, she withdrew, so that\nhe was no longer submitted to the temptation to put his arm about her\ntoo intriguing little body. And as she retreated, Dundee's keen eyes\nnoted a hardening of the black-pansy eyes, the sudden throbbing of a\npulse in her very white neck....\n\"No, don't mind about calling for me,\" Penny protested a moment later.\n\"Ralph has already volunteered.... Thanks awfully!\"\nAs Dundee backed out of the driveway his last glance was for a very\nsmall figure in a brown silk summer coat and palest yellow chiffon\nfrock, slowly rejoining Penelope Crain and Lois Dunlap. What the devil\nhad frightened her so? For she had been almost terrified.... Of course\nshe might be one of those silly women who shudder at the sight of a\ndetective, because they've smuggled in a diamond from Paris or a bottle\nof Bacardi from Havana....\nBut long before his car made the distance back to the city Dundee had\nshrugged off the riddle and was concentrating on all the facts he knew\nregarding the Maginty case. It was his first real assignment from\nSanderson, and he was determined to make good.\nFour hours later he was interrupted in his careful reading of the trial\nof Rufus Maginty by the ringing of the telephone bell. That made four\ntimes he had had to snap out the fact that District Attorney Sanderson\nwas playing some well-earned golf on the Country Club links, Dundee\nreflected angrily, as he picked up the receiver.\nBut the call was for Dundee himself, and the voice on the other end of\nthe wire was Penny Crain's, although almost unrecognizable.\n\"Speak more slowly, Penny!\" Dundee urged. \"What's that again.... Good\nLord! You say that Nita Selim....\"\nAfter a minute of listening, and a promise of instant obedience, Dundee\nhung up the receiver.\n\"My God!\" he said slowly, blankly. \"Of all things--_murder at bridge_!\"\nCHAPTER TWO\nAs Special Investigator Dundee drove through the city of Hamilton at a\nspeed of sixty miles an hour, his way being cleared by traffic policemen\nwarned by the shrill official siren which served him as a horn, he had\nlittle time to think connectedly of the fact that Nita Selim had been\nmurdered during a bridge game in her rented home in Primrose Meadows.\nEven after the broad sleekness of Sheridan Road stretched before him he\ncould do little more than try to realize the shock which had numbed\nhim.... \"Lovely Nita,\" as the society editor of _The Morning News_ had\ncalled her, was--_dead_! How, why, he did not know. He had asked no\ndetails of Penny Crain.... Funny, thorny little Penny! Loyal little\nPenny!\n\"Judge Marshall has telephoned Police Headquarters,\" she had told him\nbreathlessly over the telephone, \"but I made him let me call you as soon\nas he had hung up. I wanted _our_ office to be in on this right from the\nfirst.\"\nBeautiful, seductive Nita Selim, almost cuddling under his arm within\nthree minutes of meeting him--_dead_! A vision of her black-pansy eyes,\nso wide and luminous and wistful as they had looked sideways and upward\nto his, pleading for him to join her after-bridge cocktail party, nearly\nmade him crash into a lumbering furniture van. Those eyes were luminous\nno longer, could never again snap the padlocks of slave chains upon any\nman--as Penny had expressed it.... Dead! And she had been so warmly\nalive, even as she had retreated from him at his mention of the fact\nthat he was attached to the office of the district attorney as a special\ninvestigator. What had she feared then? Was her death a payment for some\nrecent or long-standing crime? Or had she simply been withdrawing from\ncontamination with a \"flat-foot\"?... No! She had been _afraid_--horribly\nafraid of some ulterior purpose behind his innocent courtesy in driving\nPenelope Crain to Breakaway Inn.\nWell, speculation now was idle, he told himself, as he noted that his\nspeedometer had dropped from sixty to thirty in his preoccupation. He\nspeeded again, but was soon forced to stop and ask his way into Primrose\nMeadows. The vague directions of a farmer's son lost him nearly eight\nprecious minutes, during which his friend, Captain Strawn of the\nHomicide Squad, might be bungling things rather badly. But at last he\nfound the ornate pair of pillars spanned by the painted legend,\n\"Primrose Meadows,\" and drove through them into what soon became a\nrutted lane. Almost a quarter of a mile from the entrance he found the\nisolated house, unmistakable because of the line-up of private cars\nparked before the short stretch of paved sidewalk, and the added\npresence of police cars and motorcycles.\nDundee turned his own car into the driveway leading from the street\nalong the right side of the house toward the two-car garage in the rear.\nAhead of his roadster were two other cars, and a glance toward the open\ngarage showed that a Ford coupe was housed there.\nAs he was descending Captain Strawn's voice hailed him from an open\nwindow of the room nearest the garage.\n\"Hello, Bonnie! Been expecting you.... Damnedest business you ever\nsaw.... There's a door from this room onto the porch. Hop up and come on\nin.\"\nDundee obeyed. Driving in he had noted that a wide porch, upheld by\nround white pillars, stretched across the front of the gabled brick\nhouse and extended halfway along its right side, past a room which was\nobviously a solarium, with its continuous windows, gay awnings,\nand--visible through the glittering panes--orange-and-black wicker\nfurniture.\nIt was easy to swing himself up to the floor of the porch. Strawn flung\nopen the door which led into the back room, remarking with a grin:\n\"Don't be afraid I'm gumming up any fingerprints. Carraway has already\nbeen over the room.... The Selim woman's bedroom,\" he explained. \"The\nroom she was killed in.\"\n\"You _have_ been on the job,\" Dundee complimented his former chief.\n\"Sure!\" Strawn acknowledged proudly. \"Can't be too quick on our stumps\nwhen it's one of these 'high sassiety' murders. Dr. Price will be here\nany minute now, and my men have been all over the premises, basement to\nattic. Of course it was an outside job--plain as the nose on your\nface--and we haven't found a trace of the murderer.\"\nAlthough Mrs. Selim had taken the house furnished, it was obvious that\nthis big bedroom of hers was not exactly as the Crain family had left\nit. A little too pretty, a little too aggressively feminine, with its\nchaise longue heaped with silk and lace pillows, its superfluity of big\nand little lamps, its bed draped with golden-yellow taffeta, its\ndressing table--\nBut he could not let critical eyes linger on the triple-mirrored vanity\ndresser. For on the bench before it sat a tiny figure, the head bowed so\nlow that some of the black curls had fallen into a large open bowl of\npowder. She was no longer wearing the brown silk summer coat whose open\nfront had given him a glimpse of pale yellow chiffon.\nHe saw the dress now, a low-cut, sleeveless, fluffy affair, but he\nreally had eyes only for the brownish-red hole on the left side of the\nback of the bodice, about halfway between shoulder and waist--a waist so\nsmall he could have spanned it with his two hands, including its band of\nfuchsia velvet ribbon. There also had been a bow of fuchsia velvet\nribbon on the lace and straw hat she had swung so charmingly less than\nfive hours ago.\n\"Shot through the heart, I guess,\" Strawn commented. \"Took a good\nmarksman to find her heart, shooting her through the back.... Funny\nthing, too. Nobody heard the shot--leastways none of that crowd penned\nup in the living room will admit they did. They'll all hang together,\nand lie like sixty to keep us from finding out anything that might point\nto one of _their_ precious bunch! But if a gun with a Maxim silencer\n_was_ used, as it must have been if that whole crew ain't lying, the\ngunman musta been _good_, because you can't sight with a Maxim screwed\nonto a rod, you know.\"\n\"Have your men found the gun?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Of course not, or I'd know whether it had a Maxim on it or not,\" Strawn\nretorted. \"My theory is,\" he added impressively, \"that somebody with a\ngrudge against this dame hired a gunman to hang around till he got her\ndead to rights, then--plop!\" and he imitated the soft, thudding sound\nmade by the discharge of a bullet from a gun equipped with a silencer.\n\"Doesn't it seem rather strange that a professional gunman should have\nchosen such a time--with men arriving in cars, and the house full of\nwomen who might wander into this room at any minute--to bump off his\nvictim?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Well, there ain't no other explanation,\" Captain Strawn contended.\n\"Outside of the fact that my men have gone over the whole house and\ngrounds without finding the gun, I've got other evidence it was an\noutside job.... Look!\"\nDundee followed the Chief of the Homicide Squad to one of the two\nwindows that looked out upon the driveway. Both were open, since the May\nday was exceptionally warm, even for the Middle West. The unscreened\nwindow from which he obediently leaned was almost directly in line with\nthe vanity dressing-table across the room.\n\"Look! See how them vines have been torn,\" Strawn directed, pointing to\na rambler rose which hugged the outside frame of the window. \"And look\nhard enough at the flower bed down below and you'll see his\nfootprints.... Of course we've measured them and Cain, as you see, is\nguarding them till my man comes to make plaster casts of them.... Yes,\nsir, he hoisted himself up to the window ledge, aimed as best he could,\nthen slipped down and beat it across the meadow.\"\n\"Then,\" Dundee began slowly, \"I wonder why Mrs. Selim didn't see that\nfigure crouched in the window, since she must have been powdering her\nface and looking into the middle of the three mirrors--the one which\nreflects this very window?\"\n\"How do you know she was powdering her face, not looking for something\nin a drawer?\" Strawn demanded truculently.\n\"For three reasons,\" Dundee answered almost apologetically. \"First: her\npowder puff, as I'm sure you noticed, is still clutched in her right\nhand; second: there is no drawer open, and no drawer _was_ open, unless\nsomeone has closed it since the murder, whereas on the other hand her\npowder box _is_ open; third: the left side of her face is unevenly\ncoated with powder, while the other is heavily but _evenly_ powdered.\nTherefore I can't see why she didn't scream, or turn around when she\nheard your gunman clambering up to her window, or even when he had\ncrouched in it. I don't see how she could _help_ seeing him!\"\n\"Well--what do _you_ think?\" Strawn asked sourly, after he had tested\nthe visibility of the window from the dressing-table mirror.\n\"I'm afraid, Captain Strawn, that there are only two explanations\npossible. The first, of course, is that Nita Selim was quite deaf or\nvery nearsighted. I happen to know from having met her today--\"\n\"_You_ met her today?\" Strawn interrupted incredulously.\nDundee explained briefly, then went on: \"As I was saying I have good\nreason to know she was not deaf, but I can't say as to her being\nnearsighted, except that it is my observation that people who are\nextremely nearsighted do not have very wide eyes and no creases between\nthe brows. I am fairly sure she did not wear glasses at all, because\nglasses worn even a few hours a day leave a mark across the nose or show\npinched red spots on each side of the bridge of the nose.\"\n\"You must have had a good hard look at her,\" Strawn gibed, his grey eyes\ntwinkling, and his harsh, thin-lipped mouth pulling down at one corner\nin what he thought was a genial smile.\n\"I did,\" Dundee retorted. \"Well, conceding that she was neither deaf nor\nhalf-blind, she would necessarily have heard and seen her assailant\nbefore he shot her.\"\n\"What's the other explanation?\" Strawn was becoming impatient.\n\"That the person who killed her was so well known to her, and his--or\nher--presence in this room so natural a thing that she paid no attention\nto his or her movements and was concentrating on the job of powdering\nher very pretty face.\"\n\"You mean--one of that gang of society folks in there?\" and Strawn\njerked a thumb toward the left side of the house.\n\"Very probably,\" Dundee agreed.\n\"But where's the gun?\" Strawn argued. \"I tell you my men--\"\n\"This was a premeditated murder, of course,\" Dundee interrupted. \"The\nMaxim silencer--unless they are all lying about not hearing a\nshot--proves that. Silencers are damned hard to get hold of, but people\nwith plenty of money can manage most things. And since the murder was\npremeditated, it is better to count on the fact that the murderer--or\nmurderess--had planned a pretty safe hiding place for the gun and the\nsilencer.... Oh, not necessarily in the house or even near the house,\"\nhe hastened to assure Strawn, who was trying to break in.... \"By the\nway, how long after Mrs. Selim was killed was her death discovered? Or\ndo you know?\"\n\"I haven't been able to get much out of that bunch in there--not even\nout of Penelope Crain, who ought to be willing to help, seeing as how\nshe works for the district attorney. But I guess she's waiting to spill\nit all to you, if she knows anything, so you and Sanderson will get all\nthe credit.\"\n\"Now, look here, chief,\" Dundee protested, laying a hand on Strawn's\nshoulder as he reverted to the name by which he had addressed the head\nof the Homicide Squad for nearly a year, \"we're going to be friends,\naren't we? Same as always? We know pretty well how to work together,\ndon't we? No use to begin pulling against each other.\"\n\"Guess so,\" Strawn growled, but he was obviously pleased and relieved.\n\"Maybe you'd better have a crack at that crowd yourself. I hear Doc\nPrice's car--always has a bum spark plug. I'll stick around with him\nuntil he gets going good on his job; then, if you'll excuse me for\nbutting in, I'll join your party in the living room.... And good luck to\nyou, Bonnie!\"\nDundee took the door he knew must lead into the central hall, but found\nhimself in an enclosed section of it--a small foyer between the main\nhall and Nita Selim's bedroom. There was room for a telephone table and\nits chair, as well as for a small sofa, large enough for two to sit upon\ncomfortably. He paused to open the door across from the telephone table\nand found that it opened into a closet, whose hangers and hat forms now\nheld the outdoor clothing belonging to Nita's guests. Nice clothes--the\nsmart but unostentatious hats and coats of moneyed people of good taste,\nhe observed a little enviously, before he opened the door which led into\nthe main hall which bisected the main floor of the house until it\nreached Nita's room.\nAnother door in the section behind the staircase leading to the gabled\nsecond story next claimed his attention. Opening it, he discovered a\nbeautifully fitted guests' lavatory. There was even a fully appointed\ndressing-table for women's use, so that none of her guests had had the\nslightest excuse to invade the privacy of Mrs. Selim's bedroom and bath,\nunless specifically invited to do so. Rather a well planned house, this,\nDundee concluded, as he closed the door upon the green porcelain\nfixtures, and walked slowly toward the wide archway that led from the\nhall into a large living room.\nHe had a curious reluctance to intrude upon that assembled and guarded\ncompany of Hamilton's \"real society.\" They were all Penny's friends, and\nPenny was _his_ friend....\nBut his first swift, all-seeing glance about the room reassured him. No\nhysterics here. These people brought race and breeding even into the\npresence of death. Whatever emotions had torn them when Nita Selim's\nbody was discovered were almost unguessable now. A stout, short woman of\nabout thirty was tapping a foot nervously, as she talked to the man who\nwas bending over her chair. John C. Drake, that was. Dundee had met him,\nknew him to be a vice president of the Hamilton National Bank, in charge\nof the trust department. Penelope Crain was occupying half of a\n\"love-seat\" with Lois Dunlap, the hands of the girl and of the woman\nclinging together for mutual comfort. That tall, thin, oldish man, with\nthe waxed grey mustache, must be Judge Hugo Marshall, and the pretty\ngirl leaning trustingly against his shoulder must be his wife--Karen\nMarshall, who had jumped at her first proposal during her first season.\n\"Yes, well-bred people,\" he concluded, as his eyes swept on, and then\nstopped, a little bewildered. Who was _that_ man? He didn't belong\nsomehow, and his hands trembled visibly as he tried to light a\ncigarette. Leaning--not nonchalantly, but actually for support--against\nthe brocaded coral silk drapes of a pair of wide, long windows set in\nthe east wall. Suddenly Dundee had it.... Broadway! This was no\nHamiltonian, no comfortably rich and socially secure Middle-westerner.\nBroadway in every line of his too-well-tailored clothes, in the polished\nsmoothness of his dark hair....\n\"Why, it's Mr. Dundee at last!\" Penny cried, turning in the S-shaped\nseat before he had time to finish his mental inventory of the room's\noccupants.\nShe jumped to her feet and threaded a swift way over Oriental rugs and\nbetween the two bridge tables, still occupying the center of the big\nroom, still cluttered with score pads, tally cards, and playing cards.\n\"I've been wondering if you had stopped to have dinner first,\" she\ntaunted him. Then, laying a hand on his arm, she faced the living room\neagerly. \"This is Mr. Dundee, folks--special investigator attached to\nthe district attorney's office, and a grand detective. He solved the\nHogarth murder case, you know, and the Hillcrest murder. And he's _my_\nfriend, so I want you all to trust him--and tell him things without\nbeing afraid of him.\"\nThen, rather ceremoniously but swiftly, she presented her friends--Judge\nand Mrs. Hugo Marshall, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey Miles, Mr. and Mrs. John C.\nDrake, Mrs. Dunlap, Janet Raymond, Polly Beale, Clive Hammond, and--\nAt that point Penny hesitated, then rather stiffly included the\n\"Broadway\" man, as \"Mr. Dexter Sprague--of New York.\"\n\"Thank you, Miss Crain,\" Dundee said. \"Now will you please tell me, if\nyou know, whether all those invited to both the bridge party and the\ncocktail party are here?\"\nPenny's face flamed. \"Ralph Hammond, Clive's brother, hasn't come\nyet.... I--I rather imagine I've been 'stood up,'\" she confessed, with a\nfaint attempt at gayety.\nAnd Ralph Hammond was the man who had once belonged rather exclusively\nto Penny, and who, according to her own confession, had succumbed most\ncompletely to Nita Selim's charms!--Dundee noted, filing the reflection\nfor further reference.\n\"Please, Mr. Dundee, won't you detain us as short a time as possible?\"\nLois Dunlap asked, as she advanced toward him. \"Mr. Dunlap is away on a\nfishing trip, and I don't like to leave my three youngsters too long.\nThey are really too much of a handful for the governess, over a period\nof hours.\"\n\"I shall detain all of you no longer than is absolutely necessary,\"\nDundee told her gently, \"but I am afraid I must warn you that I can't\nlet you go home very soon--unless one or more of you has something of\nvital importance to tell--something which will clear up or materially\nhelp to clear up this bad business.\"\nHe paused a long half-minute, then asked curtly: \"I am to conclude that\nno one has anything at all to volunteer?\"\nThere was no answer, other than a barely perceptible drawing together in\nself-defence of the minds and hearts of those who had been friends for\nso long.\n\"Very well,\" Dundee conceded abruptly. \"Then I must put all of you\nthrough a routine examination, since every one of you is, of course, a\npossible suspect.\"\nCHAPTER THREE\n\"Good-by, dinner!\" groaned the plump, blond little man who had been\nintroduced as Tracey Miles, as he sorrowfully patted his rather\nprominent stomach.\n\"Don't worry, darling,\" begged the dark, neurotic-looking woman who was\nFlora Miles, his wife. \"I'm sure Mr. Dundee will ask Lydia--poor Nita's\nmaid, you know--\" she explained in an aside to Dundee, \"--to prepare a\nlight supper for us if he really needs to detain us long--which I am\nsure he won't.\"\n\"How can you think of food now?\" Polly Beale, the tall, sturdy girl with\nan almost masculine bob and a quite masculine tweed suit, demanded\nbrusquely. Her voice had an unfeminine lack of modulation, but when\nDundee saw her glance toward Clive Hammond he realized that she was\nwholly feminine where he was concerned, at least.\n\"Of course, we are all _dreadfully_ cut up over poor Nita's--death,\"\ngasped a rather pretty girl, whose most distinguishing feature was her\ncrop of crinkly, light-red hair.\n\"I assume that to be true, Miss Raymond,\" Dundee answered. \"But we must\nlose no more time getting at the facts. Just when was Mrs. Selim\nmurdered?\"\nAt the brutal use of the word a shudder rippled over the small crowd.\nDexter Sprague, \"of New York,\" dropped his lighted cigarette where it\nwould have burned a hole in a fine Persian rug, if Sergeant Turner, on\nguard over the room for Captain Strawn, had not slouched from his corner\nto plant a big foot upon it.\n\"We don't know exactly when it happened,\" Penny volunteered. \"We were\nplaying bridge, the last hand of the last rubber, because the men were\narriving for cocktails, when Nita became dummy and went to her bedroom\nto--\"\n\"To make herself 'pretty-pretty' for the men,\" Mrs. Drake mimicked;\nthen, realizing the possible effect of her cattiness on Dundee, she\ndefended herself volubly: \"Of course I _liked_ Nita, but she _did_ think\nso terribly much about her effect on men--and all that, and was always\nfixing her make-up, and besides--you _can't_ suspect me, because I was\nplaying against Karen and Nita--\"\n\"Thank you, Mrs. Drake,\" Dundee cut in. \"Does anyone know the exact time\nMrs. Selim left the room, when she became dummy?\"\n\"I can tell you, because I had just arrived--the first of the men to get\nhere,\" Tracey Miles volunteered, obviously glad of the chance to talk--a\ncharacteristic of the man, Dundee decided. \"I looked at my watch just\nafter I stepped out of my car, because I like to be on time to the dot,\nand Nita--Mrs. Selim--had said 5:30.... Well, it was exactly 5:25, so I\nhad five minutes to spare.\"\n\"Yes?\" Dundee speeded him up impatiently.\n\"Well, I came right into the hall, and hung my hat in the closet out\nthere, and then came in here. It must have been about 5:27 by that\ntime,\" he explained, with the meticulousness of a man on the witness\nstand. \"I shouted, 'Hello, everybody! How's tricks?...' That's a joke,\nyou know. 'How's tricks?'--meaning tricks in bridge--\"\n\"Yes, yes,\" Dundee admitted, frowning, but the rest of the company\nexchanged indulgent smiles, and Flora Miles patted her husband's hand\nfondly.\n\"Well, Nita jumped up from the bridge table--that one right there,\"\nMiles pointed to the table nearer the arched doorway, \"and she said,\n'Good heavens! Is it half past five already? I've got to run and make\nmyself 'pretty-pretty' for just such great big men as you, Tracey--\"\n\"'Tracey, darling'!\" Judge Marshall corrected, with a chuckle that\nsounded odd in the tensely silent room.\nTracey Miles flushed a salmon pink, and his wife's fingers clutched at\nhis hand warningly. \"Oh, Nita called everybody 'darling,' and didn't\nmean anything by it, I guess,\" he explained uneasily. \"Just one of her\ncute little ways--. Well, anyway, she came up to me and straightened\nmy necktie--another one of her funny little ways--and said, 'Tracey,\nmy _own_ lamb, won't you shake up the cocktails for poor little\nNita?...' You know, a sort of way she had of coaxing people--\"\n\"Yes, I know,\" Dundee agreed, with a trace of a grin. \"Go on as rapidly\nas you can, please.\"\n\"I thought you wanted to know everything!\" Miles was a little peevish;\nhe had evidently been enjoying himself. \"Of course I said I'd make the\ncocktails--she said everything was ready on the sideboard. That's the\ndining room right behind this room,\" he explained unnecessarily, since\nthe French doors were open. \"Well, Nita blew me a kiss from her\nfingertips, and ran out of the room.... Now, let's see,\" he ruminated,\ncreasing his sunburned forehead beneath his carefully combed blond hair,\n\"that must have been at exactly 5:30 that she left the room. I went on\ninto the dining room, and Lois--I mean, Mrs. Dunlap came with me,\nbecause she said she was simply dying for a caviar sandwich and a nip\nof--of--\"\n\"Of Scotch, Tracey,\" Lois Dunlap cut in, grinning. \"I'm sure Mr. Dundee\nwon't think I'm a confirmed tippler, so you might as well tell the\ntruth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.... Poor Tracey has a\ndeadly fear that we are all going to lose the last shred of our\nreputations in this deplorable affair, Mr. Dundee,\" she added in a\nrather shaky version of the comfortable, rich voice he had heard earlier\nin the day.\n\"I'm not going to pry into cellars,\" Dundee assured her in the same\nspirit. \"What else, Mr. Miles?\"\n\"Nothing much,\" Tracey Miles confessed, with apparent regret. \"I was\nstill mixing--no, I'd begun to shake the cocktails--when I heard a\nscream--\"\n\"Whose scream?\" Dundee demanded, looking about the room, and dismissing\nMiles thankfully.\n\"It was--I,\" Judge Marshall's fair-haired, blue-eyed little bride\nvolunteered in a voice that threatened to rise to hysteria.\n\"Tell me all about it,\" Dundee urged gently.\n\"Yes, sir,\" she quavered, while her husband's arm encircled her\nshoulders in courtly fashion. \"As Tracey told you, Nita was dummy, and I\nwas declarer--that is, I got the bid, and played the hand. It--it was\nquite an exciting end for me to the afternoon of bridge, for I'm not\nusually awfully lucky, so when Penny had figured up the score, because\nI'm not good at arithmetic, and I knew Nita and I had rolled up an\nawfully big score, I jumped up and ran into her room to tell her the\ngood news, because she hadn't come back. And--and--there she was--all\nbowed over her dressing-table, and she--she was--was--\"\n\"She was dead when you reached her?\" Dundee assisted her.\n\"Yes,\" Karen Marshall answered faintly, and turned to hide her face\nagainst her elderly husband's breast.\nDundee's swift eyes took in the varying degrees of whiteness and sick\nhorror that claimed every face in the room as surely as if all present\nhad not already heard Karen tell her story to Captain Strawn. Tracey\nMiles looked as if he would have no immediate craving for his dinner,\nand Judge Marshall's fine, thin face no longer looked so\n\"well-preserved\" as he prided himself that it did. As for Dexter\nSprague, he almost folded up against the coral brocade draperies. It was\nthe women, oddly enough, who kept the better control over their\nemotions.\n\"Of course you all rushed in when Mrs. Marshall screamed?\" he asked\ncasually.\nTwelve heads nodded mutely.\n\"Did any or all of you touch the body, or things in the room?\"\n\"Mr. Sprague touched her hair, and--and lifted one of her hands,\" Penny\ncontributed quietly. \"But you know how it must have been! We can't any\nof us tell _exactly_ every move we made, but there was some rushing\nabout. The men, mostly, looking for--for whoever did it--\"\n\"Mrs. Marshall, did you see anyone--_anyone at all_--in or near that\nroom when you entered it?\"\nThe white-faced young wife lifted her head, and looked at him dazedly\nwith drowned blue eyes. \"There wasn't anyone in--in that room, I know,\"\nshe faltered. \"It felt horrible--being in there with--with _her_--all\nalone--\"\n\"But near the room? In the main hall or in the little foyer where the\ntelephone is?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"I--don't think so ... I can't--remember--seeing _anyone_.... Oh, Hugo!\"\nand again she crouched against her husband, who soothed her with\ntrembling hands that looked incongruously old against her childish fair\nhair and face.\n\"Where were the rest of you--_exactly_ where, I mean?\" Dundee demanded,\nconscious that Captain Strawn had entered the room and was standing\nslightly behind him.\nThere was such a babel of answers, given and then hastily corrected,\nthat Dundee broke in suddenly:\n\"I want a connected story of 'the events leading up to the tragedy.' And\nI want someone to tell it who hasn't lost his--or her--head at all.\" He\nlooked about the company, as if speculatively, but his mind was already\nmade up. \"Miss Crain, will you tell the story, beginning with the moment\nI left you and Mrs. Dunlap and Mrs. Selim today?\"\nPenny nodded miserably and was about to begin.\n\"Just a minute, before you begin, Miss Crain,\" Dundee requested. \"I'd\nlike to make notes on your story,\" and he drew from a coat pocket a\nshorthand book, hastily filched from Penny's own tidy desk. \"Yes,\" he\nanswered the girl's frank stare of amazement, \"I can write shorthand--of\na sort, and pretty fast, at that, though no other human being, I am\nafraid, could read it but myself.... As for you folks,\" he addressed the\nuneasy, silent group of men and women in dead Nita's living room, \"I\nshall ask you not to interrupt Miss Crain unless you are very sure that\nher memory is at fault.\"\nPenelope Crain was about to begin for the second time, when again Dundee\ninterrupted. \"Another half second, please.\"\nOn the first sheet of the new shorthand notebook Dundee scribbled:\n\"Suggest you try to locate Ralph Hammond immediately. Very much in love\nwith Mrs. Selim. Invited to cocktail party; did not show up.\" Tearing\nthe sheet from the notebook, he passed it to Captain Strawn, who read\nit, frowning, and then nodded.\n\"Doc Price has done all he can here,\" Strawn whispered huskily. \"Wants\nto know if you'd like to speak to him before he takes the body to the\nmorgue.\"\n\"Certainly,\" Dundee answered as he grinned apologetically to the girl\nwho was waiting, white-faced but patiently, to tell the story of the\nafternoon.\nQuickly suppressed shudders and low exclamations of horror followed him\nand the chief of the Homicide Squad from the room.\n\"Well, Bonnie boy, we meet again, for the usual reason,\" old Dr. Price\ngreeted the district attorney's new special investigator. \"Another\nshocking affair--that.... A nice clean wound, one of the neatest jobs I\never saw. Shot entered the back, and penetrated the heart.... _Very_\nnicely calculated. If the bullet had struck a quarter of an inch higher,\nit would have been deflected by the--\"\n\"But the _path_ of the bullet, doctor!\" Dundee broke in. \"Have you made\nany calculations as to the place and distance at which the shot was\nfired?\"\n\"Roughly speaking--yes,\" the coroner answered. \"The gun was fired at a\ndistance, probably, of ten or fifteen feet--perhaps closer, but I don't\nthink so,\" he amended meticulously. \"As for the path of the bullet, I\nhave fixed it, judging from the position of the body, which I am assured\nhad not been moved before my arrival, as coming from a point somewhere\nalong a straight line drawn from the wound, with the body upright, of\ncourse, to--here!\"\nDundee and Strawn followed the brisk little white-haired old doctor\nacross the bedroom to a window opening upon the drive--the one nearest\nthe door leading out upon the porch.\n\"I've marked the end of the line here,\" Dr. Price went on, pointing to a\nfaint pencil mark made upon the window frame--the pale-green strip of\nwoodwork near the chaise longue, which was set between the two windows.\n\"I told you she was shot from the window!\" Strawn reminded Dundee\ntriumphantly. \"You see, doc, it's my theory that the murderer climbed up\nto the sill of this window, which was open as it is now, crouched in it,\nand shot her while she sat there powdering her face.\"\n\"Not necessarily, Captain, not necessarily,\" Dr. Price deprecated. \"I\nmerely say that this pencil mark indicated the _end_ of the line showing\nthe path of the bullet. Certainly she was not shot _through_ the frame\nof the window, but she might have been shot by anyone stationed just in\nfront of it, or anywhere along the line, up to, say, within ten feet of\nthe woman.... Now, if that's all, Captain, I'll be getting this corpse\ninto the morgue for an autopsy. And I'll send you both a copy of my\nfindings.\"\n\"Just a minute, Dr. Price,\" Dundee detained him. \"How old would you say\nMrs. Selim was?\"\nThe little doctor pursed his wrinkled lips and considered for a moment,\neyeing the body stretched upon the chaise longue speculatively.\n\"We-ell, between thirty and thirty-four years old,\" he answered finally.\n\"Of course, you understand that that estimate is unofficial, and must\nremain so, until I have completed the autopsy--\"\nDundee stared down at the upturned face of the dead woman with startled\nincredulity. Between thirty and thirty-four years old! That tiny,\nlovely--But she was not quite so lovely in death, in spite of the\nserenity it had brought to those once-vivacious features. Peering more\nclosely, he could see--without those luminous, wide eyes to center his\nattention--numerous fine lines on the waxen face, the slackness of a\nlittle pouch of soft flesh beneath her round chin, an occasional white\nhair among the shoulder-length dark curls.... Dundee sighed. How easy it\nwas for a beautiful woman to deceive men with a pair of wide, velvety\nblack eyes! But he'd bet the women had not been quite so thoroughly\ntaken in by her cuddly childishness, her odd mixture of demureness and\nyouthful impudence!\nBack in the living room, whose occupants stopped whispering and grew\ntaut with suspense, Dundee seated himself at a little red-lacquer table,\nnotebook spread, while Strawn settled himself heavily in the nearest\noverstuffed armchair.\n\"Now, Miss Crain, I am quite ready, if you will forgive me for having\nkept you waiting.\"\nIn a very quiet voice--slightly husky, as always--Penny began her story:\n\"I think it lacked two or three minutes of one o'clock when you drove\naway. Nita, Lois--do you mind if I use the names I am most accustomed\nto?... Thank you!--and I went immediately into the lounge of Breakaway\nInn, where we found Carolyn Drake and Flora Miles waiting for us. Nita\nsoon left us to see about the arrangement of the table, and while she\nwas away the rest of the girls arrived.\"\n\"Except--\" a woman's voice broke in.\n\"I was going to say all eight of us were ready for lunch except Polly\nBeale. She hadn't come,\" Penny went on, her husky voice a little sharp\nwith annoyance. \"When Nita came to ask us into the private dining room,\none of the Inn's employees came and told her there was a call for her\nand showed her to the private booth in the lounge. In a minute Nita\nreturned and told us that Polly wasn't coming to the luncheon, but would\njoin us later for bridge here.\"\n\"Why don't you tell him how funny Nita acted?\" Janet Raymond prompted.\nPenny flushed, but she accepted the prompting. \"I think any of us might\nhave been a little--annoyed,\" she said steadily, as if striving to be\nutterly truthful. \"Nita told us--\" she turned to Dundee, whose pencil\nwas flying, \"that Polly had made no excuse at all; in fact, she quoted\nPolly exactly: 'Sorry, Nita. Can't make it for lunch. I'll show up at\nyour place at 2:30 for bridge.'\"\n\"Nita couldn't bear the least hint of being slighted,\" Janet Raymond\nexplained, with a malicious gleam in her pale blue eyes. \"If it hadn't\nbeen for Lois and Hugo--Judge Marshall, I mean--Nita Selim would never\nhave been included in any of our affairs--and she _knew_ it! The Dunlaps\ncan do anything they please, because they're--\"\n\"Please, Janet!\" Lois Dunlap cut in, her usually placid voice becoming\nquite sharp. \"You must know by this time that I make friends wherever I\nplease, and that I liked--yes, I was _extremely_ fond of poor little\nNita. In fact, I am forced to believe that, of all the women she met in\nthis town, I was her only real friend.\"\nThere was a flush of anger on her lovably plain face as her grey eyes\nchallenged first one and then another of the \"Forsyte girls.\" One or two\nlooked a little ashamed, but there was not a single voice to contradict\nLois Dunlap's flat assertion.\n\"Will you please go on, Pen--Miss Crain?\" Dundee urged, but he had\nmissed nothing of the little by-play.\n\"I wish you would call me Penny so I'd feel more like a person than a\nwitness,\" Penny retorted thornily. \"Where was I?... Oh, yes! Nita cooled\nright off when Lois reminded her that Polly was always abrupt like\nthat--\" and here Penny paused to grin apologetically at the girl with\nthe masculine-looking haircut, \"and then we all went into the private\ndining room, where Nita had ordered a perfectly gorgeous lunch, with a\nheavenly centerpiece of green-striped yellow orchids--Well, I don't\nsuppose you're interested in what we ate and things like that--\" she\nhesitated.\n\"Was there anything unusual in the conversation--anything like a\nquarrel?\" Dundee prompted.\n\"Oh, no!\" Penny protested. \"Nothing happened out of the ordinary at\nall--No, wait! Nita received a letter by messenger--or rather a note,\nwhen we were about half through luncheon--\"\nThere was a low, strangled-in-the-throat cry from someone. Who had\nuttered it Dundee could not be sure, since his eyes had been on his\nnotebook. But what had really interrupted Penny Crain was a crash.\nCHAPTER FOUR\n\"Pardon! Awfully sorry,\" Clive Hammond muttered, as he bent to pick up\nthe fragments of a colored pottery ashtray which he and his fianc\u00e9e,\nPolly Beale, had been sharing.\n\"Don't worry--about picking it up,\" Polly commanded in her brusque\nvoice, but Dundee, listening acutely, was sure of a very slight pause\nbetween the two parts of her sentence.\nHe glanced at the couple--the tall, masculine-looking girl, lounging\ndeep in an armchair, Clive Hammond, rather unusually good-looking with\nhis dark-red hair, brown eyes, and a face and body as compactly and\nsymmetrically designed as one of the buildings which had been pointed\nout to Dundee as the product of the young architect's genius, now\nresuming his seat upon the arm of the chair. His chief concern seemed\nto be for another ashtray, which Sergeant Turner, with a grin,\nproduced from one of the many little tables with which the room was\nprovided.... Rather strange that those two should be engaged, Dundee\nmused....\n\"Go on, Miss Crain,\" the detective urged, as if he were impatient of the\ndelay. \"About that note or letter--\"\n\"It was in a blue-grey envelope, with printing or engraving in the upper\nleft-hand corner,\" Penny went on, half closing her eyes to recapture the\nscene in its entirety. \"Like business firms use,\" she amended. \"I\ncouldn't help seeing, since I sat so near Nita. She seemed startled--or,\nwell maybe I'd better say surprised and a little sore, but she tore it\nopen and read it at a glance almost, which is why I say it must have\nbeen only a note. But while she was reading it she frowned, then smiled,\nas if something had amused or--or--\"\n\"She smiled like any woman reading a love letter,\" Carolyn Drake\ninterrupted positively. \"I myself was sure that one of her _many_\nadmirers had broken an engagement, but had signed himself, 'With all my\nlove, darling--your own So-and-so!'\"\nDundee wondered if even Carolyn Drake's husband, the carefully groomed\nand dignified John C. Drake, bank vice-president, had ever sent _her_\nsuch a note, but he did not let his pencil slow down, for Penny was\ntalking again:\n\"I think you are assuming a little too much, Carolyn.... But let that\npass. At any rate, Nita didn't say a word about the contents of the note\nand naturally no one asked a question. She simply tucked it into the\npocket of her silk summer coat, which was draped over the back of her\nchair, and the luncheon went on. Then we all drove over here, and found\nPolly waiting in her own coupe, in the road in front of the house. She\ntold Nita she had rung the bell, but the maid, Lydia, didn't answer, so\nshe had just waited.\n\"Nita didn't seem surprised; said she had a key, if Lydia hadn't come\nback yet.... You see,\" she interrupted herself to explain to Dundee,\n\"Nita had already told us at luncheon that 'poor, darling Lydia,' as she\ncalled her, had had to go in to town to get an abscessed tooth\nextracted, and was to wait in the dentist's office until she felt equal\nto driving herself home again in Nita's coupe.... Yes, Nita had taken\nher in herself,\" she answered the beginning of a question from Dundee.\n\"At what time?\" Dundee queried.\n\"I don't know exactly, but Nita said she'd had to dash away at an\nungodly hour, so that Lydia could make her ten o'clock dentist's\nappointment, and so that she herself could get a manicure and a shampoo\nand have her hair dressed, so I imagine she must have left not later\nthan fifteen or twenty minutes to ten.\"\n\"How did Mrs. Selim get out to Breakaway Inn, if she left her own car\nwith the maid?\"\n\"You saw her arrive with Lois,\" Penny reminded him.\n\"Nita had told us all about Lydia's dentist's appointment when she was\nat my house for dinner Wednesday night,\" Lois Dunlap contributed. \"I\noffered to call for her anywhere she said, and take her out to Breakaway\nInn in my car today. I met her, at her suggestion, in the French hat\nsalon of the shop where she got her shampoo and manicure--Redmond's\ndepartment store.\"\n\"A large dinner party, Mrs. Dunlap?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Not large at all.... Just twelve of us--the crowd here except for Mr.\nSprague, Penny and Janet.\"\n\"Who was Mrs. Selim's dinner partner?\" Dundee asked.\n\"That's right! He _isn't_ here!\" Lois Dunlap corrected herself. \"Ralph\nHammond brought her and was her dinner partner.\"\n\"Thank you.... Now, Penny. You were saying the maid had not returned.\"\n\"Oh, but she had!\" Penny answered impatiently. \"If I'm going to be\ninterrupted so much--. Well, Nita rang the bell and Lydia came, tying on\nher apron. Nita kissed her on the cheek that wasn't swollen, and asked\nher why she hadn't let Polly in. And Lydia said she hadn't heard the\nbell, because she had dropped asleep in her room in the basement--dopey\nfrom the local anesthetic, you know,\" she explained to Dundee.\n\"I--see,\" Dundee acknowledged, and underlined heavily another note in\nhis scrawled shorthand.\n\"So Lydia took our hats and summer coats and put them in the hall\ncloset, and then followed Nita, who was calling to her, on into Nita's\nbedroom. We thought she either wanted to give directions about the\nmakings for the cocktails and the sandwiches, or to console poor Lydia\nfor the awful pain she had had at the dentist's, so we didn't intrude.\nWe made a dive for the bridge tables, found our places, and were ready\nto play when Nita joined us. Nita and Karen--\"\n\"Just a minute, Penny.... Did any of you, then or later, until Mrs.\nMarshall discovered the tragedy, go into Mrs. Selim's bedroom?\"\n\"There was no need for us to,\" Penny told him. \"There's a lavatory with\na dressing-table right behind the staircase. I, for one, didn't go into\nNita's room until after Karen screamed.\"\nThere was a chorus of similar denials on the part of every woman\npresent. At Dundee's significant pressing of the same question upon the\nmen, he was met with either laconic negatives or sharply indignant ones.\n\"All right, Penny. Go ahead, please.\"\n\"I was going to tell you how we were seated for bridge, if that\ninterests you,\" Penny said, rather tartly.\n\"It interests me intensely,\" Dundee assured her, smiling.\n\"Then it was this way,\" began Penny, thawing instantly. \"Karen and Nita,\nCarolyn and I were at this table,\" and she pointed to the table nearer\nthe hall. \"Flora, Polly, Janet and Lois were at the other. We played at\nthose tables all afternoon. We simply pivoted at our own table after the\nend of each rubber. When Nita became dummy--\"\n\"Forgive me,\" Dundee begged, as he interrupted her again. \"I'd like to\nask a question ... Mrs. Dunlap, since you were at the other table,\nperhaps you will tell me what your partner and opponents were doing just\nbefore Mrs. Selim became dummy.\"\nLois Dunlap pressed her fingertips into her temples, as if in an effort\nto remember clearly.\n\"It's--rather hard to think of bridge now, Mr. Dundee,\" she said at\nlast. \"But--yes, of course I remember! We had finished a rubber and had\ndecided there would be no time for another, since it was so near 5:30--\"\n\"That last rubber, please, Mrs. Dunlap,\" Dundee suggested. \"Who were\npartners, and just when was it finished?\"\n\"Flora--\" Lois turned toward Mrs. Miles, who had sat with her hands\ntightly locked and her great haggard dark eyes roving tensely from one\nto another--\"you and I were partners, weren't we?... Of course! Remember\nyou were dummy and I played the hand? You went out to telephone, didn't\nyou?... That's right! I remember clearly now! Flora said she had to\ntelephone the house to ask how her two babies--six and four years old,\nthey are, Mr. Dundee, and the rosiest dumplings--. Well, anyway, Flora\nwent to telephone--\"\n\"In the little foyer between the main hall and Mrs. Selim's room?\"\n\"Yes, of course,\" Lois Dunlap answered, but Dundee's eyes were upon\nFlora Miles, and he saw her naturally sallow face go yellow under its\ntoo-thick rouge. \"I played the hand and made my bid, although Flora and\nI had gone down 400 on the hand before,\" Lois continued, with a rueful\ntwinkle of her pleasant grey eyes. \"When the score was totted up, I\nfound I'd won a bit after all. Our winnings go to the Forsyte Alumnae\nScholarship Fund,\" she explained.\n\"Yes, I know,\" Dundee nodded. \"And then--?\"\n\"Polly asked the other table how they stood, and Nita said, 'One game to\ngo on this rubber, provided we make it....' Karen was dealing the cards\nthen, and Nita was looking very happy--she'd been winning pretty\nsteadily, I think--\"\n\"Pardon, Mrs. Dunlap.... How did the players at your table dispose of\nthemselves then--that is, immediately after you had finished playing the\nlast hand, and Mrs. Marshall was dealing at the other table?\"\nLois screwed up her forehead. \"Let me think--I know what _I_ did. I went\nover to watch the game at the other table, and stayed there till\nTracey--Mr. Miles--came in for cocktails. I can't tell you exactly what\nthe other three did.\"\nThere was a strained silence. Dundee saw Polly Scale's hand tighten\nconvulsively on Clive Hammond's, saw Janet Raymond flush scarlet,\nwatched a muscle jerk in Flora Miles' otherwise rigid face.\nSuddenly he sprang to his feet. \"I am going to make what will seem an\nabsurd request,\" he said tensely. \"I am going to ask you all--the women,\nI mean--to take your places at the bridge tables. And then--\" he paused\nfor an instant, his blue eyes hard: \"I want to see the death hand played\nexactly as it was played while Nita Selim was being murdered!\"\nCHAPTER FIVE\n\"Shame on you, Bonnie Dundee!\" cried Penny Crain, her small fists\nclenched belligerently. \"'Death hand', indeed! You talk like a New York\ntabloid! And if you don't realize that all of us have stood pretty\nnearly as much as we can without having to play the hand at bridge--the\n_very_ hand we played while Nita Selim was being murdered!--then you\nhaven't the decency and human feelings I've credited you with!\"\nA murmur of indignant approval accompanied her tirade and buzzed on for\na moment after she had finished, but it ceased abruptly as Dundee spoke:\n\"Who's conducting this investigation, Penny Crain--you or I? You will\nkindly let me do it in my own fashion, and try to be content when I tell\nyou that, in my humble opinion, what I propose is absolutely necessary\nto the solution of this case!\"\nBickering--Dundee grinned to himself--exactly as if they had known each\nother always, had quarreled and made up with fierce intensity for years.\n\"Really, Mr. Dundee,\" Judge Hugo Marshall began pompously, embracing his\nyoung wife protectingly, \"I must say that I agree with Miss Crain. This\nis an outrage, sir--an outrage to all of us, and particularly to this\nfrail little wife of mine, already half-hysterical over the ordeal she\nhas endured.\"\n\"Take your places!\" Dundee ordered curtly. After all, there was a limit\nto the careful courtesy one must show to Hamilton's \"inmost circle of\nsociety.\"\nPenny led the way to the bridge tables, the very waves of her brown bob\nseeming to bristle with futile anger. But she obeyed, Dundee exulted.\nThe way to tame this blessed little shrew had been solved by old Bill\nShakespeare centuries ago....\nAs the women took their places at the two tables, arguing a bit among\nthemselves, with semi-hysterical edges to their voices, Dundee watched\nthe men, but all of them, with the exception of Dexter Sprague--that\ntypical son of Broadway, so out of place in this company--had managed at\nleast a fine surface control, their lips tight, their eyes hard,\nnarrowed and watchful. Sprague slumped into a vacated chair and closed\nhis eyes, revealing finely-wrinkled, yellowish lids.\n\"Where shall we begin?\" Polly Beale demanded brusquely. \"Remember this\ntable had finished playing when Karen began to deal what you call the\n'death hand,'\" she reminded him scornfully. \"And Flora wasn't here at\nall--she had been dummy for our last hand--\"\n\"And had gone out to telephone,\" Dundee interrupted. \"Mrs. Miles, will\nyou please leave the room, and return exactly when you did return--or as\nnearly so as you can remember?\"\nDundee was sure that Mrs. Miles' sallow face took on a greyish tinge as\nshe staggered to her feet and wound an uncertain way toward the hall.\nTracey Miles sprang to his wife's assistance, but Sergeant Turner took\nit upon himself to lay a detaining hand on the too-anxious husband's\narm. With no more than the lifting of an eyebrow, Dundee made Captain\nStrawn understand that Flora Miles' movements were to be kept under\nstrict observation, and the chief of the Homicide Squad as unobtrusively\nconveyed the order to a plainclothesman loitering interestedly in the\nwide doorway.\n\"Now,\" he was answering Polly Beale's question, \"I should like the\nremaining three of you to behave exactly as you did when your last hand\nwas finished. Did you keep individual score, as is customary in\ncontract?--or were you playing auction?\"\n\"Contract,\" Polly Beale answered curtly. \"And when we're playing among\nourselves like this, one at each table is usually elected to keep score.\nJanet was score-keeper for us this afternoon, but we all waited, after\nour last hand was played, for Janet to give us the result for our tally\ncards.\"\nDundee drew near the table, picked up the three tally cards--ornamental\nlittle affairs, and rather expensive--glanced over the points recorded,\nthen asked abruptly:\n\"Where is Mrs. Miles' tally? I don't see it here.\"\nThere was no answer to be had, so he let the matter drop, temporarily,\nthough his shorthand notebook received another deeply underlined series\nof pothooks.\n\"Go on, please, at both tables,\" Dundee commanded. \"Your table--\" he\nnodded toward Penny, who was already over her flare of temper, \"will\nplease select the cards each held at the conclusion of Mrs. Marshall's\ndeal.\"\n\"Oooh, I'd never remember _all_ my cards in the world,\" Carolyn Drake\nwailed. \"I know I had five Clubs--Ace, King, Queen--\"\n\"You had the Jack, not the Queen, for I held it myself,\" Penny\ncontradicted her crisply.\n\"Until this matter of who held which cards after Mrs. Marshall's deal is\nsettled, I shall have to ask you all to remain as you are now,\" Dundee\nsaid to the players seated at the other table.\nAt last it was threshed out, largely between Penny Crain and Karen\nMarshall, the latter proving to have a better memory than Dundee had\nexpected. At last even Carolyn Drake's querulous fussiness was\nsatisfied, or trampled down.\nBoth Judge Marshall and John Drake started forward to inspect the cards,\nwhich none of the players was trying to conceal, but Dundee waved them\nback.\n\"Please--I want you men--all of you, to take your places outside, and\nreturn to this room in the order of your arrival this afternoon. Try to\nimagine that it is now--if I can trust Mr. Miles' apparently excellent\nmemory--exactly 5:25--\"\n\"Pretty hard to do, considering it's now a quarter past seven and\nthere's still no dinner in sight,\" Tracey Miles grumbled, then\nbrightened: \"I can come right back in then--at 5:27, can't I?\"\nThat point settled, and the men sent away, to be watched by several\npairs of apparently indolent police eyes, Dundee turned to the bridge\ntable, Nita's leaving of which had provided her murderer with his\nopportunity.\n\"The cards are 'dealt',\" Penny reminded him.\n\"Now I want you other three to scatter exactly as you did before,\"\nDundee commanded, hurry and excitement in his voice.\nLois Dunlap rose, laid down her tally card, and strolled over to the\nremaining table. After a moment's hesitation, Polly Beale strode\nmannishly out of the room, straight into the hall. Dundee, watching as\nthe bridge players earlier that afternoon certainly had not, was amazed\nto see Clive Hammond beckoning to her from the open door of the\nsolarium.\nSo Clive Hammond had arrived ahead of Tracey Miles! Had somehow entered\nthe solarium unnoticed, and had managed to beckon his fianc\u00e9e to join\nhim there! Prearranged?... And why had Clive Hammond failed to enter and\ngreet his hostess first? Moreover, _how_ had he entered the solarium?\nBut things were happening in the living room. Janet Raymond, flushing so\nthat her sunburned face outdid her red hair for vividness, was slowly\nleaving the room also. Through a window opening upon the wide front\nporch Dundee saw the girl take her position against a pillar, then--a\nthing she had not done before very probably--press her handkerchief to\nher trembling lips.\nBut the bidding was going on, Karen Marshall piping in her childish\ntreble: \"Three spades!\"\nDundee took his place behind her chair, then silently beckoned to Penny\nto shift from her own chair opposite Carolyn Drake to the chair Nita\nSelim had left to go to her death. She nodded understandingly.\n\"Double!\" quavered Carolyn Drake, next on the left to the dealer, and\nmanaged to raise her eyebrows meaningly to Penny, her partner, who had\nnot yet changed places.\nPenny, throwing herself into the spirit of the thing, scowled warningly.\nNo exchanging of illicit signals for Penny Crain! But the instant she\nslipped into Nita Selim's chair her whole face and body took on a\ndifferent manner, underwent almost a physical change. She _was_ Nita\nSelim now! She tucked her head, considered her cards, laughed a little\nbreathless note, then cried triumphantly:\n\"And I say--_five spades_! What do you think of _that_, partner?\"\nThen the girl who was giving an amazing imitation of Nita Selim changed\nas suddenly into her own character as she changed chairs.\n\"Nita, I don't think it's quite Hoyle to be so jubilant about the\nstrength of your hand,\" she commented tartly. \"I pass.\"\nKaren Marshall pretended to study her hand for a frowning instant, then,\nunder Penny's spell, announced with a pretty air of bravado:\n\"Six spades!... Your raise to five makes a little slam obligatory,\ndoesn't it, Nita?\"\nCarolyn Drake flushed and looked uneasily toward Penny, a bit of by-play\nwhich Dundee could see had not figured in the original game. But she\nbridled and shifted her plump body in her chair, as she must have done\nbefore.\n\"I double a little slam!\" she declared. Then, still acting the role she\nhad played in earnest that afternoon, she explained importantly: \"I\nalways double a little slam on principle!\"\nPenny, in the role of Nita, redoubled with an exultant laugh, then, as\nherself, said, \"Pass!\" with a murderous glance at Mrs. Drake.\n\"Let's see your hand, partner,\" Karen quavered, addressing a woman who\nhad been dead nearly two hours; then she shuddered: \"Oh, this is too\nhorrible!\" as Penny Crain again slipped into Nita Selim's chair and\nprepared to lay down the dummy hand.\nAnd it _was_ horrible--even if vitally necessary--for these three to\nhave to go through the farce of playing a bridge hand while one of the\noriginal players was lying on a marble slab at the morgue, her cold\nflesh insensible to the coroner's expert knife.\nBut Dundee said nothing, for Tracey Miles was already hovering in the\ndoorway, ready for his cue to enter.\nPenny, or rather \"Nita,\" was saying:\n\"How's _this_, Karen darling?\" as she laid down the Ace and deuce of\nSpades, Karen's trumps.\n\"I hope you remember _you_ are vulnerable, as well as we,\" Carolyn\nremarked in a sorry imitation of her original cocksureness, as she\nopened the play by leading the Ace of Clubs.\n\"And how's _this_, partner?... A singleton in Clubs!\" Nita's imitator\ndemanded triumphantly, as she continued to lay down her dummy hand,\nslapping the lone nine of Clubs down beside trumps; \"and this little\ncollection of Hearts!\" as she displayed and arranged the King, Jack,\neight and four of Hearts; \"_and_ this!\" as a length of Diamonds--Ace,\nJack, ten, eight, seven and six slithered down the glossy linen cover of\nthe bridge table toward Karen Marshall. \"Now if you don't make your\nlittle slam, infant, don't dare say I shouldn't have jumped you to\nfive!... I figured you for a blank or a singleton in Diamonds, and at\nleast the Ace of Hearts, or you--cautious as you are--wouldn't have made\nan original three Spade bid without the Ace.... Hop to it, darling!\"\n\"This is where I enter,\" Tracey Miles whispered to Dundee, and, at a nod\nfrom the young detective, the pudgy little blond man strode jauntily\ninto the living room, proud of himself in the role of actor.\n\"Hello, everybody! How's tricks?\" he called genially, but there was a\nquiver of horror in his voice under its blitheness.\nPenny was quite pale when she sprang from her chair, but her voice\nseemed to be Nita's very own, as she sang out:\n\"It _can't_ be 5:30 already!... Thank heaven I'm dummy, and can run away\nand make myself pretty-pretty for you and all the other great big men,\nTracey darling!\"\nDundee's keen memory registered the slight difference in the wording of\nthe greeting as reported by this pseudo-Nita and the man she was running\nto meet. But Penny, as Nita, was already straightening Tracey Miles'\nnecktie with possessive, coquettish fingers, was coaxing, with head\ntucked alluringly:\n\"Tracey, my ownest lamb, won't you shake up the cocktails for Nita? The\nmakings are all on the sideboard, or I don't know my precious old\nLydia--even if her poor jaw does ache most horribly.\"\nThen Penny, as Nita, was on her way, pausing in the doorway to blow a\nkiss from her fingertips to the fatuously grinning but now quite pale\nTracey Miles. She was out of sight for only an instant, then reappeared\nand very quietly retraced her steps to the bridge table.\nUnobtrusively, Dundee drew his watch from his pocket, palmed it as he\nnoted the exact minute, then commanded curtly: \"On with the game!\"\nAs Tracey Miles passed the first bridge table Lois Dunlap linked her arm\nin his, saying in a voice she tried to make gay and natural:\n\"I'm trailing along, Tracey. Simply dying for a nip of Scotch! Nita's is\nthe real stuff--which is more than my fussy old Pete can get half the\ntime!--and you know I loathe cocktails.\"\nThe two passed on into the dining room, the players scarcely raising\ntheir eyes from their cards, which they held as if the game were real.\nDundee, his watch still in his hand, advanced to the bridge table.\nStrolling from player to player he made mental photographs of each hand,\nthen took his stand behind Penny's chair to observe the horribly\nfarcical playing of it. Poor little Penny! he reflected. She hadn't had\na chance against that dumb-bell across the table from her. Fancy\nanyone's doubling a little slam bid on a hand like Carolyn Drake's--or\neven calling an informatory double in the first place! Why hadn't she\nbid four Clubs after Karen's original three Spade bid, if she simply\nwanted to give her partner information?... Not that she really had a\nbid--\nKaren's hand trembled as she drew the lone nine of Clubs from the dummy,\nto place beside Carolyn's Ace, but Penny's fingers were quite steady as\nshe followed with the deuce of Clubs, to which Karen added, with a trace\nof characteristic uncertainty, the eight.\n\"There's our book!\" Carolyn Drake exulted obediently, but she cast an\napologetic glance toward Penny. \"If we take one more trick we set them.\"\n\"Fat chance!\" Penny obligingly responded, and Dundee, relieved, knew\nthat the farcical game would now be played almost exactly, and with the\nsame comments, as it had been played while Nita Selim was being\nmurdered. Thanks to Penny Crain!\nWith a shamefaced glance upward at Dundee, Carolyn Drake then led the\ndeuce of Diamonds, committing the gross tactical error of leading from\nthe Queen. Karen added the Jack from the dummy, and Penny shruggingly\ncontributed her King, to find the trick, as she had suspected in the\noriginal game, trumped by the five of Spades, since Karen had no\nDiamonds.\n\"So _that_ settles _us_, Carolyn!\" Penny commented acidly.\nHer partner rose to the role she was playing. \"Well, as I said, I always\ndouble a little slam on principle. Besides, how could I know they would\nhave a chance for cross-ruffing in _both_ Clubs and Diamonds? I thought\nyou would at least hold the Ace of Diamonds and that Karen would\ncertainly have one, as I only had four--\"\nPenny shrugged. \"Oh, well! Let's play bridge!\" for Karen was staring at\nher cards helplessly. \"Sorry, Karen! I realize a post mortem is usually\nheld after the playing of a hand--not before.\"\n\"I--I guess I'd better get my trumps out,\" Karen--now almost a genuine\nactress, too--breathed tremulously. \"I _do_ wish Nita were playing this\nhand. I know I'll muff it somehow--\"\n\"Good kid!\" Dundee commented silently, and allowed himself the liberty\nof patting Karen on her slim shoulder.\nThe girl threw an upward glance of gratitude through misty eyes, then\nled the six of Spades, Mrs. Drake contributing the four, dummy taking\nthe trick with the Ace, and Penny relinquishing the three.\n\"Let's see--that makes five of 'em in, since I trumped one trick,\" Karen\nsaid, as she reached across the table to lead from dummy.\nAs if the words were a cue--which they probably were--Judge Marshall\nentered the room at that moment, making a great effort to be as jaunty,\ndebonair, and \"young for his age\" as he must have thought he looked when\nhe made his entrance when the real game was being played.\nAt his step Karen lifted her head and greeted her elderly husband with a\ncurious mixture of childlike joy and womanly tenderness:\n\"Hullo, darling!... I'm trying to make a little slam I may have been\nfoolish to bid, but Nita jumped me from three to five Spades--\"\n\"Let's have a look, sweetheart,\" the retired judge suggested pompously,\nand Dundee gave way to make room for him behind Karen's chair.\nBut before Judge Marshall looked at his wife's cards he bent and kissed\nher on her flushed cheek, and Karen raised a trembling hand to tweak his\ngrey mustache. Dundee, with uplifted eyebrow, queried Penny, who nodded\nshortly, conveying the information that this was the way the scene had\nreally been played when there was no question of acting.\n\"I'm getting out my trumps, darling,\" Karen confided sweetly, as she\nreached for the deuce of Spades--the only remaining trump in the dummy.\n\"What's your hurry, child?\" her husband asked indulgently. \"Lead this!\"\nand he pointed toward the six of Diamonds.\n\"I wish you'd got a puncture, Hugo, so you couldn't have butted in\nbefore this hand was played,\" Carolyn Drake spluttered. \"Remember this\nis a little slam bid, doubled and redoubled--\"\n\"I should think _you_ would like to forget that, Carolyn!\" Penny\ncommented bitingly. \"But I agree with Carolyn, Hugo, that Karen is quite\ncapable of making her little slam without your assistance.\"\n\"Please don't mind,\" Karen begged. \"Hugo just wanted to help me, because\nI'm such a dub at bridge--\"\n\"The finest little player in town!\" Judge Marshall encouraged her\ngallantly, but with a jaunty wink at the belligerent Penny.\nSmiling adoringly at him again, Karen took his suggestion and led the\nsix of Diamonds from the dummy; Penny covered it with the nine; Karen\nruffed with the seven of Spades from her own hand, and Mrs. Drake\nlugubriously contributed the four of Diamonds.\n\"I can get my trumps out now, can't I, Hugo?\" Karen asked deprecatingly,\nand at her husband's smiling permission, she led the King of Spades,\nCarolyn had to give up the Jack, which she must have foolishly thought\nwould take a trick; the dummy contributed the deuce, and Penny followed\nwith her own last trump--the eight.\nKaren counted on her fingers, her eyes on the remaining trumps in her\nhand, then smiled triumphantly up at her husband.\n\"Why not simply tell us, Karen, that the rest of the trumps are in your\nown hand?\" Penny suggested caustically.\n\"I--I didn't mean to do anything wrong,\" Karen pleaded, as she led now\nwith the ten of Hearts, which drew in Carolyn's Queen to cover--Carolyn\nmurmuring religiously: \"Always cover an honor with an honor--or should I\nhave played second hand low, Penny?\"--topped by the King in the dummy,\nthe trick being completed by Penny's three of Hearts.\nAt that point John C. Drake marched into the room, strode straight to\nDundee, and spoke with cold anger:\n\"Enough of this nonsense! I, for one, refuse to act like a puppet for\nyour amusement! If you are so vitally interested in contract bridge, I\nshould advise you to take lessons from an expert, not from three\nterrified women who are rather poor players at best. I also advise you\nto get about the business you are supposed to be here for--the finding\nof a murderer!\"\nCHAPTER SIX\nBefore Drake had reached his side, his purpose plain upon his stern,\nrather ascetic features, Dundee had taken a hasty glance at the watch\ncupped in his palm and noted the exact minute and second of the\ninterruption. Time out!\n\"One moment, Mr. Drake,\" he said calmly. \"I quite agree with you--from\nyour viewpoint. What mine is, you can't be expected to know. But believe\nme when I say that I consider it of vital importance to the\ninvestigation of the murder of Mrs. Selim that this particular bridge\nhand, with all its attending remarks, the usual bickering, and its\ninterruptions of arriving guests for cocktails, be played out, exactly\nas it was this afternoon. I thought I had made myself clear before. If\nyou don't wish me to believe that _you have something to conceal_ by\nrefusing to take part in a rather grisly game--\"\n\"Certainly I have nothing to conceal!\" John C. Drake snorted angrily.\n\"Then please bow as gracefully as possible to necessity,\" Dundee urged\nwithout rancor. \"And may I ask, before we go on, if you made your\nentrance at this time, and the facts of your arrival?\"\nDrake considered a moment, gnawing a thin upper lip. Beads of sweat\nstood on his high, narrow forehead.\n\"I walked over from the Country Club, after eighteen holes of golf with\nyour _superior_, the district attorney,\" Drake answered, with nasty\nemphasis. \"I left the clubhouse at 5:10, calculating that it would take\nme about twenty minutes for the walk of--of about a mile.\"\nDundee made a mental note to find out exactly how far from this lonely\nhouse in Primrose Meadows the Country Club actually was, but his next\nquestion was along another line:\n\"You _walked_, Mr. Drake?--after eighteen holes of golf on a warm day?\"\nDrake flushed. \"My wife had the car. I had driven out with Mr.\nSanderson, but he was called away by a long distance message. I lingered\nat the club for a while, chatting and--er--having a cool drink or two,\nthen I set out afoot.\"\n\"No one offered you a lift?\" Dundee inquired suavely.\n\"No. I presume my fellow-members thought I had my car with me, and I\nasked no one for a lift, for I rather fancied the idea of a walk across\nthe meadows.\"\n\"I see,\" said Dundee thoughtfully. \"Now as to your arrival here--\"\n\"I walked in. The door had been left on the latch, as it usually is,\nwhen a party is on,\" Drake explained coldly. \"And I was just entering\nthe room when I heard my wife make the remark about covering an honor\nwith an honor, and then her question of Penny as to whether she should\nhave played second hand low.\"\n\"So you entered this time at the correct moment,\" said Dundee. \"Now, Mr.\nDrake, I am going to ask you to re-enter the room and do exactly as you\ndid upon your arrival at approximately 5:33. I am sure you would not\nwillingly hamper me--or _my superior_--in this investigation.\"\nDrake wheeled, ungraciously, and returned to the doorway, while Dundee\nagain consulted his watch, mentally subtracting the minutes which had\nbeen wasted upon this interruption, from the time he had marked upon his\nmemory as the moment at which Drake had interfered. But an undercurrent\nof skepticism nagged at his mind. Why had Drake chosen to _walk_? And\nwhy had it taken him from 5:10 to approximately 5:33 to walk a mile or\nless? The average walker, and especially one accustomed to playing golf,\ncould easily have covered a mile in fifteen minutes, instead of the\ntwenty-three minutes Drake had admitted to.... If it _was_ a\nmile!... Was it possible that the banker loved wildflowers?\nWith head up aggressively, Drake was undoubtedly making an effort to\nthrow himself into the role--or perhaps into a role chosen on the spot!\n\"Where's everybody?\" he called from the doorway. \"Am I early?\"\n\"Don't interrupt, please, dear,\" Carolyn Drake answered, her voice\ntrembling now, where before it must have been sharp and querulous.\nSilently Drake took his place behind his wife's chair, laying a hand\naffectionately upon her shoulder. Dundee, watching closely, saw Penny's\neyes widen with something like shocked surprise. So Drake _was_ trying\nto deceive him, counting on the oneness of this group, his closest\nfriends!\nKaren, obviously flustered, too, reached to the dummy for the Ace of\nDiamonds, to which Penny played the three, Karen herself discarding the\nten of Clubs, and Mrs. Drake the five of Diamonds.\n\"You asked no questions, Mr. Drake?\" Dundee interpolated.\nThe banker flushed again. \"I--yes, I believe I did. Carolyn--Mrs.\nDrake--explained that Karen was playing for a little slam in Spades, and\nthat she had doubled--'on principle',\" he added acidly--a voice which\nMrs. Drake must be very well accustomed to, Dundee surmised.\n\"And when I told you that Nita had redoubled and it looked as if she was\ngoing to make it,\" Carolyn Drake whimpered and shifted her short, stout\nbody in the little bridge chair, \"you said--why not tell the truth?--you\nsaid it was just like me and I might as well take to tatting at bridge\nparties.\"\n\"That was said jokingly, my dear,\" Drake retorted, with a coldness that\ntried to be affectionate warmth.\n\"Play bridge!\" Dundee commanded, sure that the approximate length of the\nprevious dispute had now been taken up, whatever retort Carolyn Drake\nhad made. Then he checked himself, again looking at his watch: \"And just\nwhat did you answer to your husband's little joke, Mrs. Drake?\"\n\"I--I--\" The woman looked helplessly around the table, her slate-colored\neyes reddened with tears, then she plunged recklessly, after a fearful\nglance at Dundee's implacable face. \"I said that if it was Nita he was\ntalking to, he wouldn't speak in that tone; that she could make all the\nfoolish mistakes of over-bidding or revoking or doubling that she wanted\nto, and he wouldn't say a word except to praise her--\"\n\"Then I may as well confess,\" Drake said acidly, \"that I answered\nsubstantially as follows: 'Nita is an _intelligent_ bridge player as\nwell as a charming woman, my dear!...' Now make the most of that little\nfamily tiff, sir--and be damned to you!\"\n\"Did that end the scene, Mrs. Drake?\" Dundee asked gently.\n\"I--I said something about all the men thinking Nita was perfect,\" Mrs.\nDrake confessed, \"and I cried a little, but we went on with the hand.\nAnd Johnny--Mr. Drake went away, walking up and down the room, waiting\nfor Nita to come back, I suppose!\"\n\"Then go on with the game,\" Dundee ordered.\nSilently now, as silently as the real game must have been played,\nbecause of the embarrassing scene between husband and wife, the sinister\ngame was carried to its conclusion. Karen led the Jack of Hearts from\nthe dummy, Penny played her seven, Karen contributed her own deuce, and\nMrs. Drake followed suit with the five.\nAgain Karen led from the dummy, with the four of Hearts, followed by\nPenny's nine, taking it with her own Ace, Mrs. Drake throwing off the\nfive of Clubs. Karen then led the six of Hearts, Carolyn Drake discarded\nthe six of Clubs, dummy took the trick with the eight of Hearts, and\nPenny sloughed the three of Clubs.\nWith a faint imitation of the triumph with which she had played the hand\nthe first time, Karen threw down her remaining three trumps.\n\"I've made it--a little slam!\" she tried to sound very triumphant.\n\"Doubled and redoubled!... How much did I--did Nita and I make, Penny?\"\n\"Plenty!\" But before putting pencil to score pad, Penny cupped her chin\nin her hands and stared at Carolyn Drake. \"I'd like to know, Carolyn, if\nit isn't one of your most cherished secrets, _what_ possessed you to\ndouble in the first place?\"\nCarolyn Drake flushed scarlet as she protested feebly: \"I thought of\ncourse I could take two Club tricks with my Ace and King.... That's why\nI doubled the little slam, of course. And my first double simply meant\nthat I had one good suit.... I thought if you could bid at all that my\ntwo doubletons--\"\n\"Oh, what's the use?\" Penny groaned. \"But may I remind you that it is\n_not_ bridge to lead from a Queen?... You led the deuce of Diamonds,\nwhen of course the play, since you had seen the Ace in the dummy, was to\nlead your Queen, forcing the Ace and leaving my King guarded to take a\ntrick later.\"\n\"But Karen didn't have any Diamonds at all,\" Carolyn defended herself.\n\"A secret you weren't in on when you led from your Queen,\" Penny\nreminded her. \"Oh, well! We'll pay up and shut up!\" and she made a\npretense of totting up the score, while Karen, who had risen, stood over\nher like a bird poised for flight.\nAt that instant Dexter Sprague began to advance into the room, Janet\nRaymond at his side, her face flaming.\n\"Behave exactly as you did before!\" Dundee commanded in a harsh whisper.\nNo time for coddling these people now!\nDexter Sprague's face took on a yellower tinge, but he obeyed.\n\"Greetings!\" he called in the jaunty, over-cordial tones of a man who\nknows himself not too welcome. \"Where's Nita--and everybody? Isn't that\nthe cocktail shaker I hear?\"\nHaving received no answer from anyone present, Sprague strolled through\nthe living room and on into the dining room, Janet following. Judge\nMarshall had nodded stiffly, and John C. Drake had muttered the\nsemblance of a greeting.... Were they all overdoing it a bit--this\nreacting of their hostility to the sole remaining outsider of their\ncompact little group?... Dundee stroked his chin thoughtfully.\nBut Penny was saying in her abrupt, husky voice: \"Above the line, 1250;\nbelow the line 720, making a total of 1970 on this hand, Karen.\"\n\"Won't Nita be glad?\" Karen gasped, then began to run totteringly,\ncalling: \"Nita! Nita!\" But in the hall she collapsed, shuddering, crying\nin a child's whimper: \"No, no! I--can't--go in there--again!\"\nIt was Dundee who reached her first--Dundee and not her outraged and\nexcited old husband.\n\"Mrs. Marshall--listen, please,\" he begged in a low voice, as he lifted\nher so that her head rested against his arm. \"You have been\nsplendid--wonderful! Please believe that I am truly sorry to distress\nyou so, and that very soon, I hope, you may go home and rest.\"\n\"I--can't bear any--more,\" Karen whimpered.\nIgnoring Judge Marshall's blustering, Dundee continued softly: \"You\ndon't want the wrong person to be accused of this terrible crime, do\nyou, Mrs. Marshall?... Of course not! And you _do_ want to help us all\nyou can to discover who really killed Mrs. Selim?\"\n\"I--I suppose so,\" Karen conceded, on a sob.\n\"Then I'll help you. I'll go to the bedroom with you,\" Dundee promised\nher with a sigh of relief. To the others he spoke sharply:\n\"Go back to the exact positions in living room and dining room and\nsolarium, that you occupied when Mrs. Marshall ran from the room.\"\n\"I think you're overdoing it, Bonnie,\" Captain Strawn protested.\n\"But--sure I'll see that they mind you.\"\nWith Karen Marshall clinging to his arm, Dundee walked down the hall,\nbeyond the staircase to an open door on his left--a door guarded by a\nlounging plainclothesman. Seated at the dressing-table of the guests'\nlavatory was Flora Miles, her sallow dark face so ravaged that she\nlooked ten years older than when he had first seen her an hour before.\n\"So you were in here when you heard Mrs. Marshall scream, Mrs. Miles?\"\nDundee paused to ask.\n\"Yes--yes!\" she gasped, rising. \"And that horrible man has made me stay\nin here--. Of course, the door was closed--before. I telephoned home to\nask about my children, and then I came in here to--to do my face over--\"\n\"You didn't hear your husband arrive?\"\n\"No,--I didn't hear him arrive,\" Flora Miles faltered, her handkerchief\ndabbing at her trembling, over-rouged lips.\n\"I--see,\" Dundee said slowly.\nHe stepped into the little room, leaving Karen to stand weakly against\nthe door frame. Without a word to Mrs. Miles he looked closely at the\ntop of the dressing-table and into the small wastebasket that stood\nbeside it.\n\"You--you can see that I cold-creamed my face before I put on fresh\npowder and--and rouged,\" Flora Miles pointed out, with an obvious effort\nat offended dignity. \"After I came back, while you were making those\npoor girls play the hand over again, I went through the same\nmotions--because you told all of us to behave exactly as we had done\nbefore--\"\n\"I--see,\" Dundee agreed.\nPretty clever, in spite of being almost frightened to death, Dundee said\nto himself. But he had been just a shade cleverer than she, for he had\nbeen in this room ahead of her, and there had been no balls of greasy\nface tissue in the wastebasket then!\nHe was passing out of the room, offering his arm to Karen, when one of\nhis underlined notes thrust itself upon his memory:\n\"May I see your bridge tally, please, Mrs. Miles?\"\n\"My--bridge tally!\" she echoed blankly. \"Why--it must be on the table\nwhere I was playing--\"\n\"It is not,\" Dundee assured her quietly. \"Perhaps it is in your\nhandbag?\" and he glanced at the rather large raffia bag that lay on the\ntable.\nShe snatched it up, slightly averting her body as she looked hastily\nthrough its contents.\n\"It--isn't here.... Oh, I don't know _where_ it is! What does it\nmatter?\"\nWithout replying, Dundee escorted the trembling little discoverer of\nNita Selim's body into the large ornate bedroom, murmuring as he did so:\n\"Don't be frightened, Mrs. Marshall. The bod--I mean Mrs. Selim isn't\nhere now.... And you shan't have to scream. I'll give the signal myself.\nI just want you to go through the same motions you did before.\" On jerky\nfeet the girl advanced to Nita's now deserted vanity dresser.\n\"I--I was calling to her all the time,\" she whispered. \"I didn't even\nwait to knock, and I--I began to tell her how much we'd made off that\nhand, when I--when she didn't answer.... I didn't touch her, but I\nsaw--I saw--\" Again she gripped her face with her hands and was about to\nscream.\n\"I know,\" Dundee assured her gently. Then he shouted: \"Ready!\"\nHerded by Strawn, the small crowd of men and women came running into the\nroom, Judge Marshall leading the way, Penny being second in line. Penny\n_second_! Why not Flora Miles, who had been nearer to that room than any\nof the others, if her story was true--Dundee asked himself. But all had\ncrowded into the room, including Polly Beale and Clive Hammond, before\nMrs. Miles crept in.\n\"Is this the order of your arrival?\" Dundee asked them all.\nPenny, who was standing against the wall, just inside the doorway, spoke\nup, staring at Flora with frowning intentness.\n\"You're sort of mixed up, aren't you, Flora? I was standing right here\nuntil the worst of it was over--I didn't even go near Nita, and I know\nyou didn't pass me. I remember that Tracey stepped away from the--body,\nand called you, and you weren't here. And then almost the next minute I\nsaw you coming toward him from--from--_over there_!\"\nAnd Penny pointed toward that corner of the room which held, on one\nangle, the door leading to the porch, and on its other angle the window\nfrom which, or from near which Nita Selim had been shot.\n\"You're lying, Penny Crain! I did no such thing!\" Flora Miles cried\nhysterically. \"I came running in--with--with the rest of you, and I\nrushed over there just to see if I could see anybody running away across\nthe meadow--\"\n\"My wife is right, sir,\" Tracey Miles added his word aggressively. \"I\nsaw what she was doing--the most sensible of all of us--and I ran to\njoin her. We looked out of the windows, both the side windows and the\nrear ones, and out onto the porch. But we didn't see anything.\"\nSurprisingly, Dundee abandoned the point.\n\"And you were the only one to touch her, Sprague?\"\n\"I--believe so,\" Dexter Sprague answered in a strained voice. \"I--laid\nmy hand on her--her hair, for an instant, then I picked up her hand to\nsee if--if there was any pulse left.\"\n\"Yes?\"\n\"She--she was dead.\"\n\"And her hand--did it feel cold?\"\n\"Neither cold nor warm--just cool,\" Sprague answered in a voice that was\nnearly strangled with emotion. \"She--she always had cool hands--\"\n\"What did you do, Judge Marshall?\" Dundee asked abruptly.\n\"I took my poor little wife away from this room, laid her on a couch in\nthe living room, and then telephoned the police. Miss Crain stood at my\nelbow, urging me to hurry, so that she might ring you--as she did. Your\nline was busy, and she lost about five minutes before getting you.\"\n\"And the rest of you?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Nothing spectacular, I'm afraid, Mr. Dundee,\" Polly Beale answered in\nher brusque, deep voice, now edged with scorn.\nFurther questioning elicited little more, beyond the fact that Clive\nHammond had dashed out to circle the house and look over the grounds,\nand that John Drake had been fully occupied with an hysterical wife.\n\"Better let this bunch go for the present, hadn't we, boy?\" Captain\nStrawn whispered uneasily. \"Not a thing on any of them--\"\n\"Not quite yet, sir, if you don't mind,\" Dundee answered in a low voice.\n\"Will you take them back into the living room and put them under\nSergeant Turner's charge for a while? Then there are one or two things\nI'd like to talk over with you.\"\nMollified by the younger man's deference and persuasiveness, Strawn\nobeyed the suggestion, to return within five minutes, his grey brows\ndrawn into a frown.\n\"I hope you'll be willing to take full credit for that fool bridge game,\nBonnie,\" he worried. \"_I_ don't want to look a chump in the newspapers!\"\n\"I'll take the blame,\" Dundee assured him, with a grin. \"But that 'fool\nbridge game'--and I admit it was a horrible thing to have to do--told me\na whole bunch of facts that ought to be very, very useful.\"\n\"For instance?\" Strawn growled.\n\"For instance,\" Dundee answered, \"it told me that it took approximately\neight minutes to play out a little slam bid, when ordinarily it would\nhave taken not more than two or three minutes. Not only that, but it\ntold me the names of everyone in _this_ party who could have killed Nita\nSelim, and--. Good Lord! Of course!\"\nAnd to Captain Strawn's amazement Dundee threw open the door of Nita's\nbig clothes closet, jerked on the light, and stooped to the floor.\nCHAPTER SEVEN\nAlmost immediately Special Investigator Dundee rose from his crouching\nposition on the floor of Nita Selim's closet, and faced the chief of the\nHomicide Squad of Hamilton's police force.\n\"I think,\" he said quietly, for all the excitement that burned in his\nblue eyes, \"that we'd better have Mrs. Miles in for a few questions.\"\n\"What have you got there--a dance program?\" Strawn asked curiously, but\nas Dundee continued to stare silently at the thing he held, the older\nman strode to the door and relayed the order to a plainclothes\ndetective.\n\"I sent for _Mrs._ Miles,\" Dundee said coldly, when husband and wife\nappeared together, Flora's thin, tense shoulders encircled by Tracey's\nplump arm.\n\"If you're going to badger my wife further, I intend to be present,\nsir!\" Miles retorted, thrusting out his chest.\n\"Very well!\" Dundee conceded curtly. \"Mrs. Miles, why didn't you tell me\nin the first place that you were _in this room_ when Nita Selim was\nshot?\"\n\"Because I wasn't--in--in the room,\" Flora protested, clinging with both\nthin, big-veined hands to her husband's arm.\n\"Sir, you have no proof of this absurd accusation, and I shall\npersonally take this matter up--\"\n\"I have the best of proof,\" Dundee said quietly, and took his hand from\nhis pocket. \"You recognize this, Mrs. Miles?... You admit that it is the\ntally card you used while playing bridge this afternoon?\"\n\"No, no! It isn't mine!\" Flora cried hysterically, cringing against her\nhusband, who began to protest in a voice falsetto with rage.\nDundee ignored his splutterings. \"May I point out that it is identical\nwith the other tally cards used at Mrs. Selim's party today, and that on\nits face it bears your name, 'Flora'?\" and he politely extended the card\nfor her inspection.\n\"I--yes, it _must_ be mine, but I was _not_ in this room when Nita\nwas--was shot!\"\n\"But you will admit that you _were_ in her clothes closet at some time\nduring the twenty or more minutes that elapsed between your leaving the\nbridge game, when you became dummy, and the moment when Karen Marshall\nscreamed?\"\nAs Flora Miles said nothing, staring at him with great, terrified black\neyes, Dundee went on relentlessly: \"Mrs. Miles, when you left the bridge\ngame, you did not intend to telephone your house. You came _here_--into\nthis room!--and you lay in wait, hiding in her closet until Nita Selim\nappeared, as you knew she would, sooner or later--\"\n\"No, no! That's a lie--a lie, I tell you!\" the woman shrilled at him. \"I\n_did_ telephone my house, and I talked to Junior, when the maid put him\nup to the phone.... You can ask her yourself, if you don't believe me!\"\n\"But _after_ you telephoned, you stole into this room--\"\n\"No, no! I--I made up my face all fresh, just as I told you--\"\nDundee did not bother to tell her how well he knew she was lying, for\nsuddenly something knocked on the door of his mind. He strode to the\ncloset, searched for a moment among the multitude of garments hanging\nthere, then emerged with the brown silk summer coat which Nita Selim had\nworn to Breakaway Inn that noon. Before the terrified woman's eyes he\nthrust a hand first into one deep pocket and then another, finding\nnothing except a handkerchief of fine embroidered linen and a pair of\nbrown suede gauntlet gloves.\n\"Will you let me have the note, please, Mrs. Miles? The note Nita\nreceived during her luncheon party, and which she thrust, before your\neyes, into a pocket of this coat?... It is in your handbag, I am sure,\nsince you have had no opportunity, unobserved, to destroy it.\"\n\"What ghastly nonsense is this, Dundee?\" Tracey Miles demanded\nfuriously.\nBut Dundee again ignored him. His implacable eyes held Flora Miles'\nuntil the woman broke suddenly, piteously. She fumbled in the raffia bag\nwhich had been hanging from her arm.\n\"Good God, Flora! What does it all mean?\" Tracey Miles collapsed like a\npricked pink balloon. \"That's _my_ stationery--one of my business\nenvelopes--\"\nFlora Miles dropped the bag which she need no longer watch and clutch\nwith terror, as she dug her thin fingers into her husband's shoulders\nand looked down at his puzzled face, for she was a little taller than\nhe.\n\"Forgive me, darling! Oh, I knew God would punish me for being jealous!\nI thought _you_ were writing love letters to--to that woman--\"\nDundee did not miss the slightest significance of that scene as he\nretrieved the blue-grey envelope she had dropped. It was inscribed, in a\ncurious handwriting: \"Mrs. Selim, Private Dining Room, Breakaway Inn.\"\n\"Let's see, boy,\" Strawn said, with respect in his harsh voice.\nDundee withdrew the single sheet of business stationery, and obligingly\nheld it so that the chief of detectives could read it also.\n\"Nita, my sweet,\" the note began, without date-line, \"Forgive your bad\nboy for last night's row, but I _must_ warn you again to watch your\nstep. You've already gone too far. Of course I love you and understand,\n_but_--Be good, Baby, and you won't be sorry.\"\nThe note was signed \"Dexy.\"\nDundee tapped the note for a long minute, while Tracey Miles continued\nto console his wife. A new avenue, he thought--perhaps a long, long\navenue....\n\"Mrs. Miles,\" he began abruptly, and the tear-streaked face turned\ntoward him. \"You say you thought this letter to Mrs. Selim had been\nwritten by your husband?\"\n\"Yes!\" She gasped. \"I'm jealous-natured. I admit it, and when I saw one\nof our own--I mean, one of Tracey's business envelopes--\"\n\"You made up your mind to steal it and read it?\"\n\"Yes, I did! A wife has a right to know what her husband's doing, if\nit's anything--like that--\" Her haggard black eyes again implored her\nhusband for forgiveness, before she went on: \"I _did_ slip into Nita's\nroom and go into her closet to see if she had left the letter in her\ncoat pocket. I closed the door on myself, thinking I could find the\nlight cord, but it was caught in one of the dresses or something, and it\ntook me a long time to find it in the dark of the closet, but I did find\nit at last, and was just reading the note--\"\n\"You _read_ it, even after you saw that the handwriting on the envelope\nwasn't your husband's?\" Dundee queried in assumed amazement.\nFlora's thin body sagged. \"I--I thought maybe Tracey had disguised his\nHandwriting.... So I read it, and saw it was from Dexter--\"\n\"Mr. Miles, do you know how some of your business stationery got into\nSprague's hands?\"\n\"He's had plenty of opportunity to filch stationery or almost anything\nhe wants, hanging around my offices, as he does--an idler--\"\nBut Dundee was in a hurry. He wheeled from the garrulity of the husband\nto the tense terror of the wife.\n\"Mrs. Miles, I want you to tell me exactly what you know, unless you\nprefer to consult a lawyer first--\"\n\"Sir, if you are insinuating that _my wife_--\"\n\"Oh, let me tell him, Tracey,\" Mrs. Miles capitulated suddenly,\ncompletely. \"I _was_ in the closet when Nita was killed, I suppose, but\nI didn't _know_ she was being killed! _Because I was lying in there on\nthe closet floor in a dead faint!_\"\nDundee stared at the woman incredulously, then suppressed a groan of\nalmost unbearable disappointment. If Flora Miles was telling the truth,\nhere went a-flying his only eye-witness, probably, or rather, his only\near-witness.\n\"Just when did you faint, Mrs. Miles?\" he asked, struggling for\npatience. \"Before or after Nita came into this room?\"\n\"I was just finishing the note, with the light on in the closet, and the\ndoor shut, when I heard Nita come into the room. I knew it was Nita\nbecause she was singing one of those Broadway songs she is--was--so\ncrazy about. I jerked off the light, and crouched way back in a corner\nof the closet. A velvet evening wrap fell down over my head, and I was\nnearly smothering, but I was afraid to try to dislodge it for fear a\nhanger would fall to the floor and make an awful clatter. And then--and\nthen--\" She shuddered, and clung to her husband.\n\"What caused you to faint, Mrs. Miles?\"\n\"Sir, my wife has heart trouble--\"\n\"What did you hear, Mrs. Miles?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"I couldn't hear very well, all tangled up in the coat and 'way back in\nthe closet, but I did hear a kind of bang or bump--no, no, not a pistol\nshot!--and because it came from so near me I thought it was Nita or\nLydia coming to get something out of the closet, and I'd be discovered,\nso I--I fainted--\" She drew a deep breath and went on: \"When I came to I\nheard Karen scream, and then people running in--. But all the time that\nawful tune was going on and on--\"\n\"Tune?\" Dundee gasped. \"Do you mean--Nita Selim's--_song_?\"\nFlora Miles seemed to be dazed by Dundee's vehement question.\n\"Why, yes--Nita's own tune. That's what she called it--her own tune--\"\n\"But, Mrs. Miles,\" Dundee protested, ashamed that his scalp was\nprickling with horror, \"do you mean to tell me that Nita was not dead\n_then_--when Karen Marshall screamed?\"\n\"Dead?\" Flora repeated, more bewildered. \"Of course she was, or at\nleast, they all said so--. Oh, I know what you mean! And you don't mean\nwhat I mean at all--\"\n\"Steady, honey-girl!\" Tracey Miles urged, putting his arm about his\nwife. \"I'd better tell you, Dundee.... When we all came running into the\nroom, there was Nita's powder box playing its tune over and over--\"\n\"Oh!\" Dundee wiped his forehead. \"You mean it's a musical box?\"\n\"Yes, and plays when the lid is off,\" Tracey answered, obviously\ndelighted to have the limelight again. \"Well, of course, since Nita\ncouldn't put the lid back on, it was still playing.... What was the\ntune, honey?\" he asked his wife tenderly. \"I haven't much ear for music\nat best, but at a time like that--\"\n\"It was playing _Juanita_,\" Flora answered wearily. \"Over and\nover--_'Nita, Jua-a-n-ita, be my own fair bride_',\" she quavered\nobligingly. \"Only not the words, of course, just the tune. That's why\nNita bought the box, I suppose, because it played her namesake song--\"\n\"Maybe one of her beaus gave it to her,\" Tracey suggested lightly,\npatting his wife's trembling shoulder. \"Anyway, Dundee, the thing ran on\nand on, until it ran down, I suppose. I confess I wanted to put the lid\nback on, to stop the damned thing, but Hugo said we mustn't touch\nanything--\"\n\"And quite right!\" Dundee cut in. \"Now, Mrs. Miles, about that noise you\nheard.... Did you hear anyone enter the room?... No?... Well, then, did\nyou hear Nita speak to anyone? You said you thought it might be Lydia,\ncoming to get something out of the closet.\"\n\"I didn't hear Nita speak a word to anybody, though she might have and I\nwouldn't have heard, all muffled up in that velvet evening wrap and so\nfar back in the closet--\"\n\"Did you hear the door onto the porch--it's _quite_ near the closet--\"\n\"The door was open when we came in, Dundee,\" Tracey interposed. \"It must\nhave been open all the time.\"\n\"I didn't hear it open,\" Mrs. Miles confirmed him wearily. \"I tell you I\ndidn't hear _anything_, except Nita's coming in singing, then the powder\nbox playing its tune, and that bang or bump I told you about.\"\n\"And just where was that?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"_I don't know!_\" she shrilled, hysteria rising in her voice again. \"I\ntold you it sounded fairly near the closet, as if--as if somebody bumped\ninto something. That's what it was like! That's exactly what it was\nlike. And I was so frightened of being found in the closet that I\nfainted, and didn't come to until Karen screamed--\"\nShe was babbling on, but Dundee was thinking hard. A very convenient\nfaint--that! For the murderer, at least! But--why not for Mrs. Miles\nherself? Odd that she should _faint_! Why hadn't she trumped up some\nexcuse immediately and left the closet as Nita was entering the room?\nWas it, possibly, because she could think of nothing but the great\nrelief of finding that it was Sprague, not her husband, who had been\nwriting love letters to Nita Selim?... A jealous woman--\n\"Miles,\" he began abruptly, \"I think you'd better tell me how your wife\nbecame so jealous of you and Nita Selim that she could get herself into\nsuch a false position.\"\nTracey Miles reddened, but a gesture of one of his sunburned hands\nrestrained his wife's passionate defense of him. \"It's the truth that\nFlora is jealous-natured. And I suppose--\" he faltered a moment, and his\neyes did not meet his wife's, \"--that I liked seeing her a little bit\njealous of her old man. Sort of makes a man feel--well, big, you know.\nAnd pretty important to somebody!\"\n\"So you were just having a bit of fun with your wife, so far as Mrs.\nSelim was concerned?\" Dundee asked coldly.\nThe blood flowed through the thinning blond hair. \"We-el, not exactly,\"\nhe admitted frankly. \"You see, I _did_ take a shine to Nita, and if I do\nsay so myself, she liked me a lot.... Oh, nothing serious! Just a little\nflirtation, like most of our crowd have with each other--\"\n\"Mrs. Miles,\" Dundee interrupted with sudden harshness, \"are you _sure_\nyou did not know that that letter was from Dexter Sprague before you\nlooked for it?\"\n\"Sir, if you are insinuating that _my wife_ carried on a flirtation\nor--an--an _affair_ with that Sprague insect--\" Tracey began to bluster.\nBut Dundee's eyes were on Flora Miles, and he saw that her sallow skin\nhad tightened like greyish silk over her thin cheek bones, and that her\neyes looked suddenly dead and glassy.\n\"You _fainted_, you say, Mrs. Miles,\" Dundee went on inexorably. \"Was it\nbecause, by any chance, this note--\" and he tapped the sheet which had\ncaused so much trouble--\"revealed the fact that Nita Selim and Dexter\nSprague were sweethearts or--lovers?\"\nIt was a battle between those two now. Both ignored Tracey's red-faced\nrage.\nFlora licked her dry lips. \"No--no,\" she whispered. \"_No!_ It was\nbecause I was jealous of Tracey and Nita--\"\n\"Yes, and I'd given her cause to be jealous, too!\" Tracey forced himself\ninto the conversation. \"One night, at the Country Club, Flora saw me and\nNita stroll off the porch and down onto the grounds, and she had a right\nto be sore at me when I got back, because I'd cut a dance with her--my\nown wife!... And it was only this very morning that I made a point of\ndriving--out of my way too--by this house to see Nita. Not that I meant\nany harm, but I was being a little silly about her--and she was about\nme, too! Not that I'd leave my wife and babies for any Broadway beauty\nunder the sun--\"\n\"Oh, Tracey! And you weren't going to tell me--\" Was there _real_\njealousy now, or just pretense on Flora's part?\n\"You understand, don't you, Dundee?\" Tracey demanded, man to man. \"I was\njust having a little fun on the side--nothing serious, mind you! But of\ncourse I didn't tell Flora every little thing--. No man does! There've\nbeen other girls--other women--\"\n\"Tracey isn't worse than the other men!\" Flora flamed up. \"He's such a\ndarling that all the girls pet him, and spoil him--\"\nDundee could stand no more of Miles' complacent acceptance of his own\nrakishness. And certainly a girl like Nita Selim would have been able to\nbear precious little of it.... Conceited ass! But Flora Miles was\nanother matter--and so was Dexter Sprague!\n\"You can join me in the living room, if you like,\" Dundee said shortly,\nas he wheeled and strode toward the door. Was that quick, passionate\nkiss between husband and wife being staged for his benefit?\n\"Pretty near through, boy?\" Strawn, who had been silent and bewildered\nfor a long time, asked anxiously, as the two detectives passed into the\nhall.\n\"Not quite. I've got to know several things yet,\" Dundee answered\nabsently.\nBut in the living room his mind was wholly upon the business in hand.\n\"I'll keep you all no longer than is absolutely necessary,\" he began,\nand again the close-knit group--in which only Dexter Sprague was an\nalien--grew taut with suspense. \"From the playing out of the 'death\nhand' at bridge,\" he went on, using the objectionable phrase again very\ndeliberately, \"I found that no two of you men arrived together.... Mr.\nHammond, you were the first to arrive, I believe?\"\n\"It seems that I was!\" Clive Hammond answered curtly.\n\"And yet you did not enter the living room to greet your hostess?\"\n\"I wanted a private word with Polly--Miss Beale--my fianc\u00e9e,\" Hammond\nexplained briefly.\n\"How and when did you arrive?\"\n\"I don't know the exact time. Never thought of looking at my watch,\"\nHammond offered. \"I came out in my own roadster--that tan Stutz you may\nhave noticed in the driveway. As for how I entered the house, I leaped\nupon the porch and opened a door of the solarium. I walked across the\nsolarium, saw Polly just finishing with bridge for the afternoon, and\nbeckoned to her. She joined me in the solarium, and we stayed there\nuntil Karen screamed.... That's all.\"\n\"Have you been engaged long, Mr. Hammond--you and Miss Beale?\" Dundee\nasked, as if quite casually.\n\"Nearly a year,--if it's any of your business, Dundee!\"\n\"And just when had you seen Miss Beale last, before late this\nafternoon?\" Dundee asked.\n\"I refuse to answer!\" Hammond flared. \"That at least is none of your\ndamned business!\"\n\"I believe I can answer my own question, Mr. Hammond,\" Dundee said very\nsoftly.\nCHAPTER EIGHT\n\"Then why ask me?\" Hammond shrugged, but his eyes flickered toward Polly\nBeale.\n\"I thought perhaps you could give me a little additional information,\"\nDundee soothed him. \"You see, it happens that I saw you, Miss Beale and\nanother young man come into the Stuart House dining room about half past\none today, just when I was thinking of lunch for myself.\"\n\"The mysterious 'other young man' was Clive's brother, Ralph Hammond,\"\nPolly Beale cut in brusquely.\n\"Your decision to lunch with your fianc\u00e9 and his brother was quite a\nsudden one?\" Dundee asked courteously. \"Just when did you change your\nmind about Mrs. Selim's luncheon party at Breakaway Inn, Miss Beale?\"\nThe tall girl threw up her mannishly cropped, chestnut head. \"There is\nnothing at all sinister or even queer about it, Mr. Dundee! I was on my\nway to the luncheon, when I decided to drive past Nita's house, on the\nchance that she might like me to drive her over.\"\n\"Then you didn't know that Mrs. Dunlap had already arranged to meet Mrs.\nSelim downtown this morning and to take her to the Inn?\" Dundee asked.\n\"No! I didn't hear of the arrangement,\" Polly answered decidedly.\n\"You were a close friend of Mrs. Selim's perhaps?\" Dundee prodded.\n\"Not at all! But that would not keep me from doing my hostess a\ncourtesy.... She hated her Ford and liked expensive cars,\" Polly added\nunemotionally. \"It was about a quarter to one when I got here, I should\nsay. Nita wasn't here, nor was her maid, but I saw Ralph's car parked in\nfront of the house--\"\n\"_Ralph Hammond's car?_\" a woman squealed, but Dundee let Polly\ncontinue.\n\"I rang and he answered the door. Said he was alone in the house, going\nover the premises at Judge Marshall's request,\" Polly said evenly.\n\"That's right--that's right!\" Judge Marshall agreed hastily. \"Nita--Mrs.\nSelim--wanted the unfinished half of the gabled top story finished up.\nWanted a maid's room and bath, and a guest room and bath added to the\nliving quarters already completed. I gave the commission, for an\nestimate, at least, to the Hammond firm, since they had built the house\noriginally for Crain--Penny's father.\"\n\"I see,\" Dundee agreed. \"And you sent your brother, Mr. Hammond?\"\n\"He was the natural one to send,\" Clive Hammond retorted. \"Small job.\nAll he had to do was to get together an estimate on additional furnace\nlines and radiators, electric wiring, plumbing, plastering, etc.\"\n\"Go on, Miss Beale,\" Dundee directed.\n\"Thanks!\" There was sarcasm in her brusque voice. \"But that's really\nabout all I have to tell. Ralph complained that he was hungry and\ncharged me with giving him too little of my time--the usual thing. I\npicked up Nita's phone, called Clive and made the date for the three of\nus. Then I called Breakaway Inn, cancelled the luncheon part of the\nbridge party with Nita, and Ralph and I drove back to Hamilton.\"\nDundee studied her strong, clever, almost plain face for a long minute.\nCertainly Polly Beale did not look like a liar--but he would have taken\nhis oath that she was lying now. Or rather not revealing the whole truth\nbehind the actual facts of her movements that day. For instance, could a\nsimple plea of her future brother-in-law make her do so discourteous a\nthing as to break a luncheon appointment, especially when such a course\nwould not only disappoint her hostess and her friends but disarrange the\nseating plan of a rather formal party?\nOf course the explanation was obvious. She had wanted, first, to see\nNita and remonstrate privately with her for having so enslaved Ralph\nHammond, when he was tacitly known to \"belong\" to Penny Crain--one of\nthe sacred crowd. Failing that, she had found Ralph himself, and had not\nexpected to find him; had talked with him about Nita, and had quarreled\na bit with him, perhaps, over his love-sodden behavior. And the crisis\nhad become so acute that Polly had arbitrarily called upon Clive Hammond\nand then had forced Ralph to accompany her.\n\"Do you know, Miss Beale, why Ralph Hammond did not keep _his_\nengagement with Mrs. Selim this afternoon? Or rather, his promise to\nappear for cocktails and to be Miss Crain's partner for the rest of the\nevening--dinner and dancing at the Country Club?\"\n\"I do not!\" Polly said crisply.\n\"Hammond?\"\n\"Neither do I,\" Hammond retorted angrily.\n\"Then it was not to discuss Ralph Hammond and his--affairs, that you\nbeckoned Miss Beale to meet you in the solarium upon your arrival?\"\n\"It--_was not_!\"\nA shade too much anger and emphasis, Dundee decided. And he wished\nheartily that Strawn's detectives would not delay much longer in\nbringing the missing young man into this already involved examination.\n\"You say that you both were in the solarium from the time of your\narrival, Hammond, until Mrs. Marshall screamed,\" Dundee continued. \"Just\nwhat did you see and hear?\"\nDundee watched their faces keenly, but again they were well-bred,\nexpressionless. It was Polly Beale who answered: \"Naturally there was\nnot absolute silence, but I am afraid we were not listening. We were\nrather engrossed in our conversation. We were seated--near no\nwindows--and I for one _saw_ nothing, as well as heard nothing that I\ncan recall.\"\n\"Hammond?\"\n\"That goes for me, too--absolutely!\"\nAbruptly abandoning the engaged couple, Dundee returned to Miles. \"You\nwere the second arrival, then?\"\n\"Yes. I parked my car along the curb in front of the house,\" Tracey\nanswered readily. \"And I came right on in, and Nita jumped up--\"\n\"Yes. We've had all that twice before,\" Dundee interrupted cruelly.\n\"Now, Judge Marshall--\"\n\"One of my friends gave me a lift from town,\" Judge Marshall volunteered\npompously. \"Chap named Sampson. You may have heard of him--fine fellow,\nsplendid lawyer. We played billiards together at the Athletic Club, and\nwhen I was about to call a taxi--my wife having the car here--he offered\nto drop me here on his way to the Country Club.... N-no, I don't\nremember the exact time, did not consult my watch.\"\n\"You came directly from the road into the house, Judge Marshall?\"\n\"Certainly, sir!\"\n\"Did you--er, see anyone?\"\n\"You mean, sir, did anyone see _me_?\" Judge Marshall demanded with\npompous indignation. \"No, no one, sir! If my word is not good enough for\nyou, you can think what you damned please!\"\n\"I think we are all getting a little too tired, Mr. Dundee,\" Penny Crain\nsuggested, almost humble in her weariness.\n\"I'm truly sorry,\" the young detective apologized. \"But I can't leave\nthings like this ... Mr. Drake, you have said you walked over from the\nCountry Club. You must have approached the house from the driveway side,\nthe side of the house which contains Mrs. Selim's bedroom.... Is that\nright?\"\n\"More or less, except that I skirted the house rather widely and arrived\nfrom the road, stepping upon the front porch, and walking directly into\nthe hall. I saw no one outside or near the house when I arrived,\" Drake\nanswered, with less than his usual nastiness.\n\"And saw no one running away across the meadows?\" Dundee pressed.\n\"No one at all,\" Drake retorted. \"I wish to God I could truthfully say\nthat I saw a gunman, with a mask and a smoking revolver, skulking\nthrough the wildflowers, but the absolute truth is that I saw no one.\"\n\"Thank you, Mr. Drake.... Now--Mr. Sprague, 'of New York'!\"\nSprague's nervously twitching face reddened darkly. \"I--I took a bus. I\nhave no car of my own. I got off the bus on Sheridan Road, at the\nentrance to Primrose Meadows.\"\n\"I see. And you walked the quarter of a mile to this house?\"\nSprague's hand fumbled with his cravat. \"I--of course I did!\"\n\"I see.... Now, Miss Raymond,\" Dundee pounced unexpectedly, so that the\nred-haired girl went very white beneath her freckles, \"you observed Mr.\nSprague toiling down the rutty road, hot and weary, but romantic in the\nsunset?\"\nMrs. Drake let out a nervous giggle, then clapped her hand over her\nmouth.\n\"I--I wasn't looking that way,\" Janet Raymond stammered. \"I--I just went\nout on the porch for a breath of fresh air--\"\n\"And you were _completely_ surprised when Mr. Sprague came walking up\nthe flagstone path?\" Dundee persisted, for he knew she was lying, knew\nthat she had stationed herself there to watch for Sprague.\n\"I--yes, I was! He stopped and talked for a while, before we came in and\njoined Tracey and Lois in the dining room, where Tracey was mixing\ncocktails.... But,\" she flared suddenly, \"I don't see why you have to\nbadger all of us, when it _must_ have been Lydia, the maid, who killed\nNita, because--\"\n\"Oh, Janet! Shame on you!\" Penny cried furiously.\n\"Where is the maid now, Captain Strawn?\" Dundee asked. \"I haven't seen\nher yet--\"\n\"Because she's in her room in the basement, Bonnie,\" Strawn answered.\n\"Sort of forgot about her, didn't you?\" and he chuckled at the younger\nman's discomfiture. \"But _I_ got her story out of her, you bet! Nothing\nto it, though. One of my boys--Collins, it was--found her in that short,\ndark hall that runs between the Selim woman's bedroom and the kitchen.\nSicker'n a pup she was; it was a mess. Said she'd--\"\n\"I'd better have her up and question her, if she's well enough,\" Dundee\ninterrupted, as tactfully as possible. \"It seems that she had an\nabscessed tooth out today, with gas and a local anesthetic.... Now, Miss\nRaymond, will you tell me exactly what you meant by saying it must have\nbeen Lydia who killed her mistress?\"\n\"I certainly will!\" the red-haired girl cried defiantly. \"What I can't\nsee is why Tracey and Lois and Dex--Mr. Sprague--didn't think of it,\ntoo. It's as plain as--\"\n\"Yes, as the nose on my face,\" Dundee cut in grimly, but with a glance\nat Strawn. \"Just stick to the facts, however, Miss Raymond, and maybe we\ncan all agree with you.\"\n\"Well, when Mr. Sprague and I went into the dining room, there were Lois\nand Tracey cutting up like a couple of children,\" Janet began,\ndetermined to take her time. \"When they saw us, Lois said: 'Good Lord,\nTracey! Get busy! Or your job as bartender will be taken away from you,'\nand Tracey began to shake cocktails at the sideboard--\"\n\"Guess I'd better tell it, Janet, for what it's worth,\" Lois cut in\nimpatiently. \"It's nothing more nor less than that I had to ring twice\nfor poor Lydia before she came,\" she explained to Dundee. \"Tracey is\nfull of original ideas about cocktails, and wanted some sort of bitters.\nHe was going to shout for Lydia, but I stepped on the button under the\ndining table, and the poor thing--in the basement nursing her jaw,\nprobably--didn't hear. Tracey and I got to kidding, as Janet says, and\nhad scarcely noticed how long Lydia was in coming. I rang again, and she\ncame.... That's all!\"\n\"That isn't all!\" Janet denied angrily. \"I was there when Lydia came\nin, and she was looking white as a ghost--except for her swollen jaw.\nWhat's more, she acted so dumb Tracey had to tell her twice what he\nwanted.... And then she said Nita didn't have any of those bitters\nanyway.\"\n\"An open-and-shut case against poor Lydia!\" Penny Crain broke in\nderisively. \"Go pluck daisies, Janet! You'd be of a lot more help!\"\n\"Here's your maid, Bonnie,\" Captain Strawn announced lazily, as one of\nhis plainclothesmen appeared in the arch between dining and living room,\ndragging by the hand a woman who was resisting strangely, her apron\npressed to her face.\n\"You are Lydia?\" Dundee asked, his voice kinder than it had been for\nmany minutes. \"Oh, it's Lydia Carr, Captain Strawn? Thank you.... Don't\nbe afraid. And I'm sorry about the tooth.... Come along in. I'll not\nkeep you long.\"\nThe woman's knees seemed about to fail her, but with a sudden effort she\nreleased the detective's grip on her wrist. Very tall she was, very bony\nin her black cotton dress. Pathetic, too, with her thin, iron-grey hair,\nand that apron concealing the left half of her face. It was odd, Dundee\nthought, that it was not the swollen jaw she chose to cover.\nMrs. Dunlap sprang to her feet and hurried across the room.\n\"Don't mind, Lydia, please. You must not be so sensitive,\" she said\ngently, and even more gently pulled down the concealing apron....\n\"Good God!\" Dundee breathed, and Strawn nodded his understanding of the\nyounger man's horror.\nFor the left half of Lydia Carr's face was drawn and puckered and ridged\nalmost out of human semblance. Even the eye was ruined--a milky ball\nwhich the puckered, hairless eyelid could never cover again.\n\"Poor Lydia is ashamed of her scarred face,\" Lois Dunlap explained, her\narm still about the maid's shoulder. \"She isn't quite used to it yet,\nbut none of _us_ mind--\"\n\"You were burned recently, Lydia?\" Dundee asked pityingly.\n\"That's my business!\" the woman astounded him by retorting harshly.\n\"How did it happen, Lydia?\" Dundee persisted, puzzled.\n\"I had an accident. It was my own fault.\"\nLois Dunlap's kind grey eyes caught and held Dundee's firmly. \"I think,\nif Nita could speak to you now, Mr. Dundee, that she would beg you not\nto try to force Lydia's confidence on this subject. Nita was devoted to\nLydia--we can all testify to that!--and one of the sweetest things about\nher was her constant effort to protect Lydia from questions and curious\nglances. I, for one, know that Nita often begged Lydia to submit to a\nskin-grafting operation, regardless of expense--\"\nWhen that kind voice choked on tears, Dundee abruptly abandoned his\nintention to press the matter further.\n\"Lydia, your mistress had been married, or was still married, wasn't\nshe?\"\nThe woman's single, slate-grey eye stared into his expressionlessly.\n\"She had 'Mrs.' in front of her name, to use when she felt like it.\nThat's all I know. I never saw her husband--if she had one. I only\nworked for her about five years.\"\n\"You say she used her married name 'when she felt like it....' What do\nyou mean by that, Lydia?\"\n\"I mean she was an actress, and used her stage name--Juanita\nLeigh--pronounced like it was spelled plain 'Lee'; but she was mostly\ncalled 'Nita Leigh'.\"\n\"An actress, you say?\" Dundee repeated thoughtfully. \"I had heard of her\nonly as director of the Forsyte School plays.... What shows was she in?\"\n\"She was what they call a specialty dancer in musical comedy,\" Lydia\nanswered. \"Sometimes she had a real part and sometimes she only danced.\nShe was a good hoofer and a good trouper,\" she added, the Broadway terms\nfalling strangely from those austere lips. \"And when she wasn't in a\nshow she sometimes got a job in the pictures. She never had a real\nchance in the movies, though, because they mostly wanted her to double\nfor the star in long shots, where dancing comes into the picture, or in\nclose-ups where they just show the legs, you know.\"\n\"I see,\" Dundee agreed gravely. \"Where were you during the fifteen\nminutes or so before your mistress was shot, Lydia?\"\n\"I was down in my room in the basement,\" the woman answered. \"Nita--I\nmean Miss Nita was going to get Judge Marshall to build me a room on the\ntop floor. She hated for me to have to sleep in the basement, but I\ndidn't mind.\"\n\"You were not required to be on duty for the party?\"\n\"No,\" she answered in her harsh, flat voice. \"I'd fixed the sandwiches\nand put out the liquors for the cocktails--set them all out on the\ndining table and sideboard, and Miss Nita had told me to go and lie down\nas soon as I was through. So I did. I had an abscessed tooth pulled this\nmorning, and I was feeling sick.\"\n\"Did you hear the kitchen bell at all?\" Dundee went on.\n\"I dropped off to sleep--that fool dentist had shot me full of dope--but\nI did hear the bell and I come up to answer it. Mrs. Dunlap said she'd\nrung twice, and I said I was sorry--\"\n\"Lydia, did you go into your mistress' bedroom before or after you\nanswered that bell?\" Dundee asked with sudden sharpness.\n\"I did not! I didn't even know she was in her bedroom, until I saw her\nsitting at her dressing-table--dead.\" The harsh voice hesitated over the\nlast word, but it did not break.\n\"And just when did you first see her--after she was dead?\"\n\"I went into the kitchen, thinking something else might be needed. Then\nI heard a scream. It sounded like it come from Nita's--Miss Nita's\nbedroom, and I run along the back hall that leads from the kitchen to\nher bedroom. I heard a lot of people running and yelling. Nobody paid\nany attention to me.\"\n\"You came into the room?\"\n\"No, sir, I did not. I stopped in the doorway. I heard Mr. Sprague say\nshe was dead. I was sick and dizzy anyway, and I couldn't move for a\nminute. I sort of slipped down to the floor, and I guess I must have\npassed out. And then I was sick to my stomach, and--I didn't seem to\ncare if I never moved again.\"\n\"Why, Lydia?\" Dundee asked gently.\n\"Because she was the only friend I had in the world, and I couldn't have\nloved her better if she'd been my own child,\" Lydia answered. And the\nstern voice had broken at last. \"I was still there in the back hall when\na cop come and asked me a lot of questions, and then that man--\" she\npointed to Captain Strawn, \"--said I could go and lay down. He helped me\ndown the basement stairs.\"\nDundee tapped his teeth with the long pencil he had kept so busy that\nevening--tapped them long and thoughtfully. Then:\n\"Lydia, did you see anyone--_anyone at all!_--from your basement room\nwindow before you answered Mrs. Dunlap's ring?\"\nCHAPTER NINE\nFor the first time during the difficult interview Dundee was sure that\nLydia Carr was lying. For a fraction of a second her single eye wavered,\nthe lid flickered, then came her harsh, flat denial:\n\"I didn't see nobody.\"\n\"I presume your basement room has a window looking out upon the back\ngarden?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"Yes, it has, but I didn't waste no time looking out of it,\" Lydia\nanswered grimly. \"I was laying down, with an ice cap against my jaw.\"\nShe _had_ seen someone, Dundee told himself. But the truth would be\nharder to extract from that stern, scar-twisted mouth, than the\nabscessed tooth had been.\nFinally, when her lone eye did not again waver under his steady gaze, he\ndismissed her, or rather, returned her to Captain Strawn's custody.\n\"Well, Janet, I hope you're satisfied!\" Penny Crain said bitingly, as\nshe dashed unashamed tears from her brown eyes. \"If ever a maid was\nabsolutely crazy about her mistress--\"\n\"I'm _not_ satisfied!\" Janet Raymond retorted furiously. \"She's just the\nsort that would harbor a grudge for _years_, and then, all hopped up\nwith dope--\"\n\"Stop it, Janet!\" Lois Dunlap commanded with a curtness that set oddly\nupon her kind, pleasant face.\n\"Listen here, Dundee,\" Tracey Miles broke in, almost humbly. \"My wife is\ngetting pretty anxious about the kiddies. The nurse quit on us\nyesterday, and--\"\n\"And _my_ little wife is worrying herself sick over our boy--just three\nmonths old,\" Judge Marshall joined the protest. \"I'm all for assisting\njustice, sir, having served on the bench myself, as you doubtless know,\nbut--\"\n\"I'm all right, really, Hugo,\" Karen Marshall faltered.\n\"Please be patient a little longer,\" Dundee urged apologetically. After\nall, only one of these people could be guilty of Nita Selim's murder,\nand it _was_ beastly to have to hold them like this.... _But one was\nguilty!_\n\"You knew Mrs. Selim in New York, Sprague?\" he asked, whirling suddenly\nupon the man with the Broadway stamp.\n\"I met Nita Leigh, as I always heard her called, when I was assistant\ndirector in the Altamont Studios, out on Long Island,\" Sprague answered,\nhis black eyes trying to meet Dundee's with an air of complete\nfrankness. \"Wonderful little girl, and a great dancer ... Screened\ndamned well, too. I had hoped to give her a break some day, at something\nbetter than doubling for stars who can't dance. But it happened that\nNita, who never forgot even a casual friend, had a chance to give me a\nleg up herself--a chance to show what I can really do with a camera.\"\n\"I knew I'd seen your name somewhere!\" Dundee exclaimed. \"So you're the\nman the Chamber of Commerce is dickering with.... Going to make a movie\nof the founding, growth and beauties of the city of Hamilton, aren't\nyou?\"\n\"If I get the contract--yes,\" Sprague answered with palpably assumed\nmodesty. \"My plans, naturally, call for a great deal of research work, a\nlarge expenditure of money, a very careful selection of 'stars'--\"\n\"I see,\" Dundee interrupted. Then his tone changed, became slow and\nmenacing in its terrible emphasis: \"_And you really couldn't let even a\ngood friend like Nita Selim upset those fine plans of yours, could you,\nSprague?_\"\nEven as he put the sinister question, the detective was exulting to\nhimself: \"Light at last! Now I know why this Broadway bounder was\nreceived into an exclusive crowd like this! Every last female in the\nbunch hoped to be the star of Sprague's motion picture!\"\n\"I don't know what you're driving at, Dundee!\" Sprague was on his feet,\nhis black eyes blazing out of a chalky face. \"If you're accusing me\nof--of--\"\n\"Of killing Nita Selim?\" Dundee asked lazily. \"Oh, no! Not--yet,\nSprague! I was just remembering a rather puzzling note of yours I\nhappened to read this afternoon.... That note you sent by special\nmessenger to Breakaway Inn this noon, you know.\"\nHe had little interest for the sudden crumpling of Dexter Sprague into\nthe chair from which he had risen. Instead, as Dundee drew the note from\nhis coat pocket, his eyes swept around the room, noted the undisguised\nrelief on every face, the almost ghoulish satisfaction with which that\nclose-knit group of friends seized upon an outsider as the probable\nmurderer of that other outsider whom they had rashly taken into their\nsacred circle. Even Penny Crain, thorny little stickler for fair play\nthat she was, relaxed with a tremulous sigh.\n\"You admit that this note, signed by what I take to be your 'pet name,'\nwas written by your hand, Sprague?\" Dundee asked matter-of-factly, as he\nextended the sheet of bluish notepaper.\n\"I--no--yes, I wrote it,\" Sprague faltered. \"But it doesn't mean a\nthing--not a damned thing! Just a little private matter between Nita and\nmyself--\"\n\"Rather queer wording for an unimportant message, Sprague,\" Dundee\ninterrupted. \"Let me refresh your memory: 'Nita, my sweet,'\" he began to\nread slowly, \"'Forgive your bad boy for last night's row, but I _must_\nwarn you again to watch your step. You've already gone too far. Of\ncourse I love you and understand, _but_--Be good, Baby, _and you won't\nbe sorry_!--Dexy....' Well, Sprague?\"\nSprague wiped his perspiring hands on his handkerchief. \"I know it\nsounds--odd, under the circumstances,\" he admitted desperately, \"but\nlisten, Dundee, and I'll try to make that damned note as clear as\npossible to a man who doesn't know his Broadway.... Why, man, it isn't\neven a love letter! Everybody on Broadway talks and writes to each other\nlike that, without meaning a thing!... As I told you, Nita Leigh, or\nMrs. Selim, remembered some little kindnesses I had done her on the\nAltamont lot, when they got her to take up that Little Theater work Mrs.\nDunlap is interested in, and found that the Chamber of Commerce was\ninterested in putting Hamilton into the movies, in a big booster\ncampaign. She wired me and I thought it looked good enough to drop\neverything and come.... Of course Nita and I got to be closer friends,\nbut I swear to God we were just friends--\"\n\"And what was the 'friendly' row about last night, Sprague?\"\n\"There wasn't a row, really,\" Sprague protested with desperate\nearnestness. \"It was merely that Nita insisted on my casting her for the\nheroine of the movie--a thing I knew would alienate the whole crowd\nthat's been so kind to us--\"\n\"Why--since she was a professional actress?\" Dundee demanded.\n\"Because she isn't a Hamilton girl, of course, and the Chamber of\nCommerce wants the cast to be all local talent,\" Sprague answered,\nlapsing unconsciously into the present tense.\n\"And just what were you warning her against?\"\n\"I'd told her before to watch her step,\" Sprague went on more easily.\n\"You see, Dundee, Nita Leigh is--was--a first-class little vamp, and I\ncould see she was playing her cards with the men here--\" he indicated\nfour of Hamilton's most prominent Chamber of Commerce members with a\nwave of his hand--\"to get them all so crazy about her that they'd vote\nfor her as the star of the picture. I could see her point, all right. It\nwould have been a big chance for her to show how she could act.... Well,\nI could see it was dangerous business, and that the girls--\" and he\nsmiled jerkily at the tense women in the living room, \"--were getting\npretty wrought up over the way Nita was behaving.... All except Mrs.\nDunlap,\" he added. \"_She_ didn't want to act in the picture, and Nita\ndidn't make any headway at all with Peter Dunlap.\"\n\"Thanks, Mr. Sprague,\" Lois Dunlap drawled, with an amused quirk of her\nbroad mouth.\n\"Get along with the row, Sprague!\" Dundee commanded impatiently.\n\"As I said, it wasn't really a row. I just pleaded with Nita last night\nto smooth down the girls' rumpled feathers, and to make it clear to them\nthat she didn't want the star part in the picture any more than she\nwanted any other woman's husband or sweetheart.... Just a friendly\nwarning--\" Sprague drew a deep breath. \"And that's all the note\nmeant--absolutely!\"\n\"I see,\" Dundee said quietly, then quoted: _\"'Be good, Baby, and you\nwon't be sorry!'\"_\n\"That meant, of course,\" Sprague took him up eagerly, \"that I'd see she\ngot a real part in a regular movie, after I'd made my hit with the\nHamilton picture.\"\nVery plausible, very plausible indeed, Dundee reflected. And yet--\nFinally he lifted his head and let his eyes dart from face to face.\n\"All of you have stated, separately and collectively, that you heard no\nshot fired in Nita Selim's bedroom this afternoon,\" he said sharply. \"Is\nthat true?\"\nHe was answered by weary nods or sullen affirmations.\n\"Then,\" he continued, \"I must conclude that you are all lying or that\nNita Selim was killed with a gun equipped with a Maxim silencer.\"\nNever was a detective more unprepared for the effect of his words upon a\ngroup of possible suspects than was Special Investigator Dundee....\nCHAPTER TEN\nAs Dexter Sprague had glibly and plausibly explained away every sinister\naspect of the note he had written to Nita Selim that day, Special\nInvestigator Dundee was recalling with verbatim vividness his argument\nwith Captain Strawn of the Homicide Squad immediately after his arrival\ninto the house of violent death.\nHe had said then: \"The person who killed Nita Selim, was so well known\nto her, and his--or her--presence in this room so natural a thing that\nshe paid no attention to his or her movements and was concentrating on\nthe job of powdering her very pretty face.\"\nAnd he had said further, in face of the disappearance of the gun and in\nexplanation of the fact that all twelve of these people had immediately\nprotested to Strawn that they had heard no shot:\n\"This was a premeditated murder, of course. The Maxim silencer--unless\nthey are all lying about not hearing a shot--proves that. Silencers are\ndamned hard to get hold of, but people with plenty of money can manage\nmost things.\"\nAnd as Dexter Sprague had talked on, more and more glibly, Dundee had\nsuddenly found an explanation which fitted his own argument with such\nperfection that he wondered, na\u00efvely, if he were perhaps gifted with\nclairvoyance.\nOf all these twelve people, whom he had questioned so relentlessly, only\nDexter Sprague could easily have come into possession of a Maxim\nsilencer. He had dilated proudly upon the fact that he had been an\nassistant director at the Altamont Studios on Long Island. And the\nAltamont company had recently finished making a series of \"underworld\"\nmotion pictures--crook dramas featuring gunmen with \"rods\" made eerily\nnoiseless by Maxim silencers.\nA bit of information he had picked up in a motion picture magazine had\nhurtled into the logical chain of Dundee's reasoning: assistant\ndirectors were in charge of \"props\"; it was their business to see that\nno article needed for the production of a picture was lost or missing\nwhen the director needed it. Dexter Sprague had said that he had\n\"dropped everything\" to come when Nita Selim wired him of the Chamber of\nCommerce project to make a \"booster\" movie of Hamilton.\nPerhaps he _had_ dropped everything. But--_had he hesitated long enough\nto pick up a Maxim silencer and a blunt-nosed automatic_? And was the\n\"row\" which Sprague had been so glibly explaining away an ancient one--a\nrow so deadly that, when Nita Selim had refused to heed his written\nwarning, her murder had become necessary?\nIt was with all this in mind that Bonnie Dundee flung his challenge: \"I\nmust conclude that you are all lying or that Nita Selim was killed with\na gun equipped with a Maxim silencer.\"\nAnd his eyes, terrible with their command that the weakling should break\nand confess, were upon Dexter Sprague. But Sprague did not break. He\nstared back blankly....\nIf his eyes and his attention had included the whole group it is\npossible that what happened would not have taken Dundee so completely by\nsurprise. He had paid little attention to a sort of concerted gasp, a\nslight movement among the group farthest from him.\nBut not even his intense concentration upon Sprague could prevent his\nhearing Karen Marshall's childish voice, tremulous with fear:\n\"No, no, Hugo! Don't--don't!\"\nHe whirled from Sprague in time to see Judge Marshall disengaging his\narm from his young wife's clinging fingers, to note, with profound\nastonishment, that Drake was stepping hastily aside, so that not even\nhis coat sleeve might be brushed by the advancing figure of the elderly,\nretired judge. And before Judge Marshall had time to speak, Dundee saw\nthat a blight had touched, at last, the solid friendship of the women;\nthat they did not look at each other with that air of standing together\nwhatever happened, but that their eyes, not meeting at all, became\nsecret, calculating, afraid....\n\"Sir!\" Judge Marshall began pompously, when he had planted himself\nsquarely before the young detective, \"It shall never be said of me that\nI have tried, even in the slightest way, to hamper the course of\njustice.\"\n\"I am sure of that, Judge Marshall,\" Dundee replied courteously, but his\npulses were hammering. What, in God's name, did this long-winded old\nfool have to tell him?... \"You have some information you believe may be\nvaluable, Judge?\"\n\"I do not believe it will be at all valuable, sir. On the contrary!\" the\nold man retorted indignantly. \"But to suppress the fact at this juncture\nmight lead to grave misunderstandings later, when it inevitably comes to\nlight. So, sir, it is my duty to inform you that I myself own a Colt's\n.32, as well as a Maxim silencer.\"\n\"What!\" Dundee exclaimed incredulously. He was conscious that, behind\nhim, Captain Strawn was getting to his feet.\n\"There is no need to get out your handcuffs, Captain Strawn!\" Judge\nMarshall warned him majestically. \"I assure you that I have not violated\nthe law. Every judge, active and retired, is entitled to a permit to\ncarry a weapon, and I long ago availed myself of the privilege. Nor am I\nabout to make a confession of murder!\"\n\"There ain't no permit, so far as I know, Judge,\" Strawn growled, \"for\nany man, whoever he may be--God A'mighty himself not excepted--to tote a\ngun with a silencer on it.\"\nKaren Marshall was crying now, with the abandoned grief of a petted\nchild.\n\"Granted, Captain!\" Judge Marshall snapped. \"But it happens that I do\nnot 'tote' my gun with the silencer on it. If it interests you, I may as\nwell explain that I came by the silencer several years ago, when I was\non the bench. A notorious Chicago gunman, on trial for murder here, and\nacquitted by a feeble-minded jury, made me a present of the very\nsilencer he had used in killing his victim--an ironic gesture, a gesture\nof supreme insolence, but an entirely safe gesture, since he well knew\nthat a man once acquitted of a crime cannot again be placed in jeopardy\nfor the same offence.\"\n\"So you kept the silencer as a curiosity, Judge Marshall?\" Dundee\ninterrupted the pompous flow of rhetoric.\n\"For years--yes,\" the ex-judge answered, then his face went yellow\nand very old. \"As I told you just now, I will withhold no fact that\nmay be of any relevance whatever.... About two months ago--in March,\nI believe--our little group here took up target-shooting as a fad.\nSeveral of us became quite expert with revolver and rifle. Mr.\nDrake--\" and he nodded toward the banker, who instantly averted his eyes,\n\"--conceived the idea of practising the draw-from-the-hip sort of\nrevolver-shooting--the kind one sees in Wild West movies, you know--\"\n\"I think you might add, Hugo,\" Drake cut in angrily, \"that I had in mind\nthe hope of being able to protect the bank in case of a holdup!\"\n\"And the silencer, Judge Marshall?\" Captain Strawn prodded.\nJudge Marshall flushed, and fingered the end of a waxed mustache. \"The\nsilencer, sir, was my wife's idea. You see, sir, we are fortunate enough\nto be the parents of an infant son. He was just a month old when I\npainted a bull's eye upon the brick wall of our back garden and invited\nour friends to indulge their fad as our guests. The shooting awakened\nthe baby so frequently that Karen--Mrs. Marshall--dug up the silencer,\nwhich I had shown her as a memento of my career on the bench. Thereafter\nwe confined our practice almost exclusively to drawing from the hip and\nshooting without sighting. It is impossible to sight with a gun equipped\nwith a silencer, you know, since the silencer covers the sighter on the\nbarrel.\"\n\"It sure does,\" Strawn drawled. \"So every last one of you folks had a\ngood deal of this sort of practice, I take it?\"\nJudge Marshall glanced about the room, as if he could not recall the\nface of everyone present.\n\"Yes, all of us--except Mr. Sprague and--Penny, my dear, did you join us\nat all?\"\nThe girl who had once been in on every sport that this crowd of\nHamilton's socially elect indulged in, flushed a painful red.\n\"No, Hugo. I--I have to stay with Mother on Sunday mornings, you know.\"\n\"Your target practice was a Sunday morning diversion, then, Judge\nMarshall?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Yes. We usually have an hour of the sport--between eleven and noon, on\nSundays. We've been having a sort of tournament--quite sharply\ncompetitive--\"\n\"When did you and your friends practise last?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Last Sunday. Tomorrow was to mark the end of the 'tournament',\" the\nJudge answered.\n\"And when did you last see your gun and silencer?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"Last Sunday, of course.... Why, Good Lord!\" Marshall ejaculated. _\"It\nwas Nita herself who put the gun away!_\"\nThere was a collective gasp of relief. Eyes could meet eyes--now. But it\nwas Flora Miles who voiced the thought or hope that seemed apparent on\nevery face.\n\"That's why I didn't hear anyone talking when I was in the closet!\" she\ncried, her voice almost hysterical in its vehemence. \"_There wasn't\nanybody but Nita in the room!_ She committed suicide! She stole poor\nHugo's gun and the silencer and committed suicide!\"\n\"At a distance of from ten to fifteen feet?\" Dundee asked with\nill-concealed sarcasm. \"And when she was powdering her face? And just\nafter entering the room, blithely singing a Broadway hit?\"\n\"Maybe the lady is right, boy,\" Captain Strawn interposed mildly. \"I've\nheard of people rigging up contrivances--\"\n\"Which make the gun and the silencer disappear by magic?\" Dundee\ndemanded. \"No, folks, I'm afraid the suicide theory is no good.... Now,\nJudge Marshall,\" and he turned again to the creator of the biggest\nsensation since the investigation into Nita Selim's death had got under\nway, \"you say that Mrs. Selim herself put the gun away.... Will you\nexplain the circumstances?\"\nThe elderly man's face had gone yellowish again. \"Certainly! Nita Selim\nand I were the last to leave the back garden. She was particularly poor\nat the sport--never made a bull's eye during the four or five Sunday\nmornings after Lois--Mrs. Dunlap--drew her into our set. She begged for\na few more shots, and I stayed with her, after the others had gone into\nthe house for--er--refreshment. She fired the last bullet in the chamber\nof the Colt's, and together we walked to the house, entering the little\nroom at the rear where all sorts of sports equipment are kept--fishing\nrods and tackle, golf clubs, bows and arrows, skis, etc. She was\ncarrying the gun, unscrewing the silencer as we walked. It is my habit\nto keep the pistol and the silencer in a drawer in a little corner\ncupboard--\"\n\"Locked, up?\" Dundee asked sharply.\n\"Usually locked, but not always, I am afraid,\" Judge Marshall answered\nreluctantly.\n\"And you saw Mrs. Selim place the gun and the silencer in the drawer?\"\n\"I--thought I did, but I was really not watching closely. As a matter of\nfact, I stopped to look over a fishing rod, with a view to trying it out\nthe first good fishing weather--\"\n\"Was Mrs. Selim wearing a coat or cloak?\" Dundee cut in impatiently.\n\"Why, I don't know--\"\n\"Yes, she was, Hugo!\" Karen cried out eagerly. \"It was quite chilly last\nSunday morning. Remember? We all had on coats or sweaters. Nita wore a\ndark-green leather jacket with big pockets--\"\n\"And she left in a great hurry, without even waiting for a drink,\" Flora\nMiles contributed triumphantly. \"I tell you, she took them away in her\npockets.\"\n\"Your guess may be correct, Mrs. Miles,\" Dundee agreed, \"but I think we\nhad better not come to any definite conclusion until we know that Judge\nMarshall's automatic and silencer are really missing.... Is there anyone\nat your house now, Judge, whom you can ask to look for it?\"\n\"Certainly. The butler.... Shall I telephone him?\"\nAccompanied by Captain Strawn, the ex-judge went to the telephone in the\nlittle foyer between Nita Selim's bedroom and the main hall. And within\nfive minutes he was back, nodding his head gravely.\n\"Hinson tells me that the Colt's and the silencer are both missing,\nsir.... May I express my profound regret that my possession of--\"\n\"Some other time, Judge Marshall!\" Dundee interrupted curtly, and\nhurried from the room, followed by Strawn, who nodded to Sergeant\nTurner, still lounging wearily in a far corner of the living room, to\nstand guard vigilantly.\n\"Well, Bonnie, here's the devil to pay,\" Strawn gloomed, but Dundee made\nfor the telephone without answering.\nHe called a number, then curtly demanded: \"Dr. Price, please!... Yes, I\nknow he's busy on an autopsy. Just tell him that Dundee, of the district\nattorney's office, wants to speak to him.\"\nThere was a long pause, then: \"Hello, Dr. Price!... Dundee.... What are\nthe caliber and type of bullet that killed Nita Selim?... Thanks much,\ndoctor.... Anything new?... Fine! Thanks again!\"\nHe hung up the receiver and faced Strawn. \"Bullet from a Colt's .32,\" he\nsaid grimly. \"I suggest you send one of your men around to the Marshall\nhome to pick up a bullet that was shot in their damned target practice.\nIf you send the two bullets tonight, registered mail, to Wright, the\nballistics expert in Chicago, he can probably wire you tomorrow morning\nas to whether the same gun was used to fire both.\"\n\"Sure, Bonnie,\" Strawn agreed lugubriously. \"I was going to do just\nthat.... Say, this town is getting to be worse than Chicago!\"\nWhen he re-entered the living room Dundee began upon the judge again,\nregardless of the fact that the elderly husband was murmuring\nconsolatory endearments to his young wife.\n\"Judge Marshall, how many keys are there to the cupboard drawer in which\nyour gun and silencer were kept?\"\n\"Just one. I have it with me,\" the old man answered wearily.\n\"Then when Hinson, your butler, looked for them, he found the drawer\nunlocked?\"\n\"He did. I confess to almost criminal negligence--\"\n\"Then so far as you know, the gun and silencer could have been removed\nat any time by any guest of yours between noon last Sunday and--today?\"\nDundee went on relentlessly.\n\"I--suppose so. But these people have been my close friends for years,\"\nthe judge answered. \"Not one of them, sir--\"\n\"After Mrs. Selim's departure last Sunday, did your other guests remain\nfor any length of time?\"\n\"For an hour or more, I think. Lois and Peter Dunlap remained for our\ntwo o'clock Sunday dinner, but the others drifted away to various\nengagements.\"\n\"Did any of you return to the room where the gun was kept?\"\n\"I can speak only for myself and Peter--Mr. Dunlap,\" Judge Marshall\nanswered, flushing with indignation. \"The two of us went down just\nbefore dinner was served. I wanted to show him some new flies for trout\ncasting.\"\n\"Your home is a popular rendezvous for your intimates, is it not?\"\n\"I pride myself that it is, sir!\"\n\"And guests run in and out, having the freedom of the place?\"\n\"Certainly, sir!... And since I am not so stupid as you imagine, I can\ntell you now that I understand the drift of your questions, and can\nforestall them: Yes, all of these people--_my friends_!--have had\nopportunity to take the gun and the silencer from the cupboard since it\nwas placed there last Sunday, if it _was_ placed there by Mrs. Selim.\nBut may I remind you, sir, that opportunity alone is not sufficient;\nthat _motive_--\"\n\"Since Mrs. Selim is dead, murdered by the weapon which was stolen, we\ncan assume, Judge Marshall, that someone had motive,\" Dundee reminded\nhim implacably, for in his mind there was no doubt that the ballistics\nexpert would bear him out.\nThere was a heavy, throbbing silence. The group that, with the exception\nof Dexter Sprague, had been so united, so cemented with long-sustained\nfriendship, again dissolved visibly before Dundee's eyes into eleven\nindividuals, each shrinking into himself, mentally drawing away from any\npossible contamination with a murderer....\n\"You have said, Judge Marshall,\" Dundee went on at last, \"that Miss\nCrain and Mr. Sprague were not at your home for target practice Sunday.\nHas either of them been in your home during this past week?\"\n\"Penny--Miss Crain--spent an evening with my wife when I was--er--away\nfrom home on business. That was last Tuesday, I believe--\"\n\"Yes, it was Tuesday, Hugo,\" Penny Crain interrupted firmly. \"And Karen\ncan vouch for the fact that I did not go into the gun room.\"\n\"Don't be silly, Penny!\" Carolyn Drake scolded, as if she had long been\nbursting to speak. \"Giving an alibi! As if _any_ of us who were playing\nbridge while that woman was being shot _needs_ any alibi!... But I'll\ntell you what _I_ think, Mr. Detective! I think Nita herself stole the\ngun and the silencer, to kill Dexter Sprague with, and that _he_ stole\nit from her and murdered _her_! Nobody else has the slightest scrap of a\nmotive, and that note he wrote her ought to be enough to hang him on!\"\nDexter Sprague had struggled to his feet during the woman's hysterical\nattack, his face like chalk, his eyes blazing. But Dundee waved him\naside peremptorily.\n\"One more question, Judge Marshall,\" he said suavely, as if he had not\nheard a word that Carolyn Drake had said. \"You knew Mrs. Selim before\nher arrival in Hamilton with Mrs. Dunlap, I believe.... Just when and\nwhere did you meet her?\"\nCHAPTER ELEVEN\n\"You are damned impertinent, sir!\" Judge Marshall shouted, the ends of\nhis waxed grey mustache trembling with anger.\n\"Then I take it that you do not wish to divulge the circumstances of\nyour friendship with Mrs. Selim?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Friendship!\" the old man snorted. \"Your implications, sir, are\ndastardly! I met Mrs. Selim, or rather, Nita Leigh, as she was\nintroduced to me, only once, several years ago when I was in New York.\nNaturally--\"\n\"Just a moment, Judge. You say she was introduced to you as Nita Leigh.\nThen you knew her as an actress, I presume?\"\n\"I refuse to submit to such a cowardly attack, sir!\"\n\"_Attack_, Judge?\" Dundee repeated with assumed astonishment. \"I merely\nthought you might be able to shed a little light on the past of the\nwoman who has been murdered here today, with a weapon you admit to\nhaving owned.... However--\"\nThe elderly ex-judge stared at his tormentor for a moment as if murder\nwas in his heart. He gasped twice, then suddenly his whole manner\nchanged.\n\"I apologize, Dundee. You must realize how--But that is beside the\npoint. I met Nita Leigh at--er--at a social gathering, arranged by some\nNew York friends of mine. She was young, attractive, more refined\nthan--er--than the average young woman in musical comedy. Naturally I\ntold her if she was ever in Hamilton to look me up. And she did.\"\n\"And because she was 'more refined than the average young woman in\nmusical comedy'--than the average chorus girl, to put it simply,\" Dundee\ntook him up, \"you co-operated with Mrs. Dunlap to introduce her to your\nmost intimate friends--including your wife?\"\n\"Oh, Hugo! Why didn't you tell me?\" Karen Marshall wailed.\n\"You see, sir, what you are doing!\" Judge Marshall stormed.\n\"I am truly sorry if I have distressed you, Mrs. Marshall,\" Dundee\nprotested sincerely. \"But--\" He shrugged and turned again to the\nhusband. \"I understand you were Mrs. Selim's landlord.... May I ask how\nmuch rent she paid?\"\n\"The house rents for one hundred dollars a month--furnished.\"\n\"And did Mrs. Selim pay her rent promptly?\" Dundee persisted.\n\"Since this is the 24th of May, sir, Mrs. Selim's rent for June was not\nyet due.\"\nNot before poor little Karen could Dundee force himself to ask what,\ninevitably, would have been his next question--one which could not have\nbeen evaded, as the ex-judge had evaded the other two questions: \"_Is it\nnot true, Judge Marshal, that Nita Leigh Selim paid you no rent at\nall?_\" But there were other ways to find out....\n\"Look here, Dundee!\" a brusque voice challenged, and the detective\nwhirled to face Polly Beale. It was like her, he thought with a slight\ngrin, to address him as one man to another....\n\"Yes, Miss Beale?\"\n\"I'm no fool, and I don't think any of my friends here are\neither--though two or three of them have acted like it today,\" the\nmasculine-looking girl stated flatly. \"You've made it very plain that\nany one of us here, except the Sprague man, could have stolen Hugo's gun\nand silencer.... Has the gun been found?\"\n\"It has not, Miss Beale.\"\n\"O. K.!\" The queer girl snapped her fingers. \"I move that you or\nCaptain Strawn search the men for the weapon, and that I search the\nWomen.... Wait!\" she harshly stopped a flurry of feminine protests. \"I'll\nask you, Dundee, to search me first yourself. I believe the technical\nterm is 'frisking,' isn't it?... Then 'frisk' me.... Here is my handbag.\nI wore no coat, except this--\" and she pointed to the jacket of her tweed\nsuit.\nAs she strode toward the detective Clive Hammond sprang after her with\nan oath and a sharp command.\n\"Shut up, Clive! I'm not married to you yet!\" she retorted, but her eyes\nwere gentler than her voice.\nHis face burning with embarrassment, Dundee went through the traditional\ngestures of police \"frisking\"--running his hands rapidly down the girl's\ntall, sturdy body, slapping her pockets. And his fingers fumbled sadly\nas he opened her tooled leather handbag.\n\"Satisfied?\" Polly Beale demanded, and at Dundee's miserable nod, the\ngirl faced her friends: \"Well, come along, girls!\"\n\"Lord! What a girl!\" Dundee muttered to Strawn, as the young Amazon\nherded Flora Miles, Penny Crain, Karen Marshall, Carolyn Drake, Lois\nDunlap and Janet Raymond into the dining room.\nSilently, and almost meekly, as if shamed into submission by Polly\nBeale's example, John Drake, Tracey Miles, Clive Hammond, Judge\nMarshall, and Dexter Sprague permitted Captain Strawn and Sergeant\nTurner to search them.\n\"How about the guest closet and the cars?\" Dundee asked of Strawn in a\nlow voice, when the fruitless, unpleasant task was finished.\n\"Gone over with a fine tooth comb long ago,\" Strawn assured him\ngloomily. \"And not a hiding place in or outside the house that the boys\nhaven't poked into--including the meadow as far as anyone could throw\nfrom the bedroom window.\"\nThe women were filing back into the room, some pale, some flushed, but\nall able to look each other in the eye again.\nWith surprising jauntiness Polly Beale saluted Dundee. \"Nothing more\ndeadly on any of us than Flora's triple-deck compact.\"\n\"I thank you with all my heart, Miss Beale,\" Dundee said sincerely. \"And\nnow I think you may all go to your homes.... Of course you understand,\"\nhe interrupted a chorus of relieved ejaculations, \"that all of you will\nbe wanted for the inquest, which will probably be held Monday.\"\n\"And what's more,\" Captain Strawn cut in, to show his authority, \"I want\nall of you to hold yourselves ready for further questioning at any\ntime.\"\nThere was a stampede for coats and hats, a rush for cars as if the house\nwere on fire, or--Dundee reflected wryly--as if those he had tortured\nwere afraid he would change his mind. Rushing away with hatred of him in\ntheir hearts....\nOnly Penny Crain held back, maneuvering for a chance to speak with him.\n\"I don't have to go with the rest, do I?\" she begged in a husky whisper.\n\"And why not?\" Dundee grinned at her, but he was glad there was no\nhatred in _her_ eyes.\n\"I'm 'attached' to the district attorney's office, too, aren't I?\"\n\"Right! And you've been a brick this evening. I don't know what I should\nhave done without you--\"\n\"Well, I can't see that you've done much _with_ me,\" she gibed. \"But I'd\nlike to stick around, if you're going to do some real Sherlocking--\"\n\"Can't be done, Penny. I want to stay here alone for a while and mull\nthings over. But I'd like to have a long talk with you tomorrow.\"\n\"Come to Sunday dinner. Mother loves murder mysteries,\" she suggested.\nThen realization swept over her. Her brown eyes widened, filled with\nterror. \"Stop thinking one of us did it! _Stop_, I tell you!\"\n\"Can _you_ stop, Penny?\" he asked gently.\nBut she fled from him, sobbing wildly for the first time that long,\nhorrible evening. Dundee, watching from the doorway of the lighted hall,\nsaw the chauffeur open the rear door of the Dunlap limousine, saw Penny\ncatapult herself into Lois Dunlap's outstretched arms....\n\"When did the Dunlap chauffeur call for his mistress?\" he asked Strawn,\nwho stood beside him.\n\"About ten minutes after you arrived,\" Strawn answered wearily. \"Said\nhe'd dropped Mrs. Dunlap and the Selim woman at about 2:30 and had been\nordered to return around 6:30.... Knows nothing, of course.\" The chief\nof the Homicide Squad drew a deep breath. \"Well, Bonnie, he has nothing\non me. In spite of all the palaver I don't know nothing either.\"\n\"You need some dinner, chief,\" Dundee suggested. \"And the boys must be\ngetting hungry, too.\"\n\"Somebody's got to guard the house, I suppose,\" Strawn gloomed. \"Not\nthat it will do any good.... And what about that maid--that Carr woman?\nShall I lock her up on general principles?\"\n\"No. I want to have another talk with her, and if she bucks at spending\nthe night here, I'll take her to the Rhodes House, and turn her over to\nmy old friend, Mother Rhodes. We haven't anything on her, you know.\"\n\"No, nor on anybody else, except that old fool, Marshall, and we can't\nclap him into jail--yet,\" Strawn agreed, his grey eyes twinkling.\n\"Take your crew on in, chief,\" Dundee urged. \"I'll stick till midnight\nor longer, if you don't mind. You can arrange to have a couple of the\nboys to relieve me about twelve.... And by the way, will you telephone\nme the minute you get hold of Ralph Hammond?\"\n\"Well, maybe not so quick as all that,\" Strawn drawled. \"I'll take the\nfirst crack at _that_ baby, my lad!... Not so dumb, am I, Bonnie-boy?\nNot so dumb! I can put two and two together as well as the next\none--pretty near as well as the district attorney's new 'special\ninvestigator!'\"\nAlthough Bonnie Dundee had taken Captain Strawn's none-too-gentle\nparting gibe with good grace, it was a very thoughtful young detective\nwho set about locking himself into the house in which Nita Selim had\nbeen murdered.\nCaptain Strawn had beaten him to the job that evening by at least twenty\nminutes. Had the old detective stumbled upon something which Dundee, for\nall his spectacular thoroughness, had overlooked or had been unable to\nturn up because Strawn had suppressed it?\nWhat if Strawn's parting boast was not an idle one, and he really had\n\"the goods\" on Ralph Hammond? Had the old chief been laughing up his\nsleeve during the farce of playing out the \"death hand at bridge,\" and\nduring the merciless quizzing of old Judge Marshall?\nBut Dundee's native common sense quickly routed his gloom. Captain\nStrawn was too direct in his methods, too afraid of antagonizing the\nrich and influential, to have permitted even a \"special investigator\"\nfrom the district attorney's office to torment those twelve people\nneedlessly. Probably Strawn, feeling a little hurt at having played\nsecond fiddle all evening, had simply wanted to get him fussed, was even\nnow chuckling over the effect of his parting boast....\nMuch cheered, Dundee lingered in the dining room whose windows he had\nmade fast against any intrusion, so that his task of guarding the house\nalone might be minimized. As he glanced at the table, with its silver\nplates heaped with tiny sandwiches of caviar and anchovy paste, its\nlittle silver boats of olives and sweet pickles, he discovered that he\nwas very hungry indeed....\nAs he munched the drying sandwiches and sipped charged water--the\nvarious liquors for cocktails on the sideboard offered a temptation\nwhich he sternly resisted--Dundee's thought boiled and churned, throwing\nup picture after picture of Nita Selim, alive and then dead; of Penny\nCrain--bless her!--helping him at the expense of her loyalty to\nlife-long friends; of Flora Miles, lying desperately and then confessing\nto a shameful theft; of Karen Marshall gallantly playing out the \"death\nhand\"; of Karen's stricken, childish face when she learned that her\nelderly husband had met and at least flirted with Nita Selim at a chorus\ngirls' party....\nAt that last picture Dundee flushed so that his skin prickled. Had he\nmade a fool of himself, or was he right in his suspicion that Hugo\nMarshall had given Nita Selim this cottage rent free? That point should\nbe easily settled, at any rate....\nRuefully reflecting that appetizers do not make a satisfactory meal he\nbetook himself to the dead woman's bedroom.... Yes, his memory had\nserved him well. Here was her desk--a small feminine affair of rosewood,\nset in the corner of the room nearest the porch door.\nThe desk was not locked. As Dundee let down the slanting lid, whose\npolish was marred with many fingerprints, he saw that its contents were\nin a hopeless jumble. So Strawn had beaten him to this, too! Had he\nfound an all-important clue in one of the many little pigeon-holes and\ndrawers, stuffing it into his pocket just before a bumptious young\n\"special investigator\" had arrived?\nBut Dundee's returning gloom was instantly dispelled. Here was Nita's\ncheckbook, a flutter of filled-in stubs attached to only one remaining\nblank check. So Nita had banked with the Hamilton National Bank, of\nwhich John C. Drake--who apparently hated his fattish, fussy wife--was a\nvice president! Another tiny fact to be tucked away.... She had opened\nher account, apparently, on April 21, the day of her arrival in\nHamilton--the guest and employe of Mrs. Peter Dunlap. Probably Lois\nDunlap had advanced her the two hundred dollars as first payment for her\nprospective work in organizing a Little Theater movement in Hamilton.\nTurning rapidly through stubs, Dundee stopped twice, whistling softly\nwith amazement each time. For on April 28th, and again on May 5th, Nita\nSelim had deposited $5,000! Where had she got the money? Were the sums\ntransfers from accounts in New York banks? But it was hardly likely that\na little Broadway hanger-on had had so much hard cash on deposit. Then\nwhere had she got it--$5,000 at a time, here in Hamilton?\n_Blackmail!_\nHastily but thoroughly Dundee ran through the remaining check\nstubs.... _No record at all of a check for rent made out to Judge Hugo\nMarshall!_\nBut there was a stub that interested him. Check No. 17--Nita had spent\nher money lavishly--was filled in as follows, in Nita's pretty backhand:\n     To _Trust Dept._\n     For _Investment_\nHad John C. Drake, who as vice president in charge of trusts and\ninvestments had doubtless handled the check, wondered at all where the\n$9,000 had come from?\nOne other revelation came out of the twenty-three filled-in stubs. On\nevery Monday Nita Selim had drawn a check for $40 to her maid, Lydia\nCarr.\nAgain Dundee whistled. Forty dollars a week was, he wagered to himself,\nmore money than any other maid in Hamilton was lucky enough to receive!\nNita in a new light--an over-generous Nita! Or--_was Nita herself paying\nblackmail on a small scale_?\nHe reached into a pigeon-hole whose contents--a thick packet of unused\nenvelopes--had not been disturbed by Strawn, and was about to remove an\nenvelope in which to place the all-important checkbook, when he noticed\nsomething slightly peculiar. An envelope in the middle of the packet\nlooked rather thicker than an empty case should....\n_But it was not empty._ And across the face of the expensive,\ncream-colored linen paper was written, in that same pretty, very legible\nbackhand:\n     TO BE OPENED IN CASE OF MY DEATH\n     --JAUNITA LEIGH SELIM\nHis heart hammering painfully, and his fingers trembling, Dundee drew\nout the two close-written sheets of creamy notepaper. After all, who had\nbetter right than he to open it? Was he not the representative of the\ndistrict attorney?... And he hadn't damaged the envelope. It had opened\nvery easily indeed--its flap had yielded instantly to his thumb-nail....\nWait! It had been _too easy_! Before unfolding the letter or whatever it\nwas, Dundee examined the flap of the envelope.... Yes! He was not the\nfirst to open it since its original sealing. God grant he hadn't\ndestroyed any tell-tale fingerprints in his criminal haste to learn any\nsecret that Nita Selim had recorded here!... Perhaps Nita herself had\nunsealed the letter to make an addition or a correction?\nWell, whatever damage had been done was done now, and he might as well\nread....\nFive minutes later Bonnie Dundee was racing through the dining room,\npushing open the swinging door that led into the butler's pantry. Where\nthe devil were the steps that led down into the basement? A precious\nminute was lost before he discovered that a door in the dark back hall\nopened upon the steep stairs....\nAn unshaded light, dangling from the ceiling, revealed the furnace in\none corner of the big basement, laundry equipment in another. He plunged\non.... That must be the maid's room, behind that closed door.... God!\nWhat if she had escaped, while he had been munching caviar and anchovy\nsandwiches? A fine guard he'd been!... And it wasn't as if he hadn't had\na dim suspicion of the truth....\nThe knob turned easily. He flung open the door. And then his knees\nnearly gave way, so tremendous was his relief. For there, on the thin\nmattress of a white-enameled iron bed, lay the woman he so ardently\ndesired to see.\nShe had apparently been asleep, and the noise he had made had startled\nher into panicky wakefulness. Instinctively her hand flew to the ruined\nleft side of her face--that hideous expanse of livid flesh, scarred and\nridged so that it did not look human....\n\"What--? Who--?\" Lydia Carr gasped, struggling to a sitting position,\nonly to fall back as nausea swept over her.\n\"You remember me?\" Dundee panted. \"Dundee of the district attorney's\noffice. I questioned you this afternoon--\"\nThe woman closed the single eye that had escaped the accident which had\nmarred her face so hideously. \"I--remember.... I'm sick.... I told you\nall I know--\"\n\"Lydia, why didn't you tell me that it was your mistress, Mrs. Selim who\ndid--that?\" Dundee demanded sternly, pointing to the woman's sightless\nleft eye and ruined cheek.\nCHAPTER TWELVE\nLydia Carr, still clothed in the black cotton dress and white apron of\nher maid's uniform, struggled to a sitting position on the edge of her\nbasement room bed.\n\"No, no! That's a lie! It was an accident, I tell you--my own\nfault!... Who dared to say Nita--Miss Nita--did it?\"\n\"Better lie down, Lydia,\" Dundee suggested gently. \"I won't want you\nfainting. You've had a hard day with the abscessed tooth, the dope the\ndentist gave you, and--other things. I don't wonder that you lost your\nhead, went a little crazy, perhaps--\"\nThe detective's sinister implication seemed to make no impression at all\nupon the woman with the scarred face.\n\"I asked you--\" she gasped, her single eye glaring at him, \"who dared\nsay Nita burned me?\"\n\"It was Nita herself who told me,\" Dundee answered softly. \"Just a few\nminutes ago.\"\n\"Holy Mother!\" the maid gasped, and crossed herself dazedly.\nLet her think the dead woman had appeared to him in a vision, Dundee\ntold himself. Perhaps her confession would come the quicker--\nThe maid began to rock her gaunt body, her arms crossed over her flat\nchest. \"My poor little girl! Even in death she thinks of me, she's\nsorry--. She sent me a message, didn't she? Tell me! She was always\ntrying to comfort me, sir! The poor little thing couldn't believe I'd\nforgiven her as soon as she done it--. Tell me!\"\n\"Yes,\" Dundee agreed, his eyes watching her keenly. \"She sent you a\nmessage--of a sort.... But I can't give it to you until you have told me\nall about the--accident in which you were burned.\"\n\"I'll tell,\" Lydia promised eagerly. Gone were the harshness and\nsecretiveness with which she had met his earlier questioning.... \"You\nsee, sir, I loved Miss Nita--I called her Nita, if you don't mind, sir.\nI loved her like she was my own child. And she was fond of me, too,\nfonder of me than of anybody in the world, she used to tell me, when\nsome man had hurt her bad.... And there was always some man or other,\nshe was so sweet and so pretty.... Well, I found her in the bathroom one\nday, just ready to drink carbolic acid, to kill her poor little self--\"\n\"When was that, Lydia?\" Dundee interrupted.\n\"It was in February--Sunday, the ninth of February,\" Lydia went on,\nstill rocking in an agony of grief. \"I tried to take the glass out of\nher hands. She'd poured a lot of the stuff out of the bottle.... You\nsee, she was already in a fit of hysterics, or she'd never have tried to\nkill herself.... It was my own fault, trying to take the glass away from\nher, like I did--\"\n\"She flung the acid into your face?\" Dundee asked, shuddering.\n\"She didn't know what she was doing!\" the woman cried, glaring at him.\n\"Nearly went out of her mind, they told me at the hospital, because\nshe'd hurt me.... A private room in the best hospital in New York she\ngot for me, trained nurses night and day, and so many doctors fussing\naround me I wanted to fire the whole outfit and save some of my poor\ngirl's money--which I don't know till this day how she got hold of--\"\nDundee let her sob and rock her arms for a while unmolested. In February\nNita Selim had had to borrow money to pay doctor and hospital bills. Had\nborrowed it or \"gold-dug\" it.... And in May she had been rich enough to\nhave $9,000 to invest!\n\"Lydia, you never forgave Nita Selim for ruining your life as well as\nyour face!\" Dundee charged her suddenly.\n\"You're a liar!\" she cried passionately. \"I know what I felt. It's _my_\nface and _my_ life, ain't it? I tell you I didn't even bear a grudge\nagainst her--the poor little thing! Eating her heart out with sorrow for\nwhat she'd done--till the very day of her death! Always trying to make\nit up to me--paying me too much money for the handful of work I had to\ndo, what with her eating out nearly all the time and throwing away\nstockings the minute they got a run in 'em--. Forgive her? I'd have\ncrawled from here to New York on my hands and knees for Nita Leigh!\"\nDundee studied her horribly scarred face, made more horrible now by what\nlooked like genuine grief.\n\"Lydia, who was the man over whom your mistress wanted to commit\nsuicide?\"\nThe single, tear-reddened eye glared at him suspiciously, then became\nwary. \"I don't know.\"\n\"Was it Dexter Sprague, Lydia?\"\n\"Sprague?\" She spat the name out contemptuously. \"No! She didn't know\nhim then, except to speak to at the moving picture studio.\"\n\"When did he become her--lover, Lydia?\" Dundee asked casually.\nThe woman stiffened, became menacingly hostile. \"Who says he was her\nlover? You can't trick me, Mr. Detective! I'd cut my tongue out before\nI'd let you make me say one word against my poor girl!\"\nDundee shrugged. He knew a stone wall when he ran up against one.\n\"Lydia,\" he began again, after a thoughtful pause, \"I have proof that\nNita Selim was sure you had never forgiven her for the injury she did\nyou.\" His fingers touched the letter in his pocket--that incredible\n\"Last Will and Testament\" which Nita had written the day before she was\nmurdered....\n\"And that's another lie!\" the woman cried, shaking with anger. She\nstruggled to her feet, stood swaying dizzily a moment. \"Come upstairs\nwith me to her room, and I'll show _you_ some proof that I had forgiven\nher!... Come along, I tell you!... Trying to make me say _I_ killed my\npoor girl, when I'd have died for her--Come on, I tell you!\"\nAnd Dundee, wondering, beginning to doubt his own conviction a\nlittle--that conviction which had sprung full-grown out of Nita's\nstrange, informal will, and which had seemed to explain\neverything--followed Lydia Carr from her basement room to the bedroom in\nwhich Nita had been murdered....\n\"See this!\" and Lydia Carr snatched up the powder box from the\ndressing-table. Her long, bony fingers busied themselves with frantic\nhaste, and suddenly, into the silence of the room came the tinkle of\nmusic. \"_I_ bought her this--for a present, out of my own money, soon as\nI got out of the hospital!\" the maid's voice shrilled, over the slow,\nsweet, tinkly notes. \"It's playing her name song--_Juanita_. It was\nplaying that song when she died. I stood there in the doorway and heard\nit--\" and she pointed toward the door leading from Nita's room into the\nback hall. \"She loved it and used it all the time, because I gave it to\nher.... And _this_!\"\nShe set the musical powder box upon the dressing-table and rushed across\nthe room to one of the several lamps that Dundee had noticed on his\nfirst survey of the room. It was the largest and gaudiest of the\ncollection--a huge bowl of filigreed bronze, set with innumerable\nstones, as large as marbles, or larger. Red, yellow and green stones\nthat must have cast a strange radiance over the pretty head that had\nbeen wont to lie just beneath it, on the heaped lace pillows of the\nchaise lounge, Dundee reflected.\nAs if Lydia had read his thoughts, she jerked at the little chain which\nhung from the bottom of the big bronze bowl against the heavy metal\nstandard.\n\"I gave her this--saved up for it out of my own money!\" she was assuring\nhim with savage triumph in proving her point. \"And she loved it so she\nbrought it with us when we came from New York--It won't light! It was\nworking all right last night, because my poor little girl was lying\nthere, looking so pretty under the colored lights--\"\nWith strong twists of her big hands Lydia began to unscrew the filigreed\nbronze bowl. As she lifted it off she exclaimed blankly:\n\"Why, look! The light bulb's--_broke_!\"\nBut Dundee had already seen--not only the broken light bulb but the\nexplanation of the queer noise that Flora Miles had described\nhysterically over and over, as \"a bang or a bump.\" The chaise lounge\nstood between the two windows that opened upon the drive. And at the\nhead of it stood the big lamp, just a few inches from the wall and only\na foot from the window frame upon which Dr. Price had pencilled the\npoint to indicate the end of the imaginary line along which the shot\nwhich killed Nita Leigh Selim had traveled.\nThe \"bang or bump\" which Flora Miles had heard had been made by the\nknocking of the big lamp against the wall. Undoubtedly the one who had\nbumped into the lamp was Nita's murderer--or murderess--in frantic haste\nto make an escape.\n_And that meant that the murderer had fled toward the back hall, not\nthrough the window in front of which he had stood, not through the door\nleading onto the front porch...._ A little progress, at least!\nBut Lydia was not through proving that she had forgiven her mistress.\nShe was snatching things from Nita's clothes closet--\n\"See these mules with ostrich feathers?--I give 'em to my girl!... And\nthis bed jacket? I embroidered the flowers on it with my own hands--\"\nThrough her flood of proof Dundee heard the whir of a car's engine, then\nthe loud banging of a car's door.... Running footsteps on the flagstone\npath.... Dundee reached the front door just as the bell pealed shrilly.\n\"Hello, Dundee! Awfully glad I caught you before you left.... Is poor\nLydia still here?\"\n\"Come in, Mr. Miles,\" Dundee invited, searching with a puzzled frown the\nround, blond face of Tracey Miles. \"Yes, Lydia is still here.... Why?\"\n\"Then I'm in luck, and I think Lydia is, too--poor old girl!... You see,\nDundee,\" Miles began to explain, as he took off his new straw hat to mop\nhis perspiring forehead, \"the crowd all ganged up when our various cars\nreached Sheridan Road, and by unanimous vote we elected to drive over to\nthe Country Club for a meal in one of the small private dining rooms--to\nescape the questions of the morbidly curious, you know--\"\n\"Yes.... What about it?\" Dundee interrupted impatiently.\n\"Well, I admit we were all pretty hungry, in spite of--well, of course\nwe were all fond of Nita, but--\"\n\"What about Lydia?\" Dundee cut him short.\n\"I'm getting to it, old boy,\" Miles protested, with the injured air of\nan unappreciated small boy. \"While we were waiting for our food,\nsomebody said, 'Poor Lydia! What's going to become of _her_?' And\nsomebody else said that it was harder on her--Nita's death, I mean--than\non anybody else, because Nita was all she had in the world, and then\nLois--Lois is always practical, you know--ran to telephone Police\nHeadquarters, to see what had been done with Lydia, and to see if it\nwould be all right for Flora and me to take her home with us--\"\n\"Just a minute, Miles! Whom did Mrs. Dunlap talk to at Headquarters?\"\n\"Why, Captain Strawn, of course,\" Miles answered. \"He told Lois that you\nwere still out here, questioning Lydia again, and that it was all right\nwith him, whatever you decided. So as soon as I had finished eating, I\ndrove over--\"\n\"Is Mrs. Miles with you?\" Dundee interrupted again.\n\"Well, no,\" Miles admitted uncomfortably. \"You see, the girls felt a\nlittle squeamish about coming back, even on an errand of mercy--\"\nDundee grinned. He had no doubt that Flora Miles had emphatically\nrefused the possibility of another gruelling interview.\n\"Why do you and Mrs. Miles want to take Lydia home with you?\" he asked.\n\"To give her a home and a job,\" Miles answered promptly. \"She knows us,\nwe're used to her poor old scarred face, and the youngsters, Tam and\nBetty, are not a bit afraid of her. In fact, Betty pats that scarred\ncheek and says, over and over, 'Poo Lyddy! Poo Lyddy! Betty 'oves\nLyddy!' and Tam--he's T. A. Miles, junior, you know, and we call him\nTam, from the initials, because he hates being called Junior and two\nTracey's are a nuisance--\"\n\"I gather that you want to hire Lydia as a nurse for the children,\"\nDundee interrupted the fond father's verbose explanations.\n\"Right, old man! You see, our nurse left us yesterday--\"\n\"Wait here, Miles. I'll speak to Lydia. She's in Mrs. Selim's\nbedroom.... By the way, Miles, since you and your wife are kind enough\nto want to take Lydia in and give her a home and a job, I think it only\nfair to tell you that it is highly improbable that Lydia Carr will take\nany job at all.\"\n\"You mean--?\" Miles gasped, his ruddy face turning pale. \"I say, Dundee,\nit's absurd to think for a minute that good old faithful Lydia had a\nthing to do with Nita's murder--\"\n\"I rather think you're right about that, Miles,\" Dundee interrupted.\n\"Now will you excuse me?\"\nHe found Lydia where he had left her--in her dead mistress' bedroom. The\ntall, gaunt woman was crouching beside the chaise longue, her arms\noutstretched to encircle a little pile of the gifts she claimed to have\ngiven Nita Selim to prove that she bore no grudge for the terrible\ninjury her mistress had done her. At Dundee's entrance she flung up her\nhead, and the detective saw that tears were streaming from both the\nsightless eye and the unharmed one.\nTaking his seat on the chaise longue, Dundee explained gently but\nbriefly the offer which Tracey Miles had just made.\n\"They want--_me_?\" she gasped brokenly, incredulously, and her fingers\nfaltered to her horrible cheek. \"I didn't think anybody but my poor girl\nwould have me around--\"\n\"It is true they want you,\" Dundee assured her. \"But you don't have to\ntake a job now unless you wish, Lydia.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" the maid demanded harshly, her good eye hardening\nwith suspicion.\n\"Lydia,\" the young detective began slowly, and almost praying that he\nwas doing the right thing, \"when I woke you up tonight to question you,\nI said that Nita herself had just told me that it was she who had burned\nyour face.... And you asked me if she had also given you a message--\"\n\"Yes, sir!\" the maid interrupted with pitiful eagerness. \"And you'll\ntell me now? You don't still think _I_ killed her, do you?\"\n\"No, I don't think you killed your mistress, Lydia, but I think, if you\nwould, you could help me find out who did,\" Dundee assured her gravely.\n\"No, wait!\" and he drew from his pocket the envelope inscribed: \"To Be\nOpened In Case of My Death--Juanita Leigh Selim.\"\n\"Do you recognize this handwriting, Lydia?\"\n\"It was wrote by her own hand,\" the maid answered, her voice husky with\ntears. \"Is that the message, sir?\"\n\"You never saw it before?\" Dundee asked sharply.\n\"No, no! I didn't know my poor girl was thinking about death,\" Lydia\nmoaned. \"I thought she was happy here. She was tickled to pieces over\nbeing taken up by all them society people, and on the go day and\nnight----\"\n\"Lydia, this is Mrs. Selim's last will and testament,\" Dundee\ninterrupted, withdrawing the sheets slowly and unfolding them. \"It was\nwritten yesterday, and it begins:\n\"'Knowing that any of us may die any time, and that I, Juanita Leigh\nSelim, have good cause to fear that my own life hangs by a thread that\nmay break any minute--'\"\n\"What did my poor girl mean?\" Lydia Carr cried out vehemently. \"She\nwasn't sick, ever--\"\n\"I think, Lydia, that she feared exactly what happened today--murder!\nAnd I want you to tell me who it was she feared. _For I believe you\nknow!_\"\nThe woman shrank from him, until she was sitting on her lean haunches,\nher hands flattening against her cheeks. For a long minute she did not\nattempt to answer. Her right eye widened enormously, then slowly grew as\nexpressionless as the milky left ball.\n\"I--don't--know,\" she said dully. Then, with vehement emphasis: \"_I\ndon't know!_ If I did, I'd kill him with my own hands!\"\nDundee had no choice but to take her word.\n\"You said there was a message for me,\" Lydia reminded him.\n\"I'll read you her will first,\" Dundee said quietly, lifting the sheets\nagain: \"I am herewith setting down my last will and testament, in my own\nhandwriting. I do here and now solemnly will and bequeath to my faithful\nand beloved maid, Lydia Carr, all property, including all moneys, stocks\nand personal belongings of which I die possessed--\"\n\"To--_me_?\" Lydia whispered. \"To me?\"\n\"To you, Lydia,\" Dundee assured her gravely.\n\"Then I can have all her pretty clothes to keep always?\"\n\"And her money, to do as you like with, if the court accepts this will\nfor probate--as I think it will, regardless of the fact that it is very\ninformal and was not witnessed.\"\n\"But--she didn't have any money,\" Lydia protested. \"Nothing but what\nMrs. Dunlap paid her in advance for the work she was going to do--\"\n\"Lydia, your mistress died possessed of nearly ten thousand dollars!\"\nDundee fixed her bewildered grey eye with his blue ones. \"_Ten thousand\ndollars!_ All of which she got right here in Hamilton! And I want you to\ntell me how she got it!\"\n\"But--I don't know! I don't believe she had it!\"\nDundee shrugged. Either this woman would perjure her soul to protect her\nmistress' name from scandal, or she really knew nothing.\n\"That is all of the will itself, Lydia,\" he went on finally, \"except her\ncommand that her body be cremated without funeral services of any kind,\nand that nobody be allowed to accompany the remains to the crematory\nexcept yourself and Mrs. Peter Dunlap, in case her death takes place in\nHamilton--\"\n\"She _did_ love Mrs. Dunlap,\" Lydia sobbed. \"Oh, my poor little girl--\"\n\"And there is also a note for you, which I took the liberty of reading,\nin which Mrs. Selim minutely describes the clothes in which she wishes\nto be cremated, as well as the fashion in which her hair is to be\ndressed--\"\n\"Let me see it!\" Lydia plunged forward on her knees and snatched at the\npapers he held. \"For God's sake, let me see!\"\nCHAPTER THIRTEEN\n\"I'll read you the note, Lydia, but I can't let you touch it,\" Dundee\nsaid sternly, taking good care that she should not touch either the\npaper on which the note to herself had been written or the sheet which\ncontained that strange, informal will. Informal, in spite of the dead\nwoman's obvious effort to couch it in legal phraseology....\nWas Lydia's frenzy assumed? Did she hope to leave fingerprints now which\nwould account for fingerprints she had already left upon it? Was it not\npossible that Lydia's had been the prying fingers which had opened the\nenvelope after Nita Selim had sealed it with God only knew what fears in\nher heart? If so, Lydia Carr had found that she was her mistress' sole\nlegatee.... _Revenge, coupled with greed...._ What better motive for\nmurder could a detective ask? And who had had so good an opportunity as\nLydia Carr to dispose of the weapon?\nThe woman crouched back on her haunches, an agony of pleading in her\nsingle eye.\n\"Lydia, I think you know already what this note tells you,\" Dundee said\nslowly.\nTo his astonishment the maid nodded, the tears starting again. \"I asked\nher once what she wanted to keep that old dress for, and she--she said\nI'd find out some day, but I never dreamed she'd want it for a--oh, my\nGod!--for a _shroud_!\"\nFor the second time that evening Lydia Carr completely routed Dundee's\ncarefully worked-up case against her. It was inconceivable, he told\nhimself, that a mind cunning enough to have executed this murder would\ngive itself away in such a fashion. If she had indeed pried among her\nmistress' papers and found the will and note, would she not, from the\nmost primitive instinct of self-preservation, have pretended total\nignorance of the note's contents?\n\"I'll read the note, Lydia,\" he said gently. \"It is addressed: 'My\nprecious old Lydia'--\"\n\"She was always calling me that!\" the maid sobbed.\n\"And she writes: 'If you ever read this it will be because I'm dead, and\nyou'll know that I've tried to make it up to you the only way I knew. I\nnever could believe you really forgave me, but maybe you will now. And\nthere is one last thing I want you to do for me, Lydia darling. You\nremember that old royal blue velvet dress of mine that you were always\nsniffing at and either trying to make me give away or have made over?\nAnd remember that I told you that you'd know some time why I kept it?\nWell, I want you to lay me out in it, Lydia. Such a funny old-fashioned\nshroud, isn't it?... But with dresses long again, maybe it won't look so\nfunny, and there'll be nobody but you and Lois to see me in it, because\nI've said so in my will. And I want my hair dressed as it was the only\ntime I ever wore the royal blue velvet. A French roll, Lydia, with\nlittle curls coming out the left side of it and hanging down to the left\near. You brush the hair straight up the back of the head, gather it\ntogether and tie a little bit of black shoestring around it, then you\ntwist the hair into a roll and spread it high, pinning it down on each\nside of the head. _And don't forget the little curls on the left side!_\nI hope I have enough hair, but if it hasn't grown long enough, you\nknow where those switches are that I had made when I first bobbed my\nhair.... You won't mind touching me when I'm dead, will you, Lydia? I do\nlove you.... Nita.'\"\nDundee was silent for a minute after he had finished reading the strange\nnote and had returned it to the envelope, along with the will. At last,\nspeaking against a lump in his throat, he broke in on the desolate\nsobbing of Nita's maid:\n\"Lydia, how old was your mistress?\"\n\"You won't put it in the papers, will you?\" Lydia pleaded. \"She--she\nwas--thirty-three. But not a soul knew it except me--\"\n\"And will you tell me how old the royal blue velvet dress is?\" he\ncontinued. \"Also, how long since girls dressed their hair in a French\nroll?\"\n\"The dress is twelve or thirteen years old,\" Lydia said, her voice dull\nnow with grief. \"I know, because I used to do dressmaking during the\nwar. And it was during the war that girls wore their hair that way--I\ndid mine in a Psyche knot, but the French roll was more stylish.\"\n\"Did your mistress ever tell you about the one time she wore the dress?\"\nLydia shook her head. \"No. She wouldn't talk about it--just said I'd\nknow sometime why she kept it.... Royal blue velvet, it is, the skirt\nhalfway to the ankles, and sleeves with long pointed ends, lined with\ngold taffeta, and finished off with gold tassels. It's in a dress bag,\nhanging in her closet.\"\n\"Do you think it was her wedding dress, Lydia?\" Dundee suggested, the\nidea suddenly flashing into his mind.\n\"I don't know. I didn't ask her that,\" Lydia denied dully. \"Can I take\nit with me--and the switches she had made out of her curls?\"\n\"I'll have to get authority to remove anything from the house, Lydia,\"\nDundee told her. \"But I am sure you will be permitted to follow Mrs.\nSelim's instructions.... So you're going to accept the Miles' offer of a\njob as nurse?\"\n\"Yes. I'd rather work. Mr. and Mrs. Miles have always been specially\nnice to me, and I--I could love their children. They're not--afraid of\nme--\"\n\"Perhaps you're wise,\" Dundee agreed. \"By the way, Lydia, did Mrs. Selim\nhave a pistol in her possession at any time during the past week?\"\nThe maid shook her head. \"Not that I seen. And if she'd got one because\nshe was afraid, she'd a-kept it handy and I'd a-been bound to see it.\"\nConvinced of her sincerity, he was about to let her go to pack her bag\nwhen another belated question occurred to him. \"Lydia, will you tell me\nwhat engagements Mrs. Selim had this last week?\"\nThe woman scowled, fanatically jealous, Dundee guessed, of her mistress'\nreputation, but at last she answered defiantly: \"Let me see.... Mr.\nSprague had Sunday dinner here, and spent the afternoon, but Sunday\nnight it was young Mr. Ralph Hammond. He come whenever she'd let\nhim.... Monday night?... Oh, yes! She had dinner at the Country Club\nwith the Mileses and the Drakes and the Dunlaps. Mr. Miles brought her\nhome, because Mr. Sprague wasn't invited.... Tuesday night--let me\nthink!... Yes, that's the night Judge Marshall was here. Nita had sent\nfor him to talk about finishing up the attic--\"\nSo that was the \"business engagement\" which Judge Marshall had hemmed\nand hawed over, Dundee reflected triumphantly.\n\"--and Wednesday night,\" Lydia was continuing, with a certain pride in\nher mistress' popularity, \"she was at a dinner party at the Dunlaps'.\"\n\"Did Mr. Peter Dunlap ever call on Mrs. Selim--alone?\"\n\"_Him?_\" Lydia was curiously resentful. \"He wasn't ever here. Nita said\nto me she wished Mr. Peter liked her as well as Mis' Lois did.\"\n\"Thursday night?\"\n\"Mr. Ralph Hammond took her somewhere to dinner, to some other town, I\nthink, but I wasn't awake when they got home. Nita never would let me\nset up for her--said I needed my rest. So I always went to bed early.\"\n\"And yesterday--Friday?\" Dundee demanded tensely. For Friday she had\nbeen driven to making her last will and testament....\n\"She was home all day, but about half past four Mr. Drake came,\" Lydia\nsaid slowly, as if she too were wondering. \"She was awfully restless,\ncouldn't set still or eat. I ought to have suspicioned something, but\nshe was often like that--lately. Mr. Drake stayed about an hour. I\ndidn't see him leave, because I was cooking Nita's dinner.... But little\ngood it did, because she didn't eat it, so there was plenty for Mr.\nSprague when he dropped in about seven.\"\n\"Did Sprague spend the evening?\"\n\"I guess so, but I don't know. Nita made me take the Ford and drive into\ntown for a picture show. She was in bed when I got back, and--\" but she\nchecked herself hastily.\n\"Did Nita seem strange--troubled, excited? Did she look as if she'd been\ncrying?\" Dundee prodded.\n\"I didn't see her,\" the maid acknowledged. \"I knocked on her door, but\nshe told me to go on to bed, that she wouldn't need me. But now I think\nback, her voice sounded queer.... Maybe she _was_ crying, but I don't\nknow--\"\n\"And this morning?\"\n\"She seemed all right--just excited about the party and worried about my\ntooth. Mr. Ralph Hammond come to make the estimates on finishing up the\ntop floor, and we left him here--\"\n\"What was her attitude toward Mr. Miles when he dropped in on her this\nmorning?\" Dundee interrupted.\n\"Mr. Miles?\" Lydia echoed, frowning. \"He wasn't here this morning, or if\nhe was, it was after Nita and I left for town.\"\nWhile the maid was packing a bag, which Dundee would examine before she\nwas allowed to take it away with her, the detective rejoined Tracey\nMiles, who had made himself as comfortable as possible in the living\nroom.\n\"Lydia's going with you, and is grateful for your wife's kindness,\"\nDundee informed him, and felt his heart warm to the boresome,\negotistical little cherub of a man when he saw how Miles' face lit up\nwith real pleasure. \"By the way, Miles, you saw Ralph Hammond when you\ncalled here this morning, didn't you?\"\n\"Yes,\" Miles answered with some reluctance. \"He answered the door when I\nrang and told me Lydia and Nita had gone into town.\"\n\"Mr. Miles,\" Dundee began slowly, throwing friendliness and persuasion\ninto his voice, \"I know how all you folks stick together, but I'd\nappreciate it a lot if you'd tell me frankly whether you noticed\nanything unusual in Hammond's manner this morning.\"\n\"Unusual?\" Miles repeated, frowning. \"He was a little short with me\nbecause he was busy, and, I suspect, a little jealous because I'd come\ncalling on Nita--\" He broke off abruptly, in obvious distress. \"Look\nhere, Dundee! I didn't mean to say that, but I suppose you'll find out\nsooner or later.... Well, the fact is, the whole crowd knows Ralph\nHammond was absolutely mad about Nita Selim. Wanted to marry her, and\nmade no secret of it, though we all thought or hoped it would be little\nPenny Crain. He's been devoted to Penny for years, and since Roger Crain\nmade a mess of things and skipped out, leaving Penny and her poor mother\nhigh and dry, we've all done our best to throw Penny and Ralph together.\nBut since Nita came to town--\"\n\"Was Nita in love with Ralph?\" Dundee cut in, rather curtly, for he had\na curious distaste for hearing Penny Crain discussed in this manner.\n\"Sometimes we were sure she was,\" Miles answered. \"She flirted with all\nof us men--had a way with her of making every man she talked to think he\nwas the only pebble on the beach. But there was something special in the\nway she looked at Ralph.... Yes, I think she _was_ in love with him! But\nthen again,\" he frowned, \"she would treat him like a dog. Seemed to want\nto drive him away from her--but she always called him back--Oh, Lord!\"\nhe interrupted himself with a groan. \"Now I suppose I _have_ put my foot\nin it! You've got the damnedest way of making a chap tell everything he\nwould cut his tongue out rather than spill, Dundee! But just because a\nyoung man's in love, and happens not to show up at a party, is no reason\nto think he sneaked up to the house and killed the woman he loved and\nwanted to marry. For I'm not so dumb that I haven't seen the drift of\nyour damnable questions, Dundee!... Do you know Ralph Hammond, by any\nchance?\" he concluded, his round face red with anger.\n\"No--but I should like to meet him,\" Dundee retorted. \"He seems quite\nhard to locate this evening.\"\n\"Well, when you do meet him,\" Tracey Miles began violently, his blue\neyes blazing with anger, \"you'll soon find you've been barking up the\nwrong tree! There's not a cleaner, finer, straighter--\"\n\"In fact, he is a friend of yours, Miles,\" Dundee answered soothingly,\n\"and I respect you for every word you've said.... By the way, did all of\nyou go to the Country Club for dinner after you left here?\"\nSomewhat mollified, Miles answered: \"All of us but Clive Hammond. He\nsaid he was going to have a look around for Ralph himself. Seemed to\nhave an idea where he might find him.... And, oh, yes, Sprague\ndisappeared in the scramble. He hasn't a car and nobody thought of\noffering him a lift. Guess he took a bus into Hamilton.... Ah! Here's\nLydia!... Hello, Lydia!\" he called heartily to the woman who was\nstanding, tall and gaunt, in the doorway. \"Mighty glad you're coming to\nlook after the kids!\"\nFrom behind the black veil which draped her ugly black hat and hid her\nscarred face, Lydia answered in the dull, harsh voice that was\ncharacteristic of her:\n\"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best.\"\nShe made no protest when Dundee, with a word of embarrassed apology,\nwent rapidly through the heavy suitcase she had brought up from the\nbasement with her. And when he had finished his fruitless search, she\nknelt and silently smoothed the coarse, utilitarian garments he had\ndisarranged.\nFive minutes later Dundee was alone in the house where murder had been\ncommitted under such strange and baffling circumstances that afternoon.\nHe was not nervous, but again he made a tour of inspection of the first\nfloor and basement, looking into closets, and testing windows to make\nsure they were all locked. Everywhere there were evidences of the\nthoroughness of the police detectives who had searched for the weapon\nwith which Nita Selim had been murdered. In the basement, as he had\nsubconsciously noted on his headlong dash to question Lydia Carr, the\nfurnace doors swung open, and the lids of the laundry tubs had been left\npropped up, after the unavailing search....\nHe plodded wearily up the basement stairs and on into the kitchen.\nPerhaps the ice-box had something fit to eat in it--the fruit intended\nfor Nita's and Lydia's Sunday breakfast. Those caviar and anchovy\nsandwiches had certainly not stuck with him long....\nHe was making his way toward the electric refrigerator when he stopped\nas suddenly as if he had been shot.\nThe kitchen door, which he had taken especial pains to assure himself\nwas locked, when he had made the rounds immediately after the departure\nof Captain Strawn and his men, was standing slightly ajar!\n_Someone had entered this house!_\nDundee stared blankly at the door, which was equipped with a Yale lock.\nSomeone with a key.... But why had the door been left ajar? _To make\nescape more noiseless?_\nWith the toe of his shoe Dundee pushed the door to and heard the click\nof the lock, then, all thought of food routed from his mind, made a\nquick but almost silent dash into the dining room to secure one of the\npair of tall wax tapers, which, in their silver candlesticks, served as\nornaments for the sideboard.\nIf the intruder was still in the house he could be nowhere but in that\nunfinished half of the gabled top story. The nearer stairs were those in\nthe back hall, and Dundee took them two at a time, regardless of the\nnoise. Who had preceded him stealthily?... By the aid of his lighted\ncandle he discovered an electric switch at the head of the stairs,\nflicked it on, and found himself in a wide hall, one wall of which was\nfinished with buff-tinted plaster and with three doors, the other of\nrough boards with but a single door.\nWith his candle held high, so that its light should not blind him, and\nwell aware that it made him a perfect target, Dundee opened the\nunpainted door and found himself in the dark, musty-smelling room that\nhad served Nita Selim and the Crains before her as a storeroom. From the\nceiling dangled a green cord ending in a cheap, clear-glass bulb, but\nits light was sufficient to penetrate even the farthest low nooks made\nby the three gables. He blew out his candle and dropped it, as useless\nnow.\nA quick tour convinced him that nothing human was concealed behind one\nof Nita Selim's empty wardrobe trunks, or behind one of the several\npieces of heavy old furniture, undoubtedly left behind by the\ndispossessed Crain family.\nBig footprints on the thick dust which coated the floor showed him that\nhe was being no more thorough than Captain Strawn's brace of\nplainclothes detectives had been much earlier that evening. Two pairs of\ngiant footprints....\nWith an exclamation he discovered a smaller, narrow pair of prints, and\nfollowed their winding trail all around and across the attic. And then\nhe remembered.... Ralph Hammond's footprints, of course, made that\nmorning as he went about his legitimate business of measuring and\nestimating for the job of turning the storeroom into bedrooms and\nbathrooms.\nDundee had not realized that he was frightened until he was in the hall\nagain, facing one of the three doors in the plastered wall. With\nsurprise, and some amusement, he became aware that his hands were\ntrembling, and that his knees had a curious tendency to buckle.\nThe fact that the door directly in front of him was open about two\ninches served, for some odd reason, to steady his nerves. Pushing the\ndoor wide open with his foot--for he never forgot the possibility of\nincriminating fingerprints which might easily be obliterated, he\ndiscovered a light switch near the door frame.\nThe instant illumination from a ceiling cluster revealed a large\nbedroom, and less clearly, another and smaller room beyond it, facing as\nthe house faced--toward the south. Knees and hands steady again, he\ninvestigated the finished portion of the gabled story swiftly. A\ncharming layout, he told himself. Had Penny Crain once enjoyed this\ndelightful little sitting-room, with its tiny balcony built out upon the\nsloping roof?... And it gave him pleasure to think that this big,\nwell-furnished but not fussily feminine bedroom had once been hers, as\nwell as the small but perfect bathroom whose high narrow window\noverlooked the back garden. The closets, dresser drawers and highboy\ndrawers were completely empty, however, of any traces of her occupancy\nor that of any other....\nWith these rooms going to waste, why--he suddenly asked himself--had\nNita Selim coaxed Judge Marshall to have the unfinished half of the\ngabled attic turned into bedrooms and baths? Why couldn't Lydia have\nslept up here, if Nita thought so much of her \"faithful and beloved\nmaid\"?\nBut even as he asked himself the question Dundee realized that the\nanswer to it had been struggling to attract his attention.\n_These rooms had not been wasted!_ Someone had been occupying them as\nlate as last night! Weaving swiftly through the three rooms, like a\nbloodhound on the scent, Dundee collected the few but sufficient proofs\nto back up his intuitive conviction. A copy of _The Hamilton Evening\nSun_, dated Friday, May 23, left in an armchair in the sitting-room. All\nwindows raised about six inches from the bottom, so that the night\nbreeze stirred the hand-blocked linen drapes. And, clinging to these\ndrapes, the faint but unmistakable odor of cigarette smoke. Finally,\nwith a low cry of triumph, Bonnie Dundee flung back the colored linen\nspread which covered the three-quarter bed and discovered that the\nsheets and pillow cases, though clean, had, beyond the shadow of a\ndoubt, been slept upon.\nBending so that his nose almost touched a pillow case he sniffed.\n_Pomade!..._ Who was the man who had slept in this bed last night?\nCHAPTER FOURTEEN\nWith the thrill of his discovery singing blithely along his nerves,\nBonnie Dundee, Special Investigator for the District Attorney, had at\nfirst hugged the intention of following the new trail alone. Hadn't\nCaptain Strawn taunted him not too good-naturedly about his ability to\nget along without the younger man's help?\nBut he was glad, both selfishly and unselfishly, when, half an hour\nlater, he threw open the front door of dead Nita's house to the chief of\nthe Homicide Squad, Carraway, the fingerprint expert, and the two\nplainclothesmen who had searched the top floor for the missing weapon or\nthe murderer himself soon after the murder had been committed. For if\nStrawn needed his help, Dundee needed the expert machinery which Strawn\ncaptained. And it was good to feel the grip of gratitude in the old\nchief's handclasp and to see the almost shy twinkle of apology in his\nhard old grey eyes....\nDundee led the way up the front stairs to the upper floor, glad to hear\nthe heavy tread of official feet behind him.\n\"I guess you've got it all doped out who the Selim woman's gentleman\nfriend was,\" Strawn commented genially, as he followed Dundee into the\npleasant, big bedroom.\n\"I believe I have, but I need Carraway to prove my hunch,\" Dundee\nacknowledged.\nEagerly, swiftly, he displayed his first tangible finds--the open\nwindows, the drapes smelling of cigarette smoke, the evening paper of\nthe day before, the faint odor and greasiness of barber's pomade upon\nthe pillow case of the bed which had clearly been slept in since the\nlinen was changed.\n\"Now, Collins--Harmon--\" Dundee whirled upon the two silent\nplainclothesmen, \"I want to know what you saw in these rooms when you\nsearched them early this evening that you don't see now. You looked into\nthe closets and drawers, of course?\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" Collins answered. \"And they was all empty, Dundee. Me and\nHarmon didn't waste time smelling pillow cases, and I admit we didn't\npay no attention to that there newspaper--\"\n\"_Empty!_\" Dundee echoed. \"Are you sure?... You, too, Harmon?\"\n\"What are you driving at, boy?\" Captain Strawn asked indulgently.\nBriefly, with disappointment flattening his voice, Dundee told of his\nfinding the kitchen door ajar, after he had made sure it was locked on\nhis first rounds of the house.\n\"I worked it out this way,\" he continued, despite Strawn's grin. \"Dexter\nSprague was Nita's lover, as I had thought all along. He was in the\nhabit of spending the night here whenever Nita would give him an evening\nof her company. He was here last night, according to the maid, Lydia\nCarr. Nita sent her into Hamilton to a picture show. Nita and Sprague\nquarreled last night, but I am positive he spent the night here anyway.\nCertainly there was no actual rupture, since Sprague worded his note to\nher as he did. I have another strong reason for thinking his belongings\nwere here at least until noon today, but that can wait for the moment.\nFurthermore, I am positive that Sprague descended by the backstairs and\nwent around the house to join the cocktail party which was to follow the\nhen bridge party.\"\n\"How do you make that out, Bonnie?\" Strawn asked, his grin wiped away.\n\"Try to remember how Sprague looked when you first got here,\" Dundee\nsuggested. \"I saw him twenty minutes after you did, but--_he was wearing\nan immaculate stiff collar, and there were still traces of talcum powder\nover a close shave_! And you will remember that he said he had made a\nhalf hour's trip by bus, and had walked the quarter of a mile from the\nbus stop on Sheridan Road to this house. It was a mighty hot afternoon,\nchief!\"\n\"Not conclusive,\" Strawn growled.\n\"Then here's another straw to add to the weight of my conclusion,\"\nDundee went on unshaken. \"You remember that Janet Raymond was on the\nfront porch _watching for Sprague_, while the 'death hand of bridge' was\nbeing played?... Oh, she tried to protect him.... Wait, I'll read you\nthe notes I made when I was questioning her. I looked them up while I\nwas waiting for you.... Here! I had said to Miss Raymond: 'You observed\nMr. Sprague toiling down the rutty road, hot and weary, but romantic in\nthe sunset?' And she answered, stammering: 'I--I wasn't looking that\nway....' And I knew she was lying, knew that she had been taken\ncompletely by surprise when Sprague suddenly appeared _from the rear of\nthe house_! What's more, she betrayed herself and him by admitting that\nshe was surprised. Then--because the girl is undoubtedly in love with\nSprague and was mortally afraid he had killed Nita Selim, she tried\nfrantically to throw suspicion on Lydia Carr, by telling how Lydia had\nfailed to answer Mrs. Dunlap's first ring--Good Lord! Wait a minute! I\nwant to think!\" he interrupted himself to exclaim.\nAfter a full minute, while he had stood very still, with his fingers\npressed against his closed eyes, Dundee began slowly:\n\"I believe that's it.... Listen, boys!\" He turned to the two\nplainclothesmen, urgent pleading in his voice. \"Would you both take your\noath that there was no bag--say a small Gladstone overnight\nbag--anywhere in these rooms when you searched them this evening?\"\nThe two detectives glanced at each other, their faces reddening. It was\nHarmon, the older of the pair, who swallowed hard before answering:\n\"We'd been told to look for a man hiding, and for a gun--\" Then he\nsquared his shoulders as if to receive the blame like a man. \"Yes, sir!\nThere was a little black grip on the closet shelf. I went through it\nmyself, but there wasn't no gun in it. Just a pair of pajamas and a\ncouple of shirts, one of 'em dirty, some socks and collars and a\nshaving-kit--\"\nDundee drew a deep breath, and clapped the red-faced detective on the\nback in high good humor.\n\"There simply _had_ to be a bag somewhere!\" he laughed.\n\"This is the way of it, Strawn.... Nita and Sprague rowed last night.\nSprague tried to make it up, but Nita must have been through with him.\nProbably told him last night to clear his things out and not come back.\nShe thought he had done so; probably he did leave before she got up. At\nany rate she was so sure he was gone and his things with him that she\nand Lydia went to town this morning and left Ralph Hammond here to go\nthrough the place as freely as he liked, making his estimates on the job\nof finishing up the other half of this floor. And Ralph--but let that\nwait for the moment.\"\n\"Got any real proof that it was Sprague who stayed here and not the\nHammond boy?\" Strawn interrupted shrewdly.\n\"I'm coming to the proof,\" Dundee assured him, \"or rather, the rest of\nthe proof that I haven't already given you. You're damned hard to\nconvince, chief! But let me go on with my theory, which I think covers\nthe facts.... At luncheon, when Nita received that note from Sprague, I\nimagine she got a hunch that he hadn't taken her seriously, that he had\nnot removed his belongings. You remember Penny Crain said Nita had Lydia\nfollow her into her bedroom, as soon as Nita got home from the\nluncheon?... Well, it's my hunch that Nita asked Lydia if Sprague's\nthings were gone when she cleaned these rooms this morning, and that\nLydia said no. Nita then probably told Lydia to pack them herself, and I\nfeel positive that Lydia did so, for she must have felt safe when she\nprotested to me that Sprague was not Nita's lover. I also feel sure that\nSprague arrived at least half an hour before he said he did, by some\nback path across the meadow; that he came up to these rooms that he\nconsidered his, found his things packed, but went about shaving and\nchanging his shirt and collar, regardless. I also feel sure that Lydia\nfollowed him upstairs to explain and impress upon him that Nita had\nmeant what she said. And it is quite likely that she was not through\npicking up after him when he descended by the back stairs and surprised\nJanet Raymond on the front porch. That accounts, of course, for Lydia's\nnot hearing the kitchen bell the first time Mrs. Dunlap rang.\"\n\"Umm,\" Strawn grunted. \"What about the proofs you're holding back?\"\n\"Come along, chief--you, too, Carraway!\" Dundee answered, and led the\nway into the bathroom. \"I felt sure these rooms would yield a very\ndefinite clue, even though Sprague, when he sneaked back tonight to get\nhis tell-tale bag, apparently made every effort to wipe his fingerprints\noff the furniture and bathroom fixtures.... Now, Carraway, if you'll\nstep upon this little stool and look along the top of this medicine\ncabinet, you'll find what I found--and didn't touch.\"\nThe fingerprint expert did as he was told. When he stepped down he was\nholding, between the very tips of his fingers, a safety razor blade.\n\"No dust on it, you see,\" Dundee pointed out. \"Now if you don't find\nDexter Sprague's fingerprints on it, my whole theory topples.\"\n\"How am I going to know whose fingerprints they are till we get hold of\nSprague?\" Carraway asked reasonably.\n\"We don't need him--for that purpose, at least,\" Dundee assured him.\n\"Downstairs in the living room, on a little table in the southeast\ncorner of the room, you'll find a red glass ashtray which no one but\nDexter Sprague used all evening. It was clean and empty when I saw him\nuse it first. I think you'll find on it all the prints you need.\"\n\"So you think Sprague killed her because she was through with him?\"\nStrawn asked.\nDundee shook his head. \"Since I don't like Dexter Sprague a little bit,\nchief, I'd like to think so, but--\"\nCHAPTER FIFTEEN\nBonnie Dundee's first thought upon awakening that Sunday morning was\nthat it might prove to be rather a pity that his new bachelor apartment,\nas he loved to call his three rooms at the top of a lodging house which\nhad once been a fashionable private home, faced south and west, rather\nthan east. At the Rhodes House, whose boarding-house clamor and lack of\nprivacy he had abandoned upon taking the flattering job and decent\nsalary of \"Special Investigator attached to the District Attorney's\noffice,\" he had grown accustomed to using the hot morning sun upon his\nreluctant eyelids as an alarm clock.\nBut--he continued the train of thought, after discovering by his watch\nthat it was not late; only 8:40--it was pretty darned nice having\n\"diggings\" like these. Quiet and private. For he was the only tenant\nnow on the top floor. His pleased, lazy eyes roved over the plain\nseverity but solid comfort of his bedroom, and on past the open door to\ntake in appreciatively the equally comfortable and masculine living\nroom.... Pretty nice! That leather-upholstered couch and armchair had\nbeen a real bargain, and he liked them all the better for being rather\nscuffed and shabby. Then his eyes halted upon a covered cage, swung from\na pedestal....\n\"Poor old Cap'n!... Must be wondering when the devil I'm going to get\nup!\" and he swung out of bed, lounged sleepily into the small living\nroom and whisked the square of black silk from the cage.\nThe parrot, formerly the property of murdered old Mrs. Hogarth of the\nRhodes House, but for the past year the young detective's official\n\"Watson,\" ruffled his feathers, poked his green-and-yellow head between\nthe bars of his cage and croaked hoarsely: \"Hullo! Hullo!\"\n\"Hullo, yourself, my dear Watson!\" Dundee retorted. \"Your vacation is\nover, old top! It's back on the job for you and me both!... Which\nreminds me that I ought to be taking a squint at the Sunday papers, to\nsee how much Captain Strawn thought fit to tell the press.\"\nHe found _The Hamilton Morning News_ in the hall just outside his living\nroom door.\n\"Listen, Cap'n.... 'NITA SELIM MURDERED AT BRIDGE'.... Probably the\nsnappiest streamer headline the News has had for many a day.... Now\nlet's see--\" He was silent for two minutes, while his eyes leaped down\nthe lesser headlines and the column one, page one story of the murder.\nThen: \"Good old Strawn! Not a word, my dear Watson, about your absurd\nmaster's absurd performance in having 'the death hand at bridge'\nreplayed. Not a word about Ralph Hammond, the missing guest! Not a word\nabout Mrs. Tracey Miles' being hidden away in the clothes closet while\nher hostess was being murdered!... In fact, my dear Watson, not a word\nabout anything except Strawn's own theory that a hired gunman from New\nYork or Chicago--preferably Nita's home town, New York, of\ncourse--sneaked up, crouched in her window, and bumped her off. _And_\nlife-size photographs of the big footprints under the window to prove\nhis theory!... By golly, Cap'n! I clean forgot to tell my former chief\nthat I'd found Nita's will and note to Lydia! He'll think I deliberately\nheld out on him.... Well--I can't sit here all day gossiping with you,\n'my dear Watson....' Work--much work--to be done; then--Sunday dinner\nwith poor little Penny.\"\nFour hours later a tired and dispirited young detective was climbing the\nstairs of an ugly, five-story \"walk-up\" apartment house in which Penny\nCrain and her mother had been living since the financial failure and\nflight of the husband and father, Roger Crain.\n\"Hello, there!\" It was Penny's friendly voice, hailing him from the\ntopmost landing of the steep stairs. \"All winded, poor thing?\"\nHis tired, unhappy eyes drank her in--the freshness and sweetness of a\ndomestic Penny, so different from the thorny little office Penny who\nprided herself on her efficiency as secretary to the district\nattorney.... Penny in flowered voile, with a saucy, ruffled white\napron.... But there were purplish shadows under her brown eyes, and her\ngayety lasted only until he had reached her side.\n\"Sh-h-h!--Have they found Ralph?\" she whispered anxiously.\nHe could only answer \"No,\" and he almost choked on the word.\n\"Mother's all of a twitter at my having a detective to dinner,\" she\nwhispered, trying to be gay again. \"She fancies you'll be wearing size\n11 shoes and a 'six-shooter' at your belt--Yes, Mother! It's Mr.\nDundee!\"\nShe did not look \"all of a twitter,\" this pretty but rather faded\nmiddle-aged little mother of Penny's. A gentle dignity and patient\nsadness, which Dundee was sure were habitual to her, lay in the faded\nblue eyes and upon the soft, sweet mouth....\nBut Mrs. Crain was ushering him into the living room, and its charm made\nhim forget for the moment that the Crains were to be pitied, because of\ntheir \"come-down\" in life. For every piece of furniture seemed to be\nauthentic early American, and the hooked rugs and fine, brocaded damasks\nallied themselves with the fine old furniture to defeat the ugliness\nwith which the Maple Court Apartments' architect had been fiercely\ndetermined to punish its tenants.\n\"'Scuse me! Gotta dish up!\" Penny flung over her shoulder as she ran\naway and left him alone with her mother.\nDundee liked Mrs. Crain for making no excuses about a maid they could\nnot afford, liked the way she settled into a lovely, ancient\nrocking-chair and set herself to entertain him while her daughter made\nready the dinner.\nNot a word was said about the horrible tragedy which had occurred the\nday before in the house which had once been her home. They talked of\nPenny's work, and the little gentlewoman listened eagerly, with only the\nfaintest of sighs, as Dundee humorously described Penny's fierce\nefficiency and District Attorney Sanderson's keen delight in her work.\n\"Bill Sanderson is a nice boy,\" the woman of perhaps 48 said of\nHamilton's 35-year-old district attorney. \"It is nice for Penny to work\nwith an old friend of the family, or was--until--\"\nAnd that was the nearest she came to mentioning the murder before Penny\nsummoned them to the little dining room.\nBecause Penny was watching him and was obviously proud of her skill as a\ncook--skill recently acquired, he was sure--Dundee ate as heartily as\nhis carefully concealed depression would permit. There was a beautifully\nbrowned two-rib roast of beef, pan-browned potatoes, new peas,\nescalloped tomatoes, and, for dessert, a gelatine pudding which Penny\nproudly announced was \"Spanish cream,\" the secret of which she had\nmastered only that morning.\n\"I was up almost at dawn to make it, so that it would 'set' in time,\"\nshe told him, and by the quiver of her lip Dundee knew that it was not\nSpanish cream which had got her up....\n\"I'm going to help wash dishes,\" he announced firmly, and Penny, with a\nquick intake of breath, agreed.\n\"Hadn't you better take a nap, Mother?\" she added a minute later, as\nMrs. Crain, with a slight flush on her faded cheeks, began to stack the\ndessert dishes. \"You mustn't lay a hand on these dishes, or Bonnie and I\nwill have our dishwashing picnic spoiled.... Run along now. You need\nsleep, dear.\"\n\"Not any more than you do, poor baby!\" Mrs. Crain quavered, and then\nhurried out of the room, since gentlewomen do not weep before strangers.\n\"I called you 'Bonnie' so Mother would know we are really friends,\"\nPenny explained, her cheeks red, as she preceded him through the\nswinging door into the miniature kitchen.\n\"You'll stick to that--being friends, I mean, no matter what happens,\nwon't you, Penny?\" Dundee said in a low voice, setting the fragile\ncrystal dishes he carried upon the porcelain drainboard of the sink.\n\"I knew you had something bad to tell me.... It's about--Ralph, I\nsuppose?\" Her husky voice was scarcely audible above the rush of hot\nwater into the dishpan. \"You'd better tell me straight off, Bonnie. I'm\nnot a very patient person.... Are they going to arrest Ralph when they\nfind him? There wasn't a word in the paper about him this morning--\"\n\"I'm afraid they are, Penny,\" Dundee told her miserably. \"Captain Strawn\nhas a warrant ready, but of course--\"\n\"Oh, you don't have to tell me you hope Ralph isn't guilty!\" she cut in\nwith sudden passionate vehemence. \"Don't _I_ know he couldn't have done\nit? They always arrest the wrong person first, the blundering idiots--\"\nIt was the thorny Penny again, the Penny with glittering eyes which\nmatched her nickname. But Dundee felt better able to cope with this\nPenny....\n\"I'm afraid I'm the chief idiot, but you must believe that I'm sorry it\nshould be a friend of yours,\" he told her, and reached for the plate she\nhad rinsed of its suds under the hot water tap.\n\"Shoot the works!\" she commanded, with hard flippancy. \"Of course I\nmight have known that Captain Strawn's theory about a gunman was just\ndust in our eyes, and that only a miracle could keep you from fastening\non poor Ralph, since he and the gun are both missing.... Naturally it\nwouldn't occur to you that it might be an outsider, someone who had\nfollowed Nita and her lover, Sprague, from New York, to kill her for\nhaving left him for Sprague.... Oh, no! Certainly not!\" she gibed, to\nkeep from bursting into tears.\n\"An outsider would hardly have had access to Judge Marshall's pistol and\nMaxim silencer,\" he reminded her. \"And Captain Strawn received a wire\nfrom a ballistics expert in Chicago this morning, confirming our\nconviction that the same gun which fired the bullets against Judge\nMarshall's target fired the bullet which killed Nita Selim.... You've\nwashed that plate long enough. Let me dry it now.... And there are other\nthings, Penny--\"\n\"Such as--\" she challenged in her angry, husky contralto.\n\"Sprague admitted to me this morning, after I had confronted him with\nproofs, that he sometimes slept in the upstairs bedroom--\"\n\"I told you they were lovers!\" Penny interrupted.\n\"--and that he slept there Friday night, after he and Nita had\nquarreled. He still contends that the row was over that\nmovie-of-Hamilton business,\" Dundee went on, as if she had not spoken.\n\"He admitted also that Nita had told him to take his things away when he\nleft Saturday morning, but he says it was only because she didn't want\nRalph Hammond to find a man's belongings there if he had occasion to go\ninto the upstairs rooms in making his estimates for the finishing-up of\nthe other side. But he contends, and Lydia Carr, whom I also saw again\nthis morning, supports him in it, that he stayed in the house\noccasionally when Nita was particularly nervous about being alone, and\nthat they were _not_ lovers.\"\n\"Pooh!... Don't wipe the flowers off that plate. Here's another.\"\n\"I'm inclined to say 'Pooh!', too, Penny,\" Dundee assured her, \"but\nTracey Miles told me last night when he came to get Lydia that Nita\nreally seemed to be in love with Ralph--part of the time, at least.\"\n\"Nita thought enough of Dexter Sprague to send for him to come down\nhere, and to root her head off for him to get the job of making the\nmovie,\" Penny reminded him fiercely, making a great splashing in the\ndishpan.\n\"Then--_you_ don't think she was in love with Ralph?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Oh, _I don't know_!\" the girl cried. \"I thought so sometimes--had the\ngrace to hope so, anyway, since Ralph was so crazy about her.\"\n\"That's the point, Penny,\" Dundee told her gently. \"Everyone I've talked\nto this morning, including Sprague, seems sure that Ralph Hammond was\nmad about Nita Selim.\"\n\"So of course he would kill her!\" Penny scoffed bitterly.\n\"Yes, Penny--when he discovered Sprague's easily-recognized cravats\ndraped over the mirror frame in a bedroom in Nita's house.... For they\nwere there to be seen when Ralph went into that bedroom yesterday\nmorning.\"\n\"How do you know he saw them?\"\n\"Because he left this behind him,\" Dundee admitted reluctantly, and\nwiped his hands before drawing an initialed silver pencil from his\nbreast pocket. \"I found it under the edge of the bed. The initials are\n\"Yes, I recognize it,\" Penny admitted, turning sharply away. \"I gave it\nto him myself, for a Christmas present. I thought I could afford to give\nsilver pencils away then. Dad hadn't bolted yet--\" She crooked an elbow\nand leaned her face against it for a moment. Then she flung up her brown\nbobbed head defiantly. \"Well?\"\n\"Ralph must have been--well, in a pretty bad way, since he loved Nita\nand wanted to--marry her,\" Dundee persisted painfully. \"Remember that\nPolly Beale found him still there when she stopped to offer Nita a lift\nto Breakaway Inn. It is not hard to imagine what took place. We _know_\nthat Polly curtly cancelled her luncheon engagement with Nita and the\nrest of you, and went into town with Ralph, after making sure that Clive\nwould join them. I saw young Hammond myself for an instant, without\nknowing who he was, and I remember now thinking that he looked far too\nill to eat. I was lunching at the Stuart House myself when they came\ninto the dining room, you know.\"\n\"Plenty to hang him on, I see!\" Penny cried furiously.\n\"There's a little more, Penny,\" Dundee went on. \"Polly Beale and Clive\nHammond were mortally afraid that Ralph _would_ come to the cocktail\nparty! I'm sure Clive made Ralph promise to stay away, and that both\nClive and Polly did not trust him to keep his promise. That is why, I am\nsure, Clive beckoned Polly to join him in the solarium, without entering\nthe living room to speak to Nita. You remember they said they stayed\nthere all during the playing of--\"\n\"If you call it the 'death hand' again, I'll scream!\"\n\"All right.... They stayed there until Karen discovered the murder. I am\nsure they chose that place because of its many windows--they could watch\nfor Ralph's car, dash out and head him off. Take him away by force, if\nnecessary, to keep him from making a scene. I believe they knew he had\nmurder in his heart, and that he would find a way to get a gun--\"\n\"Have you also found out that he stole Hugo's gun yesterday?\"\n\"I have found that it was possible for him to do so,\" Dundee said\nslowly. \"The butler was off for the afternoon until six o'clock. There\nwas no one in the house but the nursemaid and the-three-months-old\nbaby.\"\n\"Well? And I suppose you think Clive and Polly didn't have a chance to\nhead Ralph off, as you say, but that they did see him running away after\nhe killed her?\" Her voice was still brittle with anger, but there were\nindecision and fear in it, too.\n\"No,\" Dundee replied. \"I don't think they saw him. I feel pretty sure he\ncame into the house by the back way, and through the back hall into\nNita's room. He must have known Clive and Polly would be on the lookout\nfor him.... At any rate, I have proof that whoever shot Nita from in\nfront of that window near the porch door fled toward the back hall.\"\nAnd he told her of the big bronze lamp, whose bulb had been broken,\nreminding her of its place at the head of the chaise longue which was\nset between the two west windows.\n\"That was the 'bang or bump' Flora Miles heard while she was hiding in\nthe closet,\" he explained. \"I suppose Flora has told all of you about\nit?... I thought so. Muffled as she was in the closet, it is unlikely\nthat she could have heard Nita's frantic whisperings to Ralph.... I\ndoubt if he spoke at all. Nita must have been sure he was about to leave\nby the porch door--\"\nDimly there came the ring of the telephone. With a curt word, Penny\nexcused herself to answer it. Dundee went on polishing glasses with a\nfresh towel....\n\"Bonnie!\" Penny was coming back, walking like a somnambulist, her brown\neyes wide and fixed. \"That was--Ralph!... _And he doesn't even know Nita\nis dead!_\"\nCHAPTER SIXTEEN\n\"Of course I recognized his voice instantly when he said, 'That you,\nPenny?' and it's a wonder I didn't scream,\" said Penny Crain, fighting\nher way up through dazed bewilderment to explain in detail, in answer to\nDundee's pelting questions. \"I said, 'Of course, Ralph.... Where _have_\nyou been?...' And _he_ said, in that coaxing, teasing voice of his that\nI know so well: 'Peeved, Penny?... I don't blame you, honey. You really\nought not to let me come over and explain why I stood you up last night,\nbut you will, won't you?... Ni-i-ze Penny!...' That's exactly how he\ntalked, Bonnie Dundee! Exactly! _Oh, don't you see he couldn't know that\nNita is dead?_\"\n\"Did you ask him where he was?\" Dundee asked finally.\n\"No. I just told him to come on over, and he said I could depend on it\nthat he wouldn't waste any time.... Oh, Bonnie! What shall we _do_?\"\n\"Listen, Penny!\" Dundee urged rapidly. \"You must realize that I've got\nto see and hear, but I don't want Ralph Hammond to see _me_ until after\nhe's had a talk with you. Will you let me eavesdrop behind these\nportieres?... I know it's a beastly thing to do, but--\"\nPenny agreed at last, and within ten minutes after that amazing\ntelephone call Dundee, from behind the portieres that separated the\ndining and living room, heard Penny greeting her visitor in the little\nfoyer. She had played fair; had not gone out into the hall to whisper a\nwarning--if any warning was needed.\nHe had seen Ralph Hammond enter the dining room of the Stuart House the\nday before, in company with Clive Hammond and Polly Beale, when the\nthree had been strangers to him; but Dundee told himself now that he\nwould hardly have recognized the young man whom Penny was preceding into\nher living room. The Ralph Hammond of Saturday had had a white, drawn\nface and sick eyes. But this boy....\nLike his older brother, Clive, Ralph Hammond had dark-red, curling hair.\nBut unlike his brother's, his eyes were a wide, candid hazel--the green\niris thickly flecked with brown. A little shorter than Clive, a trifle\nmore slender. But that which held the detective's eyes was something\nless tangible but at once more evident than superlative masculine good\nlooks. It was a sort of shy joyousness and buoyance, which flushed the\ntan of his cheeks, sang in his voice, made his eyes almost unbearably\nbright....\nBefore Penny Crain, very pale and quiet, could sink into the chair she\nwas groping toward, Ralph Hammond was at her side, one arm going out to\nencircle her shoulders.\n\"Don't look like that, Penny!\" Dundee heard him plead, his voice\nsuddenly humble. \"You've every right to be sore at me, honey, but please\ndon't be. I know I've been an awful cad these last few weeks, but I'm\nmyself again. I'm cured now, Penny--\"\n\"Wait, Ralph!\" Penny protested faintly, holding back as he would have\nhugged her hard against his breast. \"What about--Nita?\"\nDundee saw the young man's face go darkly red, but heard him answer\nalmost steadily: \"I hoped you'd understand without making me put it into\nwords, honey.... I'm cured of--Nita. I can't express it any other way\nexcept to say I was sick, and now I'm cured--\"\n\"You mean--\" Penny faltered, but with a swift, imploring glance toward\nDundee, \"--you don't love Nita any more? You can't deny you were\nterribly in love with her, Ralph. Lois told us--told _me_ last night\nthat Nita had told her in strictest confidence that she had promised to\nmarry you, just Thursday night--\"\nThe boy's face was very pale as he dropped his hands from Penny's\nshoulders, but Dundee, from behind the portieres, was not troubling to\nspy for the moment. He was too indignant with Penny for having withheld\nfrom him the vital fact of Nita's engagement to Ralph Hammond....\n\"That's true, Penny,\" Ralph was saying dully. \"You have a right to know,\nbecause I'm asking _you_ to marry me now.... I did propose to Nita again\nThursday night, and she did accept me. I confess now I was wild with\nhappiness--\"\n\"Why did she refuse you before?\" Penny cut in, and Dundee silently\nthanked her for asking the question he would have liked to ask himself.\n\"Was it because she wasn't sure she was in love with you?\"\n\"You're making it awfully hard for me, honey,\" the boy protested,\nthen admitted humbly, \"Of course you want to know, and you should\nknow.... No, she said all along, almost from the first that she loved\nme more than I could love her, but that there were--reasons.... _Two\nreasons_, she always said, and once I asked her jealously if they were\nboth men, but she looked so startled and then laughed so queerly that I\ndidn't ask again.... Then I thought it might be because I was younger\nthan she was, though I can't believe she is more than twenty-three or so,\nand I'm twenty-five, you know. And once I got cold-sick because I thought\nshe might still be married, but she said her husband was married again,\nand I wasn't to ask questions or worry about him--\"\n\"But she _did_ accept you Thursday night?\" Penny persisted.\n\"Yes,\" the boy admitted, his face darkly flushed again. \"This is awfully\nhard, honey, but I'll tell you once for all and get it over with.... I\ntook her to dinner. We drove to Burnsville because she said she was sick\nof Hamilton. When we were driving back she suddenly became very\nqueer--reckless, defiant.... And she asked me if I still wanted to marry\nher, and I said I did. I asked her right then to say when, and she said\nshe'd marry me June first, but she added--\" and the boy, to Dundee's\nwatching eyes, seemed to be genuinely puzzled again by what must have\nsounded so odd at the time--\"that she'd marry me June first _if she\nlived to see the day_.\"\n\"Oh!\" Penny gasped, then, controlling her horror, she asked with what\nsounded like real curiosity, \"Then what--happened, Ralph? Why do you\npropose to _her_ on Thursday and to _me_ on--on Sunday?\"\n\"A gorgeous actress sacrificed to the typewriter,\" Dundee told himself,\nas he waited for Ralph Hammond's reluctant reply.\n\"Can't we forget it, honey?... You do love me a little, don't you? Can't\nyou take my word for it that--I'm cured now--forever?\"\nPenny's hands went up to cover her face, and Dundee had the grace to\nfeel very sorry indeed for her--sorry even if she intended to give her\npromise to Ralph Hammond, as a sick feeling in his stomach prophesied\nthat she was about to do....\n\"How can I know you're really--cured, if I don't know what cured you?\"\n\"I suppose you're right,\" the boy admitted miserably. \"There's no need\nto ask you not to tell anyone else. Although I don't want to see her\nagain ever--. Why, Penny, I wouldn't even tell Polly and Clive\nyesterday, after it happened, though Polly guessed and went upstairs--.\nI tried to keep her back--.\"\n\"I don't--quite understand, Ralph,\" Penny interrupted. \"You mean\nsomething happened when you were at Nita's house yesterday morning?\"\n\"Yes. Judge Marshall had promised Nita to have the unfinished half of\nthe top story turned into a maid's bedroom and bath and a guest bedroom\nand bath. Clive let me go to make the estimates. Of course I was glad of\nthe chance to see Nita again--I hadn't been with her since Thursday\nnight. But she had to take Lydia in for a dentist's appointment, and\nthey left me alone in the house. I had to go into the finished half to\nmake some measurements, and in the bedroom I found--oh, God!\" he\ngroaned, and pressed a fist against his trembling mouth.\n\"You found that Dexter Sprague was staying there, was using the bedroom\nthat used to be mine--didn't you?\" Penny helped him at last, in\ndesperation.\n\"How did you know?\" The boy stared at the girl blankly for a moment,\nthen seemed to crumple as if from a new blow. \"I suppose it was common\ngossip that Nita and Sprague were lovers, and I was the only one she\nfooled!... My God! To think all of you would stand by and let me _marry_\nher--a cheap little gold-digger from Broadway, living with a cheap\nfour-flusher she couldn't get along without and had to send for--\"\n\"Did you--want to kill her, Ralph?\" Penny whispered, touching one of his\nknotted fists with a trembling hand.\n\"Kill her?... Good Lord, _no_!\" the boy flung at her violently. \"I'm not\nsuch an ass as that! You girls are all alike! Polly had so little sense\nas to think I'd want to kill Nita and Sprague both! She couldn't see,\nand neither could Clive, that all I wanted was to get away from\neverybody and get so drunk I could forget what a fool I'd been--\"\n\"What _did_ you do, Ralph?\" Penny asked urgently.\n\"Why, I got drunk, of course,\" the boy answered, as if surprised at her\npersistence. \"Darling, you wouldn't believe me if I told you how much\nrot-gut Scotch it took to put me under, but that filthy bootlegging\nhotel clerk would have charged me twice what he did for the stuff if he\nhad known how much good it would do me.\"\n\"Hotel?\" Penny snatched at the vital word. \"Where did you go to get\ndrunk, Ralph?\"\n\"I never realized before you had so much curiosity, honey,\" the boy\ngrinned at her. \"After I shook Clive--Polly went on to Nita's bridge\nparty, because she couldn't throw her down at the last minute--I\nwandered around till I came to the Railroad Men's Hotel, down on State\nStreet, you know, the other side of the tracks. It's a miserable dump,\nbut I sort of hankered for a place to hide in that was as miserable and\ncheap as I felt--\"\n\"Did you register under your own name?\"\n\"Ashamed of me, Penny?... No, I registered under my first two\nnames--Ralph Edwards. And the rat-faced, filthy little hotel clerk\nturned out to be a bootlegger.... Well, when I woke up about eleven this\nmorning I give you my word I wasn't sick and headachy, though God knows\nI'd drunk enough to put me out for a week.... Penny, I woke up\nfeeling--well, I can't explain it but to say I felt light and new\nand--and clean.... All washed-up! At first I thought my heart was\nempty--it felt so free of pain. But as I lay there thanking God that\n_that was that_, I found my heart wasn't empty at all. It was brimming\nfull of love--Gosh, honey! I sound like a Laura Jean Libbey hero, don't\nI?... But before I rang you from the lunch room where I ate breakfast I\nwrote Nita a special delivery note, telling her it was all off. I had to\nbe free actually, before I could ask you.... You _will_ marry me, won't\nyou, Penny honey?... I knew this morning I had never really loved anyone\nelse--\"\nPenelope Crain remained rigid for a moment, then very slowly she laid\nboth her hands on his head, for he had knelt and buried his face against\nher skirt. But as she spoke, her brown eyes, enormous in her white face,\nwere upon Dundee, who had stepped silently from behind the portieres.\n\"Yes. I'll marry you, Ralph!... You may come in now, Mr. Dundee!\"\nCHAPTER SEVENTEEN\nIt was nearly nine o'clock Monday morning, and Special Investigator\nDundee sat alone in the district attorney's office, impatiently awaiting\nSanderson's arrival. Coroner Price, with the approval of Captain Strawn\nof the Homicide Squad, had set the inquest into the murder of Juanita\nLeigh Selim for ten o'clock, and there was much that Dundee wished to\nsay to the district attorney before that hour arrived.\nWhen the thoroughly tired and dispirited young detective had returned to\nhis apartment late Sunday afternoon, after having seen Ralph Hammond\ncompletely exonerated of any possible complicity in the murder of Nita\nSelim, he had found a telegram from the district attorney, filed in\nChicago:\n     \"CALLED CHICAGO SERIOUS ILLNESS OF MOTHER STOP RETURNING HAMILTON\n     EIGHT TEN MONDAY MORNING STOP SEE BY PAPERS YOU ARE ON SELIM JOB\n     STOP GOOD BUT WATCH YOUR STEP--SANDERSON\"\nWell--and Dundee grinned ruefully--he had been on the job all right, but\nwould Sanderson consider that he had \"watched his step\"? At any rate, he\nhad been thorough, he congratulated himself, as he weighed the big\nmanilla envelope containing his own transcription of the copious\nshorthand notes he had taken during the first hours of the\ninvestigation. A smaller envelope held Nita's tell-tale checkbook, her\namazing last will and testament, and the still more startling note she\nhad written to Lydia Carr. The last two Dundee had retrieved from\nCarraway only this morning, after having submitted them to the\nfingerprint expert on Sunday.\nCarraway's report had rather dashed him at first, for it proved that no\nother hands than Nita's--and his own, of course--had touched either\nenvelope or contents. But he was content now to believe that Nita\nherself had unsealed the envelope she had inscribed, \"To Be Opened in\nCase of My Death\".... Why?... Had she been moved by an impulse to give a\nclue to the identity of the person of whom she stood in fear, but had\nstifled the impulse?\nStrawn had said, too, that the little rosewood desk had been in a fairly\norderly condition, before his big, official hands had clawed through it\nin search of a clue or the gun itself.... Well, Strawn had been properly\nchagrined when Dundee had produced the will and note....\n\"Why did she stick it away in a pack of new envelopes, if she wanted it\nto be found?\" Strawn had demanded irritably, and had not been appeased\nby Dundee's suggestion: \"Because she did not want Lydia, in dusting the\ndesk, to see it and be alarmed.\"\nYes, he had been busy enough, but what, actually, had he to show for his\nindustry? He had worked up three good cases--the first against Lydia\nCarr, the second against Dexter Sprague, and the third against Ralph\nHammond--only to have them knocked to pieces almost as fast as he had\nconceived them.... Of course Lydia Carr might be lying to give Sprague\nan alibi, but Dundee was convinced that she was telling the truth and\nthat she hated Sprague too much to fake an alibi for him.... Of course\nthere was always Judge Marshall, but--\nThrough the closed door came sounds which Dundee presently identified as\nconnected with Penny Crain's arrival--the emphatic click of her heels;\nthe quick opening and shutting of desk drawers....\nThe down-hearted young detective debated the question of taking his\nperplexities out to her, but decided against it. She probably wanted to\nhear no more of his theories, was undoubtedly burning with righteous\nindignation against him because of Ralph Hammond.... Did she still\nconsider herself engaged to Ralph, in spite of the fact that young\nHammond had gallantly insisted upon releasing her from her promise as\nsoon as he suspected that it had been given merely to prove her faith in\nhis innocence?\nIt was a decidedly unhappy young detective whom Sanderson greeted upon\nhis arrival at nine o'clock.\nThe new district attorney, who had held office since November, was a\nbig, good-natured, tolerant man, who looked younger than his 35 years\nbecause of his freckles and his always rumpled mop of sandy hair. But\nthose who sought to take advantage of his good nature in the courtroom\nfound themselves up against as keen a lawyer and prosecutor as could be\nfound in the whole state, or even in the Middle West.\n\"Well, boy!\" he greeted Dundee genially but with an undertone of\nsolemnity in his rich, jury-swaying baritone. \"Looks like we've got a\nsensational murder on our hands. It's not every day Hamilton can rate a\nheadline like 'BROADWAY BELLE MURDERED AT BRIDGE'--to quote a Chicago\npaper.... But I'm afraid there's not enough mystery in it to suit your\ntastes.\"\nDundee grinned wryly. \"I've been pretty down in the mouth all morning\nbecause there's a little too much mystery, chief.\"\n\"Fairly open-and-shut, isn't it?\" Sanderson asked, obviously surprised.\n\"New York gets too hot for this Selim baby--probably mixed up with some\nracketeer, racketeers being the favorite boy-friends of 'Broadway\nbelles', if one can believe the tabloids. Lois Dunlap offers her a job\nto organize a Little Theater in Hamilton--which the fair Nita would\ncertainly have described as a hick town and which she wouldn't have been\nfound dead in if she could have helped it--\" and the district attorney\ngrinned at his own witticism, \"--but Broadway Nita jumps at it. Her\nracketeer sweetie has a long arm, however, and Nita gets hers. Justly\nenough, probably, but I wish to the Lord she had chosen some other town\nto hide in. Lois Dunlap is the finest woman in Hamilton, but she's too\ndamned promiscuous in her friendships. As it is now, some of the best\nfriends I have in the world are mixed up in this mess, even if it is\nonly as innocent victims of circumstance--\"\nUntil then Dundee had let his chief express his pent-up convictions\nwithout interruption, and indeed Sanderson's courtroom training had\nfitted him admirably for long speeches. But he could keep silent no\nlonger.\n\"That is what has been worrying me, chief,\" he interrupted. \"Captain\nStrawn has given the papers very little real information, but the truth\nis I am afraid _one_ of your friends was not an innocent victim of\ncircumstance.\"\nDistrict Attorney Sanderson sat down abruptly in the swivel chair at his\ndesk. \"Just what do you mean, Dundee?\"\n\"I mean I am convinced that one of Mrs. Selim's _guests_ was her\nmurderer, but I'd like to tell you the whole story, and let you judge\nfor yourself.\"\n\"My God!\" Sanderson ejaculated. Slowly he drew out a handkerchief and\nmopped his freckled brow. \"If I hadn't had a good many years of\nexperience with criminals, Dundee, I'd say it is obvious on the face of\nit that none of those four men--Judge Marshall, Tracey Miles, Johnny\nDrake, Clive Hammond--could have committed such a cheap, sensational\ncrime as murdering a hostess during a bridge game.... Not that I haven't\nwanted to commit murder myself over many a game of bridge,\" he added,\nwith the irrepressible humor for which he was famous. Then he groaned,\nthe rueful twinkle still in his eye: \"I'm afraid we're in for a lot of\ngruesome kidding. Why, last night, in the club car of my train, three\ntables of bridge players could scarcely play a hand for wisecracking\nabout the dangers of being dummy!... Well, boy, now that I've talked\nmyself past the worst shock, suppose you give me the low-down. But I\nwarn you I'm going to take a powerful lot of convincing.\"\nPainstakingly, and in the greatest detail, Dundee told the whole story,\nbeginning with his arrival Saturday evening at the Selim house,\nincluding the ghastly replaying of the \"death hand at bridge\"--a phrase,\nby the way, which the prosecutor instantly adopted--and ending with\nRalph Hammond's establishing of an alibi, to the entire satisfaction of\nCaptain Strawn, as well as of Dundee himself. He was interrupted\nfrequently of course, scoffingly at first, then with deepening solemnity\nand respect on the part of the district attorney.\n\"Let me see the plan of the house again,\" he said, when Dundee had\nfinished. \"Also that table you've worked up showing the approximate time\nand order of arrival of the four men.... Thanks!... Hmm!... Hmm!\"\n\"You see, sir,\" Dundee repeated at last, \"the list of possible suspects\nincludes Lydia Carr, Dexter Sprague, John C. Drake, Judge Marshall,\nPolly Beale, Flora Miles, Janet Raymond, Clive Hammond--\"\n\"But Polly and Clive were in the solarium _together_ all the time!\"\nSanderson objected.\n\"So they said,\" Dundee agreed. \"But it is a very short trip from the\nsolarium by way of the side porch into Nita's bedroom. And either Polly\nBeale or Clive Hammond could have made that trip, on the pretext of\nspeaking to Nita about Ralph!... Motive: murder to end blackmail.\nNaturally such a theory would not include _both_ of them, but if _one of\nthem_ was being blackmailed and made use of the pretext of warning Nita\nof Ralph's overwrought condition--\"\n\"Sprague's your man!\" Sanderson interrupted with relief. \"Motive:\njealousy because Nita was ditching him to marry Ralph.... As for the gun\nand silencer, it seems pretty clear to me that Nita herself stole it\nfrom Judge Marshall, and that Sprague got it away from her. You say the\nmaid, Lydia, went upstairs to tell Sprague he had to pack his things and\ntake them away--for good!... Very well! Sprague goes down the backstairs\nwith the gun in his pocket, through the back hall into Nita's bedroom,\nshoots her, bumps into the lamp, goes out by the back door, and comes\naround front to join the party.... You say yourself he has admitted to\neverything but the trip to Nita's room and the shooting--even to\nsneaking back to get his bag, which I believe also contained the gun\nuntil he had a chance to dispose of it on his way to his hotel in\nHamilton.\"\nDundee shook his head. \"I'd like to agree, chief, but I believe Lydia is\ntelling the truth. She says she was in the upstairs bedroom with Sprague\nand remained behind only two or three minutes at most, to put his\nshaving kit into the packed bag, and to clean up the bathroom basin. On\nher way down the backstairs she says she heard Lois Dunlap's second ring\nand went to answer it. Sprague and Janet Raymond, with whom Janet says\nhe stopped to talk a minute on the front porch, were in the dining room\n_before_ Lydia entered it.... I'm convinced Lydia hates Sprague and\nwould be glad to believe him guilty.... No, Mr. Sanderson, I don't\nbelieve Sprague did it, but I do believe it was Sprague's revenge that\nNita was afraid of when she made her will Friday night. Naturally she\nfigured she'd have time to tell the person she was blackmailing that she\nwas through with him--or her, but I believe Sprague and Nita were\nlovers, even partners in blackmail, and that she feared he would kill\nher when he knew she was going to marry Ralph Hammond and give up their\nsource of income.\"\nSanderson considered for a long minute, pulling at his full lower lip.\n\"Well, thank God for those precious footprints Strawn is building on!\nDon't think I fail to follow your reasoning that the crime _must_ have\nbeen committed in the bedroom, and not from the window sill, but those\nfootprints may save us yet, and will certainly get us through the\ninquest. You agree, of course, that none of all this you've told me must\neven be hinted at during the inquest?... Good! Let's be going. It's\nnearly ten.\"\nDundee's whole soul revolted at the very thought of the barbaric farce\nof an inquest--the small morgue chapel crowded to the doors with\ngoggle-eyed, blood-loving humanity; the stretcher with its sheeted\ncorpse; reporters avid of sensation and primed with questions which, if\nanswered by indiscreet witnesses, would defeat the efforts of police and\ndistrict attorney; news photographers with their insatiable cameras\naimed at every person connected with the case in any way.\nMercifully, this particular inquest upon the body of Juanita Leigh Selim\npromised to be quickly over. For Coroner Price, in conference with\nSanderson, Dundee and Captain Strawn, had gladly agreed to call only\nthose witnesses and extract from them only such information as the\nauthorities deemed advisable.\nLydia Carr, whose black veil had defeated the news camera levelled at\nher poor scarred face, was the first witness called by Coroner Price,\nand she was required for the single purpose of identifying the body as\nthat of her mistress. To two perfunctory questions--\"Have you any\ninformation to give this jury regarding the cause and manner of the\ndeceased's death?\" and \"Have you any personal knowledge of the identity\nof any person, man or woman, of whom the deceased stood in fear of her\nlife?\"--Lydia answered a flat \"No!\" and was then dismissed.\nKaren Marshall, looking far too young to be the wife of the elderly\nex-judge, Hugo Marshall, was the second witness called. Dr. Price guided\nher gently to a brief recital of her discovery of the dead body of her\nhostess, emphasizing only the fact that, so far as she could see, the\nbedroom was unoccupied except by the corpse at the time of the\ndiscovery.\nHe then handed her the photostatic copy of a blueprint of the ground\nfloor of the Selim house, with a pencilled ring drawn around the\nbedroom. Karen falteringly identified it, as well as the pencil-drawn\nfurniture, and was immediately dismissed--to the packed rows of\nspectators and reporters.\nDr. Price himself took the stand next and described, in technical terms,\nthe wound which had caused death and the caliber of the bullet he had\nextracted from the dead woman's heart.\n\"I find, also, from the autopsy,\" he concluded, \"that the bullet\ntraveled a downward-slanting path. I should add, moreover, that I have\nmade exact mathematical calculations, using the position of the body and\nof the wound as a basis, and found that a line drawn from the wound, and\nextended, at the correct slant, ends at a point 51.8 inches high, upon\nthe right-hand side of the frame of the window nearest the porch door.\"\nAnd he obligingly passed the marked blueprint among the jury. When it\nwas in his own hands again, he added: \"It is impossible to state the\nexact distance the bullet traveled, more nearly than to say the shot was\nfired along the line I have indicated, at a distance of not more than\nfifteen feet and not less than ten.\"\nCaptain Strawn rose and was permitted to question the witness:\n\"Dr. Price, that blueprint shows that the bedroom is fifteen feet in\nwidth, don't it?\"\n\"That is correct.\"\n\"Have you also measured the height of that window sill from the floor?\"\n\"I have,\" the coroner answered. \"The height from floor to sill is 26\ninches.\"\n\"Now, doctor, from your calculations, would it be possible for a man\ncrouching in the open window to fire a shot along the path you have\ncalculated?\"\n\"It would,\" Dr. Price answered. \"But as I have pointed out, it is\nimpossible for me to say at exactly what distance from the body the shot\nwas fired.\"\nBut Strawn, of course, was amply satisfied. And so were Dundee and the\ndistrict attorney, for it suited their purposes admirably for the public\nto be convinced at this time that an intruding gunman had murdered Nita\nSelim.\nCaptain Strawn, sworn in, told briefly of his being called to the scene\nof the crime, of the activities of Carraway, the fingerprint expert, and\nof the exhaustive search of his squad of detectives.\n\"Did you find any person concealed upon the premises, that is, within\nthe house itself, or in the garage or on the grounds?\" Dr. Price asked.\n\"No, sir.\"\n\"Did you or your men discover the weapon with which the deceased was\nkilled?\"\n\"No, sir.\"\n\"Did you question all persons in the house at the time of the crime, as\nto whether or not a shot had been heard?\"\n\"I did. The answer in every case was that they heard no shot.\"\n\"And you also questioned every person present in an effort to place\nresponsibility for the death of Mrs. Selim?\"\n\"I did. I couldn't find that anyone present had anything to do with it.\"\n\"Who were these persons?\" Dr. Price then asked.\n\"Judge and Mrs. Hugo Marshall, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey A. Miles, Mr. and\nMrs. John C. Drake, Mrs. Peter Dunlap, Miss Janet Raymond, Miss Polly\nBeale, Miss Penelope Crain, Mr. Clive Hammond, Mr. Dexter Sprague--of\nNew York, and Mrs. Selim's maid, Lydia Carr,\" Captain Strawn answered\npromptly, rolling out the names of Hamilton's elect with sonorous\nsatisfaction, which obviously had the desired effect in convincing the\njury that not among those proud names, at least, could be found the name\nof the murderer.\n\"Did you find on the premises any clue which you consider of importance\nto this jury?\"\n\"I did! A bunch of footprints under the window you've been talking\nabout. Here are life-size photographs of 'em, doctor.... And the rambler\nrose vines that climb up the outside of the window had been torn.\"\nAfter the photographs had been duly inspected by the jury of six Dr.\nPrice said: \"That is all, and thank you, Captain Strawn.... Mr. Dundee!\"\nAs had been agreed between the coroner and the district attorney,\nDundee's testimony, after the preliminary questions, was confined to the\noffering of Nita Selim's \"last will and testament\" and the note to\nLydia.\nThe reporters, who had obviously feared that nothing new would\neventuate, sat up with startled interest, then their pencils flew, as\nDundee read the two documents, after he had told when and where he had\ndiscovered them. As District Attorney Sanderson had said; \"Better give\nthe press something new to chew on, but for God's sake don't mention\nthat checkbook of Nita's. It's dynamite, boy--dynamite!\"\nWhile the morgue chapel was still in a buzz of excitement, Dundee was\ndismissed, and District Attorney Sanderson requested an adjournment of\nthe inquest for one week.\nThe police were urging the crowd upon its way before it became fully\naware that it had been cheated of the pleasure of hearing, at first\nhand, the stories of that fatal bridge and cocktail party from the\nguests themselves.\n\"Tell the Carr woman I want to speak to her,\" Sanderson directed Dundee.\n\"She'll thank you for rescuing her from the reporters.\"\nAs Dundee pushed his way through the jam he heard a reporter earnestly\npleading with Lois Dunlap: \"But I'm sure you can remember the cards each\nplayer held in that 'death hand,' Mrs. Dunlap--\"\nCheerfully sure that he could trust Lois Dunlap's discretion and\ndistaste for publicity, Dundee went on, grinning at the reporter's use\nof his own lurid phrase.\nTwo minutes later Sanderson, Strawn and Dundee were closeted in Dr.\nPrice's own office with Lydia Carr.\n\"First, Lydia,\" began Sanderson, \"I want to warn you to give the\nreporters no information at all regarding the nature or extent of your\nmistress' bequest.\"\n\"It was little enough she had, poor girl, beyond her clothes and a few\npieces of jewelry,\" Lydia answered stubbornly. \"Are you going to let me\ndo what she told me to, in that note?... Not that I hold with burning--\"\n\"I see no reason why you should not take charge of the body, Lydia, and\narrange it immediately for cremation.... Do you, Captain Strawn?\"\nSanderson answered.\n\"No, sir. The quicker the better.\"\n\"Then, Lydia, if Captain Strawn will send you out to the Selim house\nwith one of his boys, you may get the dress described in Mrs. Selim's\nnote--\"\n\"And the curls she cut off and had made into switches,\" Lydia\ninterrupted. \"I can't dress my poor girl's hair in a French roll without\nthem!\"\n\"The curls, too,\" Sanderson agreed. \"Now as to the cremation--\"\n\"Mrs. Miles let me come in early to see about that,\" Lydia interrupted\nagain. \"They can do it this afternoon, and you don't need to worry about\nthe expense. I've got money enough of my own to pay my girl's funeral\nexpenses.\"\n\"Good!\" Sanderson applauded. \"The will shall be probated as soon as\npossible, of course, but it makes it simpler if you will pay the\nnecessary expenses now.\"\n\"Just a minute, chief,\" Dundee halted the district attorney as he was\nabout to leave. \"Under the circumstances, I think it highly advisable\nthat we get pictures of the burial dress. I suggest you have Lydia bring\nthe things to your office before she lays out the body, and that\nCarraway photograph the dress there, from all angles. I should also like\nto have a picture of the body after Lydia has finished her services.\"\nThe maid's scarred face flushed a deep, angry red, but she offered no\nprotest when the district attorney accepted both of Dundee's\nsuggestions.\n\"Then you'll have Carraway with his camera at my office in about an\nhour?\" Sanderson turned to Captain Strawn. \"Let's say twelve o'clock. By\nthe way, Lydia, you may bring in with you the few pieces of jewelry you\nmentioned. I'll keep them safely in my offices until the will is\nprobated and they are turned over to you.\"\n\"I don't know where she kept them,\" Lydia answered.\n\"_What?_\" exclaimed Bonnie Dundee.\n\"I said I don't know where she kept her jewelry,\" Lydia Carr retorted.\n\"It wasn't worth much--not a hundred dollars altogether, I'll be bound,\nbecause Nita sold her last diamond not a week before we left New York.\nShe owed so many bills then that the money she got for directing that\nplay at the Forsyte School hardly made a dent on them.\"\n\"Do you know whether the jewelry was kept in the house or in a safe\ndeposit box?\" Dundee asked, excitement sharpening his voice.\n\"It must have been in the house, because she wore the different pieces\nany time she pleased,\" the maid answered. \"I didn't ask no questions,\nand I didn't happen to see her get it out or put it away. I didn't ever\ndo much lady's-maid work for her, like dressing her or fixing her\nhair--just kept her clothes and the house in order, and did what little\ncooking there was to do--\"\n\"Her dressing-table?\" Dundee prodded. \"Her desk?\"\nThe maid shook her head. \"I was always straightening up the drawers in\nboth her dressing-table and her desk, and she didn't keep the jewelry in\neither one of them places.\"\n\"Captain Strawn, when you searched the dressing-table and desk for the\ngun or anything of importance, did you have any reason to suspect a\nsecret drawer in either of them?\"\n\"No, Bonnie. They're just ordinary factory furniture. I tapped around\nfor a secret drawer, of course, but there wasn't even any place for\none,\" Strawn assured him with an indulgent grin.\n\"I want to see Penny Crain!\" Dundee cried, making for the door.\n\"Then you'd better come along to the courthouse with me,\" Sanderson\ncalled after him. \"I sent her back to the office as soon as the inquest\nwas adjourned.\"\nThe two men passed through the now deserted morgue chapel and almost\nbumped into a middle-aged man, obviously of the laboring class in spite\nof his slicked-up, Sunday appearance.\n\"You're the district attorney, ain't you, sir?\" he addressed Sanderson\nin a nervous, halting undertone.\n\"Yes. What is it?\"\n\"I come to the inquest to give some information, sir, but it was\nadjourned so quick I didn't have time--\"\n\"Who are you?\" Sanderson interrupted impatiently.\n\"I'm Rawlins, sir. I worked for the poor lady, Mrs. Selim--gardening one\nday a week--\"\n\"Come to my office!\" Sanderson commanded quickly, as a lingering\nreporter approached on a run.... \"No, no! I'm sorry, Harper,\" he said\nhastily, cutting into the reporter's questions. \"Nothing new! You may\nsay that the police have thrown out a dragnet--\" and he grinned at the\ntrite phrase \"--for the gunman who killed Mrs. Selim, and will offer a\nreward for the recovery of the weapon--a Colt's .32 equipped with a\nMaxim silencer.... Come along, George, and I'll explain just what Mrs.\nSanderson and I have in mind.\"\nThe district attorney and Dundee strode quickly away, and the man,\nRawlins, after a moment of indecision, trotted after them.\n\"I don't understand, sir, and my name ain't George. It's Elmer.\"\n\"You don't have to understand anything, except that you're not to answer\nany question that any reporter asks you,\" Sanderson retorted.\nWhen the trio entered the reception room of the district attorney's\nsuite in the courthouse Sanderson paused at Penny Crain's desk:\n\"Bring in your notebook, Penny. This man has some information he\nconsiders important.\"\nA minute later Sanderson had begun to question his voluntary but highly\nnervous witness.\n\"Your name?\"\n\"It's Elmer Rawlins, like I told you, sir,\" the man protested, and\nflinched as Penny recorded his words in swift shorthand. \"It was my wife\nas made me come. She said as long as me and her knowed I didn't do\nnothing wrong, I'd oughta come forward and tell what I knowed.\"\n\"Yes, yes!\" Sanderson encouraged him impatiently. \"You say you worked\nfor Mrs. Selim as gardener one day a week--\"\n\"Yes, sir, but I 'tended to her hot water and her garbage, too--twice a\nday it was I had to go and stoke the little laundry heater that heats\nthe hot water tank in summertime when the steam furnace ain't being\nused. I live about a mile beyant the Crain place, that is, the house the\npoor lady was killed in--\"\n\"Did you come to stoke the laundry heater Saturday evening?\" Dundee\ninterrupted. \"Excuse me, sir,\" he turned to the district attorney, \"but\nthis is the first time I've seen this man.\"\n\"No, sir, I didn't stoke it Sat'dy night,\" Rawlins answered uneasily.\n\"You see, I was comin' up the road to do my chores at half past six,\nlike I always do, but before I got to the house I seen a lot of\npolicemen's cars and motorcycles, and I didn't want to get mixed up in\nnothing, so I turned around and went home again. I didn't know what was\nup, but when me and the wife went into Hamilton Sat'dy night in our\nflivver we seen one of the extries and read about how the poor lady was\nmurdered. But that ain't what I was gittin' at, sir--\"\n\"Well, what _are_ you getting at?\" Sanderson urged.\n\"Well, the extry said the police had found some footprints under the\nfrontmost of them two side windows to Mis' Selim's bedroom, and went on\nto talk about the rose vines being tore, and straight off I said to the\nmissus, 'Them's _my_ footprints, Minnie'--Minnie's my wife's name--\"\n\"_Your_ footprints!\" Sanderson ejaculated, then shook with silent\nlaughter. \"There goes Strawn's case, Bonnie!\" But immediately he was\nserious again, as the import of this new evidence came to him. \"Tell us\nall about it, Rawlins.... When did you make those footprints?\"\n\"Friday, sir. That's the day I gardened for Mis' Selim.... You see, sir,\nthe poor little lady told me she was kept awake nights when they was a\nhigh wind, by the rose vines tapping against the windows. Says she, 'I\nthink they's somebody tryin' to git into my room, Elmer,' and I could\nsee the poor little thing was mighty nervous anyway, so I didn't waste\nno time. I cut away a lot of the rose vine and burned it when I was\nburnin' the garbage and papers in the 'cinerator out back.\"\n\"Is that all, Rawlins?\" Sanderson asked.\n\"'Bout all that 'mounts to anything,\" the laborer deprecated. \"But they\nwas somethin' else that struck me as a little funny, when I come to\nthink of it--\"\n\"Well?\" Sanderson prodded, as the man halted uncertainly.\n\"Well, it's like I told you, it was my job to burn the papers. That\nscar-face maid of Mis' Selim's put everything--garbage and trash--in a\nbig garbage can outside the back door, and I burnt 'em up. So I was\nkinder surprised Sat'dy mornin', when I went to stoke up the laundry\nheater, to find somebody'd been meddlin' with my drafts and had let the\nfire go clean out. I had to clean out the ashes and build a new fire--\"\n\"You're trying to say, I suppose, that you could tell by the ashes that\nsomeone had been burning papers in the laundry heater?\" Sanderson asked,\nwith a quick glance at Dundee's tense face.\n\"That's right, sir,\" Rawlins agreed eagerly. \"You know what kind of\nashes a mess o' paper makes--layers of white ashes, sir, that kinder\nlooks like papers yit.\"\n\"Yes, I know.... And you found layers of white ashes, which you took\nparticular pains to clean out?\" Sanderson asked bitterly.\n\"Yes, sir. So's I could build a new fire--\"\n\"Did you speak to the maid--ask her if she'd been 'meddlin' with your\ndrafts'?\"\n\"Yes, sir, I did!\" the man answered with a trace of the belligerence he\nhad undoubtedly shown to Lydia. \"She said _she_ didn't open no dampers,\nclaimed the heater was the same as usual when she left Friday night to\ngo to a movie. So I reckin it was the poor lady herself, burnin' up love\nletters, maybe, or some such truck--\"\n\"You're to keep your 'reckins' to yourself, Rawlins,\" Sanderson cut in\nemphatically. \"Remember, now, you're not to tell anybody else what\nyou've just told me.... If that's all, you can go now, and I'm much\nobliged to you. Leave your address with the young lady here. You'll be\nneeded later, of course.\"\nThe relieved man hurried out of the room on Penny's heels. Sanderson\nshrugged, then, when the door had closed, began heavily:\n\"It looks like you're right, Bonnie, about that blackmail business.\nAs the astute Rawlins says, 'love letters, maybe, or some such\ntruck....' Of course it all fits in with your theory that Nita had made\nup her mind to reform, marry Ralph Hammond, and be a very good girl\nindeed.... All right! You can have Penny in now. I think I know pretty\nwell what you're going to ask her. And I may as well tell you that when\nRoger Crain skipped town with some securities he was known to possess, he\nhadn't got them from a safe deposit box, because he didn't have one,\" and\nSanderson pressed a button on the edge of his desk....\n\"Penny, do you know whether there is a concealed safe in the Selim\nhouse?\"\nThe girl, startled, began to shake her head, then checked herself. \"Not\nthat I ever saw, or knew of when Dad and Mother and I lived there,\nbut--\" She hesitated, her cheeks turning scarlet.\n\"Out with it, Penny!\" Sanderson urged, his voice very kind.\n\"It's just that, if you really think there's a secret hiding place in\nthe house, I believe I understand something that puzzled me when it\nhappened,\" Penny confessed, her head high. \"I was at the Country Club\none night--a Saturday night when the whole crowd is usually there for\nthe dinner and dance. I'd been dancing with--with Ralph, and when the\nmusic stopped we went out on the porch, where several of our crowd were\nsitting. It was--just two or three weeks after--after Dad left town.\nLois wouldn't let me drop out of things.... Anyway, it was dark and I\nheard Judge Marshall saying something about 'the simplest and most\ningenious arrangement you ever saw. Of course that's where the rascal\nkept his securities--...' I knew they were talking about Dad, from the\nway Judge Marshall shut up and changed the subject as soon as he saw\nme.\"\n\"Who was on the porch, Penny?\" Dundee asked tensely.\n\"Why, let's see--Flora, and Johnny Drake, and Clive,\" she answered\nslowly. \"I think that was all, besides Judge Marshall. The others hadn't\ncome out from dancing.... Of course I don't know whether or not it was\nsome 'arrangement' in the house--\"\n\"Where are you going, boy?\" Sanderson checked Dundee, who was already on\nhis way to the door.\n\"To find that gun, of course!\"\n\"Well, if it's tucked away in the 'simplest and most ingenious\narrangement you ever saw' it will stay put for a while,\" Sanderson said.\n\"Lydia's due here within half an hour, and you don't want to miss her,\ndo you?\"\nCHAPTER EIGHTEEN\nIt was exactly twelve o'clock when Lydia Carr, accompanied by Detective\nCollins of the Homicide Squad carrying a small suitcase, arrived at the\ndistrict attorney's office.\n\"I kept my eye on her every minute of the time, to see that there wasn't\nno shenanigans,\" Collins informed Dundee and Sanderson importantly,\ncallous to the fact that the maid could hear him. \"But I let her bring\nalong everything she said she needed to lay the body out in.... Was that\nright?\"\n\"Right!\" agreed the district attorney, as Dundee opened the suitcase\nupon Sanderson's desk.\nThe royal blue velvet dress lay on top, neatly folded. Dundee shook out\nits folds. It looked remarkably fresh and new, in spite of the years it\nhad hung in Nita Selim's various clothes closets, preserved because of\nGod alone knew what tender memories. Perhaps the beautiful little dancer\nhad intended all those years that it should be her shroud....\n\"Oh, it's lovely!\" Penny Crain, who was looking on, cried out\ninvoluntarily. \"It looks like a French model.\"\n\"It's a copy of a French model. You can see by the label on the back of\nthe neck,\" Lydia answered, her one good eye softening for Penny.\n\"So it is!\" Dundee agreed, and took out his penknife to snip the threads\nwhich fastened the white satin, gold-lettered label to the frock.\n\"'Pierre Model. Copied by Simonson's--New York City',\" he read aloud,\nand slipped the little square of satin into the envelope containing the\nmurdered woman's will. \"Well, Penny, I'm glad you like the dress, for\nI'm going to ask you to do the mannikin stunt in it as soon as Carraway\narrives with his camera.\"\nPenny turned very pale, but she said nothing in protest, and Dundee\ncontinued to unpack the suitcase. His masculine hands looked clumsy as\nthey lifted out the costume slip and miniature \"dancing set\"--brassiere\nand step-ins--all matching, of filmiest white chiffon and lace. His\nfingers flinched from contact with the switch of long, silky black\ncurls....\n\"She bought them after we came to Hamilton,\" Lydia informed him,\npointing to the undergarments. \"Them black moir\u00e9 pumps and them French\nstockings are brand new, too--hundred-gauge silk them stockings are, and\nnever on her feet--\"\n\"Ready for me?\" Carraway had appeared in the doorway, with camera and\ntripod.\n\"Yes, Carraway.... Just the dress, Penny.... I want full-length\nfront, back and side views of Miss Crain wearing this dress,\nCarraway.... Flashlights, of course. Better take the pictures in Miss\nCrain's office,\" Dundee directed. \"You stay here, Lydia. I want to talk\nwith you while that job is being done.\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" Lydia answered, and accepted without thanks the chair he\noffered.\n\"I suppose you have read _The Hamilton Morning News_ today, Lydia?\"\n\"I have!\"\n\"May I have that paper, chief?... Thanks!... Now, Lydia, I want you to\nread again the paragraphs that are headed 'New York, May 25--' and tell\nus if the statements are correct.\"\nLydia accepted the paper and her single eye scanned the following lines\nobediently:\n     New York, May 25 (UP)\n     Mrs. Juanita Leigh Selim, who was murdered Saturday afternoon\n     in Hamilton, ----, was known along Broadway as Nita Leigh, chorus\n     girl and specialty dancer. Her last known address in New York was\n     No. -- West 54th St., where she had a three-room apartment.\n     According to the superintendent, E. J. Black, Miss Leigh, as he\n     knew her, lived there alone except for her maid, Lydia Carr, and\n     entertained few visitors.\n     Irving Wein, publicity director for Altamont Pictures, when\n     interviewed by a reporter in his rooms at the Cadillac Hotel late\n     today, said that Nita Leigh had been used for \"bits\" and as a\n     dancing \"double\" for stars in a number of recent pictures,\n     including \"Night Life\" and \"Boy, Howdy!\", both of which have\n     dancing sequences. Musical comedy programs for the last year carry\n     her name only once, in the list of \"Ladies of the Ensemble\" of the\n     revue, \"What of it?\"\n     Miss Eloise Pendleton, head-mistress of Forsyte-on-the-Hudson,\n     mentioned in the dispatches from Hamilton, confirms the report that\n     Mrs. Selim, as she was known there, twice directed the annual\n     Easter musical comedy presented by that fashionable school for\n     young ladies, but could add nothing of interest to the facts given\n     above, beyond asserting that Mrs. Selim had proved to be an\n     unusually competent and popular director of their amateur\n     theatricals.\n\"Yes, that's correct, as far as it goes,\" Lydia commented, resentment\nstrong in her harsh voice as she returned the paper to Dundee.\n\"Have you anything to add?\" Dundee caught her up quickly.\n\"No, sir!\" Lydia shook her head, her lips in a grim line. Then\nresentment burst through: \"They don't have to talk like she was a back\nnumber on Broadway, just because she was tired of the stage and going in\nfor movies!\"\nDistrict Attorney Sanderson took her in hand then, pelting her with\nquestions about Nita's New York \"gentlemen friends,\" but he made no more\nheadway than Dundee.\n\"We _know_ that Nita Selim was afraid of _someone_!\" Sanderson began\nagain, angrily. \"Who was it--someone she'd known in New York, or\nsomebody in Hamilton?\"\n\"I don't know!\" Lydia told him flatly.\n\"But you do know she was living in fear of her life, don't you?\" Dundee\ninterposed.\n\"I--well, yes, I suppose she was,\" Lydia admitted reluctantly. \"But I\nthought she was just afraid to live out there in that lonesome house\naway off at the end of nowhere.\"\n\"Was she afraid of Dexter Sprague?\" Sanderson shot at her.\n\"Would she have asked him to stay all night if she'd been afraid of\n_him_?\" Lydia demanded scornfully. \"And would she have asked _him_ to\nrig up a bell from her bedroom to mine, if it was _him_ she was afraid\nof?\"\n\"A bell?\" Dundee echoed.\n\"Yes, sir. It has a contraption under the rug, right beside her bed,\nso's she could step on it and it would ring in my room, which was\nunderneath hers.... Mr. Sprague bought the wire and stuff, bored a hole\nthrough her bedroom floor, and fixed it all hisself.\"\n\"Did anyone know Nita had taken this precaution to protect herself?\"\nDundee asked.\n\"Mis' Lois did, because one day not long ago she stepped on it\naccidentally, when she was in Nita's room. The bell buzzed in my room\nand I come up to answer it, and Nita explained it to Mis' Lois.\"\nSo that was why no attempt had been made to murder Nita while she\nslept!--Dundee told himself triumphantly. For of course it was more than\nprobable that Lois Dunlap had innocently spread the news of Nita's\nnervousness and her ingenious method of summoning help instantly....\nThere was a knock at the door.\n\"Come in!... All finished, Carraway?... Fine! I'd like to see the prints\nas soon as possible, and now I'd like you to go over to the morgue with\nLydia, and wait there until she has the body dressed in these clothes,\nand the hair done according to the instructions Mrs. Selim left.... I'll\nleave the posing to you, but I want a full-length picture as well as a\nhead portrait.\"\nAs Lydia's work-roughened, knuckly hands were returning the funeral\nclothes to the suitcase, another question occurred to Dundee:\n\"Lydia, did you know, before I questioned you at the Miles home\nyesterday, that Sprague had returned for that bag he had left in the\nbedroom upstairs?\"\nHer scarred cheek flushed livid, but the maid answered with defiant\nhonesty: \"Yes, I did! He spoke to me through my basement window just\nbefore you come running down to talk to me. He'd sneaked back, but he\ncould tell from seeing your car outside that you was there, and he asked\nme to go up and get the bag and set it outside the kitchen door for him.\nI said I wouldn't do it; it was too risky.\"\n\"Then you were pretending to be asleep when I entered your room?\"\n\"Yes, I was! But I _had_ been asleep before Mr. Sprague called me. While\nyou was ding-donging at me about Nita burning my face I heard Mr.\nSprague open the kitchen door. He had a key Nita had give him, so's he\ncould slip in unnoticed if he happened to come when Nita had other\ncompany. He didn't hardly make any noise at all, but I heard it, because\nI was listening for it.... You'd left the door to the basement stairs\nopen, and my door, too, so I heard him.\"\n\"Did you hear him come down?\"\n\"Yes, I did! There's a board on the backstairs that squeaks, and I heard\nit plain, while you was still at me, hammer and tongs,\" Lydia answered.\n\"He was in the house not more'n two minutes, all told, and when I\nfigured he was safely out, I went upstairs with you to show you the\npresents I'd give Nita after she burnt me, to prove I'd forgive her.\"\n\"Why didn't you tell me, Lydia? Why did you protect Sprague? I know you\ndon't like him,\" Dundee puzzled.\n\"I wasn't thinking about him,\" Lydia told him flatly. \"I was thinking\nabout Nita. I didn't want any scandal on her, and I knew what the police\nand the newspapers would say if they found out Mr. Sprague had been\nstaying all night sometimes.\"\n\"Are you prepared to swear Sprague had time to do nothing but go up to\nthe bedroom and get his bag?\"\n\"I am!\"\nWhen Lydia and Carraway had left together, Dundee rose and addressed the\ndistrict attorney:\n\"I'm going out to the Selim house now, to look for that secret hiding\nplace where Roger Crain kept his securities, and which Judge Marshall\nevidently displayed to Nita, as one of the charms of the house when she\n'rented' it.\"\n\"Why not simply telephone Judge Marshall and ask him where and what it\nis?\" Sanderson asked reasonably.\n\"Do you think he'd tell?\" Dundee retorted. \"The old boy's no fool. Even\nif he didn't kill Nita himself and hide the gun there, my question would\nthrow him into a panic of fear lest one of his best friends had done\njust that.... No, I'll find it myself, if it's all right with you!\"\nBut after a solid hour of hard and fruitless work, Bonnie Dundee was\nforced to admit ruefully to himself that his parting words to the\ndistrict attorney might have been the youthful and empty boast that\nSanderson had evidently considered them.\nFor nowhere in the house Roger Crain had built and in which Nita Selim\nhad been murdered could the detective find anything remotely resembling\na concealed safe. The two plainclothesmen whom Strawn had detailed to\nguard the house and to continue the search for the missing gun and\nsilencer looked on with unconcealed amusement as Dundee tapped walls,\nfloors and ceilings in a house that seemed to be exceptionally free of\narchitectural eccentricities.\nFinally Dundee grew tired of their ribald comments and curtly ordered\nthem to make a new and exhaustive search of the unused portions of the\nbasement--those dark earth banks, with their overhead networks of water\nand drain pipes, heavily insulated cables of electric wires, cobwebby\nrafters and rough shelves holding empty fruit jars and liquor\nbottles--which contrasted sharply with the neatly ceiled and\ncement-floored space devoted to furnace, laundry and maid's room. Dundee\nhimself had given those regions only a cursory inspection with his\nflashlight, for it was highly improbable that Nita Selim would have made\nuse of a secret hiding place for her jewelry and valuable papers, if\nthat hiding place was located in such dark, awesome surroundings.\nNo. The hiding place, if it really existed--and it must exist--had been\nwithin easy reach of Nita dressing and bedecking herself for a party, or\nLydia Carr could not have been kept in complete ignorance of its\nlocation.\nWith that conviction in mind, Dundee returned to Nita's bedroom, to\nwhich he had already devoted at least half an hour. Nothing in the big\nclothes closet, where Flora Miles had been hiding while Nita was being\nmurdered. No secret drawers in desk or dressing-table or bedside table.\nNo false bottom in boudoir chair or chaise longue.... He had even taken\nevery book out of the four-shelf bookcase which stood against the west\nwall near the north corner of the room, and had satisfied himself that\nno book was a leafless fake.\nHis minute inspection of the bathroom and back hall, upon which Nita's\nbedroom opened, had proved as fruitless, although he had removed every\ndrawer from the big linen press which stood in the hall, and measured\nspaces to a fraction of an inch. As for the walls, they were, except for\nthe doors, unbroken expanses of tinted plaster.\nAnd yet--\nHe stepped into the clothes closet again, hammer in hand for a fresh\ntapping of the cedar-board walls. Nothing here.... And then he tapped\nagain, his ear against the end wall of the closet--the wall farthest\nfrom the side porch....\nYes! There was a faintly hollow echo of the hammer strokes!\nExcitement blazing high again, he took the tape measure with which he\nhad provided himself on his way out, and calculated the length of the\ncloset from end to end. Six feet....\nEmerging from the closet he closed his eyes in an effort to recall in\nexact detail the architect's blueprint of the lower floor, which Coroner\nPrice had submitted to his jury at the inquest that morning. Yes, that\nwas right! The inner end wall of Nita's clothes closet was also the back\nof the guest closet in the little foyer that lay between Nita's bedroom\nand the main hall.\nWithin ten minutes, much laying-on of the tape measure had produced a\nstartling result. Instead of having a wall in common, the guest closet\nand Nita's clothes closet were separated by exactly eleven inches! Why\nthe waste space? The blueprint, bearing the imprint of the architects,\nHammond & Hammond, showed no such walled-up cubbyhole!\nExultantly, Dundee again entered Nita's closet and went over every inch\nof the narrow, horizontal cedar boards, which formed the end wall. But\nhe met with no reward. Not through this workmanlike, solidly constructed\nwall had an opening been made....\nBut in the foyer closet he read a different story. Its back wall had an\namateurish look. This closet was not cedar-lined, as was Nita's, but was\npainted throughout in soft ivory. But it was the back wall of the closet\nin which Dundee was interested. Unlike the other walls, which were of\nplaster, the back was constructed of six-inch-wide boards--the cheapness\nof the lumber not concealed by its coat of ivory paint. No\nself-respecting builder had put in that wall of broad, horizontal\nboards....\nAnd then, directly beneath the shelf which was set regulation height,\njust above the pole on which swung a dozen coat hangers, Dundee found\nwhat he was looking for.\nA short length of the cheap board, a queer scrap to have been used even\nin so shoddy a job as that wall was.... Eight inches long. And set\nsquare in the center of the wall, just below the shelf and pole. If he\nhad not been looking for something odd, however, Dundee acknowledged to\nhimself, he would not have noticed it. Did anyone ever notice the back\nwalls of closets?\nSure of the result, he pressed with his finger tips upon the lower end\nof that short piece of board. And slowly it swung inward, the top\nslanting outward.\n_He had found the secret hiding place._ And Dundee silently agreed with\nJudge Marshall that it was \"the simplest and most ingenious arrangement\nyou ever saw,\" for it was nothing more nor less than a shelf set between\nthe two closets, in those eleven inches of unaccounted for space!\n\"I take off my hat to Roger Crain!\" Dundee reflected. \"No burglar in the\nworld would ever have thought of pressing upon a short piece of board in\na foyer closet, in search of a safe.... But how did Judge Marshall know\nof its existence?\"\nThe only answer Dundee could think of was that Crain, overseeing the\nbuilding of his house, had suddenly conceived this brilliant and simple\nplan, and had tipped one of the carpenters to carry it out for him.\nPossibly, or probably, he had bragged to Clive or Ralph Hammond, his\narchitects, of his clever invention. And the Hammond boys had passed on\nthe information to Judge Marshall, when, after Crain's failure and\nflight, the house had become the property of the ex-judge.\nThese thoughts rushed through his mind as his flashlight explored the\nshelf through the tilted opening. The gun and silencer _must_ be here,\nsince they could be no place else!... But the shelf was bare except for\na small brass box, fastened only by a clasp. In his acute disappointment\nDundee took little interest in the collection of pretty but inexpensive\njewelry--Nita's trinkets, undoubtedly--which the brass box\ncontained.... No wedding ring among them....\nIn spite of his chagrin at not finding the gun, Dundee studied the\nsimple mechanism which Roger Crain's ingenuity had conceived. From the\noutside, the eight-inch length of board fitted smoothly, giving no\nindication whatever that it was otherwise than what it seemed--part of a\ncheaply built wall. But Dundee's flashlight played upon the beveled\nedges of both the short board and the two neighboring planks between\nwhich it was fitted. The pivoting arrangement was of the simplest, the\nsmall nickel-plated pieces being set into the short board and the other\ntwo planks with small screws which did not pierce the painted outside\nsurface.\nHis curiosity satisfied, Dundee stepped out of the closet into the tiny\nfoyer. He was about to leave when a terrific truth crashed through his\nmind and froze his feet to the floor.\n_Of course the gun and silencer were not there!_\nThis was the _guest closet_! In it had hung the hat of every person who\nhad been Nita's guest, either for bridge or cocktails, that fatal\nSaturday afternoon!\n_And to this closet, to retrieve hat, stick or--in the case of the\nwomen, summer coat and hat--had come every person who had been\nquestioned and then searched by the police._\nDundee tried to recapture the picture of the stampede which had followed\nupon his permission for all guests to go to their homes. But it was\nuseless. He had stayed in the living room with Strawn, had taken not the\nslightest interest in the scramble for hats, coats and sticks. For\nStrawn had previously assured him that the guest closet had been\nthoroughly searched.\nSo quickly that he felt slightly dizzy, Dundee's thoughts raced around\nthe new discovery. This changed everything, of course. Any one of half a\ndozen persons could have arrived with the gun and silencer--not screwed\ntogether, of course, because of the ungainly length--and seized the\nopportunity presented by Nita's being alone in her bedroom to shoot her.\nWhat easier, then, than to hide the weapon on this secret shelf, the\n\"door\" of which yielded to the slightest pressure? And what easier than\nto retrieve the weapon after permission had been granted to all to\nreturn to their homes? Easy enough to manage to go alone to the closet\nfor a hat, the extra minute of time unnoticed in the general excitement.\nIt had been vitally necessary, too, to retrieve the weapon, since any\ninnocent member of that party might have remembered later to mention the\nsecret hiding place to the police--secret no longer since Judge Marshall\nhad gossiped about it....\nThen another thought boiled up and demanded attention. In the new\ntheory, what place did the \"bang or bump\" have--that noise which Flora\nMiles, concealed in Nita's closet, had dimly heard? Dundee had been\npositive, when Lydia had discovered the shattered electric bulb in the\nbig bronze lamp that its position in Nita's room indicated the progress\nof the flight of the murderer--flight diagonally across the room toward\nthe back hall. But now--\nA little dashed, Dundee returned to the bedroom. The big lamp was where\nhe had first seen it--about a foot beyond the window nearest the porch,\nand at the head of the chaise longue which was set between the two west\nwindows, where, according to Lydia, the lamp always stood. The too-long\ncord lay slackly along the floor near the west wall, and extended to the\ndouble outlet on the baseboard behind the bookcase.... _A slack cord!_\nDown on his hands and knees Dundee went, to peer under the low bottom\nshelf of the bookcase.... Yes! The pronged plug of the lamp cord had\nbeen jerked almost out of the baseboard outlet! It was easy to visualize\nwhat had happened: The murderer, after firing the shot, had\ninvoluntarily taken a step or even several steps backward, until his\nfoot had caught in the loop of electric cord, causing the big lamp to be\nthrown violently against the wall near which it stood.... But who?\n_Any one of half a dozen people!_ But--_who_?\nCHAPTER NINETEEN\nHaving ticketed the big bronze lamp, which he had brought with him from\nthe Selim house, and locked it away in the room devoted to \"exhibits for\nthe state,\" Bonnie Dundee hurried into Penny's office, primed with the\nnews of his discovery of the secret hiding place and eager to lay his\nnew theory before the district attorney.\n\"Bill's gone,\" Penny interrupted her swift typing to inform him. \"To\nChicago. He had only fifteen minutes to make the three o'clock train,\nafter he received a wire saying his mother is not expected to live. He\ntried to reach you at the Selim house, but one of Captain Strawn's men\nsaid you had left.\"\n\"I stopped on my way in to get a bite to eat,\" Dundee explained\nmechanically. \"I'd dashed off without my lunch, you know.\"\n\"Did you find the gun and silencer?\" Penny asked.\n\"No. Whoever used it Saturday afternoon walked out of the house with it,\nin plain view of the police, and still has it.... Very convenient, too,\nin case another murder seems to be expedient--or amusing.\"\n\"Don't joke!\" Penny shuddered. \"But what in the world do you mean?\"\nBriefly Dundee told her, minimizing the hard work, the concentrated\nthinking, and the meticulous use of a tape measure which had resulted in\nthe discovery of the shelf between Nita's bedroom closet and the guest\ncloset in the little foyer.\n\"I see,\" Penny agreed, her husky voice slow and weighted with horror.\nShe sat in dazed thought for a minute. \"That rather brings it home to my\ncrowd--doesn't it?... To think that Dad--!... Probably everyone at the\nparty--except me--had heard all about Dad's 'simple and ingenious'\narrangement for hiding the securities he sent on to New York before he\nran away.... And no outsiders--nobody but _us_--had a legitimate excuse\nfor entering that closet.... Not even Dexter Sprague. It's one of his\naffectations not to wear a hat--\"\n\"Is it?\" Dundee pounced. \"You're sure he wore no hat that afternoon? Did\nyou notice him when he left after I had dismissed you all?\"\n\"Yes,\" Penny acknowledged honestly. \"I paid attention to him, because I\nwas hating him so. I believed then that he was the murderer, and I was\nfurious with you and Captain Strawn for not arresting him.... He was\nthe first to leave--just walked straight out; wouldn't even stop to talk\nwith Janet Raymond, who was trying to get a word with him. I saw him\nstart toward Sheridan Road--walking. He had no car, you know.\"\n\"Did you observe the others?\" Dundee demanded eagerly. \"Do you know who\nwent _alone_ to the guest closet?\"\nPenny shook her head. \"Everybody was milling around in the hall, and I\npaid no attention. Lois said she would drive me home, and then I went in\nto ask you to let me stay behind with you--\"\n\"I remember.... Listen, Penny! I'm going to tell you something else that\nnobody knows yet but Sanderson, Lydia and me. I don't have to ask you\nnot to tell any of your friends. You know well enough that anything you\nlearn from either Sanderson or me is strictly confidential.\"\nPenny nodded, her face very white and her brown eyes big with misery.\n\"I have every reason to believe that Nita Selim was a blackmailer, that\nshe came to Hamilton for the express purpose of bleeding someone she had\nknown before, or someone on whom she had 'the goods' from some\nunderworld source or other.... At any rate, Nita banked ten thousand\nmysterious dollars--$5,000 on April 28, and $5,000 on May 5. I talked to\nDrake last night, and I have his word for it that the money was in bills\nof varying denomination--none large--when Nita presented it for deposit.\nTherefore it seems clear to me that Nita got the money right here in\nHamilton; otherwise it would have come to her in the form of checks or\ndrafts or money orders. And it seems equally clear to me that she did\nnot bring that large amount of cash from New York with her, or she would\nhave deposited it in a lump sum in the bank immediately after her\narrival.\"\n\"Yes,\" Penny agreed. \"But why are you telling _me_?... Of course I'm\ninterested--\"\n\"Because I want you to tell me the financial status of each of your\nfriends,\" Dundee said gently. \"I know how hard it is for you--\"\n\"You could find out from others, so I might as well tell you,\" Penny\ninterrupted, with a weary shrug. \"Judge Marshall is well-to-do, and\nKaren's father--her mother is dead--settled $100,000 on her when she\nmarried. She has complete control of her own money.... The Dunlaps are\nthe richest people in Hamilton, and have been for two or three\ngenerations. Lois was 'first-family' but poor when she married Peter,\nbut he's been giving her an allowance of $20,000 a year for several\nyears--not for running the house, but for her personal use. Clothes,\ncharities, hobbies, like the Little Theater she brought Nita here to\norganize--\"\n\"I wouldn't say she spends a great deal of it on dress,\" Dundee\ninterrupted with a grin.\n\"Lois doesn't give a hang how she looks or what anyone thinks of\nher--which is probably one reason she is the best-loved woman in our\ncrowd,\" Penny retorted loyally. \"The Miles' money is really Flora's,\nand she has the reputation of being one of the shrewdest business\n'men' in town. When she married Tracey nearly eight years ago, he was\njust a salesman in her father's business--the biggest dairy in the\nstate ... 'Cloverblossom' butter, cream, milk and cheese, you\nknow.... Well, when Flora married Tracey, her father retired and let\nTracey run the business for Flora, and he's still managing it, but Flora\nis the real head.... Now, let's see.... Oh, yes, the Drakes!... Johnny\nis vice president of the Hamilton National Bank, as you know, and owns\na big block of the stock. Carolyn has no money of her own, except what\nJohnny gives her, and I rather think he isn't any too generous--\"\n\"They don't get along very well together, do they?\"\n\"N-no!\" Penny agreed reluctantly. \"You see, Johnny Drake was simply not\ncut out for love and marriage. He's a born ascetic, would have been a\nmonk two or three centuries ago, but he cares as much for Carolyn as he\ncould for any woman.... The Hammond boys have some inherited money, and\nClive has made a big financial success of architecture.... That leaves\nonly Janet and Polly, doesn't it?... Polly's an orphan and has barrels\nof money, and will have barrels more when her aunt, with whom she lives,\ndies and leaves her the fortune she has always promised her.\"\n\"And Janet Raymond?\"\n\"Janet's father is pretty rich--owns a big wire-fence factory, but Janet\nhas only a reasonable allowance,\" Penny answered. \"As for me--I'm _very_\nrich: I get thirty-five whole dollars a week, to support myself and\nMother on.\"\nDundee remained thoughtfully silent for a long minute. Then: \"All you\ngirls are alumnae of Forsyte-on-the-Hudson, and Nita Selim came here\nimmediately after she had directed a Forsyte play.... Tell me,\nPenny--was any of the Hamilton girls ever in disgrace while in the\nForsyte School?\"\nPenny's face flamed. \"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but so far as I know\nthere was never anything of the sort. Of course we all graduated\ndifferent years, except Karen and I, and I might not have heard--But\nno!\" she denied vehemently. \"There wasn't any scandal on a Hamilton girl\never! I'm sure of it!\"\nBut her very vehemence convinced Bonnie Dundee that she was not at all\nsure....\nHe looked at his watch. Four o'clock.... By this time Nita Selim--tiny\ncold body, royal blue velvet dress, black curls piled high in an\nold-fashioned \"French roll,\" bullet-torn heart--were nothing more than a\nlittle heap of grey ashes.... Would Lydia Carr have them put in a sealed\nurn and carry them about with her always?\n\"I'm going out now, Penny, and I shan't be back today,\" he told the girl\nwho had returned to her furious typing. \"I'll telephone in about an hour\nto see if anything has come up.... By the way, how do I get to the\nDunlap house?\"\n\"It's in the Brentwood section. You know--that cluster of hills around\nMirror Lake. Most of the crowd live out there--the Drakes, the Mileses,\nthe Beales, the Marshalls. The Dunlap house stands on the highest hill\nof all. It's grey stone, a little like a French chateau. We used to live\nout there, too, in a Colonial house my mother's father built, but Dad\npersuaded Mother to sell, when he went into that Primrose Meadows\nventure. The Raymonds bought it.... But why do you want to see Lois?\"\n\"Thanks much, Penny. I don't know what I should do without you,\" Dundee\nsaid, without answering her question, and reached for his hat.\nAfter ten minutes of driving, the last mile of which had circled a\nsmooth silver coin of a lake, Dundee stopped his car and let his eyes\nrove appreciatively. He had made this trip the day before to question\nLydia, already installed as nurse for the Miles children, but he had\nbeen in too great a hurry then to see much of this section consecrated\nto Hamilton's socially elect....\nGeorgian \"cottage,\" Spanish hacienda, Italian villa, Tudor mansion--that\nwas the Miles home; Colonial mansion where Penny had once lived; grey\nstone chateau.... Not one of them blatantly new or marked with the\ndollar sign. Dundee sighed a little enviously as he turned his car into\nthe winding driveway that led up the highest hill to the Dunlap home.\nLois Dunlap betrayed no surprise when the butler led Dundee to the\nflag-stoned upper terrace overlooking Mirror Lake, where she was having\ntea with her three children and their governess. For a moment the\ndetective had the illusion that he was in England again....\n\"How do you do, Mr. Dundee?... This is Miss Burden.... My three\noffspring--Peter the third, Eleanor, and Bobby.... Will you please take\nthe children to the playroom now, Miss Burden?... Thank you!... Tea, Mr.\nDundee? Or shall I order you a highball?\"\n\"Nothing, thanks,\" Dundee answered, grateful for her friendliness but\nnonplussed by it. Not for the first time he felt a sick distaste for the\nprofession he had chosen....\n\"It's all over,\" Lois Dunlap said in a low voice, as the butler\nretreated. \"Lydia made her look very beautiful.... I thought it would be\nrather horrible, having to see her, as the poor child requested in her\nnote to Lydia, but I'm glad now I did. She looked as sweet and young and\ninnocent as she must have been when she first wore the royal blue\nvelvet.\"\n\"I'm glad,\" Dundee said sincerely. Then he leaned toward her across the\ntea table. \"Mrs. Dunlap, will you please tell me just how you persuaded\nMrs. Selim to come to Hamilton--so far from Broadway?\"\n\"Why certainly!\" Lois Dunlap looked puzzled. \"But it really did not take\nmuch persuasion after I showed her some group photographs we had made\nwhen we Forsyte girls put on 'The Beggar's Opera' here last October--a\nbenefit performance for the Forsyte Alumnae Scholarship fund.\"\nWith difficulty Dundee controlled his excitement. \"May I see those\nphotographs, please?\"\n\"I had to hunt quite a bit for them,\" his hostess apologized ten minutes\nlater, as she spread the glossy prints of half a dozen photographs for\nDundee's inspection. \"Do you know 'The Beggar's Opera'?\"\n\"John Gay--eighteenth century, isn't it?... As I remember it, it is\nquite--\" and Dundee hesitated, grinning.\n\"Bawdy?\" Lois laughed. \"Oh, very! We couldn't have got away with it if\nit hadn't been a classic. As it was, we had to tone down some of the\nnaughtiest passages and songs. But it was lots of fun, and the boys\nenjoyed it hugely because it gave them an opportunity to wear tight\nsatin breeches and lace ruffles.... This is my husband, Peter. He adored\nbeing the highwayman, 'Robin of Bagshot',\" and she pointed out a stocky,\nbelligerent-looking man near the end of the long row of costumed\nplayers, in a photograph which showed the entire cast.\n\"You say that Mrs. Selim accepted your proposal _after_ she saw these\nphotographs?\" Dundee asked. \"Had she refused before?\"\n\"Yes. I'd gone to New York for the annual Easter Play which the Forsyte\nSchool puts on, because I'm intensely interested in semi-professional\ntheatricals,\" Lois explained. \"Nita had done a splendid job with the\nplay the year before, and I spoke to her, after this year's show was\nover, about coming to Hamilton. She was not at all interested, but\npolite and sweet about it, so I invited her to have lunch with me the\nnext day, and showed her these photographs of our own play in the hope\nthat they would make her take the idea more seriously. We had borrowed a\nLittle Theater director from Chicago and I knew we had done a really\ngood job of 'The Beggar's Opera.' The local reviews--\"\n\"These 'stills' look extremely professional. I don't wonder that they\ninterested Nita,\" Dundee cut in. \"Will you tell me what she said?\"\n\"She rather startled me,\" Lois Dunlap confessed. \"I first showed her\nthis picture of the whole cast, and as I was explaining the play a\nbit--she didn't know 'The Beggar's Opera'--she almost snatched the\nphotograph out of my hands. As she studied it, her lovely black eyes\ngrew perfectly enormous. I've never seen her so excited since--\"\n\"What did she say?\" Dundee interrupted tensely.\n\"Why, she said nothing just at first, then she began to laugh in the\nqueerest way--almost hysterically. I asked her why she was laughing--I\nwas a little huffy, I'm afraid--and she said the men looked so adorably\nconceited and funny. Then she began to ask the names of the players. I\ntold her that 'Macheath'--he's the highwayman hero, you know--was played\nby Clive Hammond; that my Peter was 'Robin of Bagshot', that Johnny\nDrake was another highwayman, 'Mat of the Mint', that Tracey Miles\nplayed the jailor, 'Lockit'--\"\n\"Did she show more interest in one name than another?\"\n\"Yes. When I pointed out Judge Marshall as 'Peachum', the fence, she\ncried out suddenly: 'Why, I know him! I met him once on a party.... Is\nhe really a _judge_?' and she laughed as if she knew something very\nfunny about Hugo--as no doubt she did. He was an inveterate\n'lady-killer' before his marriage, as you may have heard.\"\n\"Do you think her first excitement was over seeing Judge Marshall among\nthe players?\" Dundee asked.\n\"No,\" Lois answered, after considering a moment. \"I'm sure she didn't\nnotice him until I pointed him out. The face in this group that seemed\nto interest her most was Flora Miles'. Flora played the part of 'Lucy\nLockit', the jailor's daughter, and Karen Marshall the other feminine\nlead, 'Polly Peachum', you know. But it was Flora's picture she lingered\nover, so I showed her this picture,\" and Lois Dunlap reached for the\nportrait of Flora Miles, unexpectedly beautiful in the eighteenth\ncentury costume--tight bodice and billowing skirts.\n\"She questioned you about Mrs. Miles?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Yes. All sorts of questions--her name, and whether she was married and\nthen who her husband was, and if she had had stage experience,\" Lois\nanswered conscientiously. \"She explained her interest by saying Flora\nlooked more like a professional actress than any of the others, and that\nwe should give her a real chance when we got our Little Theater going. I\nasked her if that meant she was going to accept my offer, and she said\nshe might, but that she would have to talk it over with a friend first.\nJust before midnight she telephoned me at my hotel that she had decided\nto accept the job.\"\nDundee's heart leaped. It was very easy to guess who that \"friend\" was!\nBut he controlled his excitement, asked his next question casually:\n\"Did she show particular interest in any other player?\"\n\"Yes. She asked a number of questions about Polly Beale, and seemed\nincredulous when I told her that Polly and Clive were engaged. Polly\nplayed 'Mrs. Peachum', and was a riot in the part.... But Nita's\nintuition was correct. Flora carried off the acting honors.... Oh, yes,\nshe also asked, quite na\u00efvely, if all my friends were rich, too, and\ncould help support a Little Theater. I reassured her on that point.\"\n\"And,\" Dundee reflected silently, \"upon a point much more important to\nNita Selim.\" Aloud he said: \"I don't see _you_ among the cast.\"\n\"Oh, I haven't a grain of talent,\" Lois Dunlap laughed. \"I can't act for\ntwo cents--can I, Peter darling?... Here's the redoubtable 'Robin of\nBagshot' in person, Mr. Dundee--my husband!\"\nThe detective rose to shake hands with the man he had been too absorbed\nto see or hear approaching.\n\"You're the man from the district attorney's office?\" Peter Dunlap\nscowled, his hand barely touching Dundee's. \"I suppose you're trying to\nget at the bottom of the mystery of why my wife brought that Selim\nwoman--\"\n\"Don't call her 'that Selim woman', Peter!\" Lois Dunlap interrupted with\nmore sharpness than Dundee had ever seen her display. \"You never liked\nthe poor girl, were never just to her--\"\n\"Well, it looks as if my hunch was correct, doesn't it?\" the stocky,\nrugged-faced man retorted. \"I told you at the beginning to pay her off\nand send her back to New York--\"\n\"You knew I couldn't do that, even to please you, dear,\" Lois said. \"But\nplease don't let's quarrel about poor Nita again. She's dead now, and I\nwant to do anything I can to help bring her murderer to justice.\"\n\"There's nothing you can do, Lois, and I hope Mr.--ah--Dundee will not\nfind it necessary to quiz you again.\"\nDundee reached for his hat. \"I hope so, too, Mr. Dunlap.... By the way,\nyou are president of the Chamber of Commerce, aren't you?\"\n\"Yes, I am! And we're having a meeting tonight, at which that Sprague\nman's bid on making a historical movie of Hamilton will be turned\ndown--unanimously. Now that the Selim woman isn't here to vamp my\nfellow-members into doing anything she wants, I think I can safely\npromise you that Dexter Sprague will have no further business in\nHamilton--unless it is police business!\"\n\"Thanks for the tip, Mr. Dunlap,\" Dundee said evenly. \"I hope you\nenjoyed your fishing trip. Where do you fish, sir?\"\n\"A tactful way of asking for my alibi, eh?\" Dunlap was heavily\nsarcastic. \"I left Friday afternoon for my own camp in the mountains, up\nin the northwest part of the state. I drove my own car, went alone,\nspent the week-end alone, and got back this noon. I read of the murder\nin a paper I picked up in a village on my way home. I didn't like Nita\nSelim, and I don't give a damn about her being murdered, except that my\nwife's name is in all the papers.... Any questions?\"\n\"None, thanks!\" Dundee answered curtly, then turned to Lois Dunlap who\nwas watching the two men with troubled, embarrassed eyes. \"I am very\ngrateful to you, Mrs. Dunlap, for your kindness.\"\nThe detective's angry resentment of Peter Dunlap's attitude lasted until\nhe had circled Mirror Lake and was on the road into Hamilton. Then\ncommonsense intervened. Dunlap was undoubtedly devoted to his wife.\nPenny had said that he had \"never looked at another woman.\" It was\nrather more than natural that he should be in a futile, blustering rage\nat the outcome of Lois' friendship for the little Broadway dancer....\nFree of anger, his mind reverted to the story Lois Dunlap had told him.\nFor in it, he was sure, was hidden the key to the mystery of Nita\nSelim's murder. Not at all interested in the proposition to organize a\nLittle Theater in Hamilton, Nita had been seized with a strange\nexcitement as soon as she was shown photographs of a large group of\nHamilton's richest and most prominent inhabitants.... But there was the\nrub! _A large group!_ Would that group of possible suspects never narrow\ndown to one? Of course there was Judge Marshall, but if Lois Dunlap's\nmemory was to be trusted Nita had not noticed the elderly Beau Brummel's\npicture until _after_ that strange, hysterical excitement had taken\npossession of her. And if it had been Judge Marshall whom she had come\nto Hamilton to blackmail would Nita not have guarded her tongue before\nLois? The same was true about her extraordinary interest in Flora\nMiles....\nDundee tried to put himself in Nita's place, confronted suddenly with a\ngroup picture containing the likeness of a person--man or woman--against\nwhom she knew something so dreadful and so secret that her silence would\nbe worth thousands of dollars. Would _he_ have chattered of that very\nperson? No! Of anyone else but that particular person! It was easy to\npicture Nita, her head whirling with possibilities, hitting upon the\nmost conspicuous player in the group--dark, tense, theatrical Flora,\nalready pointed out to her as one of the two female leads in the\nopera.... But of whom had she really been thinking?\nAgain a blank wall! For in that group photograph of the cast of \"The\nBeggar's Opera\" had appeared every man, woman and girl who had been\nNita's guest on the day of her murder....\nDundee, paying more attention to his driving, now that he was in the\nbusiness section of the city, saw ahead of him the second-rate hotel\nwhere Dexter Sprague had been living since Nita had wired him to join\nher in Hamilton. On a sudden impulse the detective parked his car in\nfront of the hotel and five minutes later was knocking upon Sprague's\ndoor.\n\"Well, what do you want now?\" the unshaven, pallid man demanded\nungraciously.\nDundee stepped into the room and closed the door. \"I want you to tell me\nthe name of the man Nita Selim came here to blackmail, Sprague.\"\n\"Blackmail?\" Sprague echoed, his pallid cheeks going more yellow.\n\"You're crazy! Nita came here to take a job--\"\n\"She came here to blackmail someone, and I am convinced that she sent\nfor you to act as a partner in her scheme.... No, wait! I'm _convinced_,\nI tell you,\" Dundee assured him grimly. \"But I'll make a trade with you,\nin behalf of the district attorney. Tell me the name of the person she\nblackmailed, and I will promise you immunity from prosecution as her\naccomplice.\"\n\"Get out of my room!\" and Dexter Sprague's right forefinger trembled\nviolently as it pointed toward the door in a melodramatic gesture.\n\"Very well, Sprague,\" Dundee said. \"But let me give you a friendly\nwarning. _Don't try to carry on the good work._ Nita got ten thousand\ndollars, but she also got a bullet through her heart. And the gun which\nfired that bullet is safely back in the hands of the killer.... You're\nnot going to get that movie job, and I was just afraid you might be\ntempted!... Good afternoon!\"\nCHAPTER TWENTY\nIt was Wednesday evening, four whole days since Nita Leigh Selim,\nBroadway dancer, had been murdered while she was dummy at bridge.\nPlainclothesmen, in pairs, day and night shifts, still guarded the\nlonely house in Primrose Meadows, but Dundee had taken no interest in\nthe actual scene of the crime since Carraway, fingerprint expert, had\nreported negatively upon the secret shelf between Nita's bedroom closet\nand the guest closet. So far as any tangible evidence went, only\nDundee's fingers had pressed upon the pivoting panel and explored the\nnarrow shelf.\nThe very lack of fingerprints had of course confirmed Dundee's belief\nthat the murderer's hand had pressed upon that swinging panel, had\nquested in vain for the incriminating documents or letters which had\nbeen the basis of Nita's blackmail scheme, had deposited upon the shelf\nthe gun and silencer with which the murder had been accomplished, and\nhad later retrieved the weapon in perfect safety. A hand loosely wrapped\nin a handkerchief or protected by a glove.... The hand of a cunning,\ncareful, cold-blooded murderer--or murderess.... But--who? _Who?_\nBonnie Dundee, brooding at his desk in the living room of his small\napartment, reflected bitterly that he was no nearer the answer to that\nquestion than he had been an hour after Nita Selim's death.\n\"Well, 'my dear Watson',\" he addressed his caged parrot finally. \"What\ndo you say?... Who killed Nita Selim?\"\nThe parrot stirred on his perch, thrust out his hooked beak to nip his\nmaster's prodding finger, then disdainfully turned his back.\n\"I don't blame you, Cap'n,\" Dundee chuckled. \"You must be as sick of\nthat question as I am.... And what a pity it ever had to be asked! If\nthe murderer had not been so hasty--or so pressed for time that he\nreally could not wait to listen to Nita--he would have learned from\nNita herself that she had decided to be a very good girl, and had burned\nthe 'papers'--all because she was genuinely in love with Ralph\nHammond.... One comfort we have, 'my dear Watson': the murderer still\ndoes not know that Nita burned the papers Friday night. Sooner or later,\nwhen he believes police vigilance has been relaxed, he'll go prowling\nabout that house, and to Captain Strawn, who doesn't take the slightest\nstock in my theory, will go credit for the arrest.... Unless--\"\nDundee reached for a telegraph form and again scanned the pencilled\nmessage. Only that afternoon had it occurred to him to ask the telegraph\ncompany for a copy of the wire by which Dexter Sprague, according to his\nown story, had been summoned to Hamilton by Nita Selim.\nThe manager had been obliging, had looked up the message and copied it\nwith his own hand. It was a night letter, and had been filed in Hamilton\nApril 24--the third day after Nita's arrival. Addressed to Dexter\nSprague, at a hotel in the theatrical district, New York City, the\nmessage read:\n     \"EVERYTHING JAKE SO FAR BUT WOULD FEEL SAFER YOU HERE CHAMBER OF\n     COMMERCE PLANNING BOOSTER MOVIE FOUNDING AND DEVELOPMENT OF\n     HAMILTON LOOKING GOOD DIRECTOR WHY NOT TRY FOR JOB AS GOOD EXCUSE\n     ALL MY LOVE--NITA\"\nDundee laid the paper on his desk, locked his hands behind his head, and\naddressed the parrot again. The habit of using the bird for an audience\nand as an excuse for puzzling and mulling aloud had grown on him during\nthe year he had owned the doughty old Cap'n.\n\"As I was about to say, 'my dear Watson', Captain Strawn's boys out at\nthe Selim house will have their chance to nab our man--or woman--unless\nDexter Sprague ignores my warning, pretends to have the papers himself,\nand tries to carry on the blackmail scheme, which he undoubtedly knew\nall about and which, most probably, he encouraged Nita to undertake--the\n'friend' she had to consult, you know, before she decided to accept Lois\nDunlap's offer.\"\nThe parrot interrupted with a hoarse cackle.\n\"Have you gone over to the enemy, Cap'n?\" Dundee reproved the bird. \"You\nsound exactly like Strawn when he laughed at my interpretation of this\nmessage this afternoon. My late chief contends--and it is just possible,\nof course, that he is right--that Nita was afraid she couldn't swing the\njob of organizing and directing Lois' Little Theater, and wanted Sprague\nhere, both as lover and unofficial assistant. But that's a pretty thin\nexplanation, don't you think, 'my dear Watson'?... Oh, all right! Laugh,\ndamn you! But I'd feel better if Strawn had taken my advice and set a\ndick to trail Sprague, to see that he keeps out of mischief.... All\nthis, however, gets us no nearer to answering that eternal\nquestion--'Who?'\"\nWith a deep sigh the troubled young special investigator reached for the\n\"Time Table\" he had drafted from his notes made during the grisly\nreplaying of the \"death hand at bridge,\" and scanned it again:\n     5:20--Flora Miles, dummy, Table No. 1, leaves living room to\n     telephone.\n     5:22--Clive Hammond arrives and goes directly into solarium.\n     5:23--End of rubber at Table No. 1. Players: Polly Beale, Janet\n     Raymond, Lois Dunlap, Flora Miles (dummy). Polly Beale leaves\n     living room to join Clive Hammond in solarium.\n     5:24--Janet Raymond leaves room; says she went straight to front\n     porch.\n     5:25--Tracey Miles parks car at curb; walks up to the house, hangs\n     up hat in clothes closet and at (his estimate)\n     5:27--Miles enters living room, talks with Nita, who, as dummy, has\n     just laid down her cards at Table No. 2. Players: Karen Marshall,\n     Penny Crain, Carolyn Drake.\n     5:28--Nita leaves living room, goes to her bedroom to make up.\n     5:28-1/2--Lois Dunlap and Miles go into dining room, Miles to make\n     cocktails.\n     5:31--Judge Marshall enters living room, interrupts bridge game.\n     5:33--John C. Drake enters living room, having walked from Country\n     Club, which he says he left at 5:10, and which is only\n     three-quarters of a mile from the Selim house.\n     5:36--Karen finishes playing of hand, and Dexter Sprague and Janet\n     Raymond enter from front porch, proceeding into dining room.\n     5:37--Penny Crain finishes scoring, and Karen leaves room to tell\n     Nita the score.\n     5:38--Karen screams upon discovering the dead body at the\n     dressing-table.\nDundee laid aside the typed sheet and reached for another, the typing of\nwhich was perfect, since Penny's efficient fingers had manipulated the\nkeys.\nWhen he had telephoned to the office just before five o'clock Monday\nafternoon to see if anything had come up, Dundee had learned from Penny\nthat Peter Dunlap had issued an informal call to \"the crowd\" for a\nmeeting at his home that evening.\n\"You're going, of course?\" Dundee had asked. \"Then, during the\ndiscussion of the case, I wish you'd try to get the answers to some\nquestions which need clearing up--if you can do so without getting\nyourself 'in Dutch' with your friends.... Fine! Got a pencil?... Here\ngoes!\"\nAnd now he was re-reading the \"report\" she had conscientiously written\nand left on his desk Tuesday morning:\n\"Peter, declaring he wanted to get at the bottom of this case, presided\nalmost like a judge on the bench, and asked nearly every question you\nwanted the answer to. Everyone in the crowd adores gruff old Peter and\nno one dreamed of resenting his barrage of questions. What a detective\n_he_ would make!\n\"First: Janet admitted that she did not go directly to the front porch\nwhen she left the living room after her table finished the last rubber.\nWent first to the hall lavatory to comb her hair and renew her make-up.\nSaid she was there alone about five minutes, then went to the front\nporch. (Revised her story after Tracey had said he did not see her on\nthe porch when he arrived.)\n\"Second: Judge Marshall said he glanced into the living room when he\narrived, saw Karen, Carolyn and me absorbed in our game, and went on\ndown the hall, to hang up his hat and stick. Proceeded immediately to\nthe living room.\n\"Third: John Drake told Peter he entered the front hall and passed on to\nthe lavatory to wash up. Felt sticky after his walk from the Country\nClub. Hung up hat in the guest closet. Went to living room within three\nminutes after reaching the house.\n\"Fourth: Polly and Clive told Peter they stayed together in the solarium\nthe whole time, stationed at a front window, watching for Ralph. When\nPeter asked them if they could confirm Judge Marshall's story and Johnny\nDrake's story, they said they had seen them both arrive, but had paid no\nattention to them after they were in the house. It occurred to Peter,\ntoo, to wonder if either Polly or Clive went to Nita's room to warn her\nthat Ralph knew about Sprague's having slept the night before in the\nupstairs bedroom. They both denied emphatically that they had done so.\n\"Fifth: Judge Marshall--the pompous old darling--still smarting under\nthe insinuations you made about him and Nita right after the murder,\nvolunteered the information to Peter that Nita had _not_ paid her rent,\non the plea that she was short of funds, and that he had told her to let\nit go until it was quite convenient.\n\"Sixth: The word 'blackmail' was not mentioned, and Johnny Drake,\nbecause of professional ethics, I suppose, did not tell about Nita's two\ndeposits of $5,000 each in his bank.\n\"Seventh: The secret shelf in the foyer closet was not mentioned.\n\"Peter's verdict, after he got through with us, was that only Sprague\ncould have done it--using the gun and silencer which Nita herself had\nstolen from Hugo. I couldn't tell him that you are convinced that\nLydia's alibi for him is a genuine one, for apparently Lydia hasn't told\neither Flora or Tracey that she was able to furnish Sprague an alibi.\n\"And that's all, except that Peter asked me to convey to you his\napologies for his rudeness Monday afternoon.... Penelope Crain.\"\nWith a deep sigh Dundee laid Penny's report aside.\n\"And that does seem to be all, 'my dear Watson',\" he told the parrot.\n\"Exactly half a dozen possible suspects, and not an atom of actual\nevidence against one of them--except that Judge Marshall owned the gun.\nSix--count 'em: Judge Marshall, John Drake, Flora Miles, Clive Hammond,\nPolly Beale, Janet Raymond.... Every single one of them a possible\nvictim of blackmail, since the girls all attended the Forsyte School,\nwhere Nita directed the Easter play for two years, and since the men\nmake several trips a year to New York.... Six people, all of whom\nprobably knew of the existence of the secret shelf.... Six people who\nknew Nita was in her bedroom, either from having seen her go or from\nhearing her powder box tinkling its damnable tune!... Yes, Penny! You're\nright! That's all--so far as Hamilton is concerned! If Sanderson won't\nlet me go to New York--which is where this damned business started--I'll\nresign and go on my own, without wasting another day here!\"\nBut Dundee did not go to New York the next morning. He was far too busy\nin Hamilton....\nCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE\n\"Hello, Penny!\" Dundee greeted the district attorney's private secretary\nThursday morning at five minutes after nine. \"Any news from Sanderson?\"\n\"Yes,\" Penny Crain answered listlessly. \"A night letter. He says his\nmother is still very low and that we're to wire him at the Good\nSamaritan Hospital in Chicago if anything turns up.\"\n\"Then I suppose I can reach him there by long distance,\" and Dundee\nlifted the telephone from Penny's desk to put in the call.\n\"What's happened?\" Penny demanded, her brown eyes wide and startled.\n\"And hurry it up, will you, please?\" Dundee urged the long distance\noperator before hanging up the receiver and answering Penny's question.\n\"That's just the trouble--nothing's happened, and nothing is very likely\nto happen here. I'm determined to go to New York and work on this pesky\ncase from that end--\"\n\"Then you've come around to Captain Strawn's theory that it was a New\nYork gunman?\" Penny asked hopefully.\n\"Not by a jugful!... But what's the matter with you this morning, young\nwoman? You're looking less like a new penny and more like one that has\nbeen too much in circulation.\"\n\"Thanks!\" Penny retorted sarcastically; then she grinned wryly. \"You are\nright, as a matter of fact. I was up too late last night--bridge at the\nMileses'.\"\n\"_Bridge!_\" Dundee ejaculated incredulously. \"So the bridge party _did_\ntake place, in spite of the society editor's discreet announcement\nyesterday that 'owing to the tragic death of Mrs. Selim, the regular\nevery-other-Wednesday dinner-bridge of the Forsyte Alumnae Association\nwill not be held this evening at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Tracey Miles,\nas scheduled'.\"\n\"It wasn't a 'dinner-bridge' and it really wasn't intended to be a\nparty,\" Penny corrected him. \"It just sort of happened, and of all the\nghastly evenings--\"\n\"Tell me about it,\" Dundee suggested. \"Knowing this town's telephone\nservice as I do, I'll have plenty of time to listen, and you don't know\nhow all-agog I am for inside gossip on Hamilton's upper crust.\"\n\"Idiot!\" Penny flung at him scornfully. \"You know society would bore you\nto death, but I don't think you would have been exactly bored last\nnight, knowing, as I do, your opinion of Dexter Sprague.\"\n\"Sprague? Good Lord! Was he there?... This does promise to be\ninteresting! Tell me all!\"\n\"Give me time!\" Penny snapped. \"I might as well talk, since there's\nalmost no work for me to do, with Bill away.... Ralph called me up last\nnight at dinner time, and asked me if I felt equal to playing bridge\nagain. He said that he, Clive, Tracey and Johnny Drake had lunched\ntogether yesterday--as they frequently do--at the Athletic Club, and\nthat Judge Marshall, who had been lunching at another table with his\nfriend, Attorney Sampson, stopped at their table and suggested a bridge\ngame at his home for last night. Hugo said he wanted to coax Karen into\nplaying again, so she would get over her hysterical aversion to the game\nsince she had to replay that awful 'death hand'.... You see,\" Penny\nexplained parenthetically, \"Hugo is a regular bridge fiend, and\nnaturally he doesn't want to be kept out of his game.\"\n\"Brute!\" Dundee cried disgustedly. \"Why couldn't he give the poor girl a\nfew days more?\"\n\"That's what I thought,\" Penny acknowledged. \"But _I_ didn't get an\ninhibition against bridge, and the idea rather appealed to me\npersonally. The last few days haven't been particularly cheerful ones,\nso I told Ralph I'd be glad to go. Tracey had suggested his house,\ninstead of Hugo's, because Betty wasn't well yesterday and Flora\nwouldn't want to leave her for a whole evening. Well, Ralph and I--\"\n\"Are you going to marry Ralph Hammond, Penny?\" Dundee interrupted, as if\nprompted by casual interest.\nPenny's pale face flushed vividly. \"No. I'm not in love with him, and\nI'm sure he realizes I'm not and won't ask me again. But I _had_ to say\nyes Sunday! I simply couldn't let you walk in on us, after I'd permitted\nyou to eavesdrop while he was talking, without first saying the one\nthing that would convince him that I believed in his innocence and\nhadn't set a trap for him.\"\n\"I see!\" Dundee acknowledged soberly, but his blue eyes shone\nwith sudden joy. \"Oh! There's long distance! Just a minute,\ndarling!... Hello! Hello!... Yes, this is Dundee.... Oh! All right!\nTry again in fifteen minutes, will you?\" He hung up the receiver and\nexplained to Penny: \"Sanderson hasn't reached the hospital yet, but is\nexpected soon.... Go on with your story.... Who all played bridge at\nthe Mileses'? You don't mean to say Dexter Sprague was invited, too!\"\nPenny's face was still a brilliant pink as she answered: \"I refuse to\nhave my climax spoiled!... When Ralph and I got there at eight, we found\nthat Peter and Lois had dined with Tracey and Flora and that they were\ndelighted at the prospect of bridge, as a relief from endless\ndiscussions of the murder. We'd hardly got there when the Marshalls\ncame, poor little Karen not suspecting that she was going to have to\nplay. Then came Johnny Drake alone, with the news that Carolyn was in\nbed and very miserable with a summer cold. Polly walked over from her\nhouse, which is on the next hill to the right, you know. She said Clive\nhad decided to work late at the office, and had promised to call for her\nabout eleven, to take her home.\"\n\"What about Janet Raymond? Was she left out?\" Dundee asked.\n\"I told you it wasn't a planned affair,\" Penny reminded him. \"But Flora\ndid telephone her, and she said she didn't feel like coming. She's been\nmoping about like a sick cat since Nita's death. We all knew she was\nidiotically in love with Dexter Sprague, and it must have been an awful\nblow to her to hear you read aloud that note Nita received from\nSprague.\"\n\"So I noticed,\" Dundee nodded, recalling the deathly pallor of the\ngirl's face as Sprague had glibly explained away that damning note and\nall its implications.\n\"Well,\" Penny continued, \"Tracey suggested bridge, and at first Karen\nflatly refused to play, but Hugo finally persuaded her.... Karen would\ndo absolutely _anything_ for that ridiculous old husband of hers! I\nsimply can't understand it--how she can be in love with him, I mean!\"\n\"I thought you liked Judge Marshall,\" Dundee laughed.\n\"Oh, I do--in a way.... But fancy a young girl like Karen being in love\nwith him!... Well, anyway, we all went out to the east porch, which is\nkept in readiness for bridge all summer. Iron bridge tables, covered\nwith oilcloth, and with oilcloth pouches for the cards and score pads,\nso there's never any bother about scurrying in with things on account of\nrain. It's a roofed, stone-floored porch, right outside the living-room,\nand under it are the garages, so it's high and cool, with a grand view\nof Mirror Lake down below, and of the city in the distance.\" She sighed,\nand Dundee knew that she was thinking of her own lost home in\nBrentwood--the fine old Colonial mansion which had been sacrificed to\nher father's disastrous Primrose Meadows venture. Then she went on: \"I\ndon't know why I am telling you all this, except that the setting was so\npleasant that we should have had a much better time than we did.\"\n\"You're an artful minx, Penny!\" Dundee chuckled. \"You're working up\nsuspense for the entrance of the villain!\"\n\"Then let me do it justice,\" Penny retorted. \"Lois and Peter, Ralph and\nI, made up one table for bridge; Tracey and Polly, Judge Marshall and\nKaren the other. Flora said she didn't want to play, because she wanted\nto be free to keep an eye on Betty, although she protested she had\nperfect faith in Lydia, who, Flora says, is proving to be a marvel with\nthe children. And Johnny Drake asked her to play anagrams with him, in\nbetween trips to the nursery. Johnny has a perfect pash for anagrams,\nand is a wow at 'em. So Tracey got the box of anagrams out of the trophy\nroom--\"\n\"The trophy room?\" Dundee repeated, amused.\n\"That's what Tracey calls it,\" Penny explained impatiently, \"because he\nhas a couple of golf cups and Flora has an immense silver atrocity which\ntestifies to the fact that she was the 'lady's tennis champion' of the\nstate for one year. There are also some mounted fish and some deer heads\nwith incredible antlers, but the room is really used as a catch-all for\nall the sports things--racquets, golf clubs, skis, ping-pong table,\netc.... Anyway, Tracey brought out the box of anagrams, and we were all\nhaving a pretty good time when, at half past eight, the butler announced\n'_Mr. Dexter Sprague_'!\"\n\"Your tone makes me wish I'd been there,\" Dundee acknowledged. \"What\nhappened?\"\n\"You know how slap-em-on-the-back Tracey always is?\" Penny asked,\ngrinning. \"Well, you should have seen him and heard him as he dismissed\npoor Whitson--the butler--as if he were giving him notice, instead of\nletting him off for the night! And the icy dignity with which he greeted\npoor Sprague--\"\n\"_Poor_ Sprague?\" Dundee echoed.\n\"Well, after all, Sprague _had_ been received by all the crowd before\nNita's death,\" Penny retorted. \"I think it was rather natural for him to\nthink he'd still be welcome. He began to apologize for his uninvited\npresence, saying he had felt lonesome and depressed and had just 'jumped\ninto a taxi' and come along, hoping to find the Mileses in. Flora tried\nto act the lady hostess, but Peter got up from his bridge table and said\nin tones even icier than Tracey's: 'Will you excuse me, Flora? And will\nyou take my place, Drake?... I'm going into the library. I don't enjoy\nthe society of murderers!'\"\n\"Good Lord!\" Dundee ejaculated, shocked but admiring. \"Did Sprague make\na quick exit?\"\n\"Not just then,\" Penny said mysteriously. \"Of course everyone was simply\nstunned, but Sprague retorted cheerfully, 'Neither do I, Dunlap!' Peter\nstalked on into the living room on his way to the library, Johnny took\nhis place at the bridge table, and Tracey, at an urgent signal from\nFlora, offered his seat at the other table to Sprague, as if he were\nmaking way for a leper. Poor Polly had to be Sprague's partner. Flora,\nas if she were terrified at what might happen--you know how frightfully\ntense and nervous she is--made an excuse to run upstairs for a look at\nBetty.\"\n\"And something terrible did happen,\" Dundee guessed. \"You're looking\npositively ghoulish. Out with it!\"\n\"After about half an hour of playing without pivoting,\" Penny went on\nimperturbably, \"Hugo bid three spades, Karen raised him--in a trembling\nvoice--to five spades, Hugo of course went to a little slam, and Dexter\nSprague, if you can believe me, said: 'Better not leave the table,\nKaren. _A little slam-bid in spades has been known to be fatal to the\ndummy!_'\"\n\"_No!_\" Dundee was genuinely shocked, but before he could say more the\ntelephone rang. \"Sanderson at last.... Hello! Chicago?... Oh, hello,\nCaptain Strawn!... _What's that?_... Oh, my God!... Where did you say\nthe body is?\"\nHe listened for a long minute, then, with a dazed \"Thanks! I'll be\nover,\" he hung up the receiver.\n\"Sprague--murdered!\" he answered the horrified question in Penny's eyes.\n\"Body discovered this morning about nine by one of the Miles' maids, in\nwhat you described just now as the 'trophy room'.... Shot--just below\nthe breastbone, Captain Strawn says.\"\n\"The trophy room!\" Penny cried. \"Then--_that's_ where he was all the\ntime after he disappeared so strangely last night--\"\n\"Whoa, Penny!\" Dundee commanded. \"Get hold of yourself! You're shaking\nall over.... I want to know everything _you_ know--as quickly and as\naccurately as you can tell it. Go right on--\"\n\"Poor Dexter!\" Penny groaned, covering her convulsed face with her\nhands. \"To think that he was _dead_ when we were saying such horrid\nthings about him--\"\n\"Don't waste sympathy on him, honey!\" Dundee cut in, his voice very\ngentle but urgent. \"If he had heeded my warning Monday he wouldn't be\ndead now.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" Penny gasped, but she was already calmer. \"Your\nwarning--?\"\n\"I had a strong suspicion that he was mixed up with Nita in her\nblackmail scheme and I took the trouble to warn him not to try to carry\non with it. Yesterday afternoon I begged Strawn to have him shadowed to\nsee that he kept out of mischief. I was afraid the temptation would be\ntoo strong for him, but Strawn wouldn't listen to me--still clinging to\nhis theory of a New York gunman.... Feeling better now, honey? Can you\ngo on? I want to get out to the Miles house as soon as I can.\"\n\"You're getting very--affectionate, aren't you?\" Penny gave him a wobbly\nsmile in which, however, there was no reproof. \"I think I can go on\nnow--. Where was I?\"\n\"Good girl!\" Dundee applauded, but his heart was beating hard with\nsomething more than excitement over Sprague's murder. \"You'd just told\nme about Sprague's warning Karen not to leave the table when she became\ndummy after Judge Marshall's little slam bid in spades.\"\n\"I remember,\" Penny said, pressing her fingers into her temples. \"But\nKaren _did_ leave the table. When Sprague said that awful thing, poor\nKaren burst into tears and ran from the porch into the living room, Hugo\nstarted to follow her, but Sprague halted him by apologizing very\nhumbly, and then by adding: 'I'd really like to see you play this hand,\nsir. I believe I've got the cards to set you with....' Of course he\ncould not have said anything better calculated to hold Hugo, who, as I\nsaid, is a regular fiend when it comes to bridge.... Well, Hugo played\nthe hand and made his little slam, and then he again started to go look\nfor Karen, but Polly, who was Sprague's partner, you know, told him in\nthat brusque way of hers to go on with the game and give Karen a chance\nto have her little weep in peace. Probably Hugo would have gone to look\nfor her anyway, but just then Flora came back. She said Betty was asleep\nat last and that her temperature was normal, and when she heard about\nKaren, she offered to take her hand until Karen felt like coming back.\"\n\"What did Drake do then? He'd been playing anagrams with Mrs. Miles, you\nsaid,\" Dundee interrupted.\n\"Don't you remember?--I told you Johnny had taken Peter's place at our\ntable after Peter refused to breathe the same air as Dexter Sprague,\"\nPenny reminded him. \"Ralph and I, Lois and Johnny were playing together,\nand just at the time I became dummy, Sprague became dummy at the other\ntable. He rose, saying he had to go telephone for a taxi, and passed\nfrom the porch into the living room--\"\n\"Where is the telephone?\"\n\"The one the guests use is on a table in the hall closet, where we put\nour things,\" Penny explained. \"You can shut the door and hold a\nperfectly private conversation.... Well, _we never saw Dexter Sprague\nagain_!\"\n\"Good Lord! Another bridge dummy murdered!\" Dundee groaned. \"At least\nthe newspapers will be happy!... Didn't anyone go to look for him after\nthe hand was played?\"\n\"Not straight off,\" Penny answered, with an obvious effort to remember\nclearly every detail. \"Let's see--Oh, yes! That hand was played out\nbefore Ralph had finished playing his, at our table, so I was free to\npay attention to the other table. Flora said that since they couldn't\nplay another hand until Dexter came back, she thought she'd better hunt\nup Karen, who hadn't come back yet.\"\n\"How long was Mrs. Miles away from the porch?\" Dundee asked quickly.\n\"Oh, I don't know--ten minutes, maybe. She came back alone, saying she\nhad found Karen in her bedroom--Flora's room, of course--crying\ninconsolably. Flora told Hugo he'd better go up to her himself, since\nshe evidently had her feelings hurt because he hadn't followed her in\nthe first place. Tracey, who wasn't playing bridge, you remember,\nbecause he had given up his place to Sprague, asked Flora if she'd seen\nSprague, and Flora said, in a surprised voice, 'No! I wonder where he is\nall this time,' and Polly said that probably he'd gone to the lavatory,\nwhich opens into the main hall and is next to the library.... Well,\npretty soon Judge Marshall and Karen came back--\"\n\"Pretty soon?--Just how long was Judge Marshall gone?\" Dundee pressed\nher, his pencil, which had been flying to take down her every word,\npoised over the notebook he had snatched from her desk.\n\"I can't say exactly!\" Penny protested thornily. \"I was playing again at\nthe other table. I suppose it was about ten minutes, for Ralph and I had\nmade another rubber, I remember.... Anyway, Karen was smiling like a\nbaby that has had a lot of petting, but she said Hugo had promised her\nshe wouldn't have to play bridge any more that evening, so Flora\nremained at that table, playing opposite Hugo, while Tracey played with\nPolly. As soon as Tracey became dummy, Flora suggested he go look for\nSprague.\"\n\"And how long was _he_ gone from the porch?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Less than no time,\" Penny assured him. \"He was back before Polly had\nfinished playing the hand. He said he'd gone to the hall closet, where\nWhitson, the butler, would have put Sprague's hat and stick, and that he\nhad found they were gone.... Well--and you needn't put down 'well' every\ntime I say it!\" Penny interrupted herself tartly. \"Tracey said he\nsupposed Sprague had ordered his taxi and had decided to walk down the\nhill to meet it, and he added that that was exactly the kind of courtesy\nyou could expect from a cad and a bounder like Sprague--walking in\nuninvited, making Karen cry, then walking out, without a word, leaving\nthe game while he was dummy. Flora spoke up then and said it was no\nwonder Dexter had left without saying good-by, considering how he'd been\ntreated. Then Tracey said something ugly and sarcastic about Flora's\nbeing disappointed because Sprague had decided not to spend the whole\nevening--\"\n\"A first-class row, eh?\" Dundee interrupted, with keen interest.\n\"Rather! Flora almost cried, said Tracey knew good and well that she had\nonly been playing-up to Sprague before Nita's death, in the hope of\ngetting the lead in the Hamilton movie, if Sprague got the job of\ndirecting it, and Tracey said, 'So you call it playing-up, do you? It\nlooked like high-powered flirting to me--or maybe it was more than a\nflirtation!...' Then Flora told him he hadn't acted jealous at the\ntime, and that he _knew_ he'd have been glad if she'd got the\nlead.... Well, just then along came Janet--\"\n\"_Janet Raymond?_\" Dundee ejaculated. \"I thought you said she had\nrefused the invitation when Mrs. Miles phoned her.\"\n\"So she had, but she said she changed her mind, had been blue all\nevening, and needed cheering up.\"\n\"How did she get in?\"\n\"She walked over from her house, which isn't very far from the Mileses',\nand simply came up the path to the porch,\" Penny explained. \"Tracey\nasked her if she had seen Sprague on the road--it's the same road Dexter\nwould have had to take going down the hill to the main road--and she\nacted awfully queer--\"\n\"How?\" Dundee demanded.\n\"Exactly as she would act, since she was in love with him,\" Penny\nretorted. \"She turned very red, and asked if Sprague had inquired for\nher, and Flora quite sharply told her he hadn't. Then Janet said she was\nvery much surprised that Sprague had been there, and that she couldn't\nunderstand why he had behaved so strangely. Then Lois said she might as\nwell go fetch Peter from the library, since Sprague was no longer there\nto contaminate the atmosphere. She came back--\"\n\"After how long a time?\"\n\"Oh, about five minutes, I suppose,\" Penny answered wearily. \"She came\nin, her arm linked with Peter's, and laughing. Said she had found him\nreading a 'Deadwood Dick' thriller.... One of Tracey's hobbies--\" she\nbroke off to explain, \"--is collecting old-fashioned thrillers, like the\nNick Carter, Diamond King Brady, Buffalo Bill and Deadwood Dick\npaper-bound books. Of course he didn't take up that hobby until a lot of\nother rich men had done it first. There was never anybody less original\nthan poor Tracey.... Well, Flora gave up her place to Janet, and again\nplayed anagrams with Johnny, Peter taking his original place at our\ntable. Suddenly Polly threw down her cards--she'd been having rotten\nluck and seemed out of sorts--and said she didn't want to play bridge\nany more. So poor Flora again had to be the perfect hostess, and switch\nfrom anagrams to bridge.\"\n\"And Polly played anagrams with Drake?\" Dundee prompted.\n\"No. She said she thought anagrams were silly, and wandered off the\nporch and down the path, calling over her shoulder that she was going to\ntake a walk. Tracey asked Johnny if he'd mind mixing the highballs and\nbringing out the sandwiches. Said Whitson had left a thermos bucket of\nice cubes on the sideboard, some bottles of ginger ale, and a tray of\nglasses and sandwiches. Told him he'd find decanters of Scotch and rye,\nand to bring out both.\"\n\"So Drake left the room, too,\" Dundee mused. \"Oh, Lord. I _knew_ I'd\nfind that every last one of the six had a chance to kill Sprague, as\nwell as Nita!... How long was Polly Beale gone on this walk of hers?\"\n\"She came in with a pink water lily--said she'd been down to the lily\nponds, and that Flora had enough to spare her one,\" Penny answered. \"She\ncouldn't have been away more than ten minutes, because Johnny was just\nmixing the highballs, according to our preference for Scotch or rye--or\nplain ginger ale, which both Ralph and I chose. After we'd had our\ndrinks and the sandwiches, we went on with bridge. Polly and Johnny just\nwandered about the porch or watched the game at the two tables. And\nabout five minutes after eleven Clive Hammond arrived, coming up the\npath to the porch, just as Janet had. After he came, there was no more\nbridge, but we sat around on the porch and talked until midnight. Clive\nsaid he was too tired to play bridge--that he'd been struggling all\nevening with a knotty problem.\"\n\"I can sympathize with him!\" Dundee said grimly, as he rose. \"I've got\nmy own knotty problem awaiting me.... When that call comes through from\nChicago, tell Sanderson the bad news, and say I'll telephone him later.\"\nCHAPTER TWENTY-TWO\nThe Miles home, still known in Hamilton as the Hackett place, since it\nhad been built more than thirty years before by Flora's father, old\nSilas Hackett, dead these seven years, dominated one of the most\nbeautiful of the wooded hills which encircled Mirror Lake in the\nBrentwood section. Of modified Tudor architecture, its deep red,\nmellowed bricks had achieved in three decades almost the same aged\ndignity and impressiveness as characterized the three-century-old\nmansion in England which Silas Hackett's architect had used as an\ninspiration.\nThe big house faced the lake, a long series of landscaped terraces\nleading down to the water's edge, but the driveway wound from the state\nroad up a side of the hill, to the main entrance at the rear of the\nhouse.\nOnce before--on Sunday, the day after Nita Selim's murder, when he had\ncome to interview Lydia Carr and had secured the alibi which had\neliminated Dexter Sprague as a suspect--Dundee had driven his car up\nthis hill between the tall yew hedges. But then he had taken the fork\nwhich led to the hooded doorway over the kitchen; had descended the\nkitchen stairs with Lydia, to the servants' sitting room in the\nbasement. Now he continued along the main driveway to the more\nimpressive entrance, whose flanking, slim turrets frowned down upon a\nline of police cars and motorcycles.\nHis approach must have been expected and observed, for it was the master\nof the house who opened the great, iron-studded doors and invited the\ndetective into the broad main hall, at the end of which, down three\nsteps, lay the immense living room. The detective's first glance took in\nstately armchairs of the Cromwell period, thick, mellow-toned rugs, and,\nin the living room beyond, splendid examples of Jacobean furniture.\n\"A horrible thing to happen in a man's home, Dundee,\" Miles was saying,\nhis plump, rosy face blighted with horror. \"I can't realize yet that we\nactually slept as usual with a corpse lying down here all night! And I\nhave only myself to blame--\"\n\"What do you mean?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Why, that the--the body wasn't discovered sooner,\" Miles explained. \"If\nit had occurred to me that Whitson hadn't closed the trophy room\nwindows, I should have gone in to close and lock them when I made the\nrounds of living room, dining room and library, after our guests were\ngone last night.\"\nA pale-faced, bald-headed butler had materialized while his master was\nspeaking. \"Beg pardon, sir, but I did not close the trophy room windows\nbecause I thought you might be using the room again.... You see, sir,\"\nand Whitson turned to Dundee, \"Mr. Miles and Mr. Dunlap played ping-pong\nin the trophy room after dinner until the other guests began to arrive,\nand I did not want them to find the room stuffy--it was a warm night--if\nany of the guests--\"\n\"I see,\" Dundee interrupted. \"Who, to your knowledge, was the last\nperson to enter the trophy room last night, Mr. Miles?\"\n\"I was, except Sprague, of course, and I had no idea he'd gone there.\nDrake wanted to play anagrams, and before the bridge game started, I\nwent to the trophy room to get the box,\" Miles explained. \"I turned off\nthe light when I left, and there was no light burning in there this\nmorning when Celia, the parlor maid, went there to put the anagram box\nback in the cabinet, and found the body.... Flora--Mrs. Miles--had\nbrought the anagrams in from the porch and left them on a table in the\nliving room, as our guests were getting ready to leave. There was\nnothing else to bring in, in case of rain. The bridge tables are of\niron, covered with oilcloth, and fitted with oilcloth bags for the\ncards, score pads, and pencils--\"\n\"Yes, I know,\" Dundee interrupted. \"Miss Crain has already told me all\nabout that, and a good many details of the party itself.... By the way,\nwhere is Mrs. Miles now?\"\n\"In bed. The doctor is with her. She is prostrated from the shock.\"\n\"Where is this room you call the trophy room?\" Dundee asked. \"No, don't\nbother to come with me. Just point it out. It's on this floor, I\nunderstand.\"\nMiles pointed past the great circular staircase that wound upward from\nthe main hall. \"You can't see the door from here, but it's behind the\nstaircase. Celia found the door closed this morning, and no light on, as\nI said--\"\nDundee cut him short by marching toward the door which was again closed.\nHe entered so noiselessly that Captain Strawn, Dr. Price and the\nfingerprint expert, Carraway, did not hear him. For a moment he stood\njust inside the door and let his eyes wander about the room which Penny\nCrain had already described. It was not a large room--twelve by fourteen\nfeet, possibly--but it looked even smaller, crowded as it was with the\nlong ping-pong table, bags of golf clubs, fishing tackle, tennis\nracquets, skis and sleds. There were two windows in the north wall of\nthe room, looking out upon the yew-hedged driveway, and between them\nstood a cabinet of numerous big and little drawers.\nNot until he had taken in the general aspect of the room did Dundee look\nat the thing over which Captain Strawn and the coroner were bending--the\nbody of Dexter Sprague.\nThe alien from New York had fallen about four feet from the window\nnearer the east wall of the trophy room. He lay on his side, his left\ncheek against the floor, the fingers of his left hand still clutching\nthe powder-burned bosom of his soft shirt, now stiff with dried blood, a\npool of which had formed and then half congealed upon the rug. The right\nhand, the fingers curled but not touching each other, lay palm-upward on\nthe floor at the end of the rigid, outstretched arm. The one visible eye\nwas half open, but on the sallow, thin face, which had been strikingly\nhandsome in an obvious sort of way, was a peace and dignity which Dundee\nhad never seen upon Sprague's face when the man was alive. The left leg\nwas drawn upward so that the knee almost touched the bullet-pierced\nstomach.\n\"How long has he been dead, doctor?\" Dundee asked quietly.\n\"Hello, boy!\" Dr. Price greeted him placidly. \"Always the same question!\nI've been here only a few minutes, and I've already told Strawn that I\nshall probably be unable to fix the hour of death with any degree of\naccuracy.\"\n\"Took your time, didn't you, Bonnie?\" Captain Strawn greeted his former\nsubordinate on the Homicide Squad. \"Doc says he's been dead between ten\nand twelve hours. Since it's nearly ten now, that means Sprague was\nkilled some time between nine and eleven o'clock last night.\"\n\"Better say between nine o'clock and midnight last night,\" Dr. Price\nsuggested. \"He may have lived an hour or more--unconscious, of course.\nFor the indications are that he did not die instantly, but staggered a\nfew steps, clutching at the wound. But of course I shall have to perform\nan autopsy first----\"\nDundee crossed the room, stepping over the dead man's stick--a swank\naffair of dark, polished wood, with a heavy knob of carved onyx, which\nlay about a foot beyond the reach of the curled fingers of the stiff\nright hand.\n\"Sprague's hat?\" he asked, pointing to a brightly banded straw which lay\nupon the top of the cabinet.\n\"Yes,\" Strawn answered. \"And did you notice the window screen?\"\nHe pointed to the window in front of which the body lay. The sash of\nleaded panes was raised as high as it would go, and beneath it was a\nscreen of the roller-curtain type, raised about six inches from the\nwindow sill. A pair of curved, nickel-plated catches in the center of\nthe inch-wide metal band on the bottom of the coppernet curtain showed\nhow the screen was raised or lowered.\nDundee nodded, frowning, and Strawn began eagerly:\n\"You'll have to admit I was right now, boy. You've sneered at my gunman\ntheory and tried to pin Nita's murder on one of Hamilton's finest bunch\nof people, but you'll have to admit now that every detail of this set-up\nbears me out.\"\n\"Yes?\"\n\"Sure. This is the way I figure it out: Sprague has good reason to be\nafraid he's next on the program. He's nervous. He hops a taxi at his\nhotel and comes here--can't stick to his room any longer. Wants a little\nhuman companionship. This crowd here--and I have Miles' word for\nit--ain't any too glad to see him, and shows it. He phones for a taxi to\ngo back to his hotel--about 9:15, that was, Miles says--but decides to\nwalk down the hill to meet it. Don't want to go back out on the porch\nand lie about having had a good time, when he hasn't.... Well, he opens\nthe front door, or what would be the front door if this was any ordinary\nhouse, but before he steps out he sees or hears something--probably a\nrustling in the hedge across the driveway, or maybe he even sees a face,\nin the light from the lanterns on each side of the door. He feels sure\nNita's murderer has trailed him and is lying in wait for him. In a panic\nhe darts into this room, and don't turn on the light for fear he'll be\nseen from the windows, but he can see well enough to make out how the\nscreens work, and he was familiar with the house anyway. I'll bet you\nanything you like Sprague stayed in this room for an hour or two, till\nhe thought the coast was clear, then eased up this screen, intending to\nclimb out of the window and drop to the ground.... Not much of a drop at\nthat. You can see that the tall hedge on this side of the driveway comes\npretty near up to these windows.... Well, I figure he laid his hat on\nthis cabinet, intending to reach in for it when he was outside, but that\nhe had already made some little noise which the gunman was listening\nfor, and that when he got the screen up this high, the gunman, crouching\nunder the window, let go with the same gun and silencer that he used to\nbump off Nita.... I've got Miles' word for it that neither he nor\nanybody else heard a shot.... Of course, nobody knew Sprague was in\nhere, and since his hat and stick was both missing from the hall closet,\nthey took it for granted he'd beat it.... Any objections to that theory,\nboy?\"\n\"Just a few--one in particular,\" Dundee said. \"But I grant it's a good\none, provided Dr. Price's autopsy bears you out as to the course of the\nbullet, and that Carraway finds Sprague's fingerprints on that\ncontrivance for raising the screen. Even then----\"\nBut Dundee was not allowed to finish his sentence, for Strawn was\nsummoned to the telephone, by Whitson. When he returned there was a\nslightly bewildered look on his heavy old face.\n\"That's funny.... Collins--the lad I sent to check up on the taxi\ncompanies--says he's located the driver that answered Sprague's call\nlast night. The driver says he was called about 9:15, told to come\nimmediately, and to wait for Sprague at the foot of the hill, on the\nmain road. He says he waited there until half past ten, then went on\nback to town, sore'n a boiled owl.\"\n\"It doesn't look exactly as if Sprague were afraid of anyone _outside of\nthis house_ last night, does it?\" Dundee asked. \"By the way, I suppose\nyou've sent for everyone who was here?\"\n\"Sure!\" But again Captain Strawn looked uncomfortable. \"But we haven't\nbeen able to locate the Beale girl and Clive Hammond.\"\nCHAPTER TWENTY-THREE\n\"I'd give a good deal to know which of those two suggested that it would\nbe a good idea to get married the first thing this morning,\" Dundee\nmused aloud, as he put down the second extra which _The Hamilton Morning\nNews_ had had occasion to issue that Thursday.\nIt was two o'clock, and the district attorney's \"special investigator\"\nsat across the desk from Captain Strawn, in his former chief's office at\nPolice Headquarters.\nThe first extra had screamed in its biggest head type: SECOND BRIDGE\nDUMMY MURDER! and had carried, in detail, Captain Strawn's comforting\ntheory that Dexter Sprague's erstwhile friends had again been made the\nvictims of a New York gunman's fiendish cleverness in committing his\nmurders under circumstances which would inevitably involve Hamilton's\nmost highly respected and socially prominent citizens in the police\ninvestigation.\nBut the second extra had a more romantic streamer headline: HAMMOND\nWEDDING DELAYS MURDER QUIZ.\nThe story beneath a series of smaller headlines began:\n\"At the very moment--9:05 o'clock this morning--when Celia Hunt, maid in\nthe Tracey Miles home in the Brentwood district of Hamilton, was\nscreaming the news of her discovery of the dead body of Dexter Sprague,\nNew York motion picture director, in what is known as the 'trophy room,'\nMiss Polly Beale and Mr. Clive Hammond were applying for a marriage\nlicense in the Municipal Building.\n\"At 9:30, when Miss Beale and Mr. Hammond were exchanging their vows in\nthe rectory of St. Paul's Episcopal Church, of which both bride and\ngroom have been members since childhood, Captain John Strawn of the\nHomicide Squad was listening to Tracey Miles' account of the strange\ndisappearance of Dexter Sprague last night from an impromptu bridge\ngame, after he had announced his intention of taking advantage of the\nfact that he was 'dummy' to telephone for a taxi.\n\"And at 10 o'clock, when the new Mrs. Hammond called her home to break\nthe news of her marriage to her aunt, Mrs. Amelia Beale, the bride was\nin turn acquainted with the news of Sprague's murder and the fact that\nboth she and her husband were wanted at the Miles home for questioning\nby the police, since both had been guests of Mr. and Mrs. Miles last\nnight, although Mr. Hammond did not arrive until about 11 o'clock.\"\nThere followed a revision of the murder story as it had appeared in the\nfirst extra, with additional details supplied by Strawn, and with a line\ndrawing of the scene of the crime--the trophy room itself and the forked\ndriveway with its tall yew hedges. A dotted line illustrated Strawn's\ntheory of Sprague's plan to elude the murderer who had followed him to\nthe Miles home. Because of the curved sweep of the driveway toward the\nmain entrance of the house, the tall hedge was less than two feet from\nthe window with the partly opened screen.\n\"Captain Strawn's theory,\" read the text below the large drawing, \"is\nthat Sprague had good cause to fear he was being followed on his way to\nthe Miles home; that he telephoned for a taxi to wait for him at the\nfoot of the hill, and that he planned to leave the Miles house by way of\nthe trophy room window, so that his lurking pursuer might have no\nknowledge of his departure. The drawing shows that his proposed flight\nwould have been protected by hedges until he reached the wooded slope of\nthe hill, provided his Nemesis was lurking in the opposite hedge across\nthe driveway, where he could observe every departure from the Miles\nhome.\"\n\"You've sure got a single-track mind, boy,\" Strawn chuckled. \"So you\nthink those two got married in such a hurry this morning because the law\nsays a husband or a wife can't be made to testify against the other?\"\n\"Possibly.\" Dundee grinned, unruffled. \"But there is another\npossibility--which is why I should like to know who suggested this\nsudden wedding. I mean that we can't overlook the possibility that these\ntwo murders made either the bride or the groom feel perfectly safe in\ngoing on with the marriage. Polly Beale and Clive Hammond had been\nengaged for more than a year, you know, with no apparent reason for a\nlong engagement.... As for my having a single-track mind, Captain, what\nabout you? I have six possible suspects, all of whose names I know, and\nyou have only one--whose name you do not know, and whose motive you can\nonly guess at, while _I_ have a perfectly good motive that might fit any\none of my six--blackmail!\"\n\"Is that so?\" Strawn growled. \"I'm not telling the papers everything,\nand if they are satisfied to call these murders '_crimes passionnels_,'\nit's all right with me. But I'm not forgetting that Nita Selim banked\nten thousand dollars cash after she got to Hamilton. My real theory now\nthat Sprague has been killed is that Nita and Sprague had cooked up some\nsort of racket between them, and that when Nita got the chance to come\nto Hamilton with Mrs. Dunlap, she jumped at it, and she and Sprague\nsprung their racket, whatever it was, either just before or just after\nNita left New York. Probably it was Nita's tip-off and Sprague did the\nactual dirty work himself, which explains that telegram that Nita sent\nhim April 24, just three days after she got to Hamilton. Let's see again\njust what it says,\" and Strawn reached for a copy of the night letter\nwhich Dundee himself had unearthed the day before. \"See: '_Everything\nJake so far, but would feel safer you here_--'\"\n\"Yes, I remember the wording quite well,\" Dundee interrupted. \"But you\ndid not take it so seriously when I showed it to you yesterday. If you\nhad--\"\n\"All right! Rub it in!\" Strawn snapped, flushing darkly. \"If I had\nassigned a man to 'tail' Sprague, as you suggested, he wouldn't have\nbeen murdered--\"\n\"He probably would have been murdered just the same,\" Dundee comforted\nthe older man, \"but we might have been lucky enough to have had an\neye-witness.\"\n\"Oh, you and your theory!\" Strawn growled. \"But let me go on.... Nita\nmeant she would feel safer about Sprague if he was here in Hamilton,\ntoo. But the guy they double-crossed in New York, or worked the badger\ngame on, or something like that, got on their trail. But it took him\nweeks to do it, and Sprague followed Nita's advice. He got here on\nSunday April 27, and on Monday the 28th Nita banked the first $5,000!\nDon't you see it, boy? Sprague brought with him the dough they'd got for\ntheir stunt, and thought it was safer for Nita to bank it in her name,\nsince it wasn't the name she was known by in New York anyway. We've\nchecked up on Sprague pretty thoroughly. He didn't have a bank book,\neither on his body or in his room, and every bank in town denies he had\nan account with them.\"\n\"If that theory is correct, it makes Nita Selim a pretty low character,\"\nDundee mused aloud. \"Not only did she kick him out as a lover, but she\ndouble-crossed him as her partner in crime, by willing the whole wad to\nLydia Carr. Sprague must have received quite a shock when he heard\nNita's will read at the inquest.\"\n\"Yeah,\" Strawn agreed. \"It looks like Mrs. Dunlap picked a sweet\nspecimen to make a friend out of.... Well, that's my theory, and I think\nit explains everything. Their victim in New York simply hired a gunman,\nor come down here himself, when he got on their tracks. Of course it was\na good stunt to make it look like a local crime--figured he'd fool _me_\njust as he fooled _you_! So the murderer simply trailed Nita around, and\nsaw that whole bunch of society people shooting at a target at Judge\nMarshall's place, with a gun equipped with a Maxim silencer. Too good an\nopportunity to be missed, so he bides his chance to swipe the gun and\nsilencer. To make sure it will look like a local crime, he pops off Nita\nwhen that same bunch is at her house, but it takes a few days longer\nbefore he has the same opportunity to get Sprague. But it come last\nnight and he grabbed it.\"\n\"A very plausible theory, and one which, in general, the whole city of\nHamilton has been familiar with since the night Nita was murdered,\"\nDundee remarked significantly.\n\"What do you mean?\" Strawn demanded. \"It's waterproof, ain't it? Doc\nPrice says the bullet--and a .32 caliber one at that--entered Sprague's\nbody just below the breastbone and traveled an upward course till it\nstruck the extreme right side of the heart. The bullet entered exactly\nwhere it would have to, if the murderer was crouching under that window\nwhile Sprague was raising the screen. And we have Carraway's report that\nit was Sprague's fingerprints on those nickleplated things you have to\npress together to make the screen roll up or down. Furthermore, I\nhaven't a doubt in the world that the ballistics expert in Chicago will\nreport that the bullet was fired from the same gun that killed Nita\nSelim.\"\n\"Neither have I,\" Dundee agreed. \"But what I meant was that you had\nobligingly furnished the murderer who fits _my_ theory with a theory\nhe--or she--would not have upset for the world!... Listen!\" and he bent\nforward very earnestly: \"I'm willing to grant that Sprague was shot from\nthe outside, through the window, when Sprague raised the screen. But\nthere our theories part company. I believe that the murderer was a guest\nin the Selim home last night, that he or she had made an appointment to\nmeet Sprague there, on the promise of paying the hush money he had\ndemanded, in spite of my warning to him not to carry on with the\nblackmail scheme. Naturally he or she--and I'll say 'he' from now on,\nfor the sake of convenience--had no intention of being seen entering\nthat room. The bridge game was suggested by Judge Marshall at noon.\nThere was plenty of time for the rendezvous to be made with Sprague. As\nI see it, the murderer told Sprague to excuse himself from the game when\nhe became dummy, and to go to the trophy room and wait there until the\nmurderer had a chance to slip away and appear beneath the window.\nSprague had been promised that, when he raised the screen at a tap or a\nwhispered request, a roll of bills would be handed to him, but--he\nreceived a bullet instead.\"\n\"And which one of your six suspects have you picked on?\" Strawn asked\nsarcastically.\n\"That's just the trouble. There are still six,\" Dundee acknowledged with\na wry grin. \"After Sprague's disappearance, every one of the six was\nabsent from the porch at one time or another.... No, by George! There\nare _seven_ suspects now! I was about to forget Peter Dunlap, who admits\nhe was alone on a fishing trip when Nita was murdered and who left the\nporch last night to go to the library, as soon as Sprague arrived!... As\nfor the movements of the original six after Sprague disappeared: Polly\nBeale took a walk about the grounds; Flora Miles went upstairs to hunt\nfor Karen Marshall, and was gone more than ten minutes; Drake went to\nthe dining room to get the refreshments, and no one can say exactly how\nlong he was gone; Judge Marshall went up to get his wife, and had time\nto make a little trip on the side; Janet Raymond walked over from her\nhome, and passed that very window, arriving after Sprague had\ndisappeared; and, finally, Clive Hammond arrived alone in his car, which\nhe parked within a few feet of that window. This morning he gets\nmarried----\"\n\"A telegram, sir!\" interrupted a plainclothesman, who had entered\nwithout knocking.\nStrawn snatched at it, read it, then exulted: \"Read this, boy! I guess\n_this_ settles the business!\"\nThe telegram had been filed half an hour before and was from the city\neditor of _The New York Evening Press_:\n     \"WORKING ON YOUR THEORY OF NEW YORK GUNMAN RESPONSIBLE MURDERS OF\n     JUANITA LEIGH SELIM AND DEXTER SPRAGUE THIS PAPER HAS DISCOVERED\n     THAT SELIM WOMAN WAS SEEN AT NIGHT CLUBS SEVERAL TIMES DURING\n     JANUARY FEBRUARY WITH QUOTE SWALLOW TAIL SAMMY END QUOTE UNDERWORLD\n     NAME FOR SAM SAVELLI STOP SAVELLI TAKEN FOR RIDE TUESDAY APRIL\n     TWENTY SECOND TWO DAYS AFTER SELIM WOMAN LEFT NEW YORK STOP POLICE\n     HERE WORKING ON THEORY SAVELLI SLAIN BY OWN GANG AFTER THEY WERE\n     TIPPED OFF SAVELLI WAS DOUBLE CROSSING THEM STOP IN EXCHANGE FOR\n     THIS TIP CAN YOU GIVE US ANY SUPPRESSED INFORMATION YOUR POSSESSION\n     STOP SAVELLI HAD BROTHER WHO IS KNOWN TO US TO HAVE PROMISED\n     REVENGE SWALLOW TAIL SAMMYS MURDER STOP BE A SPORT CAPTAIN.\"\n\"Well, that puts the lid on it, don't it?\" Strawn crowed. \"I'll send\nSergeant Turner to New York on the five o'clock train.... Pretty decent\nof that city editor to wire me this tip, I'll say!\"\n\"And are you going to reciprocate by wiring him about the $10,000 Nita\nbanked here?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Sure! Why not? There's no use that I can see to keep it back any\nlonger, now that no one can have any excuse to think as you've been\ndoing--that it was blackmail paid by a Hamiltonian.\"\n\"Then,\" Dundee began very slowly, \"if you really think your case is\nsolved, I'll make one suggestion: take charge of Lydia Carr and put her\nin a very safe place.\"\n\"Why?\" Strawn looked puzzled.\n\"Because, when you publish the fact that Nita and Sprague got $10,000\nfor tipping off Savelli's gang that he was double-crossing them, and\nthat Nita willed the money to Lydia, the avenger's next and last job\nwould be to 'get' Lydia, since his natural conclusion would be that\nLydia had been in on the scheme from the beginning,\" Dundee explained.\n\"God, boy! You're right!\" Strawn exclaimed, and his heavy old face was\nvery pale as he reached for the telephone, and called the number of the\nMiles residence. \"I'm going to put it up to her that it will be best for\nher to be locked up as a material witness, for her own protection.\"\nFive minutes later Strawn restored the receiver to the hook with a bang.\n\"Says she won't budge!\" he explained unnecessarily. \"Says she ain't\nafraid and the Miles kids need her.... Well, it's her own funeral! But I\nguess _you_ are convinced at last?\"\nDundee slowly shook his head. \"Almost--but not quite, chief!\"\n\"Lord, but you're stubborn! Here's a water-tight case----\"\n\"A very pretty and a very satisfactory case, but not exactly\nwater-tight,\" Dundee interrupted. \"There's just one little thing----\"\n\"What do you mean?\" Strawn demanded irritably.\n\"Have you forgotten the secret shelf behind the guest closet in the\nSelim house?\" Dundee asked.\n\"I can afford to forget it, since it hasn't got a thing to do with the\ncase!\" Strawn retorted angrily. \"There's not a scrap of evidence----\"\n\"Of course it does not fit into _your_ theory,\" Dundee agreed, \"for\n'Swallow-tail Sammy's' avenging brother could not have known of its\nexistence, but there is one thing about that secret shelf and its pivot\ndoor which I don't believe you can afford to forget, Captain!\"\n\"Yeah?\" Strawn snarled.\n\"Yeah!... I refer, of course, to the complete absence of fingerprints on\nthe door and on the shelf itself! Carraway didn't even find Nita Selim's\nfingerprints. Since Nita would have had no earthly reason for carefully\nwiping off her fingerprints after she removed the papers she burned on\nFriday night, it's a dead sure fact that someone else who had no\nlegitimate business to do so, touched that pivoting panel and the shelf,\nand carefully removed all traces that he had done so!... And--\" he\ncontinued grimly, \"until I find out who that someone is, I, for one,\nwon't consider the case solved!\"\nFifteen minutes later Dundee was sitting at Penny Crain's desk in her\noffice of the district attorney's suite, replacing the receiver upon the\ntelephone hook, after having put in a call for Sanderson, who was still\nin Chicago, keeping vigil at the bedside of his dying mother.\n\"Did you find out anything new when you questioned the crowd this\nmorning?\" Penny asked. \"Besides the fact that Polly and Clive got\nmarried this morning, I mean.... I wasn't surprised when I read about\nthe wedding in the extra. It was exactly like Polly to make up her mind\nsuddenly, after putting Clive off for a year----\"\n\"So it was Polly who held back,\" Dundee said to himself. Aloud: \"No, I\ndidn't learn much new, Penny. You're a most excellent and accurate\nreporter.... But there were one or two things that came out. For\ninstance, I got Drake to admit to me, in private, that Nita did give him\nan explanation as to where she got the $10,000.\"\n\"Yes?\" Penny prompted eagerly.\n\"Drake says,\" Dundee answered dryly, \"that Nita told him it was 'back\nalimony' which she had succeeded in collecting from her former husband.\nUnfortunately, she did not say who or where the mysterious husband is.\"\n\"Pooh!\" scoffed Penny. \"Don't you see? She just said that to satisfy\nJohnny's curiosity. After all, it was the most plausible explanation of\nhow a divorcee got hold of a lot of money.\"\n\"So plausible that Drake may have thought of it himself,\" Dundee\nreflected silently. Aloud, he continued his report to the girl who had\nbeen of so much help to him: \"Among other minor things that came out\nthis morning, and which the papers did not report, was the fact that\nJanet Raymond tried to commit suicide this morning by drinking shoe\npolish. Fortunately her father discovered what she had done almost as\nsoon as she had swallowed the stuff, and made her take ipecac and then\nsent for the doctor.\"\n\"Oh, poor Janet!\" Penny groaned. \"She must have been terribly in love\nwith Dexter Sprague, though what she saw in him----\"\nDundee made no comment, but continued with his information: \"Another\nminor development was that Tracey Miles admitted that he and Flora had\nquarreled over Sprague after all of you left, and that Flora took two\nsleeping tablets to make sure of a night's rest.\"\n\"She's been awfully unstrung ever since Nita's murder,\" Penny defended\nher friend. \"She told us all Monday night at Peter's that the doctor had\nprescribed sleeping medicine.... Now, you look here, Bonnie Dundee!\" she\ncried out sharply, answering an enigmatic smile on the detective's face,\n\"if you think Flora Miles killed Nita Selim and Dexter Sprague, because\nshe was in love with Dexter and learned he was Nita's lover from that\nsilly note----\"\n\"Whoa, Penny!\" Dundee checked her. \"I'm not linking exactly that. But\nI've just remembered something that had seemed of no importance to me\nbefore.\"\n\"And what's that, Mr. Smart Aleck?\" Penny demanded furiously.\n\"Before I answer that question, will you let me do a little theorizing?\"\nDundee suggested gently. \"Let us suppose that Flora Miles was _not_ in\nlove with Sprague, but that she was being blackmailed by Nita for some\nscandal Nita had heard gossiped about at the Forsyte School.... No,\nwait!... Let us suppose further that Nita recognized Flora's picture in\nthe group Lois Dunlap showed her, as the portrait of the girl whose\nstory she had heard; that she was able, somehow, to secure incriminating\nevidence of some sort--letters, let us say. Nita tells Sprague about it,\nand Sprague advises her to blackmail Flora, who, Lois has told Nita, is\nvery rich. So Nita comes to Hamilton and bleeds Flora of $10,000. Not\nsatisfied, Nita makes another demand, the money to be paid to her the\nday of the bridge luncheon----\"\n\"Silly!\" Penny scoffed furiously. \"The only evidence you have against\npoor Flora is that she stole the note Dexter had written to Nita!\"\n\"That's the crux of the matter, Penny darling!\" Dundee assured her in a\nmaddeningly soothing voice, at which Penny clinched her hands in\nimpotent rage. \"Flora, seeing Nita receive a letter written on her\nhusband's business stationery, jumps to the conclusion that Nita had\ncarried out her threat to tell Tracey, or that Nita has at least given\nTracey a hint of the truth and that Tracey's special-messenger note is,\nlet us say, a confirmation of an appointment suggested by Nita.... Very\nwell! Flora goes to Nita's bedroom at the first opportunity, knowing\nthat Nita will come there to make up for the men's arrival. Let's\nsuppose Flora had brought the gun and silencer with her, intending to\nfrighten Nita, rather than kill her. But having had proof, as she\nbelieves, that Nita means business, Flora waits in the closet until Nita\ncomes in and sits down at her dressing-table, then steps out and shoots\nher. Then she recoils step by step, until her foot catches in the slack\ncord of the bronze lamp, causing the very 'bang or bump' which Flora\nherself describes later, for fear someone else has heard it. Her first\nconcern, of course, is to hide the gun and silencer. She remembers Judge\nMarshall's tale of the secret shelf in the guest closet, and not only\nhides the gun there but seeks in vain for the incriminating evidence\nNita has against her. But she also remembers the note she believes\nTracey has written to Nita, and which, if found after Nita's death, may\ngive her away. So she goes to the closet in Nita's bedroom, finds the\nnote, and faints with horror at her perhaps needless crime when she\nrealizes that the note was written by Sprague, and not Tracey. Of course\nshe is too ill and panic-stricken to leave the closet until the murder\nis discovered----\"\n\"But you think she was not too panic-stricken to have the presence of\nmind to retrieve the gun and silencer and walk out with them, under the\nvery eyes of the police,\" Penny scoffed.\n\"_No! I think she was!_\" Dundee amazed her by admitting. \"And that is\nwhere my sudden recollection of something I had considered unimportant\ncomes in! Let us suppose that Flora, half-suspected by Tracey, confesses\nto him in their car as they are going to the Country Club for their\nlong-delayed dinner, as were the rest of you. Tracey, loyal to her,\ndecides to help her. He tells her to suggest, at dinner, that Lydia come\nto them as nurse, so that he can go back to the house and get the gun\nand silencer from the guest-closet hiding place, if an opportunity\npresents itself--as it did, since I left Tracey Miles alone in the hall\nwhile I went into Nita's bedroom to talk with Lydia before I permitted\nher to go with Tracey.\"\n\"You're crazy!\" Penny told him fiercely, when he had finished. \"I\nsuppose you are going to ask me to believe that Tracey was a big enough\nfool to leave the gun and silencer where Flora could get hold of it and\nkill Sprague last night.\"\n\"Why not let us suppose that Tracey himself killed Sprague to protect\nhis wife, not only from scandal, but from a charge of murder?\" Dundee\ncountered. \"Tell me honestly: do you think Tracey Miles loves Flora\nenough to do that for her?\"\nSuddenly, inexplicably, Penny began to laugh--not hysterically, but with\ngenuine mirth.\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR\n\"What are you laughing at?\" Dundee demanded indignantly, but the\nsustained ringing of the telephone bell checked Penny Crain's mirthful\nlaughter. \"My Chicago call!... Hello!... Yes, this is Dundee.... All\nright, but make it snappy, won't you?... Hello, Mr. Sanderson! How is\nyour mother?... That's fine! I certainly hope--Yes, the inquest is\nslated for tomorrow morning, but there's no use your leaving your mother\nto come back for it.... Yes, sir, one important new development. Can you\nhear me plainly?... Then hold the line a moment, please!\"\nWith the receiver still at his ear, Dundee fumbled in his pocket for a\nfolded sheet of paper. \"No, operator! We're not through! Please keep off\nthe line.... Listen, chief!\" he addressed the district attorney at the\nother end of the long distance wire. \"This is a telegram Captain Strawn\nreceived this afternoon from the city editor of The New York Evening\nPress.... Can you hear me?... All right!\" and he read slowly, repeating\nwhen necessary.\nWhen he had finished reading the telegram, he listened for a long\nminute, but not with so much concentration that he could not grin at\nPenny's wide-eyed amazement and joy. \"That's what I think, sir!\" he\ncried jubilantly. \"I'd like to take the five o'clock train for New York\nand work on the case from that end till we actually get our teeth into\nsomething.... Thanks a lot, and my best wishes for your mother!\"\n\"Why didn't you tell me about this 'Swallow-tail Sammy'?\" Penny demanded\nindignantly. \"Tormenting me with your silly theory about poor Flora and\nTracey, when all the time you knew the case was practically solved--\"\n\"I'm afraid I gave the district attorney a slightly false impression,\"\nDundee interrupted, but there was no remorse in his shining blue eyes.\n\"But just so I get to New York--By the way, young woman, what _were_ you\nlaughing at so heartily? I didn't know I had made an amusing remark when\nI asked you if you thought Tracey Miles loved his wife well enough to\ncommit murder for her.\"\nPenny laughed again, white teeth and brown eyes gleaming. \"I was\nlaughing at something else. It suddenly occurred to me, while you were\nspinning your foolish theory, how _flattered_ Tracey would have been if\nFlora had confessed to him Saturday night that she had killed Nita\nbecause she was jealous!\"\n\"Which was _not_ my theory, if you remember!\" Dundee retorted. \"But why\nis the idea so amusing? Deep in his heart, I suppose any man would\nreally be a bit flattered if his wife loved him enough to be that\njealous.\"\n\"You don't know Tracey Miles as well as I do,\" Penny assured him, her\neyes still mirthful. \"He's really a dear, in spite of being a dreadful\nbore most of the time, but the truth is, Tracey hasn't an atom of sex\nappeal, and he _must_ realize it.... Of course we girls have all\npampered his poor little ego by pretending to be crazy about him and\nterribly envious that it was Flora who got him--\"\n\"But Flora Hackett _did_ marry him,\" Dundee interrupted. \"She must have\nbeen a beautiful girl, and she was certainly rich enough to get any man\nshe wanted--\"\n\"You would think so, wouldn't you?\" Penny agreed, her tongue loosened by\nrelief. \"I was only twelve years old when Flora Hackett made her debut,\nbut a twelve-year-old has big ears and keen eyes. It is true that Flora\nwas beautiful and rich, but--well, there was something queer about her.\nShe was simply crazy to get married, and if a man danced with her as\nmany as three times in an evening she literally seized upon him and\ntried to drag him to the altar.... Her eagerness and her intensity\nrepelled every man who was in the least attracted to her, and I think\nshe was beginning to be frightened to death that she wouldn't get\nmarried at all, when she happened to meet Tracey, who had just got a job\nas salesman in her father's business. She began to rush him--there's no\nother word for it--and none of the other girls minded a bit, because,\nwithout Flora, Tracey would have been the perfect male wallflower. They\nbecame engaged almost right away, and were married six months or so\nlater. All the girls freely prophesied that even Tracey, flattered by\nher passion for him as he so evidently was, would get tired of it, but\nhe didn't, and there were three marriages in 'the crowd' that June.\"\n\"Three?\" Dundee repeated absently, for his interest was waning.\n\"Yes.... Lois Morrow and Peter Dunlap; Johnny Drake and Carolyn Swann;\nand Tracey and Flora,\" Penny answered. \"Although I was thirteen then and\nreally too old for the role, I had the fun of being flower girl for Lois\nand Flora both.\"\n\"Do you think Flora was really in love with Tracey?\" Dundee asked\ncuriously.\n\"Oh, yes! But she'd have been in love with anyone who wanted to\nmarry her, and the funny thing is that, with the exception of Peter\nand Lois, they are the happiest married couple I have ever known.... You\nsee, Tracey has never got over being flattered that so pretty and\npassionate a girl as Flora Hackett wanted _him_!... And that's why I\nlaughed!... Tracey, with that deep-rooted sexual inferiority complex of\nhis, would have been so flattered if Flora had told him she killed Nita\nout of jealousy that he would have forgiven her on the spot. On the other\nhand,\" she went on, \"if Flora had told him that Nita had documentary\nproofs of some frightful scandal against her, can't you see how\nviolently Tracey would have reacted against her?... Oh, no! Tracey would\nnot have taken the trouble to murder Sprague, when Sprague popped up for\nmore blackmail!\"\n\"Perhaps he might have, if the scandal dated back to before the\nmarriage,\" Dundee argued. \"Let's suppose Sprague did pop up, and Flora\nturned him over to Tracey. When Sprague appeared apparently uninvited\nlast night, Flora must have been on pins and needles, trying to make\nTracey treat him decently and hoping against hope that Tracey would\nsimply pay the scoundrel all the blackmail he was demanding----\"\n\"Which is exactly what Tracey would have done, instead of taking the\nawful risk of murdering him in his own home,\" Penny cut in spiritedly.\n\"Besides, Tracey wasn't gone from the porch long enough to go outside,\nsignal to Sprague in the trophy room, shoot him when Sprague raised the\nscreen, and then hide the gun. I told you Tracey was gone only about a\nminute when he went to see if Sprague's hat and stick were gone from the\ncloset.\"\n\"Did Tracey and Flora both step outside to see their guests into their\ncars?\" Dundee asked suddenly.\n\"Tracey did,\" Penny answered. \"Flora told us all good night in the\nliving room, then ran upstairs to see if Betty was still asleep.... But\nremember we didn't leave until midnight, and Dr. Price says Sprague was\nkilled between nine and eleven last night.\"\n\"Dr. Price would be the first to grant a leeway of an hour, one way or\nanother,\" Dundee told her. \"Of course, if Tracey did kill him, he let\nFlora believe that he had given Sprague the blackmail money he was\ndemanding. For it is inconceivable that a woman of Flora Miles'\nhysterical temperament could have slept--even with two sleeping\ntablets--knowing that a corpse was in the house.\"\n\"Oh, I'm sick of your silly theorizing!\" Penny told him with vehement\nscorn. \"Listen here, Bonnie Dundee! You probably laugh at 'woman's\nintuition', but take it from me--_you're on the wrong track_!\"\n\"Oh, I'm not so wedded to that particular theory!\" Dundee laughed. \"I\ncan spin you exactly six more just as convincing--\"\n\"And I shan't listen! You'd better dash home and pack your bag if you\nwant to catch the five o'clock train for New York.\"\n\"It's already packed and in my office,\" Dundee assured her lazily. \"Got\nlots of time.... Hullo! Here's the home edition of _The Evening Sun_,\"\nhe interrupted himself, as a small boy, making his rounds of the\ncourthouse, flung the paper into the office. He reached for it, and\nread the streamer headline aloud: \"ITALIAN GANGSTER SOUGHT IN BRIDGE\nMURDERS ... I wager a good many heads will lie easier on their pillows\ntonight.\"\n\"Let me see!\" Penny commanded, and snatched the paper unceremoniously.\n\"Oh! Did you see this?\" and she pointed to a boxed story in the middle\nof the front page. \"'Bridge Parties Cancelled',\" she read aloud. \"'The\nsociety editor of _The Evening Sun_ was kept busy at her telephone\ntoday, receiving notices of cancellations of bridge parties scheduled\nfor the remainder of the week. Eight frantic hostesses, terrified by\nHamilton's second murder at bridge----' Oh, that's simply a _crime_! The\nnewspapers deliberately work up mob hysteria and then----\"\n\"I'd rather not play bridge for a while myself!\" Dundee laughed, as he\nrose and started for his own office. \"And don't _you_ dare leave the\nroom when you become dummy, if you have the nerve to play again!\nRemember, that gun and silencer are still missing!\"\n\"What do you mean?.... You don't think there'll be more----?\"\nDundee became instantly contrite before her terror. \"I didn't mean it,\nhoney,\" he said gently. \"I think it is more than likely that the gun is\nat the bottom of Mirror Lake. But do take care of yourself, and by that\nI mean don't work yourself to death.... Any messages for anyone in New\nYork?\"\nPenny's pale face quivered. \"If you--happen to run across my father,\nwhich of course you won't, tell him that--Mother would like him to come\nhome.\"\nAt intervals during the sixteen-hour run to New York, Penny's faltering\nwords returned to haunt the district attorney's special investigator,\nalthough he would have preferred to devote his entire attention to\nmapping out the program he intended to follow when he reached the city\nwhich, he fully believed, had been the scene of the first act of the\ntragic drama he was bent upon bringing to an equally tragic conclusion.\nAs soon as he had registered at a hotel near the Pennsylvania Station,\nand had shaved and breakfasted, he took from his bag a large envelope\ncontaining the photographs Carraway had made of Penny alive and of Nita\ndead, both clad in the royal blue velvet dress. In the envelope also was\nthe white satin, gold-lettered label which the dress had so proudly\nborne: \"Pierre Model. Copied by Simonson's. New York City.\"\nHalf an hour later he was showing the photographs and the label to a\nwoman buyer, in the French Salon of Simonson's, one of New York's most\n\"exclusive\" department stores.\n\"Can you tell me when the original Pierre model was bought, and when\nthis copy was made and sold?\" he asked.\nThe white-haired, smartly dressed buyer accepted the sheaf of\nphotographs Bonnie Dundee was offering. \"I'll do my best, of course,\"\nshe began briskly, then paled and uttered a sharp exclamation as her\neyes took in the topmost picture. \"This is Juanita Leigh, isn't\nit?... But--\" she shuddered, \"how odd she looks--as if--\"\n\"Yes,\" Dundee agreed gravely. \"She was dead when that picture was taken.\nDid you know Mrs. Selim?\"\n\"No,\" the woman breathed, her eyes still bulging with horror. \"But I've\nseen so many pictures of her in the papers.... To think that it was one\nof _our_ dresses she chose for her shroud! But you want to know when the\ndress was sold to her, don't you?\" she asked, brisk again. \"I can find\nout. We keep a record of all our French originals and of the number of\ncopies made of each.... Let me think! I've been going to Paris myself\nfor the firm for the last fifteen years, but I can't remember buying\nthis Pierre model.... Oh, of course! I didn't go over during 1917 and\n1918, on account of the war, you know, but the big Paris designers\nmanaged to send us a limited number of very good models, and this must\nhave been one of them. Otherwise, I'd remember buying it.... If you'll\nexcuse me a moment----\"\nWhen she returned about ten minutes later, Miss Thomas brought him a\npencilled memorandum. \"This Pierre model was imported in the summer of\n1917, several months in advance of the winter season, of course. Only\nfive copies were made--in different colors and materials, naturally,\nsince we make a point of exclusiveness. The royal blue velvet copy was\nsold to Juanita Leigh in January, 1918. I am sorry I cannot give you the\nexact day of the month, but our records show the month only. I took the\nliberty of showing a picture of the dress to the only saleswoman in the\ndepartment who has been with us that long, but she cannot remember the\nsale. Twelve years is a long time, you know.\"\n\"Indeed it is,\" Dundee agreed regretfully. \"You have been immensely\nhelpful, however, Miss Thomas, and I thank you with all my heart.\"\n\"If you could just tell _me_--confidentially, of course,\" Miss Thomas\nwhispered, \"what sort of clue this dress is--\"\n\"I don't know, myself!\" the detective admitted. \"But,\" he added to\nhimself, after he had escaped the buyer's natural curiosity, \"I intend\nto find out!\"\nBefore he could take any further steps along that particular path,\nhowever, Dundee had an appointment to keep. Upon arriving at his hotel\nthat morning he had made two telephone calls. He smiled now as he\nrecalled the surprise and glee of one of his former Yale classmates, now\na discouraged young bond salesman, with whom he had kept in touch.\n\"You want to borrow my name and my kid sister?\" Jimmy Randolph had\nchortled. \"Hop to it, old sport! But you might tell me what you want\nwith such intimate belongings of mine.\"\n\"You may not know it,\" Dundee had retorted, \"but young Mr. James\nWadley Randolph, Jr., scion of the famous old Boston family, is going\nto visit that equally famous school, Forsyte-on-the-Hudson, to see\nwhether it is the ideal finishing school for his beloved young sister,\nBarbara.... She's about fifteen now, isn't she, Jimmy?\"\n\"Going on sixteen, and one of Satan's prize hellions,\" Jimmy Randolph\nhad answered. \"The family would be eternally grateful if you could get\nForsyte to take her, but make them promise not to have any more chorus\ngirls who plan to get murdered, as directors of their amateur\ntheatricals. Bab would be sure to be mixed up in the mess.... I suppose\nthat's the job you're on, you flat-footed dick, you!\"\nThe second telephone call had secured an appointment at the Forsyte\nSchool for \"Mr. James Wadley Randolph, Jr., of Boston,\" and Dundee,\nrather relishing his first need for such professional tactics, relaxed\nto enjoy the ten-mile drive along the Hudson.\nIt was a quarter to twelve when his taxi swept up the drive toward the\nbig grey-stone, turreted building, sedately lonely in the midst of its\nvaluable acres.\n\"Miss Earle says to come to the office,\" a colored maid told him, when\nhe had given his borrowed name, and led him from the vast hall to a\nfairly large room, whose windows looked upon a tennis court, and whose\nwalls were almost covered with group pictures of graduating classes,\nphotographs of amateur theatrical performances, and portrait studies of\nalumnae.\nA very thin, sharp-faced woman of about forty, with red-rimmed eyes\nwhich peered nearsightedly, rose from an old-fashioned roll-top desk and\ncame forward to greet him.\n\"I am Miss Earle, Miss Pendleton's private secretary,\" she told him, as\nhe shook her bony, clammy hand. \"I should have told you when you\ntelephoned this morning that both Miss Pendleton and Miss Macon sailed\nfor Europe yesterday. We always have our commencement the last Tuesday\nin May, you know.... But if there is anything I can do for you----\"\n\"I should like to know something at first hand of the history of the\nschool, its--well, prestige, special advantages, curriculum, and so on,\"\nDundee began deprecatingly.\n\"I should certainly be able to answer any question you may wish to ask,\nMr. Randolph, since I have been with the school for fifteen years,\" Miss\nEarle interrupted tartly.\n\"Then Forsyte must take younger pupils than I had been led to believe,\nMiss Earle,\" Dundee said, with his most winning smile.\n\"I was never a pupil here,\" the secretary corrected him, but she thawed\nvisibly. \"Of course, I was a mere child when I finished business school,\nbut I _have_ been here fifteen years--fifteen years of watching rich\nsociety girls dawdle away four or five years, just because they've got\nto be _somewhere_ before they make their debut.... But I mustn't talk\nlike that, or I'll give you a wrong impression, Mr. Randolph. Of its\nkind, it is really a very fine school--very exclusive; riding masters,\ndancing masters, a golf 'pro' and our own golf course, native teachers\nfor French, Italian, German and Spanish.... Oh, the _school_ is all\nright, and will probably not suffer any loss of prestige on account of\nthat dreadful murder out in the Middle West----\"\n\"Murder?\" Dundee echoed, as if he had no idea what she was talking\nabout.\n\"Haven't you been reading the papers?\" Miss Earle rallied him, with a\ncoquettish smile. \"But I don't suppose Boston bothers with such sordid\nthings,\" she added, her thin-lipped mouth tightening. \"Miss Pendleton\nwas all cut up about it, because Mrs. Selim, or Juanita Leigh, as she\nwas known on Broadway, had directed our Easter play the last two years,\nand the reporters simply hounded us the first two days after she was\nmurdered out in Hamilton, where a number of our richest girls have come\nfrom----\"\n\"By Jove!\" Dundee exclaimed. \"Was the Selim woman connected with this\nschool, really?... I only read the headlines--never pay much attention\nto murders in the papers--\"\n\"I wish,\" Miss Earle interrupted tartly, fresh tears reddening her eyes,\n\"that people wouldn't persist in referring to her as 'that Selim\nwoman'.... When I think how sweet and friendly she was, how--how\n_kind_!\" and to Dundee's surprise she choked on tears before she could\ngo on: \"Of course I know it's dreadful for the school, and I ought not\nto talk about it, when you've come to see about putting your sister into\nthe school, but Nita was _my friend_, and it simply makes me _wild_----\"\n\"You admired and liked her very much?\" Dundee asked, forgetting his role\nfor the moment.\n\"Yes, I did! And Miss Pendleton liked her, too. And you can imagine how\nclever and popular she was, when a wonderful woman like Mrs. Peter\nDunlap, who was Lois Morrow when she was in school here, admired her so\nmuch she took her to Hamilton with her to direct plays for a Little\nTheater.... Why, I never met anyone I was so congenial with!\" the\nsecretary went on passionately. \"The girls here snub me and make silly\njokes about me behind my back and call me nicknames, but Nita was just\nas sweet to me as she was to anyone--even Miss Pendleton herself!\"\n\"Were you with her much?\" Dundee dared ask.\n\"_With her much?..._ I should say I was!\" she asserted proudly. \"I have\na room here, live here the year 'round, and both years Nita shared my\nroom, so she would not have to make the long trip back to New York every\nnight during the last week of rehearsals. We used to talk until two or\nthree o'clock in the morning--Say!\" she broke off, in sudden terror.\n\"You aren't a reporter, are you?\"\n\"A reporter? Good Lord, no!\" Dundee denied, in all sincerity. Then he\nmade up his mind swiftly. This woman hated the school and all connected\nwith it, had grown more and more sour and envy-bitten every year of the\nfifteen she had served here--and she liked Nita Leigh Selim better than\nanyone she had ever met. The opportunity for direct questioning was too\nmiraculous to be ignored. So he changed his tone suddenly and said very\nearnestly: \"No, I am not a reporter, Miss Earle. But I am _not_ James\nWadley Randolph, Jr. I am James F. Dundee, special investigator attached\nto the office of the district attorney of Hamilton, and I want you to\nhelp me solve the mystery of Mrs. Selim's murder.\"\nIt took nearly ten precious minutes for Dundee to nurse the terrified\nbut obviously thrilled woman over the shock, and to get her into the\nmood to answer him freely.\n\"But I shan't and _can't_ tell you anything bad about Nita!\" she\nprotested vehemently, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. \"The papers are all\nsaying now that she got $10,000 for double-crossing some awful racketeer\nnamed 'Swallow-tail Sammy', but I _know_ she didn't get the money that\nway! She was too good----\"\n\"From Nita's confidences to you, do you have any idea how she did get\nthe money?\" Dundee asked.\nMiss Earle shook her head. \"I don't know, but she got it honorably. I\nknow that!... Maybe she found her husband and made him pay alimony----\"\nDundee controlled his excitement with difficulty. \"Did she tell you all\nabout her marriage and divorce?\"\nAgain Miss Earle shook her head. \"The only time she ever spoke of it was\nlast year--the first year she directed our play, you know. I asked her\nwhy she didn't get married again, and she said she couldn't--she wasn't\ndivorced, because she didn't know where her husband was, and it was too\nexpensive to go to Reno.... Of course she may have found him or\nsomething--and got a divorce some time this last year, and this money\nshe got was a settlement----\"\n\"She must have got a divorce, since she was planning to be married again\nto a young man in Hamilton,\" Dundee assured her soothingly.\n\"The way everybody puts the very worst interpretation on everything,\nwhen a person gets murdered!\" Miss Earle stormed. \"If poor Nita had\nbelonged to a rich family, like the girls here, they would have spent a\nmillion if necessary to hush up any scandal on her!... I've seen it\ndone!\" she added, darkly and venomously.\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE\nBonnie Dundee's heart leaped, but he forced himself to go softly. \"I\nsuppose,\" he said casually, \"a fashionable school like this has plenty\nof carefully hushed-up scandals----\"\n\"I'll say it has!\" Miss Earle retorted inelegantly, and with ghoulish\nsatisfaction. \"_Money_ can do anything! It makes my blood simply boil\nwhen I think of how those Forsyte girls in Hamilton--so smug and\nsnobbish in their hick town 'society'--must be running poor Nita down,\nnow that she's dead and can't defend herself!... If the truth were only\nknown about some of _them_----\"\nDundee could almost have embraced the homely, life-soured spinster--she\nwas making his task so easy for him.\n\"I've met them all, of course, since Mrs. Selim was murdered,\" he said\ndeprecatingly, \"and I must say they seem to be remarkably fine women and\ngirls----\"\n\"Oh _are_ they?\" Miss Earle snorted. \"Flora Hackett--Mrs. Tracey Miles\nshe is now--didn't happen to tell you the nice little fuss _she_ kicked\nup when she was here, did she? Oh, no! I guess not!\"\n\"She looks,\" Dundee agreed, \"like a girl who would have made things\nlively.\"\n\"I'll say so! Miss Pendleton nearly had nervous prostration!\" Miss Earle\nplunged on, then fear blanched her face for a moment. \"You know you've\npromised you'll never tell Miss Pendleton or Miss Macon that you talked\nto me!\"\n\"You can depend on it that I will protect you,\" Dundee assured her.\n\"When did Flora Hackett kick up her little fuss?\"\n\"Let's see.... Flora graduated in June, 1920,\" Miss Earle obliged\nwillingly. \"So it must have been in 1919--yes, because she had one more\nyear here. Of course they let her come back!... _Money!_... She took the\nlead in our annual Easter play in 1919, and just because Serena Hart\ncomplimented her and told her she was almost as good as a\nprofessional--\"\n\"_Serena Hart!_\" Dundee wonderingly repeated the name of one of\nAmerica's most popular and beloved stage stars.\n\"Yes--Serena Hart,\" Miss Earle repeated proudly. \"She was a Forsyte\ngirl, too, and of course she _did_ go into the chorus herself, after she\ngraduated in--let's see--1917, because it was the second year after I'd\ncome to work here--and Miss Pendleton nearly died, because she was\nafraid Forsyte's precious prestige would be lowered, but when Serena\nbecame a star everything was grand, of course, and Forsyte was proud to\nclaim her.... Anyway, Serena comes to the Easter play every year she\ncan, if she isn't in a Broadway play herself, of course, and so she saw\nFlora acting in the Easter play in 1919, and told her she was awfully\ngood. She was, too, but not half the actress that little Penny Crain\nwas, when she had the lead in the play four or five years ago.\"\nDundee's heart begged him to ask for more details of Penny's triumph,\nbut his job demanded that he keep the now too-voluble Miss Earle to the\nbusiness in hand.\n\"And Flora Hackett----?\" he prompted.\n\"Well, the next day after the play the Easter vacation began, you know,\nand Flora _forged_ a letter from her father, giving her permission to\nspend the ten-days' Easter holiday with one of the girls who lived in\nAtlanta,\" Miss Earle continued, with great relish. \"Well, sir, right in\nthe middle of the holidays, here came her father and mother--they were\nboth alive then--and asked for Flora! They wired the girl in Atlanta,\nand Flora wasn't there, and the Hacketts were nearly crazy. But as luck\nwould have it, Mr. Hackett ran into a friend of theirs on Broadway, and\nthis friend began to tease Mr. Hackett about his daughter's being a\nchorus girl!\"\n\"A chorus girl!\" Dundee echoed, taking care not to show his\ndisappointment.\n\"Of course they nabbed her right out of the show, but that wasn't the\nworst of it!\" Miss Earle went on dramatically and mysteriously. \"They\ntried to hush it up, of course, but the word went through the school\nlike wildfire that Flora wasn't only in the chorus, but that she was\n_living with an actor_ she'd been writing fan letters to long before the\nEaster play went on!\"\n\"Did you hear his name?\" Dundee asked.\n\"No,\" Miss Earle acknowledged regretfully. \"But I'll bet anything it was\nthe truth!... Why, Flora Hackett was so man-crazy she flirted\nscandalously with every male teacher in the school. The golf 'pro' we\nhad then got so scared of her he quit his job!\"\n\"I suppose,\" Dundee prompted craftily, \"she wasn't any worse than some\nof the other Hamilton girls.\"\n\"We-ell,\" Miss Earle admitted reluctantly, \"nothing ever _came out_ on\nany of the others, but it looked mighty funny to me when Janet Raymond's\nmother took her out of school right in the middle of a term and hauled\nher off to Europe _for a whole year_!... I guess,\"--she suggested, with\nraised eyebrows, \"you know what it _usually_ means when a girl has to\nspend a whole year abroad, and her mother says she's taking her away for\nher health--and Janet looking as healthy as any other girl in the\nschool, except that she was crying half the time, and smuggling special\ndelivery letters in and out by one of the maids--\"\n\"Did you tell Nita these stories and point out the pictures of the\ngirls?\" Dundee had to risk asking.\nMiss Earle froze instantly. \"Naturally she was interested in the school,\nand once when she said it always made her mad the way chorus girls were\nrun down, I told her that in my opinion society girls were worse than\nactresses, and--well, of course I gave her some examples, a lot of them\nworse than anything I've told you about Flora Hackett and Janet\nRaymond.... I hope,\" she added viciously, \"that Nita dropped a hint or\ntwo if Flora or Janet had the nerve to high-hat her when she was in\nHamilton!\"\n\"Perhaps she did,\" Dundee agreed softly. \"By the way, how did Nita\nhappen to get the job here of directing the Easter plays?\"\n\"That's what the reporters wanted to know,\" Miss Earle smiled. \"But Miss\nPendleton wouldn't tell them, for fear Serena wouldn't like it, and\nmaybe be drawn into the scandal, when everybody knows she's as straight\nas a string----\"\n\"Did Serena Hart get her the job?\" Dundee was amazed.\n\"Yes.... Wait, I'll show you the letter of recommendation she wrote for\nNita to Miss Pendleton,\" Miss Earle offered eagerly. \"Remember, now,\nyou're not to tell on me!\"\nShe went to a tall walnut filing cabinet, and quickly returned with a\nnote, which she thrust into Dundee's willing hands. He read:\n     _\"Dear Miss Pendleton: The bearer, Juanita Leigh, is rather badly\n     in need of a job, and I have suggested that she apply to you for a\n     chance to direct the Easter play. I have known Miss Leigh\n     personally for ten years, and have the highest regard, both\n     for her character and for her ability. Since you usually stage\n     musical comedies, I think Miss Leigh, who has been a specialty\n     dancer as well as an actress in musical comedy for about twelve\n     years, would be admirably suited for the work. Knowing my love\n     for Forsyte as you do, I do not have to assure you that I would\n     suggest nothing which would be detrimental to the school's best\n     interests.... Fondly yours, Serena Hart.\"_\n\"She was wrong there, but I know it wasn't Nita's fault,\" Miss Earle,\nwho had been looking over his shoulder, commented upon the last sentence\nof the letter.\n\"Is Miss Hart appearing in a play now?\" Dundee asked.\n\"No, but she's rehearsing in one--'Temptation'--which will open at the\nWarburton Theater next Monday night,\" the secretary answered. \"At\ncommencement Tuesday night, Serena told Miss Pendleton how awfully sorry\nshe was about Nita, and gave me tickets for the opening.... You go to\nsee her, but don't tell her _I_ told you anything.... I know she's\nrehearsing at the theater this afternoon, because she said she would be\nall week, and couldn't go to the boat to see Miss Pendleton and Miss\nMacon off for Europe.\"\n\"I will!\" Dundee accepted the suggestion gratefully, as if it had not\noccurred to him. \"But first I want you to come out to lunch with me. I'm\nsure you know of some nice tearoom or roadhouse in the neighborhood.\"\nDuring the luncheon, which Miss Earle devoured avidly, without its\ninterfering with her flow of reminiscences concerning the girls she\nhated, Dundee was able to learn nothing more to the detriment of\nForsyte's Hamilton alumnae, but he did add considerably to his knowledge\nand pity of female human nature.\nIt was nearly three o'clock when he presented his card, with a message\npencilled upon its back, to the aged doorkeeper who drowsed in the alley\nwhich led to the stage entrance of the Warburton Theater, just off\nBroadway near Times Square, and fifteen minutes later he was being\nreceived in the star's dressing-room by Serena Hart herself.\n\"You're working on poor Nita's murder?\" she began without preamble, as\nshe seated herself at her dressing-table and indicated a decrepit chair\nfor the detective. \"I was wondering how much longer I could keep out of\nit.... Of course you've been pumping that poor, foolish virgin--Gladys\nEarle.... Why girls who look like that are always called _Gladys_--God!\nI'm tired! We've been at it since ten this morning, but thank the Lord\nwe're through now for the day.\"\nDundee studied her with keen interest, and decided that, almost plain\nthough she was, she was even more magnetic than when seen from the\nfootlights.... Rather carelessly dressed, long brown hair rather\ntousled, her face very pale and haggard without the make-up which would\ngive it radiance on Monday night, Serena Hart was nevertheless one of\nthe most attractive women Dundee had ever met--and one of the kindest,\nhe felt suddenly sure....\n\"When did I first meet Nita Leigh?\" she repeated his question. \"Let me\nthink--Oh, yes! The first year after I went on the stage--1917. We were\nin the chorus together in 'Teasing Tilly'--a rotten show, by the way.\nThe other girls of the chorus were awfully snooty to me, because I was\nthat anathema, a 'society girl', but Nita was a darling. She showed me\nthe ropes, and we became quite intimate--around the theater only,\nhowever, since my parents kept an awfully strict eye on me. The show was\na great hit--ran on into 1918, till February or March, I believe.\"\n\"Then do you know, Miss Hart, whether Nita got married during the\nwinter?\" Dundee asked.\n\"Why, yes, she did!\" Serena Hart answered, her brow clearing after a\nfrown of concentration. \"I can't remember exactly when, but it was\nbefore the show closed--certainly a few weeks before, because the poor\nchild was a deserted bride days before the closing notice was posted.\"\n\"Deserted!\" Dundee exclaimed. \"Did you meet her husband, Miss Hart?\"\n\"No,\" Serena Hart replied. \"As a matter of fact, she told me\nextraordinarily little about him, and did not discuss her marriage with\nthe other girls of the chorus at all. I got the impression that Mr.\nSelim--Mat, she called him--wanted it kept secret for a while, but I\ndon't know why.... This was early in 1918, as I've told you, though I\nhave no way of fixing even the approximate date, and New York was full\nof soldiers. I remember I jumped to the conclusion that Nita had\nsuccumbed to a war romance, but I don't think she said anything to\nconfirm my suspicion.\"\n\"When did she tell you of her marriage--that is, when--in relation to\nthe date of the wedding itself?\" Dundee asked.\n\"The very day she was married,\" Serena Hart answered. \"She was late for\nthe matinee. Our dressing-tables were side by side, and as she slipped\nout of her dress----\"\n\"This dress?\" Dundee asked, and handed her the photograph of dead Nita\nin the royal blue velvet dress she had kept for twelve years.\n\"Yes,\" and Serena Hart shuddered. \"And her hair was dressed like that,\ntoo, although she had been wearing it in long curls, and had to take it\ndown before she would go on for the opening number. She whispered to me\nthat she had been married that day, that she was terribly happy, very\nmuch in love, and that her husband had asked her to dress her hair in\nthe French roll, a favorite hair-dress with him. Between numbers she\nwhispered to me again, telling me that her husband was 'so different',\n'such a lamb'--totally unlike any man she had met on Broadway, poor\nchild.... For she was a child still--only twenty, but she had been in\nthe 'show business' since she was a motherless, fatherless little\ndrifter of sixteen.... No, she did not tell me how old he was, where he\ncame from, his business, or what he looked like, and I did not inquire.\nAs the days passed--weeks, probably, she became more and more silent and\nreserved, though once or twice she protested she was still 'terribly\nhappy.' Then came a day when she did not show up for the performance at\nall. The next night she told me--in just a few words, that her husband\nhad left her, after a quarrel, and had not returned. It seems that she\nhad innocently told him how she had 'vamped' Benny Steinfeld, the big\nrevue producer, you know, into giving her a 'spot' in his summer show,\nand that her 'Mat' had flown into a rage, accusing her of having been\nuntrue to him. She never mentioned his desertion to me again, but----\"\n\"Yes?\" Dundee prompted.\n\"Well,\" Serena Hart went on, uncomfortably, \"I'm afraid I rather forgot\npoor Nita after 'Teasing Tilly' closed, for my next work was in stock in\nDes Moines. After a year of stock I got my chance in a legitimate show\non Broadway, and one day I met her on the street. Not having much to\ntalk with her about, I asked her if she and her husband were reconciled.\nShe said no, that she had never seen him again. Then, in a burst of\nconfidence, she told me that she had hired a private detective out of\nher meager earnings to investigate him in his home town, or rather the\ncity he had told her he came from. The detective had reported that no\nsuch person as Mat or Matthew Selim had ever lived there, so far as he\ncould find out. I asked her if she was going to get a divorce and she\nsaid she was not--that being already married was a protection against\ngetting married in haste again. After that, I rather lost sight of Nita,\nand practically forgot her, our paths being so very divergent.\"\n\"And you never saw her again?\" Dundee asked, very much disappointed.\n\"Oh, yes, two or three times--at openings, or on the street, but we\nnever held any significant conversation,\" Serena Hart answered, reaching\nfor her plain, rather dowdy little hat. \"Wait! I was about to forget! I\nhad quite a shock in connection with Nita. One afternoon--let's see,\nthat was when I opened in 'Hullabaloo,' in which I made my first real\nsuccess, you know--I bought _The New York Evening Star_, which devotes\nconsiderable space to theatrical doings, to see what sort of review the\nshow had got, and on the first page I saw a picture of Nita, beneath a\nheadline which said, 'Famous Model Commits Suicide'----\"\n\"What!\" Dundee exclaimed, astounded.\n\"Oh, it wasn't Nita Leigh,\" Serena Hart reassured him. \"There was a\ncorrection the next day. You see, an artists' model named Anita\nLee--spelled L-e-e, instead of Le-i-g-h--had committed suicide, and, as\nthe _Star_ explained it the next day, the similarity of both the first\nname and the last had caused the error in getting a photograph from the\n'morgue' to accompany the story. There was a picture of Nita Leigh, with\nNita's statement that 'the report of my death has been exaggerated,' and\na picture of the real Anita Lee.\"\n\"When did the mistake occur?\" Dundee asked, in great excitement.\n\"Let me think!\" Serena Hart frowned. \"'Hullabaloo' opened in--yes, about\nthe first of May, 1922.... Just a little more than eight years ago.\"\nDundee reached for his own hat, in a fever to be gone, but to his\nsurprise the actress stopped him, a faint color in her pale cheeks.\n\"Since you're from Hamilton, and are investigating the murder, you have\nundoubtedly met little Penelope Crain?\"\n\"I know her very well. It happens that she is private secretary to the\ndistrict attorney, under whom I work.... Why?\"\n\"I saw her play the lead in the Easter show at Forsyte four or five\nyears ago,\" Miss Hart explained, her face turned from the detective as\nshe dusted it with powder, \"and I was impressed with her talent. In\nfact, I advised her father, who had come from Hamilton to witness the\nperformance, as proud parents are likely to do, to let her go on the\nstage.\"\n\"So you met Roger Crain?\" Dundee paused to ask.\n\"Oh, yes.... A charming man, with even more personality than his\ndaughter,\" the actress answered carelessly, so carelessly that Dundee\nhad a sudden hunch.\n\"Have you seen Mr. Crain recently?... He deserted his family and fled\nHamilton, under rather unsavory circumstances.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" Miss Hart asked sharply.\n\"Oh, there was nothing actually criminal, I suppose, but he is believed\nto have withheld some securities which would have helped satisfy his\ncreditors, when bankruptcy was imminent,\" Dundee explained. \"Have you\nseen him since then--January it was, I believe?\"\n\"January?\" Miss Hart appeared to need time for reflection. \"Oh, yes! He\nsent in his card on the 'first night' of my show that opened in\nJanuary.... It was a flop--lasted only five weeks.... We chatted of the\nForsyte girls who are now in Hamilton, most of whom I went to school\nwith or have met at the Easter plays.\"\n\"Do you know where Mr. Crain is now?\" Dundee asked. \"I have a message\nfor him from Penny--if you should happen to see him again----\"\n\"Why _should_ I see him again?\" Miss Hart shrugged. \"And I haven't the\nleast idea where he is living or what he is doing now.... Of course, if\nhe should come to see me backstage after 'Temptation' opens--What is the\nmessage from Penny?\"\n\"That her mother wants him to come home,\" Dundee answered. \"And I am\nvery sure Penny wants him back, too.... The mother is one of the\nsweetest, gentlest, most tragic women I have ever met--and you have seen\nPenny for yourself.... The disgrace has been very hard on them. It would\nbe splendid if Roger Crain would come back and redeem himself.\"\nHalf an hour later Bonnie Dundee, in the file room of _The New York\nEvening Star_, was in possession of the bound volume of that newspaper\nfor the month of May, 1922. On the front page of the issue of May 3,\nunder the caption which Serena Hart had quoted so accurately, was a\npicture of a young, laughing Nita Leigh, her curls bobbed short, a rose\nbetween her gleaming teeth. And in the issue of May 4 appeared two\npictures side by side--exotic, straight-haired, slant-eyed Anita Lee,\nwho had found life so insupportable that she had ended it, and the same\nphotograph of living, vital Nita Leigh.\nWhen he returned the files he asked the girl in charge:\n\"Does this copyright line beneath this picture--\" and he pointed to the\nphotograph of Nita which had appeared erroneously, \"--mean that the\npicture was syndicated?\"\nThe girl bent her head to see. \"'Copyright by Metropolitan Picture\nService',\" she read aloud. \"Yes, that's what it means. When _The Evening\nStar_ was owned by Mr. Magnus, he formed a separate company called the\nMetropolitan Picture Service, which supplied papers all over the country\nwith a daily picture service, in mat form. But the picture syndicate was\ndiscontinued about five years ago when the paper was sold to its present\nowners.\"\n\"Are their files available?\" Dundee asked.\n\"If they are, I don't know anything about it,\" the girl told him, and\nturned to another seeker after bound volumes of the paper.\n\"It doesn't matter,\" Dundee assured her, and asked for a sheet of blank\npaper, on which he quickly composed the following telegram, addressed to\nPenny Crain:\n     \"PLEASE SEARCH FILES ALL THREE HAMILTON PAPERS WEEK OF MAY FOURTH\n     TO ELEVENTH YEAR OF NINETEEN TWENTY TWO FOR STORY AND PICTURES ON\n     SUICIDE ANITA LEE ARTISTS MODEL STOP SAY NOTHING TO ANYONE NOT EVEN\n     SANDERSON IF HE IS THERE STOP WIRE RESULT\"\nIn his hotel, while impatiently awaiting an answer from Penny, Dundee\npassed the time by scanning all the New York papers of Thursday and\nFriday, on the chance of meeting with significant revelations concerning\nthe private life of Dexter Sprague or Juanita Leigh Selim united by\ndeath--in the press, at least. There was much space devoted to the\ntheory involving the two New Yorkers with the murder of the racketeer\nand gambler, \"Swallow-tail Sammy\" Savelli, but only two pieces of\ninformation held Dundee's interest.\nThe first was a reminder to the public that certain theatrical columns\nof Sunday, February 9, had carried the rumor of Dexter Sprague's\nengagement to Dolly Martin, popular \"baby\" star of Altamont Pictures,\nand that the same columns of Tuesday, February 11, had carried Sprague's\nown denial of the engagement--Dolly having \"nothing to say.\"\n\"So that is why Nita tried to commit suicide on February 9--and her\nattempted suicide, with its tragic consequences for Lydia Carr, is\nprobably the reason Sprague gave up his movie star,\" Dundee mused. \"Did\nNita let him persuade her to go into the blackmail business, in order to\nhold his wandering, mercenary affections?... Lord! The men some women\nlove!\"\nThe second bit of information which the papers supplied him was winnowed\nby Dundee himself, from a news summary of Nita Leigh's last year of life\nas chorus girl, specialty dancer, \"double\" in pictures, and director of\nthe Easter play at Forsyte-on-the-Hudson.\n\"If Nita got a divorce or even a legal separation from her husband after\nher talk with Gladys Earle a year ago, she got it in New York and so\nsecretly that no New York paper has been able to dig it up,\" Dundee\nconcluded. \"_And yet she had promised to marry Ralph Hammond!_\"\nA bellboy with a telegram interrupted the startling new train of thought\nwhich that conclusion had started.\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SIX\nWith a sharp exclamation of excitement and triumph, Dundee read Penny's\ntelegram:\n     \"HAMILTON EVENING SUN DATE OF MAY FIFTH NINETEEN TWENTY TWO\n     PUBLISHED STORY OF SUICIDE ANITA LEE ARTISTS MODEL BUT PICTURE\n     ACCOMPANYING WAS UNDOUBTEDLY NITA LEIGH SELIM'S STOP NO CORRECTION\n     FOLLOWED STOP WHAT DOES IT MEAN\"\n\"What does it mean?\" Dundee repeated exultantly to himself. \"It means,\nmy darling little Penny, that _anyone in Hamilton who had any interest\nin the matter believed Nita Leigh Selim was dead, and thought the\nspelling of her name was wrong, not the picture itself_!... The question\nis _who_ read that story and gazed on that picture with exquisite\nrelief?\"\nTwo hours before he had dismissed as impossible or highly impractical\nhis impulse to investigate the eleven-year-old scandal on Flora Hackett,\nwho was now Flora Miles, as told him by Gladys Earle of the Forsyte\nSchool. Even more difficult would it be to find out why Janet Raymond's\nmother had taken her abroad for a year. Of course--he had ruefully told\nhimself--Nita Leigh might have been lucky--or unlucky enough to run\nacross documentary proof of one of the scandals of which Gladys Earle\nhad told her, or had dared to blackmail her victim by dark hints, as\nMiss Earle had unconsciously suggested to her.\nBut this new development could not be ignored. A picture of Nita Leigh\nas a suicide had appeared eight years ago in a Hamilton paper, and the\npaper had either remained unaware of the error or had thought it not\nworth the space for a correction.... _Eight years ago!..._\nEight years ago in June three weddings had occurred in Hamilton! The\nDunlap, the Miles, the Drake wedding. And within the last year and a\nhalf Judge Marshall, after proposing season after season to the most\npopular debutante, had married lovely little Karen Plummer. Suddenly a\nsentence from Ralph Hammond's story of his engagement to Nita Leigh\nSelim popped up in Dundee's memory: \"And once I got cold-sick because I\nthought she might still be married, but she said her husband had married\nagain, and I wasn't to ask questions or worry about him.\"\nIf Ralph Hammond had reported Nita accurately she had not said she was\n_divorced_. She had merely said her husband was _married again_! Why was\nRalph to ask no questions? Divorced wives were not usually so\nreticent....\nHad Nita planned to commit the crime of bigamy? If not, when and where\nand how had she secured a divorce?\nTo Serena Hart, years before, she had denied any intention of getting a\ndivorce, for two reasons--_because she did not know where her husband\nwas_, and because, being married although husbandless, was a protection\nagainst matrimonial temptations.\nTo Gladys Earle, a year ago in April, she had confided that she could\nnot marry again, because she was not divorced and because she did not\nknow the whereabouts of her husband.\nAnd so far as New York reporters had been able to find out, Nita Leigh\nhad done nothing to alter her status as a married woman during the past\nyear. Moreover, if Nita had secured either a divorce or a legal\nseparation, her \"faithful and beloved maid,\" Lydia Carr, would certainly\nhave known of it. And Lydia had vehemently protested more than once to\nBonnie Dundee that she knew nothing of Nita's husband, although she had\nworked for the musical comedy dancer for five years. Surely if Nita,\nloving and trusting Lydia as she did, had entered into negotiations of\nany kind with or concerning her husband during the last year, her maid\nwould have been the first to know of them. And yet----\nSuddenly Dundee jumped to his feet and began to pace the floor of his\nhotel bedroom. He was remembering the belated confidence that John C.\nDrake, banker, had made to him the morning before--after the discovery\nof Dexter Sprague's murder. He recalled Drake's reluctant statement\nalmost word for word:\n\"About that $10,000 which Nita deposited with our bank, Dundee.... When\nshe made the first deposit of $5,000 on April 28, she explained it with\nan embarrassed laugh as 'back alimony', an instalment of which she had\nsucceeded in collecting from her former husband. And, naturally, when\nshe made the second deposit on May 5, I presumed the same explanation\ncovered that sum, too, though I confess I was puzzled by the fact that\nboth big deposits had been made in cash.\"\n_In cash!_\nHad Nita, by any chance, been telling a near-truth? Had she been\nblackmailing her own husband--a husband who had dared marry again,\nbelieving his deserted wife to be dead--and justifying herself by\ncalling it \"back alimony?\"\nBut--wasn't it, in reality, no matter what coercion Nita had used in\ngetting the money, exactly that?... _Back alimony! And the price of her\nsilence before the world and the wife who was not really a wife...._\nIn a new light, Bonnie Dundee studied the character of the woman who had\nbeen murdered--possibly to make her silence eternal.\nLois Dunlap had liked, even loved her. The other women and girls of \"the\ncrowd\"--that exclusive, self-centered clique of Hamilton's most socially\nprominent women--must have liked her fairly well and found her\ncongenial, in spite of their jealousy of her popularity with the men of\nthe crowd, or they would not have tolerated her, regardless of Lois\nDunlap's championship of her proteg\u00e9e.\nGladys Earle had found her \"the sweetest, kindest, most generous person\nI ever met\"--Gladys Earle, who envied and hated all girls who were more\nfortunate than she.\nSerena Hart, former member of New York's Junior League and still listed\nin the Social Register, had found her the only congenial member of the\nchorus she had invaded as the first step toward stardom. And Serena Hart\nhad the reputation of being a woman of character and judgment, a kind\nand wise and great woman....\nFinally, Ralph Hammond had loved Nita and wanted to marry her.\nWas it possible that Nita Selim's only crime, into which she had been\nled by her infatuation for Dexter Sprague, had been to demand, secretly,\nfinancial compensation from a husband who had married and deserted her,\na husband who, believing her dead, had married again?\nBut who was the man whose picture--to spin a new theory--Nita had\nrecognized as that of her husband among the male members of the cast of\n\"The Beggar's Opera,\" when Lois Dunlap had proudly exhibited the\n\"stills\" of that amateur performance?\nWith excitement hammering at his pulses, Dundee took the bunch of\nphotographs which Lois Dunlap had willingly given him, and studied the\npicture that contained the entire cast--the picture which had first\nattracted Nita's attention. And again despair overwhelmed him, for every\none of his possible male suspects was in that group....\nBut he could not keep his thoughts from racing on.... Men who stepped\nout of their class and went on parties with chorus girls frequently did\nso under assumed names, he reflected. Serena Hart was authority for the\ninformation that Nita's had been a sudden marriage. Was it not entirely\npossible that the man who married Nita in 1918 had done so half-drunk,\nboth on liquor and infatuation, and that he had not troubled to explain\nto Nita his motives for having used an assumed name or to write in his\nreal name on the application for a marriage license? Had Nita's private\ndetective journeyed out to _Hamilton_ years ago in a fruitless attempt\nto locate \"Matthew Selim?\"\nBonnie Dundee lay awake for hours Friday night turning these and a\nhundred other questions over and over in his too-active mind, and slept\nat last, only to awake Saturday with a plan of procedure which he was\nsensible enough to realize promised small chance of success.\nAnd he was right. Not in Manhattan, or in any of the other boroughs of\nNew York City, did he find any record of a marriage license issued to\nJuanita Leigh and Matthew Selim. Not only was it entirely probable that\nJuanita Leigh was a stage name and that Nita had married conscientiously\nunder her real name, but it was equally possible that the license had\nbeen secured in New Jersey or Connecticut.\nWhen he gave up his quest at noon Saturday and returned to his hotel,\nDundee bought at the newsstand a paper whose headline convinced him that\nSergeant Turner was, at that moment, even more discouraged than himself.\nFor the big type told the world:\n     JOE SAVELLI \"GETS\" BROTHER'S SLAYER\nAnd smaller headlines informed the sensation-loving public:\n     \"SWALLOW-TAIL SAMMY\" SAVELLI'S DEATH AVENGED BY BROTHER WHO\n     SURRENDERS TO POLICE; \"SLICK\" THOMPSON, ALLEGED MEMBER OF SAMMY'S\n     GANG, SHOT TO DEATH ON SIXTH AVENUE.\nStill smaller head-type acknowledged that Joe Savelli, after giving\nhimself up, with a revolver in his hand, had disclaimed any knowledge of\nor connection with the murders of Juanita Leigh Selim and Dexter\nSprague.\nTwo hours later, Dundee received a long telegram from District Attorney\nSanderson:\n     \"INFORMED BY EVENING SUN SAVELLI ANGLE COMPLETE WASHOUT STOP HAVE\n     YOU MADE ANY PROGRESS ALONG OTHER LINES STOP HAVE INFORMED\n     REPORTERS YOU WORKING INDEPENDENTLY WITH STRONG CHANCE OF SOLVING\n     BOTH CASES STOP WOULD LIKE YOU HERE FOR ADJOURNED INQUESTS ON BOTH\n     MURDERS MONDAY STOP MOTHER IMPROVED AM ON JOB AGAIN\"\nSince Dundee felt that there was little chance of following through\neither on the scandals which Gladys Earle had hinted at, or on Nita's\nstrangely secret marriage of twelve years before, he immediately\ndispatched a wire to Sanderson, assuring him that vital progress had\nbeen made and that he would leave New York on the four o'clock train\nwest, arriving in Hamilton Sunday morning at 8:50. The concluding\nsentence of the wire was:\n     \"SUGGEST YOU PACIFY PRESS WITH ONLY VAGUEST OF HINTS.\"\nSanderson's wire, with its confession of an interview on Dundee's trip\nto New York, had upset him and left him with a cold, sick feeling of\nfear that, stumbling half in darkness, the district attorney had\nunwittingly warned the murderer of Nita Selim and Dexter Sprague that\nhis special investigator was on the right track. But he consoled himself\nwith the hope that the final sentence of his answering telegram would\nprevent any further damage.\nBut he was wrong. An hour before he reached his destination on Sunday\nmorning he went into the dining car and found a copy of _The Hamilton\nMorning News_ beside his plate. And on the front page was a photograph\nof dead Nita, her black hair in a French roll, her slim, recumbent body\nclad in the royal blue velvet dress. Beneath the picture was the\ncaption:\n\"What part does the outmoded royal blue velvet dress which Nita Selim\nchose as a shroud play in the solution of her murder?... That is the\nquestion which Special Investigator Dundee, attached to the district\nattorney's office, who is due home this morning from fruitful detective\nwork in New York, is undoubtedly prepared to answer.\"\nDundee was still seething with futile rage when he climbed the stairs to\nhis apartment. On the floor just inside his living room door he found an\nenvelope--unstamped and bearing his name in typing.\nThe note inside, on paper as plain as the envelope, was typed and\nunsigned.\n\"If Detective Dundee will consult page 410 of the latest WHO'S WHO IN\nAMERICA, he will find a tip which should aid him materially in solving\nthe two murder cases which seem to be proving too difficult for his\ninexperience.\"\nA wry grin at his anonymous correspondent's unfriendly gibe was just\ntwisting his lips when a double knock sounded on the living room door,\nwhich he had not completely closed.\n\"Come in, Belle!\"\nA morose, slack-mouthed mulatto girl in ancient felt slippers sidled\ninto the room.\n\"Howdy, Mistah Dundee,\" Belle greeted him listlessly. \"You got back, lak\nde papers said you would, didn' yuh? An' I ain't sayin' I ain't glad!\nDat parrot o' yoahs sho is Gawd's own nuisance--nippin' at mah fingahs\nan' screechin' his fool head off.... 'Cose I ain't sayin' it's\n_his_ fault--keepin' dat young gemman on de secon' flo' awake las'\nnight.... But lak I say to Mistah Wilson, when he lights into me dis\nmawnin', runnin' off at de mouf 'cause I fo'got to put Cap'n's covah on\nhis cage las' night, I ain't de onliest one what fo'gits in dis hyar\nhouse.... Comin' home Gawd knows when, leavin' de front do' unlocked de\nres' o' de night, so's bugglers and murderers and Gawd knows who could\nwalk right in hyar----\"\nDundee, itching to consult his own copy of \"Who's Who\", flung a glance\nat the parrot's cage, intending to pacify the mournful mulatto by\nscolding his \"Watson\" roundly. But he changed his mind and consoled the\nchambermaid instead:\n\"Just tell Mr. Wilson that for once he's wrong. You did _not_ forget to\ncover Cap'n's cage, Belle. Look!\"\nThe girl's dull eyes bulged as they took in the cage, completely swathed\nin a square of black silk.\n\"Gawd's sake, Mistah Dundee!\" she ejaculated. \"_I_ didn't put dat covah\non dat bird's cage! An' neithah did Mis' Bowen, 'cause she been laid up\nwith rheumatiz eveh since you lef, an' eveh las' endurin' thing in dis\nol' house has been lef fo' me to do!\"\n\"Then I suppose the indignant Mr. Wilson came up and covered Cap'n\nhimself,\" Dundee suggested, crossing the room to the bookcase which\nstood within reaching distance of his big leather-covered armchair.\n\"Him?\" Belle snorted. \"How he gonna get in hyer widout no key? 'Sides,\nhe'd a-tol' me if'n----\"\n\"Belle, how many times must I ask you not to misplace my things?\" Dundee\ncut in irritably, for he was tired of the discussion, and angry that his\ncopy of \"Who's Who\" was missing from its customary place in the\nbookcase.\n\"Me?... I ain't teched none o' yoah things, 'cep'n to dus' 'em and lay\n'em down whar I foun' 'em,\" Belle retorted, mournfulness submerged in\nanger.\nDundee looked about the room, then his eyes alighted upon the missing\nbook, lying upon a shelf that extended across the top of an\nold-fashioned hot-air register, set high in the wall between the two\nwindows. The thick red volume lay close against the wall, its\ngold-lettered \"rib\" facing the room.\n\"Belle, tell me the truth, and I shall not be angry: did you put that\nred book on that shelf?\" Dundee asked, his voice steady and kindly in\nspite of his excitement.\n\"Nossuh! I ain't teched it!\"\n\"And you did not put the cover over my parrot's cage, although I had\ntipped you well to feed Cap'n and cover him at night,\" Dundee said\nseverely.\n\"I gotta heap o' wuk to do----\"\n\"And you say that Mr. Wilson, one of the two young men on the second\nfloor, left the front door unlocked when he came in last night?\" Dundee\nasked. \"Does he admit it?\"\n\"Yassuh,\" Belle told him sulkily. \"He say he was tiahed when he got home\n'long 'bout midnight, an' he clean fo'got to turn de key in de do' an'\nshoot de bolt.\"\n\"Thanks, Belle. That will be all now,\" and Dundee did a great deal to\ndispel the chambermaid's gloom by presenting her with a dollar bill.\nWhen she had gone, the detective read the note again, then looked\nat it and its envelope more closely. They had a strangely familiar\nlook.... Suddenly he jerked open a drawer of his desk, on which his new\nnoiseless typewriter stood, selected a sheet of plain white bond, and\nrolled it into the machine. Quickly he tapped out a copy of the strange,\ntaunting message.\nYes! The left-hand margin was identical, the typing and its degree of\nblackness were identical, and the paper on which he had made the copy\nwas exactly the same as that on which the original had been written.\nThe truth flashed into his mind. It was no coincidence that he had a\ncopy of the very book to which his unknown correspondent referred him.\nFor the note had been written in this very room, on stationery\nconveniently at hand, on the noiseless typewriter which had been far\nmore considerate about not betraying the intruder than had the parrot\nwhose slumbers had been disturbed.\n\"But why did my unknown friend risk arrest as a burglar if he wanted to\ngive me an honest tip?\" Dundee remarked aloud to the parrot, who croaked\nan irrelevant answer:\n\"Bad Penny! Bad Penny!\"\n\"I'm afraid, 'my dear Watson,' that those words will not be so helpful\nin this case as they were when your mistress was murdered,\" Dundee\nassured his parrot absently, for he was studying the peculiar situation\nfrom every angle. \"Another question, Cap'n--why did the unknown bother\nto take my 'Who's Who' out of the bookcase, where I should normally have\nlooked for it, and put it on that particular shelf?\"\nWarily, for his scalp was prickling with a premonition of danger, Dundee\ncrossed the room to the shelf, but his hand did not reach out for the\nred book, which might have been expected to solve one problem, at least.\n\"_Why the shelf?_\" he asked himself again. Why not the desk top, or the\nmantelpiece, or the smoking table beside the big armchair?\nThe shelf, with its drapery of rather fine old silk tapestry, offered no\nanswer in itself, for it held nothing except the red book, a Chinese\nbowl, and a humidor of tobacco. And beneath the shelf was nothing but\nthe old-fashioned register, the opening covered with a screwed-on metal\nscreen which was a mass of big holes to permit the escape of hot air\nwhen the furnace was going in the winter....\nSuddenly Dundee stooped and stared with eyes that were widened with\nexcitement and a certain amount of horror. Then he rose, and, standing\nfar to one side, picked up the fat volume which lay on the shelf. As he\nhad expected, a bullet whizzed noiselessly across the room and buried\nitself in the plaster of the wall opposite--a bullet which would have\nploughed through his own heart if he had obeyed his first impulse and\ngone directly to the shelf to obey the instructions in the note.\nBut more had happened than the whizzing flight of a bullet through one\nof the holes of the hot-air register. The \"Who's Who\" had been jerked\nalmost out of Dundee's hand before he had lifted the heavy volume many\ninches from the shelf. Coincidental with the disappearance of a bit of\nwhite string which had been pinned to a thin page of the book was a\nmetallic clatter, followed swiftly by the faint sound of a bump far\nbelow.\nDropping \"Who's Who\" to the floor, Dundee flung open his living room\ndoor and raced down three flights of stairs. He brought up, panting, at\nthe door of the basement. It was not locked and in another minute he was\nstanding before the big hot-air furnace. Above the fire box was a big\nmetal compartment--the reservoir for the heated air. And set into the\nreservoir, to conduct the heat to the regions above, were three huge\npipes.\nWith strength augmented by excitement, Dundee tugged and tore at one of\nthe pipes until he had dislodged it. Then thrusting his hand into the\nheat reservoir, he groped until he had found what he had known must be\nthere--_Judge Marshall's automatic, with the Maxim silencer screwed upon\nthe end of its short nose_.\nAt last he held in his hands the weapon with which Nita Leigh Selim and\nDexter Sprague had been murdered.\nThe ingeniousness of his own attempted murder moved him to such profound\nadmiration that he could scarcely feel resentment. If, in the excitement\nof hunting for a promised clue, he had gone directly to the shelf,\nstanding in front of the hole in the register into which the end of the\nsilencer had been jammed, so that it showed scarcely at all, even to\neyes looking for it, he would now have been dead. And the gun and\nsilencer, after hurtling down the big hot-air pipe behind the register,\ncould have lain hidden for months, even years, in the heat reservoir of\nthe furnace.\nWith the weapon carefully wrapped in his handkerchief, Dundee went up\nthe stairs almost as swiftly as he had gone down them, meeting no one on\nthe way to his rooms on the top floor.\n\"My most heartfelt thanks to you, Cap'n!\" he greeted his parrot. \"If you\nhad not squawked last night and so frightened the murderer that he made\nthe vital error of covering your cage, I should never have annoyed you\nagain with my Sherlock ruminations on cases which do not interest you in\nthe slightest.\"\nThe parrot cackled hoarsely, but Dundee paid him scant attention. He\npicked up the now harmless \"Who's Who\" and turned to page 410, a corner\nof which had disappeared with the string that was still fastened to the\nhair-trigger hammer of the Colt's .32. Very clever and very simple! The\nmurderer of two people and the would-be murderer of a third had had only\nto unscrew the metal covering of the register, wedge the end of the\nsilencer into one of the many holes, replace the screws, and paste the\nend of the string, drawn through another hole hidden by the tapestry, to\na page of the book he had selected as the one most likely to appeal to a\ndetective as a clue source....\nNo, wait! He had had to do more! Dundee bent and examined the metal\ncover of the register. The circumference of the hole the murderer had\nchosen as the one which would be directly in front of Dundee's heart\ngleamed brightly. It had been necessary to enlarge it considerably. _The\nmurderer had left a trace after all!_\nBut the book was open in Dundee's hands and his eyes rapidly scanned\npage 410. And he found what the murderer had not expected him to live to\nread, but which he had counted on as an explanation of the note which\nthe police would have puzzled over, if all had gone well with his\nscheme....\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN\nDundee laughed, the parrot which had saved his life echoing his mirth\nraucously, as his eyes hit upon the following lines of fine print\nhalfway down the third column of page 410 of \"Who's Who in America\":\n     BURNS, William John, detective; b. Baltimore, Oct. 19, 1861--\n\"A taunt and a joke which turned sour, 'my dear Watson'!\" he exulted to\nthe parrot. \"A joke I was not intended to live to laugh over!\"\nHe closed the book and replaced it in the bookcase, careless of\nfingerprints, for he was sure the murderer had been too clever to leave\nany behind him in that room--or upon the gun and silencer either, for\nthat matter.\nInterestedly, Dundee surveyed the scene of his attempted murder. If he\nhad unsuspectingly gone up to the high shelf to reach for the book he\nwould have stood so close to the register that there would have been\npowder burns on his shirt front--just as there had been on Dexter\nSprague's. And he would have been shot so near an open window--no chance\nfor fingerprints there, either, since he had not closed the windows on\nhis departure for New York, not wishing to return to a stuffy\napartment--that the police would have been justified in thinking he had\nbeen shot from outside. It was an old-fashioned house in more ways than\nin the manner of its heating. Outside of one of his two unscreened\nwindows there was an iron grating--the topmost landing of a fire escape.\nDundee could imagine Captain Strawn's positiveness in placing the\nmurderer there--crouching in wait for his victim....\nYes, damned ingenious, this attempted murder! Undoubtedly Strawn would\nhave dismissed the note as the work of a crank, not hitting upon the\nfact that it had been written in that very room, on Dundee's own\ntypewriter and stationery. Strawn might even have got a mournful sort of\namusement out of the fact that Dundee had been advised to call upon a\ngreater detective than himself for assistance!... Yes, ingenious indeed!\nAnd so amazingly simple----\nSuddenly the young detective snatched for his hat. If the murderer was\nso ingenious in this case, might he not have been equally clever in\nplanning and executing the murder of Nita Leigh Selim?\nTwenty minutes later he parked his car in the rutty road before the\nSelim house in Primrose Meadows, and honked his horn loudly to attract\nthe attention of the plainclothesmen Captain Strawn had detailed\nimmediately after the murder to guard the premises during the day. There\nwas no answer. And a violent ringing of the doorbell also brought no\nresponse. The guard had been withdrawn, probably to join the small army\nof plainclothesmen and patrolmen who had been foolishly and futilely\nsearching for the New York gunman--the keystone of Captain Strawn's\nexploded theory.\nWith an oath, Dundee used his skeleton key to release the Yale lock with\nwhich the front door was equipped. Straight down the main hall he went\nand into the little foyer between the hall and Nita's bedroom. He\nsnatched up the telephone and to his relief it was not dead. He gave the\nnumber of Captain Strawn's home, and had the pleasure of learning that\nhe had interrupted his former chief at a late Sunday breakfast.\n\"When did you withdraw the guard from the Selim house?\" he asked\nabruptly, cutting short Strawn's cordial welcome-home.\n\"Late Thursday afternoon,\" the Chief of the Homicide Squad answered\nbelligerently. \"I needed all my men, and the Selim house had been gone\nover with a fine tooth comb half a dozen times.... Why?\"\n\"Oh, nothing!\" Dundee retorted wearily, and hung up the receiver after\nassuring his old friend that he would call on him later in the day.\nNo use to explain now to Strawn that the murderer had been given every\nchance to remove any betraying traces of his crime. Besides, his first\nexcited hunch, after his own attempted murder, might very well be a\nwild, groundless one. In his--Dundee's case--the impossibility of the\nmurder's being delayed or arranged so that the detective might be slain\nwhen the whole \"crowd\" was assembled was obvious. The murderer had read\nin a late Saturday afternoon extra--a copy of which was now in Dundee's\npocket--District Attorney Sanderson's boast to the press that his office\nhad been working on an entirely different theory than that which\nconnected the two murders with \"Swallow-tail Sammy,\" that Special\nInvestigator Dundee, _expected back in Hamilton early Sunday morning_,\nhad been investigating Nita Leigh's past life in New York. And despite\nDundee's telegraphed warning, he had hinted sensational revelations\nconnected with the twelve-year-old royal blue velvet dress which Nita\nhad chosen to be her shroud. And in his desire to reassure the public\nthrough the press, Sanderson had mysteriously promised even more\nspecific revelations than Dundee had actually brought home with him.\nProdded by reporters, Sanderson had admitted that he did not himself\nknow the nature of those revelations.\nThe exasperated young detective could picture the murderer reading those\nsensational hints and promises, could imagine his panic, the need for\nimmediate action, so that Special Investigator Dundee should not live to\ntell the tale of his New York discoveries to the district attorney or\nanyone else.\nBut whether he was right or wrong, Dundee determined to give his hunch a\nchance. He went into the over-ornate bedroom in which Nita Leigh Selim\nhad been murdered--shot through the back as she sat at her\ndressing-table powdering her face. If her murder had been accomplished\nby mechanical means, how had it been done? There was no hot-air register\nhere....\nFrom the dressing-table Dundee walked to the window, upon whose\npale-green frame there was still the tiny pencil mark which Dr. Price\nhad drawn, to indicate the end of the path along which the bullet had\ntraveled, provided it had traveled so far. Nothing _here_ to aid in a\nmechanical murder--\nBut in a flash Dundee changed his mind. For just slightly above the\npencil mark there was a small dent in the soft painted pine of the\nwindow frame.\nAnd before his mind could frame words and sentences he thought he saw\nhow Nita Leigh had been murdered.\nNothing here?... _Not now, because he himself had taken the lamp to the\ncourthouse for safe-keeping._\nHe saw it clearly in imagination--that bronze floor-lamp which Lydia\nCarr had given to Nita Leigh, its big round bowl studded with great\njewels of colored glass. And in recalling every detail of the lamp he\nsaw what he had dismissed as of no importance at the time, in the\nexcitement of finding that the lamp's bulb had been shattered by the\n\"bang or bump\" which Flora Miles had described. _One of the big glass\njewels had been missing, leaving an unsightly hole._\nNo wonder there had been a \"bang or bump\" hard enough to dent the frame\nof the window! For if his hunch was correct, the gun, wedged into the\nbig bowl, with the silencer slightly protruding from the jewel-hole, had\n\"kicked,\" just as it had kicked an hour before, when it had dislodged\nitself from the hole in the hot-air register and clattered down the big\npipe to the heat reservoir of the furnace.\nThat the big lamp, when he, following Strawn, had first examined the\nscene of Nita's murder, had not stood in front of the window frame, did\nnot dampen Dundee's excitement in the least. After Karen Marshall's\nscream that room had been filled with excited people, who had rushed\nabout, looking out of the window for the murderer and doing all the\nother things which terror-stricken people do in such a crisis. No, the\nmurderer--or murderess--had found no difficulty in shifting the big lamp\none foot nearer the chaise longue, to the place it had always occupied\nbefore.\nBut--_how_ had the gun been fired from the lamp? Electrically? Another\npicture flashed into Dundee's mind. He saw himself stooping, on Monday\nafternoon, to see if the plug of the lamp's cord had been pulled from\nthe socket, saw it again as it was then--nearly out, so that no current\ncould pass from the baseboard outlet under the bookcase into the bronze\nlamp. How far from the truth his conclusion that Monday had been!\nBut what was the _real_ truth?\nSuddenly Dundee flung back the moss-green Wilton rug which almost\nentirely covered the bedroom floor and revealed the bell which Dexter\nSprague had rigged up so that Nita might summon Lydia from her basement\nroom, in case of dire need--a precaution with which the murderer was\nprobably familiar, since Lois Dunlap might innocently have spread the\nnews of its existence.\nThere was a half-inch hole in the hardwood floor, and out of it issued a\nlength of green electric cord, connected with two small, flat metal\nplates, one upon the other, so that when stepped upon a bell would ring\nin Lydia's basement room.\nBut there was something odd about the wire. Although it was obviously\nnew, a section of it near the two metal plates was wrapped with black\nadhesive tape. Another memory knocked for attention upon Dundee's mind.\n_The long cord of the bronze lamp had been mended with exactly the same\nsort of tape--about a foot from where it ended in the contact plug._\nWithin another two minutes, Dundee, with a flashlight he had found in\nthe kitchen, was exploring the dark, earthy portion of the basement\nwhich lay directly to the east of Lydia Carr's basement room. And he\nfound what he was looking for--adhesive tape wrapped about the wire\nwhich had been dropped through the floor of Nita's room before it had\nbeen carried, by means of another hole, into Lydia's room.\nHe was too late--thanks to Captain Strawn. The bell which Sprague had\nrigged up was in working order again. But as he was passing out of the\nbasement he glanced at the ceiling of the large room devoted to furnace,\nhot-water heater and laundry tubs. And in the ceiling he saw a hole....\nThe murderer had left a trace he could not obliterate!\nAt three o'clock that Sunday afternoon Bonnie Dundee, fatigued after a\nstrenuous day, and suffering, to his own somewhat disgusted amusement,\nfrom reaction--even a detective feels some shock at having narrowly\nescaped death--permitted himself the luxury of a call upon Penny Crain.\nHe found the girl and her mother playing anagrams. After greeting him,\nMrs. Crain rose, to surrender her place to the visitor.\n\"_You_ play with this girl of mine, Mr. Dundee. She's too clever for me!\nShe's beaten me every game so far, and when I plead for two-handed\nbridge as a chance to get even, she shudders at the very word.\"\n\"Why did you drag poor Ralph away from his dinner here today?\" Penny\ndemanded, scrambling the little wooden blocks until they made a weird\npattern of letters.\n\"Because I wanted to find out exactly _how_ Nita Selim was killed--and I\ndid,\" Dundee answered. \"I wish I knew as well _who_ murdered her!\"\nMute before Penny's excited questions, the detective idly selected\nletters from the mass of face-up blocks on the table, and spelled out,\nin a long row, the names of all the guests at Nita's fatal bridge party.\nSuddenly, and with a cry that startled Penny, Dundee made a new name\nwith the little wooden letters....\nNow he knew the answers to both \"_How?_\" and \"_Who?_\"\nCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT\n\"I fail to see any necessity for all this secrecy and hocus-pocus,\"\nDistrict Attorney Sanderson protested irritably. \"Why the devil don't\nyou come clean and give us the low-down--if you have it!--on this\nmiserable business, instead, of high-handedly summoning Captain Strawn\nto my office, so that you can give orders to us both?\"\nBefore Dundee could answer, Captain Strawn came to his assistance.\n\"I worked with this boy for pretty near a year, Bill, and never yet did\nhe fail to make good when he said he had a pot on to boil. If he says it\nwill boil over this evening, provided we help him, boil over it will, or\nI don't know Bonnie Dundee!\"\nSanderson scowled but capitulated. \"All right! What do you want?\"\n\"Thanks, chief! And thanks, Captain!\" Dundee cried, with heartfelt\ngratitude. \"First, I want to be excused from attending the adjourned\ninquests into the two murders, scheduled for three o'clock today.\"\n\"O.K.\" Sanderson agreed shortly.\n\"Second, after about an hour of routine stuff, I wish you'd ask for\nanother adjournment until tomorrow, on the plea that important\ndevelopments are expected today.\"\n\"O.K. again!\"\n\"Third, I'd like you personally to request the appearance of every\nperson connected in any way with each of the murders, in your office\nthis afternoon at four o'clock--so the whole bunch will be kept together\nand have no chance to go to their homes or anywhere else until I am\nready for them. You can say that, owing to the illness of your mother\nduring the investigations, you want to question everyone personally.\"\n\"Do you want all the servants brought here, too?\" Sanderson asked.\n\"None but Lydia Carr,\" Dundee answered. \"After about an hour's innocuous\nquestioning, please invite them to accompany you to the Selim house. For\nthat--\" and he grinned, \"--is where the pot is scheduled to boil over.\nI'd like everybody to be there by 5:15.\"\n\"Where do I come in?\" Captain Strawn demanded, almost jealously.\n\"Now that you are no longer looking for a New York gunman, I suppose you\nhave plenty of plainclothesmen at your disposal?\" Dundee asked, and was\ninstantly sorry he had reminded his former chief of the collapse of his\ncherished and satisfying theory.\n\"Plenty,\" Strawn answered gruffly. \"How many will you need?\"\n\"Enough to keep every person on Mr. Sanderson's invitation list under\nstrictest observation until--the pot boils over,\" Dundee replied.\n\"When do you want them to get on the job?\"\n\"As soon as they can do so, after you get back to your office.\"\n\"Are they to follow the whole gang clear out to the Selim house?\"\n\"Most decidedly! After the unwilling guests are safely within the house,\nyour boys must guard the premises so that _no one_ leaves without\npermission.\"\n\"That's all as good as done,\" Strawn assured him. \"Now--about them\ninquiries you asked me to make yesterday of the secretary of the\nAmerican Legion.\" He drew a scrap of paper from his breast pocket. \"I\nfind that John Drake, Peter Dunlap and Clive Hammond were all in\nservice, in the ----th Division, which was held up late in January,\n1918, for nearly two weeks, in Hoboken, before the War Department could\nget transports to send 'em to France. Miles, who enlisted the day war\nwas declared, was wounded and shipped home late in 1917. He was\ndischarged as unfit for further service--spinal operation--from a New\nJersey base hospital on January 12, 1918. Furthermore, Judge Marshall\nwas in New York the whole winter of 1917-'18, attached to the Red Cross\nin some legal capacity. He donated his services and--\"\n\"All that doesn't matter now, Captain, but thanks just the same,\" Dundee\ninterrupted. \"Now if you will both excuse me, I've got a lot of work to\ndo before five o'clock today!\"\nDundee had not exaggerated. That Monday was one of the busiest days he\nhad ever spent in all the twenty-seven years of his life. He began,\nrather strangely, by visiting half a dozen of Hamilton's hardware\nstores, exhibiting a peculiar instrument and making annoying inquiries\nas to when and to whom it had been sold. But at his sixth port of call\nsuccess so completely rewarded his efforts that he was jubilant when he\nbade the mystified proprietor good day, a signed statement reposing in\nhis wallet.\nTwo other calls--both in office buildings--took up only an hour of his\ntime, and a taxicab delivered him at Police Headquarters just as the\nfactory whistles were sirening the news that it was twelve o'clock.\nHe was lucky enough to find the fingerprint expert, Carraway, in his\ncubbyhole of an office, his desk almost crowded out by immense filing\ncabinets.\nFive minutes later Dundee sat at that desk, photographs of Dexter\nSprague's dead body, just as it had been discovered on the floor of the\ntrophy room in the Miles home, and a labelled set of fingerprints spread\nout before him.\n\"You're sure there can have been no mistake?\" he asked. \"No chance that\nthese fingerprint photographs were _reversed_ when the prints were\nmade?\"\n\"Not a chance--with my system!\" Carraway retorted positively.\n\"Fine!\" Dundee cried. \"May I take these photographs?... You have copies,\nI presume?\"\nIt was half past two o'clock when Dundee, after a much needed lunch,\nparked his car in the driveway of one of the most splendid houses\noverlooking Mirror Lake--a home whose master and mistress were now\nattending an inquest into two murders....\nHalf an hour later he climbed into his roadster again, his head\nspinning. \"Did I say _ingenious_?\" he marvelled....\nHe drove directly to the Selim house, for he had much to do before the\narrival of Sanderson's compulsory guests at 5:15.\nHis first visit there was to a small room in the basement--a dark\ncubbyhole next to the coal room. He had locked it carefully after\nexploring it the day before, for he had taken no chance on leaving\nunguarded--as he had found it--treasure worth more to him than its\nweight in gold.\nAnd queer treasure it was that he extracted now--a coiled length of\nelectric wire, which he and Ralph Hammond had measured the day before,\nwith triumphant excitement; a box of thumb tacks, many of them\nsurprisingly bent at the point; an augur with a set of bits of varying\nsizes, a step-ladder, and a hammer. If Dexter Sprague had not\noverestimated the amount of electric wire needed for the job of\ninstalling an alarm bell between Nita's bedroom and Lydia's.... Dundee\nwas about to close the tool chest when his eyes fell upon a piece of\nhardware he had not expected ever to find, although he had known of its\nexistence for more than an hour.\nAt 5:15 he was entirely ready for D. A. Sanderson, Captain Strawn and\ntheir party of indignant and unwilling guests....\n\"Oh, Mr. Dundee!\" Carolyn Drake squealed. \"You're not going to make us\nplay that awful 'death hand' again, are you?\"\nThey were all crowding about him--the men and women who had been Nita\nSelim's guests at her last bridge and cocktail party....\n\"Not only are the bridge tables exactly where they were at this time on\nthe evening of May 24,\" Dundee answered _so_ significantly that all\nstopped chattering to listen, \"_but everything else in the house is\nprecisely as it was then_. Fortunately, not even the _electricity_ has\nbeen cut off! But to make sure I have forgotten nothing, I wish you\nwould all follow me into Mrs. Selim's bedroom and look for yourselves.\"\nLike sheep, they crowded into the little foyer and on into the bedroom.\nThere stood the big bronze lamp, set squarely in front of the window\nframe and in a direct line with the musical powder box on dead Nita's\ndressing table.\nAt 5:25, Penny Crain, Karen Marshall, Carolyn Drake, and Flora Miles,\nwho had been requisitioned by Dundee to play the part of the murdered\nwoman, were seated at table No. 2, and behind Karen's chair stood Lois\nDunlap. Clive Hammond and his new wife were again together in the\nsolarium. But there Dundee's restaging of the original scene in the\ntragic drama ended. Everyone else, including Lydia Carr and Peter\nDunlap, were huddled together in a far corner of the living room.\n\"Now, Mr. Miles!\" Dundee called. \"Your cue! Never mind the comedy about\n'How's tricks?' Simply go into the dining room, with Mrs. Dunlap, to mix\ncocktails. You'll find all the ingredients still on the sideboard,\nexactly as there were when Mrs. Selim sent you to mix drinks on May\n24.... And Mrs. Miles, will you, pretending that you are Nita Selim, go\nto powder your face at Mrs. Selim's dressing-table?\"\nHer face white and drawn, Flora Miles stumbled from the room, just as\nher husband, dumb for once with rage, entered the dining room with Lois\nDunlap.\nDundee was about to follow the latter two when an interruption occurred.\nFollowed by a plainclothesman, a middle-aged man entered the living\nroom. Tall, broad-shouldered, determined, he strode to the bridge table,\nhis handsome head upflung, his brown eyes fixed upon the widened brown\neyes of Penny Crain.\n\"Dad!\" the girl breathed; then, joyously: \"Oh, Dad! You've come home!\"\nBut Dundee halted the reconciliation with a stern word of command.\n\"Please join the group in the corner, Mr. Crain!\"\nRegardless of the ensuing hubbub Dundee strode into the dining room,\nwhere Tracey Miles stood at the sideboard, pouring whiskey from an\nalmost empty decanter into a small glass.\n\"May I drink the Scotch Tracey has poured for me, Mr. Dundee?\" Mrs.\nDunlap asked shakily, leaning against the big round table.\n\"Yes, but--Silence, please!\" he cried, as there came the first faint,\ntinkling notes of _Juanita_, from Nita's musical powder box, penetrating\nthe thin wall between the bedroom and dining room.\n\"As I have said,\" the detective spoke loudly and clearly above the\ntinkle of music, \"_everything is now exactly as it was when Nita Selim\nwas murdered_! Permit me to show you all how that murder was\naccomplished!\"\nA chair at the bridge table was overturned. Lois Dunlap almost choked on\nher drink of Scotch. Women screamed. In a few seconds every person in\nthe living room, including the district attorney and Strawn, was huddled\nin the wide opening into the dining room, their eyes fixed in horror\nupon Bonnie Dundee.\nHe spoke again, his voice very clear, but slow and weighted with a\ndreadful significance:\n_\"Mrs. Dunlap, step on the bell beneath the dining table!\"_\nLois Dunlap dropped the empty whiskey glass, her face suddenly wiped of\nall expression.\n\"Step on that bell, Mrs. Dunlap--_just as you did before_!\"\nAs if hypnotized, Lois Dunlap began to grope with the toe of her right\npump for the slight bulge under the rug which indicated the position of\nthe bell used for summoning the maid from the kitchen.\nWith a strangled cry Tracey Miles lunged across the few feet which\nseparated the woman and himself, seized her arm and whirled her\nviolently away from the table.\n\"_Do you want to kill my wife, too?_\" he panted, his usually florid face\nthe color of putty. \"You--_you_--!\"\nCHAPTER TWENTY-NINE\n\"That would be impossible, Miles,\" Dundee said deliberately. \"_For your\nwife is already dead!_\" Then his clear words rang out like the knell of\ndoom:\n\"Tracey Arthur Miles, I arrest you for the murder of your wife, known as\nJuanita Leigh Selim, and for the murder of Dexter Sprague. And it is my\nduty to warn you that anything you say may be used against you.\"\nTracey Miles lifted his ashen face and stared at the detective blankly,\nas though he had gone deaf and blind. \"All--over--isn't it? May I--have\na--drink?\" he managed to articulate at last.\n\"Poor devil! He needs it,\" the too-soft-hearted young detective told\nhimself, as Miles poured a drink from the almost empty whiskey decanter\nand raised the little glass to his lips.\n\"I have--nothing--to say!\" the murderer gasped thickly, then fell\nheavily to the floor.\nIt was three-quarters of an hour later. District Attorney Sanderson,\nCaptain Strawn and Dundee were alone in the house where Nita \"Selim\" had\nbeen murdered and where her husband had confessed his crimes by\ncommitting suicide. The morgue ambulance had come and gone....\n\"I should have known,\" Dundee admitted ruefully, as the three men\nentered Nita's bedroom, \"that so ingenious a criminal as Tracey Miles\nwould not have failed to provide against the possibility of discovery.\nHe must have seized an opportunity to spill cyanide of potassium into\nthe decanter when my eyes were off him for a moment--and upon Lois\nDunlap.\"\n\"I'm glad he did,\" Sanderson said curtly. \"But it was ghastly that poor\nLois had to know that it was she, in all innocence, who fired the shot\nthat killed her friend.\"\n\"It was,\" Dundee sighed. \"But I believed that the only way I could make\nMiles confess was to frighten him into thinking Flora would be killed in\nthe same manner.... Well, it worked!\"\n\"Captain Strawn and I are still in the dark as to exactly how Miles\nmanaged his wife's murder,\" Sanderson reminded him. \"This morning you\nchose to tell us nothing more than that a Hamilton man had married Nita\nLeigh in New York in January, 1918, and that eight years ago, when he\nsaw her picture in _The Hamilton Evening Sun_, along with the story that\n'Anita Lee' had committed suicide, he felt free to marry again.... You\nsaid then you knew who the man was but you would not even tell us how\nyou knew--\"\n\"Because I had very little actual proof then,\" Dundee answered. \"As to\nwho he was, the salient clue had been staring me in the face the whole\ntime, but it was not until I was fooling with a set of anagrams last\nnight, idly spelling out the names of all the men who _might_ have\nmarried her and then murdered her, that I saw it--\"\n\"Saw _what_?\" Strawn demanded irritably.\n\"That Selim is simply Miles spelled backwards,\" Dundee explained.\n\"Possibly because he considered it the sophisticated thing to do, Miles\nused an assumed name at the party at which he met Nita Leigh--and\nmarried her under that name shortly afterward. Even the first name,\n'Mat', by which she knew him, was only his initials reversed.\"\n\"Simple--but clever,\" Sanderson commented.\n\"Just as were all of Miles' schemes after Nita, egged on by Sprague,\nturned up in Hamilton to demand 'back alimony' as the price of her\nsilence.... But let me show you how he killed his wife.\"\nHe strode to the big bronze lamp. \"It took me less than an hour today to\nreconstruct the death machine so that it would be almost exactly as it\nwas when Miles finished his work just before 2:30 on Saturday, May\n24--and as it remained until he had an opportunity to come back here and\ndismantle it. Trust him to find out that the guard was removed from the\nhouse Thursday!\"\nAs he spoke, he was unscrewing the big, jewel-studded bowl of the bronze\nlamp. Wedged, at a down-slanting angle inside the bowl, which was twelve\ninches in diameter, was Judge Marshall's snub-nosed automatic, the\nattached Maxim silencer projecting slightly from the hole whose jewel\nwas missing.\n\"Lydia told me last night over the telephone--and very much surprised\nshe was, too, when I swore her to secrecy--that the jewel had been lost\nwhen the lamp was shipped from New York,\" Dundee explained. \"There's a\nblank cartridge in the gun now, of course, but Miles, in his panic, took\nmy words literally.... See the electro-magnet strapped to the gun butt?\nHe got it from the bell Sprague had installed in Lydia's bedroom, and he\nreturned it when he was 'cleaning up', so that the bell would ring\nagain. The magnet he connected with the electric wire in one of the two\nlamp sockets, as you see it now, and the long cord of the lamp was\nconnected with the wire of the bell in the dining room--so connected\nthat when anyone stepped on the two little metal plates under the dining\nroom rug, the kitchen bell would ring and the gun would be fired\nsimultaneously. But if you will examine the jewel hole,\" he suggested,\n\"you will see that Miles had to enlarge it considerably, using a reamer,\nwhich I found in the tool chest in the basement, along with all the\napparatus Sprague had bought for installing Nita's alarm bell. I could\nsee no reason for Sprague's having needed a reamer for his little job,\nhowever, and this morning I was lucky enough to get proof that Miles\nhimself had purchased it at a hardware store on the Tuesday before\nNita's murder.\"\n\"How did he connect the lamp cord with the dining room bell?\" Strawn\npuzzled. \"These modern houses don't have exposed wiring--\"\n\"You forget Sprague's wiring for the alarm bell from here to Lydia's\nroom!\" and Dundee threw back the rug, showing them the hole in the\nfloor, out of which came a short length of electric wire, ending in two\nsmall metal plates. But attached now to the wire was the cord from the\nbronze lamp.\n\"The plug of the lamp cord is nearly out of the baseboard outlet behind\nthe bookcase, just as Miles left it, so that there is no contact with\nelectricity there. And the rug, which almost entirely covers the floor,\nhides, as you have seen, the joining of the two wires. An inexplicable\nwrapping of adhesive tape both on the lamp cord and on the wire of\nNita's alarm bell here gave me the clue.... In installing the alarm\nbell, Sprague copied the arrangement under the dining table, of course.\nAnd Miles simply had to drop a bit, fastened to the augur Sprague had\nbought and used for his own job, down the four inches which separate the\ndining room floor from the basement ceiling, boring a hole through the\nceiling. It was that fresh-bored hole in the ceiling that I could not\nunderstand, and which Ralph Hammond assured me was not there Saturday\nmorning before Nita was killed.... Miles joined a piece of electric wire\nto the dining room bell wires, and pushed it down through the hole he\nhad bored into the basement ceiling. Now if you'll come down with me--\"\nWhen the three men stood staring upward at the basement ceiling, Dundee\ncontinued:\n\"See this long wire running along the ceiling from the hole beneath the\ndining room bell? The tacks Miles used to secure it were also returned\nto the tool chest, but he could not get rid of either the augur hole or\nthe tiny holes showing the course of the wire.... Let's follow it.\"\nHe led them across the basement to a door leading into a dank,\nunfinished portion of the cellar, directly east of Lydia's bedroom and\nbeneath Nita's. The wire whose course they were following led under the\ntop frame of the door, and, with a flashlight in his hand, Dundee showed\nhow it continued along a rafter until it reached the place where it was\njoined, by adhesive tape, to the wire Sprague had dropped from Nita's\nbedroom floor above.\n\"Miles simply cut the wire here where it enters another hole through\nLydia's bedroom wall, and attached the new wire,\" Dundee explained. \"The\nconnection between the dining room bell and the electro-magnet in the\nlamp upstairs was then complete.... Sprague had bought yards too much of\nthe wire--fortunately for Miles' scheme.\"\n\"But what a chance Miles took on the bullet's not hitting her in a fatal\nspot!\" Sanderson commented in an awed voice.\n\"Not much of a chance!\" Dundee denied. \"He would fire the gun only when\nhe knew Nita was seated before her dressing-table. Experienced marksman\nthat he was, he could calculate the path of the bullet to a nicety. Of\ncourse the machine had to be used that very day. As you know Nita\nherself gave him his chance. Miles, standing at the sideboard, which was\nseparated from Nita's dressing table only by a thin wall, listened until\nthe first faint notes of _Juanita_ told him that Nita was powdering her\nface. He could be almost positive that Nita was sitting down to her\ntask.... The poor girl saw nothing to alarm her, but the gun kicked when\nthe shot was fired by Lois' innocent stepping upon the dining room bell,\nand the big lamp was rocked so that it banged against the window frame,\nshattering the one bulb Miles had left in it. Of course he moved the\nlamp a foot or so, in the resulting excitement. And if Nita had been\nwounded only, living to tell how the shot was fired, Miles would have\ncommitted suicide then and there.\"\n\"What if Nita had not asked him to mix cocktails or had not gone to\npowder her face?\" Strawn asked.\n\"The whole party was going to dine and dance at the Country Club.\nMiles would have escorted her home, as he had done on Monday night, when\nNita had probably made her last demand. He could have counted on Nita's\ngoing into her bedroom to powder her face, even if he had had to tell\nher that her nose was shiny, and would himself then have gone to the\ndining room, on the excuse that he needed a drink before discussing\n'business'.... But I must tell you that on Saturday morning, according\nto the telephone operator in Miles' office, into whom I put the fear of\nthe Lord and the law when I interviewed her this morning, Nita rang Miles\nto say she must see him as soon as possible, her unexpressed intention\nbeing to tell him that she was not going to make him come across again.\nMiles--the telephone operator confessed to having listened-in on the\nWhole conversation--told her he would be right out, but Nita said she and\nLydia were going into Hamilton and would not be back until 2:30--the\ntime the bridge game was scheduled to begin. That was the opportunity\nMiles had been praying for, and he came on out, having previously stolen\nthe gun and silencer and having studied this house--\"\n\"How had he got in?\" Sanderson wanted to know.\n\"Judge Marshall had lent him a key in February, when Miles wanted to\nshow the house to an engaged young man in his offices, and Miles had\nneglected to return it.... Well, when he arrived, he found Ralph Hammond\nhere, and had to leave, waiting at a safe distance, probably, until the\ncoast was clear about one o'clock. Even so, he had more than an hour to\ndo his carefully planned job.... _Nita had to die!_ Miles could not\ncontinue to pay her large sums of money, since he was really only an\nemploye of Flora's. Everything he held dear in the world was threatened.\nHe loved Flora, he adored his children, and he could not give up the\nluxury and social position which his bigamous marriage with Flora----\"\n\"Why didn't he make a clean breast of the whole mess to Flora, since he\nhad not married her until he believed Nita Leigh was dead?\" Sanderson\ninterrupted.\n\"You must remember that Flora was carrying on a violent flirtation with\nSprague--'vamping' him to get the lead in the Hamilton movie, if Sprague\ngot the job of directing it,\" Dundee reminded him. \"Miles, victim of a\ndeep-rooted sexual inferiority complex, must have felt sure that Flora,\non discovering she was not legally married, would snatch at the chance\nto marry Sprague--which was of course what Sprague had planned in case\nNita published the truth.\"\n\"But you were wrong about the secret shelf! The gun was never there!\"\nStrawn gloated.\n\"No. But it was the absence of fingerprints on the pivoting panel and\nshelf which kept me on the right track. Miles had searched the shelf for\nthe marriage certificate which he could not know Nita had already\nburned. Probably, too, he had written her a few letters during their\nshort courtship----\"\n\"How was Sprague killed?\" Sanderson interrupted impatiently.\nDundee led the way across the basement to a cubbyhole next to the coal\nroom, entered and came out with a narrow, deep drawer of ebony inlaid\nwith mother-of-pearl....\n\"First I must tell you that Miles got the gun out of the lamp that\nSaturday night, parking his car at a distance and sneaking into the\nhouse while I was talking with Lydia in the basement. We can guess that\nhe stowed gun, silencer and electro-magnet in a pocket of his car. At\nany rate, he came back noisily enough a little later, to offer Lydia a\njob as nurse in his home. Doubtless he assured himself that she knew\nnothing, or poor Lydia would have gone the way of her mistress and\nSprague.\"\n\"Was Sprague----?\" Strawn began.\n\"Despite my warning,\" Dundee went on, refusing to be hurried, \"Sprague\nmade a demand for blackmail money upon Miles. It is possible that\nSprague, also sneaking into the house that Saturday night to get his\nbag, saw Miles retrieve the gun. At any rate, Sprague knew that Miles\nwas the only person among all the company who had a real motive for\nkilling Nita Selim, and he undoubtedly blackmailed Miles as a murderer\nas well as a bigamist. Perhaps Miles put him off for a day or two, but\non Wednesday Judge Marshall begged for a bridge game, and Miles seized\nthe opportunity of again having the original crowd present--a sort of\nwall of integrity surrounding and including him. For I don't think he\nreally wanted to involve his best friends as suspects. I believe he\nmerely wanted to hide among them--apparently as above suspicion as they\nwere. And there is safety in numbers, you know.... At any rate, Miles\nmade an appointment Wednesday afternoon with Sprague, telling him that,\nif he would come to his home that evening, and manage to leave the\nbridge game while he was dummy, he would find the money he was\ndemanding--_in a drawer of the cabinet that stood between the two\nwindows in the trophy room_!\"\nDundee exhibited the drawer he had taken from the basement tool room.\n\"This drawer! I took it away from the Miles home this afternoon while\neveryone but a chambermaid was at the inquest. Miles did not have time\nto go home before going to your office, Mr. Sanderson, with the rest of\nthe crowd you had summoned for questioning. If he had, he would have\nkilled himself as soon as he found the incriminating drawer was missing\nfrom the cabinet.\"\n\"But--_how_----?\" Sanderson began, frowning with bewilderment.\n\"Very simple!\" Dundee answered. \"When Sprague pulled open this drawer,\nwhich was set in the cabinet at just the height of his stomach, he\nreceived a bullet in his heart.... See these four little holes?... A\nvise was screwed into the bottom of the drawer so that it gripped the\ngun with its silencer, at an upward angle. A piece of string was tied to\nthe trigger and fastened somehow to the underside of the drawer, so that\nwhen Sprague pulled the drawer open the string was drawn taut and the\ntrigger pulled. Practically the same mechanism by which he tried to\nmurder me.... The kick of the gun jerked the drawer shut. All Miles had\nto do when he was pretending to look for Sprague was to turn off the\ntrophy room light by a button--one of a series on the outside wall of\nthe hall closet. Probably it had been agreed between them that Sprague\nwould not return to the bridge game, hence Sprague's telephoning for a\ntaxi to wait for him at the foot of the hill, and his taking his hat and\nstick into the trophy room with him.\"\n\"Then Miles had from midnight till dawn to remove the gun!\"\n\"Yes. Some time during the night, after Flora was asleep with a\nsedative, which she badly needed because of the quarrel--a genuine\none--which she and Tracey had had over Sprague--Miles slipped down to\nthe trophy room and removed the gun and vise. But he could not remove\nthe holes the screws had made, although he did cover the bottom of the\nusually empty drawer with old pamphlets on the care and feeding of\ndogs.... By the way, the chambermaid told me that her master spent about\nhalf an hour before dinner that Thursday night in the trophy room,\n'going over his fishing tackle'.... His next concern was to make the\nmurder jibe completely with Captain Strawn's theory of a gunman who had\ntrailed his quarry to the Miles home and shot him through the window.\nThe window was already open, but the screen had to be raised, too, and\nSprague's fingerprints had to be on the nickel catches by which the\nscreen curtain is raised or lowered. Of course Sprague had not touched\nthe screen----\"\n\"Do you mean to say he lugged the corpse to the window and lifted it up\nso that he could press the stiff fingers upon the nickel catches?\"\nSanderson asked with a shudder. \"What a fiend----\"\n\"No,\" Dundee assured him. \"That was unnecessary. He simply removed the\ncurtain screen, which is so designed that it can be taken down and put\nup as easily as a window shade. He carried the screen--his own hands\nprotected by gloves, I suppose--to where Sprague's right hand lay _palm\nupward_, on the floor, and pressed the thumb and forefinger against the\ncatches, making fingerprints all right, but they were reversed--as I\ndiscovered when it occurred to me to examine the photographs of\nSprague's fingerprints in Carraway's office today. Miles could not turn\nthe stiff hand over without bruising the dead flesh; consequently the\nprint of the forefinger was on the catch where the thumb would normally\nhave left its mark--and vice versa.... Before I forget it, I should also\ntell you that I found a master key hanging on the keyboard in the\nbutler's pantry. Big houses, with their many locks, are usually provided\nwith a master key, and Miles undoubtedly used that one to gain entrance\ninto my room after midnight Saturday morning.\"\n\"Where did you find the vise?\" Strawn asked.\n\"In the tool chest right here, where he had also placed the reamer he\nhad bought. The vise probably belonged to Miles originally, but he was\ntaking no chances on anything's being found in his possession, provided\nwe tumbled to _how_ the two crimes were committed.... The reamer he must\nhave brought out here after he used it to enlarge the hole in my hot-air\nregister after midnight Sunday morning. It is possible he did his\ncleaning up job here at the same time. It was safe enough to have lights\non, since the house is so isolated and there had been no guard here\nsince Thursday.\"\n\"Well--\" Sanderson drew a deep breath. \"He was a far cleverer man than\nany of us suspected. The mechanical arrangements were absurdly easy to\nrig up, in all three cases, but the _thinking_ of them----. It is a pity\nNita did not fear him as she feared Sprague's vengeance----\"\n\"You're right,\" Dundee answered. \"Nita did not fear Miles, not even when\nshe was making him pay and pay.... No woman could look at Miles and\nbelieve him capable of murder. But a conviction of sexual inferiority\nleads to strange things, as psychologists can tell you.... I believe\nMiles married the only two women who ever fell in love with him, and\nthere can be no doubt that Nita really loved him, for she kept her\nwedding dress for more than twelve years and chose it to be her shroud.\nIt is possible she was still fond of him, although she was infatuated\nwith Sprague when she came down here and was later sincerely in love\nwith Ralph Hammond. Another reason she did not fear Miles when she made\nher will was that she counted on being able to tell him Saturday night\nat the latest that she would never ask him for money again, if he would\ntrade silence for silence. How she hoped to secure Sprague's silence we\ncan only guess at. Probably she meant to buy it with the remainder of\nthe $10,000 she had already got from Miles--provided Sprague did not\nkill her for ditching him as a lover. We know she foresaw that\npossibility, since she willed the money to Lydia. Of course if Sprague\nhad proved tractable, Nita as Ralph's wife would have been able to\ncompensate Lydia handsomely for the injury she had done her.\"\n\"Poor Nita--and poor Flora!\" Sanderson sighed, as he led the way up the\nbasement stairs. \"Hello! Someone's calling you, Bonnie----\"\nDundee ran through the kitchen and dining room and into the living room,\nfor he had recognized Penny Crain's sweet, husky contralto.\n\"What are _you_ doing back here, young woman?\" he demanded. \"You were\ntold to go home and forget all this ugly business----\"\n\"Dad wants a private word with you,\" Penny explained, her brown eyes\nluminous with happiness. \"He's on the front porch.... And you ought to\nsee Mother! She looks like a twenty-year-old bride!\"\nWhen Dundee joined him on the porch, Roger Crain flushed painfully but\nthere was happiness in his eyes, too....\n\"Serena asked me to thank you for giving her Penny's message to pass\non to me,\" Crain began in a low voice. \"I'm sure you've guessed a lot,\nbut what you probably don't know is that Serena used the securities\nI had sent her for safe keeping, to play the market with. When she\nknew what I had done here, she wouldn't let me touch a penny of the\nmoney until she had turned it into enough to clear up all my debts in\nHamilton.... Then,\" and he sighed slightly, \"she sent me home.... Not\nthat I'm sorry. I'm going to try to make Margaret and Penny happy, make\nthem and the town forget that I disgraced them----\"\n\"Through?\" Penny called from the doorway, and Bonnie Dundee forgot\nTracey Miles and all his ingenious schemes.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Murder at Bridge\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and Sue Clark from page images\ndigitized by the Google Books Library Project\n(https://books.google.com) and generously made available\nby HathiTrust Digital Library (https://www.hathitrust.org/)\n[Illustration]\n               Being the Story of Two Boys Whose Ambition\n               Led Them to Face Privations and Hardships\n               in Their Quest of a Home in the Great West\nHIKING WESTWARD is really a chapter taken out of the lives of two\nwide-awake American boys who go West to make a home for their mother.\nAlthough ignorant of the conditions of frontier life, Phil and Ted\nPorter meet them manfully. They face their difficulties with a smile,\nwork like Trojans on their quarter section and through the love which\nthey bear their mother, as shown in their every act, they win the\nrespect of the kind-hearted, but rough settlers: people who do things:\nto whom setbacks and difficulties are daily occurrences. Success crowned\ntheir efforts, developing a sturdy self-reliance and an ingenuity in\nsurmounting the many obstacles which confronted them.\nOriginally this story appeared under the title of \u201cThe Young\nHomesteaders\u201d, by J. W. Lincoln\u2014my pen name, but the edition was quickly\nwithdrawn and now, over my own name and with corrections and revisions,\nI desire to place it in the hands of all the boys I can as a true\npicture of early pioneer days.\n                I Solving a Problem\n               II Temptation\n              III Electing a Captain\n               IV A Pleasant Surprise\n                V Timely Assistance\n               VI Boarding the Admiral\n              VII Anxious Moments\n             VIII The Boys Prove Their Metal\n               IX A Series of Revelations\n                X The Unusual Postman\n               XI Up the Saint Mary\u2019s River\n              XII Shooting the Rapids\n             XIII Through onto Superior\n              XIV A Night in the Fog\n               XV Entrained\n              XVI A Night Alarm\n             XVII Receiving Pointers\n            XVIII The Boys Find a Friend\n              XIX A Close Call\n               XX In the Lumber Camp\n              XXI More Good Luck\n             XXII On the Claim\n             XXIV Outfitting\n              XXV A Day of Trials\n             XXVI An Echo from the Past\n            XXVII Building an Irrigation Plant\n           XXVIII A Terrible Experience\n             XXIX Ted Makes a Discovery\n              XXX Series of Unpleasant Surprises\n             XXXI The Fire Lookout\n            XXXII An Unexpected Arrival\n           XXXIII Fighting for Their Home\n            XXXIV The Girls Make Friends\n             XXXV At Work in Earnest\n            XXXVI Chester Brings News\n           XXXVII Word from Washington\n          XXXVIII The House-Raising\n            XXXIX A Fortunate Discovery\n\u201cPhil, what should you and Ted do if you were suddenly called upon to\nsupport your sisters and me?\u201d asked Mrs. Porter, as her family were\nfinishing their supper.\n\u201cPlay ball,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cBe an aviator,\u201d announced his brother.\n\u201cYou might have known what their answers would be, Momsy, without\nasking,\u201d exclaimed Sallie, with disgust. \u201cEver since Phil was elected\ncaptain of his school nine all he can think of is \u2018play ball.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cYes, and Ted\u2019s just as absorbed in that old machine he is building\u2014as\nif he could build anything that would fly,\u201d interposed Margie.\n\u201cI tell you it can fly, Miss Smarty. It rose more than a foot from the\nground and kept up for its whole length last week,\u201d retorted Ted.\n\u201cThat wasn\u2019t flying, it was the shock caused by my lending you my week\u2019s\nallowance,\u201d retaliated Margie.\n\u201cYou said you wouldn\u2019t mention that, and anyway, I didn\u2019t promise to pay\nit back until next month.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Ted. That slipped out without my thinking. Do you suppose\nyour machine would fly twice its length if I loaned you this week\u2019s\nmoney?\u201d\n\u201cGoody, sis, will you?\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t you do it, Marg,\u201d warned her older sister. \u201cMomsy, you ought to\nforbid Ted\u2019s throwing away all his and Margie\u2019s money on that crazy old\nairship.\u201d\n\u201cI haven\u2019t asked _you_ for any, have I?\u201d demanded Ted, his cheeks\nflushing.\n\u201cGood reason why\u2014you know I wouldn\u2019t lend you any.\u201d\n\u201cYou can turn up your nose all you like, but you\u2019ll change your tune\nwhen you see me flying about.\u201d\n\u201cI shall be so old my eyesight will be gone when you do.\u201d\n\u201cNever you\u2014\u201d began Ted, only to be interrupted by his mother.\n\u201cThere, there, son, don\u2019t get so excited. It is all right for you to\nspend your own time and money on your flying machine, if you wish, but\nyou must not borrow from Margie.\u201d\n\u201cNow don\u2019t scold Ted, Momsy,\u201d broke in the younger girl. \u201cI really owe\nhim something because he helped me to pass my algebra exam.\u201d\n\u201cBesides, I said I would pay her back next month\u2014and I will.\u201d\n\u201cAll right, but I forbid you to ask Margie again. I think, too, it would\nbe just as well if you all saved your allowances from now on\u2014there is no\nknowing how soon they will stop entirely,\u201d added Mrs. Porter, seriously.\nAt this statement, the boys looked blankly at their sisters, then at\ntheir mother, and as they searched her face, they noticed how unusually\nwan and frail she appeared.\n\u201cWhy, Momsy, how tired you look!\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cI am, son,\u2014and ill. The doctor says I may,\u201d and her voice quavered, \u201cI\nmay be obliged to give up my work and take a long rest.\u201d\nIn shocked surprise, her sons and daughters heard her words, for, though\nthey loved their mother dearly, with the carelessness of youth, they had\nfailed to note the increasing look of weariness that was furrowing her\nface with lines.\n\u201cIf Dr. Blair says you ought to take a rest, you shall,\u201d declared Ted.\n\u201cYet I can\u2019t unless you and Phil are able to take my place as\nbreadwinner, and flying and playing ball do not seem to be very reliable\noccupations.\u201d\n\u201cWe didn\u2019t mean that; at least, I didn\u2019t,\u201d protested Phil, hastily.\n\u201cNor I,\u201d his brother quickly confirmed.\n\u201cThen what would you do?\u201d\nAn instant Phil looked at his brother, who nodded, then replied:\n\u201cWe\u2019d take up a free homestead out West and raise wheat.\u201d\nSo utterly different from anything they had expected was this\nannouncement that Mrs. Porter and her daughters simply sat in silence.\nConfronted with the necessity of bringing up four young children with\nonly a small life insurance as a basis, the mother had courageously set\nabout the task.\nArtistic by nature, through the aid of friends, she obtained a\nresponsible and remunerative position with a large department store\nwhich had enabled her to make their home in Weston comfortable and\nattractive, even, indeed, through the strictest economy, to save a few\nhundred dollars\u2014but the effort had been at the expense of her strength\nand health.\n\u201cA lot you kids know about farming,\u201d exclaimed Margie, the first to\nrecover from her surprise.\n\u201cOr about anything else that\u2019s practical,\u201d retorted Phil. \u201cBut we can\nlearn\u2014and there\u2019s a better living to be made from a farm, say out in\nWashington State, even the first year, than we could provide you in the\ncity in five.\u201d\n\u201cYou think you would be happy to leave Weston, with your amusements and\nall your friends?\u201d quietly asked Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cWe know we should be,\u201d asserted Phil. \u201cWhy, Jack Howell told us it took\nall the money he could earn just to buy his clothes and go round\u2014and he\nreceives twenty dollars a week. So how could we take care of you and the\ngirls, too, even if we were able to get that much?\u201d\n\u201cWhich we wouldn\u2019t be,\u201d promptly declared Ted. \u201cIf a fellow can get ten\ndollars a week when he starts in, he is lucky. I know, because I\u2019ve been\ntrying to find a place where I could earn some money to put into my\nflying machine.\u201d\n\u201cWhy go way out to Washington?\u201d inquired Sallie. \u201cIf you are set on\ngoing in for farming, there must be no end of places nearer where you\ncould do as well.\u201d\n\u201cIf we had the money,\u201d returned Phil. \u201cAs we haven\u2019t, the thing for us\nto do is to take up some of the land that is given away by the\ngovernment to settlers, and there is none easier to clear than in\nWashington. Oh, we know,\u201d he added, forestalling the exceptions he knew\nhis sister would take to this statement, \u201cbecause Ted and I have been\nlooking it up.\u201d\n\u201cI thought lumber was the chief product of Washington,\u201d declared Margie,\ncocking her head on one side, as though she were obtaining a mental\npicture of the products of that State as they were printed in her\ngeography.\n\u201cSo it is, but there are thousands of acres which are particularly\nadapted to wheat; that is, the climate is, and the soil is fertile,\u201d\nreplied Ted.\n\u201cBut there are bears out in those forests,\u201d protested Margie. \u201cJust\nimagine Phil and Ted at work in their fields when up comes Master Bruin\nbehind them and gives them a swat with his paw, knocking the mighty\ncaptain of the Parker School Base Ball Nine out with the first blow.\nWhy\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBe sensible, Marg, if you can,\u201d snapped Phil.\n\u201cVery well. Where do Momsy and Sallie and I fit in your plan? Dr. Blair\nsays Momsy must have a rest. But all I can see in your scheme is a lark\nfor you and Ted while we stay on here in the East.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019d have Momsy and Sallie come out just as soon as we had filed our\nentry to the land and put up a cabin,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cLeaving me to the tender mercies of some orphans\u2019 home here?\u201d bantered\nMargie.\n\u201cThe bears would get you if you came out there; they like chicken,\u201d\ngrinned Ted.\nMargie was on the point of retorting, when her mother interposed.\n\u201cThis is too serious a matter to be turned into a joke, children. I\u2014\u201d\nWhat Mrs. Porter intended to say, however, was left unsaid, at least for\nthe moment, for before she could proceed, the door opened and in burst\nseveral young people.\n\u201cHurry and finish your suppers; we want you to go canoeing,\u201d exclaimed\none of the girls. Then, as she noticed that Mrs. Porter seemed about to\nrefuse, she added: \u201cNow you mustn\u2019t say \u2018no,\u2019 Momsy Porter. It\u2019s concert\nnight, and we can\u2019t go unless you let Sallie and Margie and the boys go,\nmother said so.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to sow wheat instead,\u201d asserted Margie.\n\u201cThat will do, daughter,\u201d rebuked her mother. \u201cI\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou will let them, won\u2019t you?\u201d begged another girl.\n\u201cYes. Dr. Blair is coming to talk with me, so I shall not be left\nalone.\u201d\nWith a swish of skirts the girls swooped upon the frail little woman,\nalmost smothering her with their hugs and kisses, then rushed away, her\n\u201cbe careful!\u201d ringing in their ears as they trooped off, the boys\ntrailing behind, their arms loaded with cushions.\nSallie\u2019s remark about her brother\u2019s absorption in his nine might have\nbeen applied with equal truth to every boy in the Parker School. When\nany of them met, the playing of the team was the one topic of\nconversation, especially since, under Phil\u2019s leadership, there was the\npossibility of the interscholastic championship coming to Parker School,\nan honour which had not been attained for almost ten years.\nIt was but natural, therefore, that, with the captain of the team as\ntheir companion, the boys should deluge him with questions, and they\ndid.\n\u201cHonestly now, Phil, do you think Parker can beat Mercer Academy?\u201d asked\none of them. \u201cIf our pitchers work well, we ought to.\u201d\n\u201cIf our pitchers work well,\u201d repeated another, in amazement. \u201cWhat\u2019s the\nmatter with you, Phil? Aren\u2019t you the best pitcher in the school league,\naccording to the coaches? Why, you did the most of the work last season\nand you\u2019ve done all of it, practically, this year. And then you say if\nour pitchers go well we may win.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s up, anyhow?\u201d demanded several of the others, astounded at the\nwords of their captain.\n\u201cThere\u2019s going to be a change in the team,\u201d replied Phil, quietly.\nThis statement elicited a veritable avalanche of comment and questions,\nbut to them all the captain of the team would make no reply except to\ntell them to wait and see.\nThis answer was so unsatisfactory, serving as it did only to whet their\ncuriosity the more, that finally Phil broke away from his companions and\nhurried ahead to join the girls. Yet no sooner had he caught up with\nthem than he wished he had remained behind.\n\u201cHello, Farmer Phil!\u201d cried several of them, as they caught sight of the\npopular pitcher. \u201cHow\u2019s crops? What\u2019s the latest quotation on wheat?\u201d\nFor the moment he thought to rebuke his sisters for disclosing the plan\nwhich he had intended to keep secret, at least until he should announce\nit on the morrow to his team-mates.\nBut Sallie and Margie wisely kept on the side of their companions\nfarthest from him, and so riotous did the badinage become that Phil soon\nrealized that anything he might say would only make the matter worse.\nYet the glance he threw at his sisters was eloquent.\n\u201cOh, you needn\u2019t blame Marg or Sallie,\u201d exclaimed one of the others. \u201cI\nheard part of what you said before I entered the dining-room. So I\nbullied Marg into supplying the missing links.\u201d\nBy this time the rest of the fellows had caught up, and the group\nquickly divided into couples, all of them talking excitedly over the\nsurprising bits of news.\nAs they proceeded toward the boathouse, Phil was seemingly unconscious\nthat he was walking beside the girl who had sought to appease his wrath\nagainst his sisters, and so absorbed was he in his own thoughts that it\nwas not until she spoke that he was aware of her presence.\n\u201cI think it is perfectly splendid,\u201d she exclaimed, tenderly.\n\u201cWhat?\u201d demanded Phil, almost savagely.\n\u201cWhy, your giving up the captaincy of the school team when you are\ncertain to win the championship, just to help your mother.\u201d\n\u201cSplendid nonsense! I should be worse than a cad if I didn\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cBut you could wait about going out West until after school closes, you\nknow, and then you wouldn\u2019t sacrifice the honour of bringing the\nchampionship to Parker.\u201d\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t say such a thing,\u201d returned the boy, in a tense voice, as\nhe heard with revulsion the very idea expressed in cold words which had\nbeen persistently surging through his mind.\n\u201cWhy not, pray? I am as keen to have Parker land the championship under\nyour captaincy as you are yourself, and what difference would a few\nweeks\u2014it\u2019s only seven\u2014make to your mother? Besides\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t, Helen, don\u2019t,\u201d pleaded Phil. \u201cYou know perfectly well how I feel\nabout the team. But what would you, or any one else, think of me if I\nshould let my selfish desire for school honours interfere with my\nmother\u2019s health?\u201d\n\u201cYet it would only be for seven weeks. Besides, Blair simply said she\nneeded a rest, but he didn\u2019t say an immediate rest or\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt makes no difference if it were only for seven minutes, Helen, I\nshould be ashamed of myself all the rest of my life if I let my own\nfeelings weigh against Momsy\u2019s health. Just think of all that she has\ndone for us. Do you suppose she has ever thought of herself when\nanything for our benefit was at stake? It would have been better for her\nif she only had\u2014I\u2019ve been a selfish prig not to see before that she was\nkilling herself. Besides, you can be certain she would not have told us\nthat Dr. Blair said she must have a rest if he had not told her a great\ndeal more. So if it is in my power, I am going to do everything I can to\nmake her well and show her that I appreciate all she has put up with for\nme and the others.\u201d\n\u201cSpoken like a man, Phil,\u201d exclaimed a voice so close to the young\npeople that they jumped in surprise; for so absorbed had they been in\ntheir conversation that they had not noticed the tall figure striding\nalong behind them.\n\u201cWhy, Dr. Blair, how you frightened me!\u201d gasped the girl, confused and\nangry to think her words urging Phil to put the success of his team\nabove all else had been overheard.\nThe physician, however, gave no heed to the remark, keeping his eyes\nfixed upon her companion, as he said:\n\u201cI really owe you an apology for playing the eavesdropper, Phil. But\njust as I caught up with you, I could not but hear Miss Howell\u2019s\npleading, and, as the matter had also occurred to me, I was unable to\nrefrain from listening to your reply. I am on my way to talk with your\nmother now, and I felt I was justified because your attitude could not\nbut have an important bearing upon my advice to her. What it is that you\npropose to do I don\u2019t know, and it really doesn\u2019t matter so long as you\nintend to do it at once. Your mother has worked till she is on the verge\nof a breakdown to give you young people a comfortable and happy home. As\na matter of fact, I told her this afternoon that if she gave another\nweek to her work I should be able to do nothing for her. So you see your\ndecision not to await the closing of school is most timely.\u201d\nThe words as to the seriousness of his mother\u2019s condition were like\nblows to Phil, and it was several minutes before he felt sufficiently\nsure of himself to ask:\n\u201cW-what is the trouble with Momsy, Dr. Blair?\u201d\n\u201cTuberculosis, and in such a much farther advanced stage than I\nsuspected. With plenty of fresh air and outdoor life, however, I shall\nbe able to check it, I believe. Only she must be spared all worry. Again\nI wish to tell you that I am proud to know you appreciate all your\nmother has done for you.\u201d\nWith a friendly pat on the boy\u2019s shoulder. Dr. Blair vanished in the\ndusk as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving the boy and girl standing,\nabashed by the words he had spoken.\nImpulsively Helen slipped her hand through her companion\u2019s arm and drew\nhim after the rest of the canoeing party, as she whispered earnestly:\n\u201cForgive me, Phil.\u201d\nIt was an excited crowd of boys and girls that gathered about the steps\nof Parker School the next morning, for the news that Phil was going to\nleave before the end of the term had spread rapidly. Yet, though they\nwaited eagerly for his appearance, that they might hear confirmation or\ndenial from his lips, they were forced to go to their classes\nunsatisfied, because the boy, realizing their curiosity, purposely kept\nout of the way until after recitation time, and when he did enter the\nbuilding, he went directly to the office of the principal instead of to\nhis class-room.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s all this I hear about your deserting the team, Porter?\u201d asked\nthat official, as he motioned Phil to a chair.\n\u201cI do not know what you may have heard, Mr. Maxwell, but it is true that\nI intend to leave school today\u2014and Ted will also.\u201d\n\u201cAfraid of the Mercer Academy team?\u201d sneered the principal, who had felt\nit keenly that his school had not been able to win the baseball\nchampionship and now saw the unusually rosy prospect of accomplishing\nthe feat this season vanish.\nA hot flush suffused the boy\u2019s face at this taunt, and he arose from his\nchair.\n\u201cYou should know me better than that, Mr. Maxwell. It is for no such\nreason. My mother is in a very serious condition, and Ted and I intend\nto take the burden of the support of ourselves and our sisters from her\nshoulders. Will you call a meeting of the team to elect a new captain,\nor shall I?\u201d\nAs he scanned the manly face before him, the principal was thoroughly\nashamed of his slur.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear about your mother, Phil,\u201d he said. \u201cAlso, I admire\nyour pluck. Just forget, if you can, my remark about Mercer, but you\nknow I had set my heart on your bringing the interscholastic\nchampionship to Parker and it is a keen disappointment to be informed of\nyour leaving.\u201d\n\u201cBut that doesn\u2019t mean Parker won\u2019t win, Mr. Maxwell. The team is\nworking splendidly and they will probably do better without than with\nme.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid not. Somehow, when you were in the box, it not only gave\nconfidence to our boys, but it rattled the opposing team. For what time\ndo you wish me to call the meeting\u2014that is, if you are quite sure you\ncannot be persuaded to remain in school until the end of the term?\u201d\n\u201cThat is out of the question, sir.\u201d And then the boy briefly informed\nthe principal of the seriousness of his mother\u2019s condition.\n\u201cHave you a position yet?\u201d asked Mr. Maxwell, as Phil finished. \u201cIf you\nhave not, I shall be glad to do all I can to assist you. I know several\nbusiness men and I shall be pleased to give you letters to them.\u201d\n\u201cWe are going out West to take up a homestead, but I thank you just the\nsame.\u201d\n\u201cWell, well, we shall not even be able to have your services as coach\nfor Parker, shall we? That\u2019s too bad. I had hoped we might, at least,\narrange to have you do some coaching. H\u2019m, going to take up a homestead,\neh? You\u2019ll have pretty tough \u2018sledding,\u2019 as they say, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d\n\u201cNo more so than in any other work, and, besides, my mother will be able\nto be out-of-doors.\u201d\n\u201cIs she going with you?\u201d\n\u201cNo, Ted and I are going alone. After we have filed our claim and put up\nour cabin, we shall send for her and the girls.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you will have some difficulty about filing your entry, as\nthey call filing a claim, in the Land Office. I know something about it\nbecause my father was an \u2018entryman.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cBut why do you think so, sir?\u201d\n\u201cBecause you are neither of age nor the head of a family, and minors are\nnot allowed to make an entry unless they have done service in the army\nor navy.\u201d\n\u201cBut widows can file a claim, and Ted and I shall select the homestead,\nbuild a cabin, then send for Momsy and she will make the entry.\u201d\n\u201cClever way of getting around it, Phil, very\u2014that is, if the government\nwill allow minors to act as settlers. How about that?\u201d\n\u201cWe do not know yet, but Dr. Blair will write to Washington about it and\nhe thinks he can arrange it.\u201d\n\u201cProbably he can. If you have any difficulty, however, just ask your\nmother to let me know and I will do all I can to help her and you. And\nnow, when do you wish me to call the team together\u2014after school?\u201d\n\u201cI rather thought, if you don\u2019t mind, sir, that I should like to speak\nto the fellows, but our time is so short that I must go right home to\npack.\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll have the team go to the gymnasium directly. It won\u2019t\ninterfere with classes very much, for I don\u2019t imagine, in view of the\nexcitement about your resigning, that recitations are going very well.\u201d\nAnd rising from his desk, Mr. Maxwell went to the various rooms,\nsummoning the members of the team and substitutes, while Phil went\ndirectly to the meeting place.\nAs he looked about the gymnasium, whose walls were decorated with the\nvarious trophies won by members of Parker School during its fifteen\nyears of existence, a lump rose in his throat. For he had often gazed\nupon them before and had hoped that he should be able to place upon its\nwalls the most coveted emblem of all, the pennant betokening the\nbaseball championship of the interscholastic league.\nGoing over to the spot where were the footballs, with the scores of the\ngames in which they had been used marked upon them, he was fondly\nfingering one bearing the legend Parker 12\u2014Mercer 6, 1910, a victory in\nwhich his work at fullback had played no mean part, when there was a\npatter of footsteps and in rushed a group of excited, eager boys.\nFor the moment, as they beheld Phil standing before the footballs, they\nwere hushed. Then, as they began to sense his feelings, one of them\nshouted:\n\u201cThree cheers for good old Phil!\u201d\nLustily they were given, and they were about to be repeated when another\ngroup of boys entered and began to groan and catcall.\n\u201cStop that\u2014instantly,\u201d rang out the stern voice of the principal, who\nwas close upon their heels, unbeknown to the boys.\nBut though the hoots were silenced, those who had uttered them kept up a\ncontinual growling and grumbling among themselves, even after Mr.\nMaxwell had mounted the instructor\u2019s platform, at one end of the\ngymnasium, and rapped for order.\n\u201cI have called you together to listen to me, not to listen to you,\u201d\nexclaimed the principal. \u201cIf I hear any more derisive words, I shall\nsuspend the utterer from the team for the remainder of the term.\nUndoubtedly, from the reports that have come to me from the classrooms\nas to the hopelessness of your recitations, you have heard the rumour\nthat Phil Porter intended to resign from Parker School. I am only too\nsorry to say that it is true. I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cQuitter! He\u2019s afraid of Mercer!\u201d burst from different parts of the\nroom.\n\u201cJenkins, you and Whitten leave the gymnasium, and after school bring\nyour uniforms to me. We will now proceed to elect a captain to take\nPhil\u2019s place. Hawley, I appoint you to gather the votes.\u201d\nAbashed at the drastic punishment meted out to the two of their number\nwho had expressed their opinions, the other members of the team searched\nfor paper and pencils, then divided into groups, discussing the best\ncandidates.\nWhile they were thus absorbed, Phil approached Mr. Maxwell.\n\u201cI know it is none of my business, sir, but won\u2019t you lift your ban from\nJenkins and Whitten? Just because they do not like me is no reason why\nParker should be made to suffer from their loss.\u201d\nNo answer did the principal make to the boy\u2019s request, and he turned\naway, sick at heart to think that the team had been still further\ncrippled on his account.\nBut when young Hawley quietly walked up to the platform and handed his\nhat containing the votes to Mr. Maxwell, the master exclaimed:\n\u201cPhil has importuned me to revoke my suspension of Jenkins and Whitten\nso that Parker shall not be weakened any more. While you all know that I\nam not in the habit of changing my mind, as Phil is going out West and\non a particularly praiseworthy purpose, I shall yield to his wish.\nHawley, fetch Jenkins and Whitten back.\u201d\nEre the words had left the principal\u2019s mouth, hearty cheers for their\nold captain rang through the room, punctuated by cries of \u201cSpeech!\nSpeech!\u201d\nWith a smile Mr. Maxwell nodded to Phil, and the boy walked to the\nplatform, then turned and faced his former team-mates.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry that I must resign, fellows, but I must, so there\u2019s no use\ntalking about it. We have the best nine at Parker that we have had for\nyears, and if you all give your new captain the same kind of support you\nhave given me, there is no reason why the pennant should not hang on the\nwall of this gym.\u201d\nAgain cheers rang through the room, and as they subsided Mr. Maxwell\nannounced:\n\u201cThe voting has resulted as follows: Sydney Thomas, 14; Bertram Peters,\n7; Jenkins, 1. Thomas is, therefore, elected captain to succeed Porter.\u201d\n\u201cGood boy, Syd!\u201d cried his friends, gathering around him, excitedly. But\nThomas broke from them and walked to where Phil stood.\n\u201cWhatever I know about baseball I have learned from Phil, and for his\nsake I want you all to work hard with me to bring the pennant to\nParker,\u201d he exclaimed.\nWhen the cheers subsided, the former captain said:\n\u201cI only wish I had taught Syd. There is no need to tell you fellows that\nit is hard to leave my\u2014I mean the\u2014team. But Syd knows more inside\nbaseball than I do, and he can lead you to the championship, as I said\nbefore, if you will only give him the support you have given me. Though\nI shall be far away, I want some of you to write to me and tell me how\nthings are going, but if you don\u2019t win the pennant, you needn\u2019t expect\nto receive any replies from me. If I can get out to practise this\nafternoon, I shall, but as I start in the morning, I haven\u2019t much time\nto get ready. And now, just to please me, let\u2019s cheer old Parker and\nSyd.\u201d\nWilling was the response to this request, but instead of cheering their\nnew captain, the boys shouted for their old one, surging about him and\nwringing his hands; even Jenkins and Whitten, who had returned, speaking\nwith him, grateful for his intervention in their behalf.\nAs Phil and Ted, laden with packages and bags, came in sight of the\nstation on the following morning, they gasped in amazement.\nEvery member of Parker School seemed to be there, and when the boys and\ngirls beheld their two popular schoolmates, they rushed for them in a\nbody, surrounding and cheering them, while the members of the baseball\nteam seized the luggage from their hands, escorting them in triumph to\nthe station.\n\u201cLook out for the bears! Hope your crops are bumpers! Show \u2019em what a\ntenderfoot can do!\u201d were among the comments and bits of advice with\nwhich Phil and Ted were deluged as their friends crowded about and\ngrasped their hands.\n\u201cHere, come back with those bags! No tricks with them,\u201d called Ted,\nanxiously, as he noticed that he and his brother were being separated\nfrom their belongings by those who were eager to bid them godspeed.\nSo dense was the throng about the boys, however, that the behest could\nnot be obeyed, and they seemed in imminent danger either of being forced\nto start without their luggage or of being compelled to miss the train.\nBut as the locomotive whistled for the station, the crowd fell back,\ncheering and shouting their good-byes, while those with the bags and\nother things closed in, rushing into the train with them.\nAs the bell clanged its signal for departure, there was a hurried\nleave-taking by members of the team, then the ball players scrambled\nfrom the car, and as Phil and Ted appeared on the rear platform, waving\ntheir hats, the boys and girls about the station gave three lusty cheers\nand then burst into singing \u201cFor he\u2019s a jolly good fellow.\u201d\nUntil they could no longer see or hear their former schoolmates, the\nboys stood on the platform. When at last they turned and entered the\ncar, they took their seats in silence, each too deeply moved to trust\nhimself to speak.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good thing Momsy and the girls said good-bye to us at home,\u201d\nobserved Phil, after a few minutes. \u201cThey couldn\u2019t have put a word in\nedgewise.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose so; still, I\u2019d like to have seen Momsy again,\u201d returned Ted,\nhis voice quavering.\nIn reply, Phil struck his brother a resounding clap on the back.\n\u201cBuck up, son, buck up!\u201d he exclaimed, his own voice none too steady.\n\u201cJust remember that we are going to make a home for her where she can\ngrow strong and happy, and forget about the leave-taking.\u201d\nFor a moment it seemed, to those seated near by, uncertain whether or\nnot the boy could master his emotion. But, squaring his shoulders, he\nasserted his will power, and in the most matter of fact tone he could\nmuster said:\n\u201cI wonder whether it would be better to seed down to durum wheat this\nseason or put everything we clear into alfalfa?\u201d\nThe other passengers in the car had noted the demonstration at the\nWeston station, and from various remarks, capped by Phil\u2019s admonition,\nhad guessed correctly that the two boys were leaving home to begin their\nbattle with the world. Many an eye among them grew moist as their minds\nharked back to the days when they too had stepped from the protection of\nhome into the struggle of real life, and keen therefore was their\ninterest in Ted\u2019s ability to meet the crisis.\nAccordingly, as they heard his statement in regard to the wheat, there\nwas a murmur of hearty approval which caused the younger boy to gaze\nabout him in surprise, but, though his brother had heard it also, he\nwished to keep Ted to the mark and asked:\n\u201cWhat in the world is \u2018durum\u2019 wheat?\u201d\n\u201cThere, I knew you didn\u2019t read that last pamphlet we received from the\nDepartment of Agriculture,\u201d gloated his brother. \u201cIf you had, you would\nnot have been obliged to ask. Durum wheat is a particularly hardy and\nquick-growing kind which may be planted in the spring and reaped in the\nsummer.\u201d\n\u201cWell, it will be long past spring by the time we get our land cleared\nand in condition to plant,\u201d smiled Phil, \u201cso I guess we\u2019ll sow to\nalfalfa.\u201d\n\u201cBut I want to put in a little durum, anyway,\u201d declared Ted, \u201cjust to\nsee what it will do, you know.\u201d\n\u201cAll right, son, you shall, but just now you\u2019d better be picking up some\nof these bags and parcels or we shall be hauled out onto a side track\nbefore we can leave the car.\u201d\nMany were the offers from other passengers to assist the boys in\ncarrying their luggage, but they declined them courteously and, in due\ncourse, left the train.\n\u201cWhy, there are Momsy and the girls!\u201d cried Ted, in delight, as they\nwalked up the long platform of the terminal station, in Boston. \u201cHow on\nearth did they get here?\u201d\nNeither of the two, however, stopped to discuss the matter, each making\nall possible haste to join them.\n\u201cDr. Blair drove us in his automobile,\u201d declared Margie, as her brother\ncame up. \u201cI think he is just perfectly grand. He\u2019s going to\u2014\u201d\n\u201cCareful, daughter! Dr. Blair wishes it to be a surprise, you know,\u201d\nadmonished Mrs. Porter.\nFlushing, Margie seized some of her younger brother\u2019s parcels, while he\nled her on ahead that he might extract from her the information which he\ncould see she was too excited to keep secret for long.\nAgain Mrs. Porter frustrated Ted\u2019s plan.\n\u201cDr. Blair wishes us to wait for him on a bench in the old station,\u201d she\nannounced.\n\u201cThis seems to be a \u2018Blair-conducted\u2019 excursion,\u201d smiled Phil, as the\nluggage was set down and Mrs. Porter and the girls took seats. \u201cIs he\ngoing to drive you in his car ahead of our train all the way to Chelan\nCounty?\u201d\n\u201cI wish that he were,\u201d returned his mother, earnestly.\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m mighty glad he brought you this far,\u201d asserted the boy,\nemphatically.\n\u201cYou must have broken some speed limits, though, to get here ahead of\nus,\u201d opined Ted.\n\u201cWe didn\u2019t,\u201d declared Margie. \u201cWe were on our way long before the train\nleft Weston.\u201d\n\u201cThen his bringing you in was all planned out?\u201d\n\u201cOf course, silly,\u201d exclaimed Sallie. \u201cYou don\u2019t suppose Momsy would\nhave been content to keep away from the station unless she knew she\nwould see you again, do you?\u201d\n\u201cWell, you needn\u2019t act so superior,\u201d retorted the boy. \u201cIf you had the\nsafety of seven hundred dollars and all the responsibility of selecting\na suitable homestead on your mind, you might not think of everything.\u201d\n\u201cPoor little mind! Come over to the soda fountain and I\u2019ll buy an\negg-chocolate to brace it up.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re on! Come along, Momsy, Marg, Phil. Sallie\u2019s going to spend sixty\ncents of her own money,\u201d grinned Ted.\n\u201cEgg-chocolates are fifteen cents apiece, and five times fifteen are\nseventy-five, instead of sixty, Teddy boy,\u201d asserted Margie. \u201cI don\u2019t\nwonder your old machine wouldn\u2019t fly if you can\u2019t make your calculations\nany better than that.\u201d\n\u201cNow don\u2019t get too puffed up because you can multiply fifteen by five. I\nsaid sixty cents because Sallie won\u2019t buy herself a drink, wouldn\u2019t if\nshe never had any,\u201d chuckled Ted, his sister\u2019s anger at this flaunting\nof her \u201ccloseness\u201d repaying him for her gibe of the moment before.\n\u201cWait till we get our tickets and then I\u2019ll treat,\u201d announced Phil,\ntaking his brother\u2019s arm and heading him toward the long row of ticket\nwindows.\nIn dismay, Mrs. Porter looked from the boys to her daughters.\n\u201cThere\u2019s\u2014there\u2019s no hurry about the tickets, is there?\u201d she stammered.\n\u201cHow long before the train goes, Phil?\u201d\n\u201cTwo hours, Momsy.\u201d\n\u201cThen there is plenty of time, I am sure.\u201d\n\u201cBut we might as well get them now and then we shall not be obliged to\nbother about them later. Besides, it is so early that we ought to be\nable to get the best berths. Come on, Ted.\u201d\nAgain Mrs. Porter and her daughters exchanged swift and significant\nglances.\n\u201cOh, bother the tickets! Come, have the egg-chocolates first,\u201d exclaimed\nSallie. \u201cI\u2019m just going to fool you, Ted, so you\u2019d better come and watch\nme buy a soda for myself.\u201d\n\u201cFirst and last time,\u201d chuckled the boy. \u201cCome on, Phil, we can\u2019t afford\nto miss seeing a modern miracle.\u201d\nTheir mother, who was fervently hoping that Dr. Blair would arrive ere\nher family should return from the soda-water fountain, pleaded the\nnecessity of guarding the luggage as an excuse for not accompanying\nthem. The boys, however, would not listen to her refusal, and, after a\nhesitation which ended only when she beheld the doctor entering the\nwaiting-room, she consented.\n\u201cHaven\u2019t bought your tickets yet, I hope,\u201d said a cheery voice behind\nthe young people as they stood in front of the soda-water counter.\n\u201cThey haven\u2019t. Dr. Blair, but Sallie and I have been obliged to stand\nall sorts of abuse to keep them from doing so,\u201d laughed Margie.\n\u201cNever mind, I\u2019ll try to atone for it. You see, I didn\u2019t want you to\ntell my plan until I knew it could be accomplished. Phil, how would you\nand Ted like to take the trip up the Great Lakes from Buffalo to Duluth\non an ore boat?\u201d\n\u201cGreat! Fine! If we only could!\u201d exclaimed the boys; while Ted added:\n\u201cAnd boat rates are cheaper than rail.\u201d\n\u201cWho\u2019s stingy now?\u201d cried Sallie, amid the laughter her brother\u2019s words\nhad evoked.\n\u201cI was thinking the saving would mean about twenty more acres for us,\u201d\nretorted Ted, flushing.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right, son. You must figure to save every possible cent,\u201d smiled\nthe physician. \u201cHowever, thanks to my friend Bronson, who has an\ninterest in one of the ore fleets, you are both to be his guests for the\ntrip, so that you will save enough for a good many acres. Here\u2019s the\nletter to Captain Perkins, of the Admiral, which will serve as tickets.\u201d\n\u201cAnd it won\u2019t cost us a cent?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cNot a penny.\u201d\n\u201cHooray for you and Mr. Bronson!\u201d cried the lad, dancing about in sheer\njoy, while the others expressed their gratitude less boisterously.\n\u201cI\u2019ll go with you while you buy your tickets, if you don\u2019t mind,\u201d\nobserved the physician, and as the three reached one of the windows, Dr.\nBlair stopped, saying: \u201cI must tell you there is a strike on against the\nore boats. Don\u2019t mention it to your mother, it might worry her. Mr.\nBronson, however, said there was really no danger; you must just be\ncareful going aboard and leaving the boat. You might be mistaken for\nstrike-breakers, you know. Of course, if you think the risk is too\ngreat\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt will only add to the fun,\u201d interrupted Ted, and his brother agreed\nwith him.\n\u201cWe shall not be obliged to leave until afternoon so long as we are only\ngoing to Buffalo,\u201d announced Phil, as they rejoined their mother and\nsisters.\n\u201cYes, and Dr. Blair wishes us all to be his guests until we do start,\u201d\nsupplemented Ted, joyously.\n\u201cNow please don\u2019t refuse, Mrs. Porter,\u201d exclaimed the kindly physician.\n\u201cI wish to keep your mind from the boys\u2019 departure as much as possible.\nJust remember that it will be only a few weeks before they send for you.\nIt will make it easier if you have something to distract your thoughts\nduring the day, you know.\u201d Quickly the boys checked their luggage, and\nsoon they all were whirling uptown in Dr. Blair\u2019s big touring car.\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d said he, as they entered the business district, \u201chow are\nyou boys carrying your money?\u201d\n\u201cSix one-hundred-dollar bills and the other hundred in tens and fives,\u201d\npromptly responded Ted.\n\u201cSo you are the treasurer, eh?\u201d\n\u201cYes; we reasoned, as I am the smaller and younger, that people would\nthink that I would be less likely to have it and therefore it would be\nsafer.\u201d\n\u201cNot a bad idea, but I have a better one. We will just go into this bank\nhere and get a letter of credit;\u201d and quickly the physician brought his\nmachine to a stop at the curb.\n\u201cBut what shall we do for travelling money?\u201d protested Phil.\n\u201cYou can get the letter of credit for six hundred and seventy-five\ndollars. The remainder, with what you have left from your ticket money,\nwill be really more than you will need until you arrive at Duluth. When\nyou are there, you can go to a bank and draw enough money against your\nletter to pay your fare to Chikau.\u201d\n\u201cYou really think we had better?\u201d asked Ted, ruefully, for he felt a\npride in carrying the money which was to start them on the road to\nfortune.\n\u201cI certainly do,\u201d declared Dr. Blair; then added, with a smile, \u201cYou can\ncarry the letter of credit, which is practically the same as the money,\nonly in a much safer form. You see, if you should lose or be robbed of\nthe money, it would be gone for good, and you know how serious such a\nloss would be. On the other hand, if you should lose or be robbed of the\nletter, you would simply notify the bank to that effect and the money\nwould still be safe.\u201d\n\u201cBut how could we get it?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cThe bank here in Boston would issue a new letter, at the same time\nsending a warning throughout the country not to honour the one you had\nlost.\u201d\nQuickly the two brothers exchanged glances, and, as they were of\nagreement, Ted said:\n\u201cAll right, Dr. Blair. We\u2019ll get a letter of credit if you will tell us\nhow to do it.\u201d\n\u201cIt is really very simple. You give your money to the clerk who issues\nthe letters, and he returns to you a letter stating that his bank holds\na certain amount of money, in your case it will be six hundred and\nseventy-five dollars, to your credit against which you are authorized to\ndraw. You then sign the letter and also the signature book, at the bank,\nfor proper identification. When you wish any money, you go to a\nreputable bank or trust company, show your letter, and state the amount\nyou desire, signing your application, which practically amounts to a\ndraft. This will be compared with your signature on the letter, and as\nit will correspond, the money will be paid you, while the clerk will\ndeduct the amount on the letter, with the date and the name of his\ninstitution, the remainder being the amount you are still entitled to\ndraw. When your last dollar is drawn, the institution paying it will\nkeep the letter and then notify the bank in Boston.\u201d\nThe purchase of the letter was soon accomplished, Dr. Blair insisting\nupon paying the small fee charged, on the ground that he had suggested\nthe idea, and the rest of the day until train time passed all too\nquickly for those who were to be left at home, though Mrs. Porter and\nthe girls were happy in the few additional hours the change in plans had\nenabled them to enjoy with Phil and Ted.\nWhen the train stopped at the Buffalo station early the next morning,\nthe two boys quickly alighted. To their dismay, there were only three\nmen on the platform who were not busy about the cars.\n\u201cWhich way do you suppose we go?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll find out from some of those men,\u201d replied his brother, walking\ntoward the group of three men, who had been watching the boys closely\never since they stepped upon the platform, and talking earnestly among\nthemselves, in evident disagreement.\n\u201cWill you kindly tell us how we get to the Waterfront Dock?\u201d asked Phil,\nas they came up to them.\nInstantly the men exchanged significant glances, while one of them\nexclaimed gruffly:\n\u201cWhat do you want to go there for?\u201d\n\u201cWe are going aboard the ore boat Admiral,\u201d replied Ted.\n\u201cScabs, eh?\u201d snarled one of the men, looking at his companions with an\n\u201cI told you so\u201d air.\n\u201cWe are not!\u201d declared Phil, emphatically. \u201cWe are going to make the\ntrip to Duluth as the guests of Mr. Bronson, of Boston.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s a pretty good story, but it won\u2019t\u2014\u201d began one of the men, only\nto be interrupted by another, as, with an expressive wink at his\nfellows, he said:\n\u201cSure, we\u2019ll show you how to get there. In fact, we\u2019ll take you there,\nas we are going that way ourselves. Give us some of your bundles. We\u2019ll\nhelp carry them.\u201d And he made a grab for Ted\u2019s suitcase.\nActing upon this cue, the other men snatched at the luggage Phil had.\nSurprised at the suddenness of the move, the boys had been unable to\nkeep hold of several articles, but as they recovered their wits, they\nclung to those they still had.\n\u201cGet a move on; we can\u2019t stay here all day,\u201d growled one of the men,\nlaying a hand on Ted\u2019s shoulder and shoving him toward a flight of steps\nthat led to the street below.\n\u201cI\u2014I think we\u2019ll have breakfast first,\u201d stammered Phil, alarmed at the\nwords and actions of the men. \u201cSo just give us back our things, please.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll give them to you when we get good and ready, see? Now come along\nor we\u2019ll make you,\u201d snapped the largest of the trio, menacingly.\nThe boys did not intend to be forced into compliance, however, and\nquickly placing themselves back to back, made it evident they intended\nto keep the luggage they still retained.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use of monkeying with these kids? Why not give it to \u2019em\nnow?\u201d demanded one of the men.\nEre his companions could reply or even act, however, there came the\nsound of several people running toward them.\n\u201cThe cops! Give it to \u2019em and then beat it!\u201d growled the ringleader.\nInstantly his companions made vicious lunges at the boys, but they,\nfrightened yet alert, dodged cleverly, and their antagonists, growling,\ndashed for the stairway.\n\u201cDrop them bundles!\u201d shouted a voice.\nBut the three men only increased their speed.\n\u201cDrop \u2019em, or we\u2019ll shoot!\u201d snapped the voice again, while another\nadded:\n\u201cI know ivery mother\u2019s son of yez an\u2019 if yez iver show yer faces around\nhere ag\u2019in, I\u2019ll run yez in!\u201d\nThese threats produced the desired effect upon the fugitives, and,\npausing in their descent of the steps, they hurled back the packages,\nthen resumed their flight.\nSo anxious about recovering their luggage had the boys been that not\nuntil they saw the packages lying tom and untied on the platform did\nthey look at the men whose arrival had been so opportune, and their\nsurprise was no less when they beheld three stalwart policemen, one with\na revolver in his hand.\n\u201c\u2019T is a close shave yez had,\u201d smiled one of them, while another\ngrowled:\n\u201cIt\u2019s a wonder the ship-owners wouldn\u2019t have men here to meet their\nscabs.\u201d\nThe scorn with which the word was uttered for the second time that\nmorning stung the boys.\n\u201cWe\u2019re not scabs!\u201d returned Phil, emphatically.\n\u201cThen what were them strikers mixing it up with yez for?\u201d demanded the\nfirst officer.\n\u201cWere they strikers?\u201d inquired Ted, incredulously.\n\u201cThey sure were\u2014did yez think they was a complimintery reciption\ncommittee?\u201d grinned another.\n\u201cBut what are they doing at the station here? I thought the strike was\nat the docks,\u201d pursued the boy.\n\u201cWell, you seen it ain\u2019t,\u201d returned the policeman; then added: \u201cThe\nstrikers send some of their men to meet every train to learn whether any\nstrike-breakers have been imported or not. If they find any, they try to\npersuade them not to go on board any of the boats, and if words don\u2019t do\nit, they use other means to prevent them.\u201d\n\u201cUnless we arrive on the scene in time,\u201d supplemented a man on whose\nuniform were the stripes of a sergeant; then asked: \u201cIf you are not\nscabs, what are you?\u201d\n\u201cWe are going to make the trip from Buffalo to Duluth on the ore boat\nAdmiral as guests of Mr. Bronson, one of the owners in Boston,\u201d replied\nPhil.\n\u201cWe are on our way to take up a homestead out in Washington State,\u201d\nchimed in Ted, noting that the officers did not seem very much impressed\nby his brother\u2019s statement. \u201cAs those men were the only ones in sight,\nexcept some railroad men, when we stepped onto the platform, we asked\nthem the way to the Waterfront Dock.\u201d\n\u201cThe story sounds straight, Jerry,\u201d opined one of the other officers.\n\u201cWhat\u2019ll we do, escort \u2019em down to the dock? They\u2019d never get there\nalone.\u201d\nThe sergeant\u2019s reply was interrupted by the hurried arrival of a\npleasant-looking, middle-aged man.\n\u201cAre you boys Phil and Ted Porter?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cWe are,\u201d chorused the lads.\n\u201cYou\u2014er\u2014haven\u2019t had any trouble, I hope?\u201d and he looked anxiously from\nthe boys to the policemen.\n\u201cNo real trouble, though I\u2019m afraid we should have if it had not been\nfor these officers,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cThank goodness! My automobile broke down on my way here; strikers been\ntampering with it, I suppose, and I was delayed in finding a taxicab.\nWe\u2019ll go to my house for breakfast and then to the boat.\u201d\nThe boys, however, made no move, looking quizzically from the stranger\nto the officers, evidently determined not to walk into a second trap.\n\u201cYou needn\u2019t be afraid of Mr. Atwood; he\u2019s one of the Admiral\u2019s owners,\u201d\nsmiled the sergeant.\n\u201cBy Jove! I was so alarmed seeing you boys with these officers that I\nhave forgotten to introduce myself. I am Arthur Atwood, one of Bronson\u2019s\npartners. I received a wire from him, and also one from Tom Blair last\nnight, telling me you were coming and to meet you\u2014which I should have\ndone if my machine had not broken down.\u201d\n\u201cWe are sorry to have put you to such inconvenience, Mr. Atwood,\u201d said\nPhil.\n\u201cDon\u2019t mention it. I\u2019d do anything for Bronson and Blair. Sergeant, just\nbring those bundles down to my taxi, if you don\u2019t mind.\u201d\nWillingly the officers obeyed, and soon the boys, their host, and their\nbelongings were safely in the taxicab.\n\u201cLike to have one of us ride on the box, Mr. Atwood?\u201d asked the\nsergeant, as the chauffeur cranked up.\n\u201cNo, I thank you. I have one of my own men driving;\u201d and the machine\ndashed away, defying all speed laws.\nThe policemen, however, went along the sidewalk until their appearance\ndispersed a crowd that had gathered watching the ship-owner and the boys\ndepart, their presence insuring a safe passage to the taxicab.\n\u201cYou will take the boys over to Niagara to see the Falls, I suppose,\u201d\nobserved Mrs. Atwood, looking at her husband when breakfast was\nfinished.\n\u201cOh, jolly! I\u2019ve always wanted to go there, and this may be our only\nchance for years,\u201d exclaimed Ted, eagerly.\nMr. Atwood, however, did not enthuse over the suggestion, being\nseemingly occupied in some mental calculation, but finally he said:\n\u201cI suppose I can, though I had not thought of it. Yes, we\u2019ll go. A\ncouple of hours more or less will not make much difference now that I\nhave held the boat so long.\u201d\nHis last words quickly checked the delight the boys were expressing at\nthe opportunity to see the glorious spectacle, and Phil asked, in\nevident concern:\n\u201cDo you mean you have held the Admiral for Ted and me, Mr. Atwood?\u201d\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d smiled their host. \u201cCome, we must\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut indeed it _does_ matter,\u201d interrupted Phil. \u201cDid you hold the\nboat?\u201d\n\u201cAs a matter of fact, yes. She would have sailed at midnight for Toledo\nto load coal had I not received Bronson\u2019s wire.\u201d\n\u201cFor Toledo?\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Atwood. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you load here, and then\nthe boys would have plenty of time to enjoy the falls and inspect the\npower-house on the Canadian side? I thought it was your policy never to\nsend a boat up Lake Erie empty when you could help it?\u201d\n\u201cThis is one of the times when it cannot be helped. There is a report\nthat some one has put dynamite in the coal at the docks, and none of the\nfleet managers, certainly _I_ do not, care to run the risk of losing any\nboat by loading here. But come on, boys, we are only losing time by\ntalking. Will you go with us, my dear?\u201d and Mr. Atwood looked at his\nwife. Ere she could reply, however, Phil spoke. \u201cWe could not think of\ncausing any more delay, Mr. Atwood,\u201d he declared. \u201cIt was more than kind\nof you to hold the boat as long as you have. We\u2019ll leave Niagara as a\nsight for the future; it won\u2019t do to see everything at once, there\u2019ll be\nnothing left, you know.\u201d\nThe look of relief that showed on Mr. Atwood\u2019s face at the words made\nboth boys glad they had renounced the trip to the Falls. And after\nthanking Mrs. Atwood for her hospitality, they followed the ship-owner\nto the piazza, expecting to see his automobile ready to take them to the\ndock.\n\u201cWe will go out to the Admiral in my launch,\u201d said he, reading the boys\u2019\nthoughts. \u201cIt will save any unpleasantness along the waterfront.\u201d And\nwithout more ado he set out at a brisk pace along a path which led\nthrough spacious grounds to a float at the shore of Lake Erie.\nAs they proceeded, they met several big powerful men, with whom their\nhost spoke, and saw several others in the distance, evidently patrolling\nthe estate.\nTheir presence, coupled with the incident at the station and Mr.\nAtwood\u2019s remark about the coal, suddenly filled the boys with an\nappreciation of the gravity of the situation, and they could not but\nadmire the manner in which the ship-owner went about his business when\nhe knew his movements were fraught with a danger so menacing that police\noffered him escort protection and watchmen guarded his home.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think we\u2019d better go by train?\u201d whispered Ted to his brother.\n\u201cAnd let Mr. Atwood and Mr. Bronson and Dr. Blair think we are\n\u2018quitters\u2019 after all the trouble to which they have been put?\u201d retorted\nPhil.\n\u201cI hadn\u2019t thought of that,\u201d returned the younger boy.\n\u201cThen keep your wits about you.\u201d\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t help overhearing your conversation,\u201d exclaimed Mr. Atwood,\npausing until the boys came up with him. \u201cI do not think there is any\ndanger, though I advise you\u2014I\u2019d forbid you if I had the authority\u2014not to\ngo ashore wherever the Admiral touches. Our crew has been selected with\ngreat care, and Captain Perkins is one of the best men on the lakes.\nStill, if you prefer, I\u2019ll get your tickets and you can go right through\nto your destination by train.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019d rather, at least _I_ should rather, go up the lakes on the\nAdmiral,\u201d said Ted, flushing deeply to think his momentary lapse of\ncourage had been noticed.\n\u201cThen go you shall,\u201d smiled the ship-owner, and without more ado they\nwent down to the float and entered a speedy-looking launch.\nScarcely had they seated themselves when the lines were cast loose,\nthree men on the dock stepped aboard, the man at the engine pressed some\nlevers, and the launch shot out into the lake.\n\u201cLook at those big boats anchored \u2019way out there,\u201d exclaimed Ted, as the\nlaunch rounded an arm of the inlet, which sheltered Mr. Atwood\u2019s\nboathouse and float, and gave them a glimpse of the city\u2019s harbour\nwithin the breakwater.\n\u201cThe one farthest out, from which you can see smoke rising, is the\nAdmiral,\u201d announced Mr. Atwood.\n\u201cWhat a beauty!\u201d chorused both boys, while Phil added:\n\u201cHow much ore can she carry?\u201d\n\u201cA little more than thirteen thousand tons.\u201d\n\u201cShe must be a whopper,\u201d enthused Ted.\n\u201cShe is. She is one of the biggest carriers on the lakes, five hundred\nand ninety-four feet over all and sixty-foot beam. She\u2014\u201d\nHis words were interrupted, however, by the movement, in the bow, of the\nthree men who had boarded the launch at the float.\nSo quickly that the boys could not see whence they had taken them, each\nman laid a rifle across his knees, ready for instant use, while they\nwatched intently another launch that was bearing directly toward them.\nDazzlingly the sunlight glistened on the rifle barrels. Apparently the\noccupants of the other launch understood the cause of the scintillant\nflashes, for the boat suddenly veered, made a dangerously short turn,\nand dashed away up the lake. But the guards in Mr. Atwood\u2019s launch did\nnot lay aside their weapons.\nAs they approached the Admiral, several men came to the rail.\n\u201cBoat ahoy! What do you want?\u201d challenged one of them.\n\u201cOwner,\u201d answered a guard on the launch, and as the speedy craft ran\nalongside, a rope-ladder was quickly lowered from the deck, towering\nthirty feet above.\n\u201cI think you can climb aboard all right?\u201d asked Mr. Atwood, as one of\nhis men caught the end of the ladder.\n\u201cSurely,\u201d exclaimed Phil and Ted.\n\u201cThen good-bye, a pleasant trip and good luck with your homestead,\u201d\nexclaimed the ship-owner, shaking each boy cordially by the hand.\n\u201cThank you, Mr. Atwood, and for your kindness too,\u201d returned his young\nguests. A nod and a smile was their answer as their host looked up and\ncalled: \u201cTell Perkins to come to the rail.\u201d Already their luggage was\nbeing hauled aboard the ore carrier, as the word for the captain was\npassed along the deck, and Ted gave his brother a nudge.\n\u201cCome on; everybody will think we\u2019re afraid,\u201d he whispered, then hurried\nto the dangling ladder, grasped its rope sides, and scrambled,\nmonkey-like, up toward the deck, quickly followed by Phil.\n\u201cSteady, there, steady! Take your time,\u201d admonished a kindly voice above\nthem, as the rope-ladder swung and banged against the vessel\u2019s iron\nplates. \u201cThat\u2019s better. Keep a firm hold with your hands. There you\nare.\u201d\nAnd as Ted reached the rail, two strong hands seized him under the arms\nand lifted him aboard, repeating the action with his brother.\n\u201cThose are Phil and Ted Porter, Perkins,\u201d called Mr. Atwood, \u201cthe boys\nfor whom you were waiting. Remember, I shall hold you personally\nresponsible for their safe arrival at Duluth.\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019ll get there O.K.,\u201d smiled the captain, shaking each guest\ncordially by the hand in completion of the introduction. \u201cAny change in\norders, Mr. Atwood?\u201d\n\u201cNo. Clear as soon as you can and good luck to you,\u201d returned the\nship-owner.\nAnd while the boys waved and shouted goodbyes to Mr. Atwood as his\nlaunch sped away, sailors scurried about the ore carrier\u2019s deck, orders\nwere shouted. Captain Perkins mounted his bridge, and chains began to\nclank, announcing the hauling up of the anchors.\nFascinated, Phil and Ted watched the big boat swing in answer to her\nhelm, then straighten out for her run through the breakwater entrance,\non the first leg of her trip.\n\u201cLook! look! There\u2019s that launch coming toward us again,\u201d suddenly cried\nTed, pointing excitedly to the boat that had fled at the action of Mr.\nAtwood\u2019s guards.\nOthers had heard the boys\u2019 exclamation beside his brother, however, and\nfour quick-moving men sprang to the rail, while members of the crew did\nlikewise, stringing all along the length of the deck.\nWhen the launch had come within an hundred feet of the Admiral, one of\nthe four men near the boys shouted:\n\u201cStand clear!\u201d\nIn response, the speed of the launch was cut down and the occupants\nraised three megaphones, through which they shouted:\n\u201cScabs! Scabs! You\u2019ll never get to Duluth!\u201d\nAt the hated epithet several members of the crew drew back to the other\nside of the deck, out of sight from the launch, and only the presence of\nthe first mate beside them held the boys, for they felt that\nindescribable something about the derisive word which has cowed many a\nburly labourer.\nFrom the bridge, however, Captain Perkins gave answer with several\ngroaning toots on the whistle, but as the launch continued to follow,\nthe megaphones barking their scorn, the skipper, fearing the effect on\nhis crew, increased the volume of the whistle, those of the other ore\ncarriers that had steam up adding with blasts from their whistles, until\nthe cries were lost in the pandemonium of toots.\nWhen the Admiral had passed out of the breakwater into the lake, Captain\nPerkins called the first mate, gave him some instructions, and then\ndescended from the bridge.\n\u201cI\u2019ll show you your staterooms,\u201d he said, as he joined the boys. \u201cHey,\nsome of you deck hands, fetch that dunnage this way!\u201d\nThe members of the crew who had inspected Ted and Phil interestedly,\nbecause they had been brought to the boat by one of the owners, were\neven more impressed at the skipper\u2019s words, for seldom does a captain\nescort passengers to their cabins, usually delegating the task to one of\nhis mates, and several sprang to get the bags and packages.\nThe boys, however, were before them, and as they picked them up, Phil\nsaid:\n\u201cWe don\u2019t wish to cause any bother, Captain Perkins.\u201d\n\u201cYou just bet we don\u2019t. Why, we even want you to let us work with the\ncrew,\u201d added Ted, to whom so doing seemed more like a lark than real\nlabour.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll see about that later,\u201d smiled the skipper. \u201cYou deck hands, get\nbusy sweeping the decks! On the jump now!\u201d And when the sailors obeyed,\nhe led the way to the staterooms in the bow.\n\u201cIsn\u2019t this \u2018scrumptious\u2019!\u201d cried Ted, as they entered a spacious cabin,\nfinished in Flemish oak, with silk-curtained windows, heavy carpet, two\nbrass beds in lieu of the traditional bunks, tables, electric lights and\nfans, and comfortable lounging chairs. \u201cI never imagined they had such\ncabins on anything but private yachts or ocean steamers.\u201d\n\u201cEvery ore carrier has them nowadays for owners and their guests,\u201d\nsmiled the captain, adding with a tinge of bitterness which all lake\nskippers and sailors feel: \u201cSome day people will realize that lake boats\nare as important and require even more skill to handle than salt-water\nvessels. Wait until we go up the Detroit and St. Mary\u2019s rivers, then you\nwill understand what I mean. Why, a salt-water skipper would think he\nmust have a fleet of tugs to do what is but a matter of daily routine\nwith us. And a six-hundred-foot boat is no toy to handle in the storms,\nfogs, and ice we have, either. But maybe you\u2019ll have the chance to see\nfor yourselves. I\u2019m going down to the engine room,\u2014would you like to\ncome?\u201d\nEagerly the boys accepted the invitation, glad to see all the working of\nthe ship they could, but they did not know that the chief danger to the\nboat lay in the engine and boiler rooms from ignorance of the crew in\nregard to the machinery or from faulty firing, burning out the flues of\nthe boilers, or dynamite in the coal.\nAs they descended the ladder into the engine room, they gasped at the\nheat, while the smell of oil almost sickened them and the clang of the\nengines made their heads throb.\nIn and out among the fast-moving machinery men, shirtless, their faces\nglistening with perspiration, crawled, long-nosed oil-cans in hand, from\nwhich they deftly poured the lubricant upon this or that joint or\nbearing or wiped a rod with waste.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see what keeps them from being ground to pieces,\u201d exclaimed\nPhil, when they had stood for several minutes, fascinated by the sight.\n\u201cExperience,\u201d replied the captain, \u201cbut you can get an idea how\nnecessary it is to have oilers who know their business.\u201d\n\u201cHow often do they crawl around that way?\u201d inquired Ted.\n\u201cAll the time, practically. Some bearings use more oil than others, and\nif one gets dry, it will weld and cause trouble.\u201d\n\u201cBut don\u2019t they ever sleep?\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes. We have two shifts, you know. Each one works six hours and\nthen rests six hours.\n\u201cAh, here comes Mr. Morris, the chief engineer.\u201d And after introducing\nthe boys, the captain asked: \u201cMen working all right?\u201d\n\u201cAll but one, Swanson. I\u2019ve had to follow him round.\u201d\nFrom the expression that settled on the skipper\u2019s face, Phil and Ted\nrealized the information was serious.\n\u201cGreen at the job?\u201d inquired the captain.\n\u201cNo, ugly.\u201d\n\u201cSend him to me in half an hour if he doesn\u2019t get onto his job. Anything\nelse? How are the firemen doing?\u201d\n\u201cAll right, I reckon. I haven\u2019t had time to go down on account of\nSwanson.\u201d\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you send your assistant down?\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s there, sir.\u201d Then turning to the boys, he said: \u201cHow do you think\nyou would like to work down here?\u201d\n\u201cI love machinery. I was building an airship at home. I know I should\nlike it if it weren\u2019t for the heat,\u201d replied Ted.\n\u201cIf you think this is hot, just go down into the stoke hole,\u201d smiled the\nchief. Then, as there sounded a discordant note in the hum of the\nmachinery, he darted away to learn its cause, while the captain led the\nway across the iron grating, which served as floor, to another ladder\nleading down to the boiler room.\nAs Phil put his hand on one of the iron rungs, he drew it back hastily.\n\u201cPhe-ew, but that\u2019s hot!\u201d he exclaimed, and, taking out his\nhandkerchief, he used it to protect his hand as he descended\u2014a\nprecaution which his brother also adopted.\nWhen at last the boys stood on the floor, they could scarcely breathe,\nso terrific was the heat from the furnaces, as men, stripped to the\nbuff, jerked open the iron doors beneath the huge boilers and shovelled\ncoal into the roaring flames or levelled the fires with long pokers.\nWhile the captain was talking with a man whom the young passengers\ndecided was the assistant engineer, they followed a line of men with\ngreat iron wheelbarrows through a door and found themselves in the coal\nbunkers.\nThe men returning with the empty barrows seized shovels and began to\nload, every now and then pausing to pick up a sledge-hammer and break up\na huge chunk of the soft coal. And as fast as one was loaded, he pushed\nhis barrow, staggering and swaying to meet the pitching of the boat,\ninto the fire room.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see how you can keep your feet,\u201d exclaimed Phil to one of the\nmen.\n\u201cOh, this is nothing. You ought to see us when there is a storm and\nshe\u2019s pitching and rolling. Then it _is_ some trick to keep on your\n\u2018pins.\u2019 Why, I\u2019ve seen the time when I had my barrow dump four times in\nsuccession before I could get out of the bunkers, and the firemen\nyelling like Indians for more coal. Yah, this is nothing\u2014after you get\nused to it.\u201d\nToo fierce for the boys to linger long was the combination of heat and\ncoal dust, and, choking and coughing, they returned to the boiler room.\n\u201cThink you\u2019d rather be a \u2018coal passer\u2019 than an oiler?\u201d smiled the\ncaptain, but before either of his passengers could reply, he caught\nsight of a passer sneaking into the bunkers with a pail from which\nprotruded a piece of ice. \u201cHey, you, bring that pail here!\u201d he shouted.\nSurlily the passer obeyed.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know better than to take clear ice water in there?\u201d demanded\nthe skipper, sternly.\n\u201cWe got to have something cold to drink,\u201d growled the man.\n\u201cSurely; I know that. But if you drink clear ice water in this heat,\nevery passer in your watch will be yelling with cramps inside of half an\nhour.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ll risk \u2019em,\u201d retorted the fellow.\n\u201cWell, I won\u2019t. You just set that pail down here, jump up that ladder,\ngo to the steward, and say I told him to give you three pounds of\noatmeal.\u201d\nThe captain\u2019s manner was not one to brook delay or disobedience, and,\nmuttering to himself, the passer went above, returning in due course\nwith the oatmeal, which he gave to the skipper.\n\u201cNow you can drink,\u201d said the latter, emptying the oatmeal into the\npail, where it quickly formed a thin, milky gruel, \u201cwithout getting\ncramps. Mr. Peters,\u201d and he turned to the assistant, \u201ckeep your eyes\nopen to see that no clear ice water comes down here. Pass the word that\nany man drinking clear ice water will be put in irons. I won\u2019t have my\npassers knocked out on the very first day.\u201d\nThe assistant started to deliver the order in the bunkers, when he was\nstopped by a frantic whistling at the speaking tube leading down from\nthe engine room.\nWith a bound he reached it, the captain and the boys joining him.\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he called.\nWhile he listened for an answer, the chief fairly slid down the ladder.\n\u201cQuick! Draw the fire under number three! She\u2019s almost out of water!\u201d he\nyelled.\nNo need was there to tell the firemen that a boiler out of water, with a\nroaring fire underneath, would soon explode, probably foundering the\nship, and while one leaped and threw open the door to the fire box, the\nassistant and the others seized long-handled iron rakes and pokers and\npulled the seething mass of burning coal out onto the iron floor.\nTerrific before, as the boiler room was transformed into a glowing\ninferno, the heat became unbearable, and first one and then another of\nthe firemen staggered back, gasping.\n\u201cGet back on the job! The fire isn\u2019t half out!\u201d bellowed Mr. Morris,\nsnatching a rake and springing to the task.\nInspired by their chiefs example, the men obeyed, only to fall back\nagain.\n\u201cAbove, there!\u201d yelled the captain, going to the foot of the ladder, and\nas a face appeared at the hatch, he continued: \u201cCall the off watch. Tell\nthe second mate to form a bucket line and pass water down here. On the\njump\u2014if you don\u2019t want to be blown to glory!\u201d\nGathering about the door of the bunkers, the coal passers stood, talking\nin whispers, then suddenly they rushed for the ladder.\nCaptain Perkins heard the patter of their feet and, divining their\npurpose, grabbed a bar, beat them to the ladder, faced them and swung\nthe bar, shouting:\n\u201cBack into your bunkers and load your barrows!\u201d\nThe men, with sullen snarls, refused to obey, however, and several of\nthem were sneaking to the back of the ladder, when from above a pail of\nwater was dashed onto their heads.\nSurprised, they stopped, and before they recovered from the shock, the\nsecond mate was among them, kicking and cuffing them back to the\nbunkers.\n\u201cSome one take these pails,\u201d called a voice from the hatch above.\nGlad of the opportunity to be of some use, the boys sprang up the ladder\nand took positions from which Phil could hand the pails to Ted, who, in\nturn, passed them to the captain, and he threw their contents onto the\nheads, backs, and breasts of the chief and firemen who were working so\ndesperately to rake out the fire.\nThe water, falling on the live coals, formed clouds of steam, but it\nrevived the men and soon came the voice of the chief:\n\u201cBelay the water! She\u2019s raked out.\u201d\n                       THE BOYS PROVE THEIR METAL\n\u201cHow long will those fires under the other boilers hold, Mr. Morris?\u201d\nasked the captain, as the chief engineer came up to him.\n\u201cAbout ten minutes at the present speed, sir.\u201d\n\u201cHow long if we anchor?\u201d\n\u201cTwo hours, certainly, perhaps three.\u201d\n\u201cGood! Will you carry a message for me, Phil?\u201d the skipper asked\nsuddenly, turning to the boy.\n\u201cI\u2019m here, sir,\u201d hurriedly announced the second mate, his tone and\nmanner showing his resentment that the duty of bearing important\ncommunications should be entrusted to a landlubber.\n\u201cI know it, Hansen, and I want you to stay here,\u201d returned the captain,\ntestily. \u201cHow about it, Phil?\u201d\n\u201cSurely, Captain Perkins,\u201d replied the boy.\n\u201cThen go to the bridge and tell Mr. Adams, the first mate, to slow down\nuntil he barely has steerage way, then to turn the wheel over to the\nwheelsman and join me here. Understand?\u201d The boy was part-way up the\nladder by the time the instructions were finished, and he never stopped\nin his ascent as he called back his \u201cYes, sir.\u201d\nSmiling at the excited eagerness of the young passenger, the skipper\nturned to the chief engineer.\n\u201cMr. Morris, have your assistant go above to the engine room and keep\nhis eye on Swanson,\u201d he instructed.\n\u201cI\u2019ll go myself, sir.\u201d\n\u201cNo, I want you here.\u201d\nQuickly the chief went to his assistant, who was puttering around the\nrecently raked fire box, and delivered the order.\nIn evident reluctance to leave before the cause of the lack of water had\nbeen discovered, the man obeyed.\n\u201cMate, tell the coal passers and firemen to go on deck and cool off,\u201d\ncontinued the captain, \u201cand you, chief, go above and bring down some\nextension lights, wrenches, and whatever else you think we may need.\u201d\nNow that the danger of the boiler exploding was over, the firemen and\ncoal passers were loath to go above, all being eager to learn the cause\nof the difficulty. Captain Perkins, however, was determined that only\nhis highest officers should share the knowledge when it was ascertained,\nand he hastened the ascent of the lagging passers with a few curt\norders.\n\u201cHow about this boy, sir?\u201d inquired the second mate, nodding at Ted.\nEre the skipper could reply, the first mate slid down the ladder, and\nafter a hasty glance at the raked fire asked:\n\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, skipper?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Water got low in No. 3 boiler. Ah, here\u2019s Morris. Help\nhim adjust his extension lights and then we\u2019ll find out.\u201d Springing\nforward, the two mates took the coils of insulated cable, with\nwire-encased bulbs on one end, and quickly adjusted the other end to the\nsockets of the stationary electric lights and turned on the current.\n\u201cYou take one lamp, Morris, and I\u2019ll take the other,\u201d said the skipper.\n\u201cAdams, you and Hansen make ready to examine the flues in case we don\u2019t\nfind any\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWait a minute, Captain Perkins, wait a minute,\u201d called a voice from the\nhatchway, and looking up, those below beheld Phil, a paper fluttering in\nhis hand.\n\u201cI\u2019ve a wireless for you, Captain,\u201d exclaimed the boy excitedly, as he\nscrambled down the ladder.\n\u201cPlague take the thing! instructions from Atwood, I suppose,\u201d growled\nthe skipper as he reached out for the sheet of paper. \u201cThe wireless is a\nfine thing in time of trouble or accident, but it\u2019s a nuisance having\nthe owners able to reach you any moment. A captain can\u2019t run his own\nboat any longer. Dewey knew what he was about when he cut the cable\nafter he had taken Manila. I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSwanson\u2019s reported sick and wants to go to his bunk,\u201d interrupted the\nassistant engineer.\nInstantly the chief and the mates exchanged hurried glances, then looked\nat their superior, but he seemed too absorbed in reading the despatch to\nhave heard.\nThat he had heard, however, was quickly evident. After reading the\nmessage a second time, he thrust it into his pocket, then faced his\nofficers, who were amazed at the sternness of his expression.\n\u201cSo the dog\u2019s reported sick, has he?\u201d he snapped. \u201cWell, keep him in the\nengine room until I can get up there. Mr. Adams, fetch the irons.\u201d\nTheir faces looking the questions discipline forbade them asking, the\nofficers followed the captain up the ladder, all having disappeared\nthrough the hatch while the two boys stood staring after them.\n\u201cWonder what the trouble is?\u201d murmured Ted.\n\u201cIt\u2019s about Swanson. I read the message, only don\u2019t let on,\u201d returned\nhis brother.\n\u201cWhat did it say?\u201d\n\u201cNever mind. Didn\u2019t you see the skipper wouldn\u2019t show it to the others?\u201d\n\u201cI can keep a secret as well as you\u2014and I\u2019ll tell Captain Perkins unless\nyou tell me,\u201d asserted Ted.\n\u201cCome close then.\u201d And as his brother obeyed, Phil whispered in his ear,\n\u201cIt said: \u2018Watch your boilers closely. Relieve oiler Swanson from duty\nupon receipt of this message and place in irons. Put him ashore at\nToledo. Will have man there to take his place. Atwood.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cCrickey! Then it\u2019s Swanson who tampered with\u2014\u201d\n\u201cKeep still!\u201d snapped his brother.\nThe caution, however, was unnecessary, for there came sounds of\nscuffling from above that would have drowned anything but the loudest\nshout from below.\nAn instant the boys gazed at one another. Then, actuated by the same\nimpulse, they sprang for the ladder and were mounting it, when a form\nappeared in the hatchway, and a foot began to feel for a ladder rung,\nwhile a voice snarled:\n\u201cYou\u2019ll never put me in irons.\u201d\n\u201cQuick, some of you, Adams, Morris! Don\u2019t let the fellow get below!\u201d\nroared the voice of the captain.\nA mocking laugh was the oiler\u2019s answer as he threw his legs about the\nladder and started to slide down.\nSo sudden had been the appearance of the man that the boys had only time\nto mount a couple of rungs, and as they heard the skipper\u2019s words, they\nstepped back.\nHis training as captain of his school nine had taught Phil to think\nquickly, and as he beheld the oiler sliding down he exclaimed to his\nbrother:\n\u201cStand on that side of the ladder. Grab his arms when he comes down.\nI\u2019ll take his legs.\u201d\nStartled at the sound of voices below him when he thought every one was\nabove, Swanson turned his head and saw the boys.\nEre he could check himself, however, Phil had seized his legs in a most\neffectual football tackle, and, though the oiler kicked desperately, the\nboy managed to hold on.\nUnable to reach the fellow\u2019s arms, Ted sprang to his brother\u2019s\nassistance.\n\u201cPretty work! Good boys! Hang to him!\u201d came from the hatchway, as the\ncaptain and his officers beheld the scene below, and almost before the\nshouts of encouragement had ceased the skipper and his first mate were\nin the fire room and Swanson was overpowered.\n\u201cTake him on deck, Captain?\u201d asked the second mate.\n\u201cNo. Make him fast to a stanchion and then we\u2019ll get to work again.\u201d\nThe task was quickly accomplished, and picking up the lights and tools,\nthe men once more started to examine the boiler.\nDetermined not to miss any of the excitement, the boys had preceded the\nothers, and as the light illumined the back of the boiler, Ted glanced\nat a pipe, then rushed to that of the next boiler and felt of it.\n\u201cThe stop-cock in the feed pipe is shut off!\u201d he cried excitedly. \u201cSee,\nCaptain Perkins!\u201d and he pointed to the brass handle which stood at\nright angles to the pipe instead of in line with it.\nInvestigation by the chief engineer proved that Ted\u2019s statement was\ncorrect.\n\u201cPretty good for a boy, eh, Sam?\u201d asked the captain, turning to his\nengineer.\n\u201cI told you I liked machinery,\u201d returned Ted, happily.\n\u201cWant a job?\u201d smiled the chief.\n\u201cI\u2019d like it if I weren\u2019t going farming.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll earn more here and with less work.\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps, but if I hadn\u2019t made up my mind to be a farmer, I should have\nstuck to my airship, sir.\u201d\n\u201cWell, any time you change your mind, just send word to Sam Morris, in\ncare of Mr. Atwood, and he\u2019ll find you a place.\u201d\nDuring this conversation the chief had turned the stop-cock to its\nrightful position.\n\u201cWater\u2019s rising in No. 8\u2019s glass,\u201d shouted the assistant engineer from\nthe hatch. \u201cFound the trouble?\u201d\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cWhat was it?\u201d\n\u201cTell you by and by.\u201d\nThe trick which had put the splendid vessel and her crew in such\njeopardy was so simple that the chief did not dare announce it, lest\nsome of the crew should hear it and perhaps repeat the operation in the\nevent of their becoming disgruntled.\nThe trouble remedied, the oiler was taken on deck, the coal passers and\nfiremen returned to their stations, the fire was rekindled under No. 8,\nthe first mate returned to the bridge, and soon the Admiral was bowling\nalong at her usual speed.\nAs the boys walked forward with the skipper, Ted noticed a steel cable,\nfully half an inch in diameter, that extended from the cabins forward to\nthe deck houses aft.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that for, Captain?\u201d he inquired. \u201cI noticed it before, but I\nforgot to ask about it.\u201d\n\u201cWe call it our \u2018trolley.\u2019 It\u2019s really a life line. When we are loaded,\nwe have only a couple of feet free board. If a bad storm comes up, the\nwaves pour over the deck and it is dangerous work to walk from one end\nof the boat to the other. In such weather, and especially in the fall,\nwhen the deck is ice-coated, the men sling a bo\u2019s\u2019n\u2019s chair to a wheel,\nplace the wheel on the cable, and slide back and forth.\u201d\n\u201cNo, tell me really, please,\u201d returned the boy, eying the skipper\nincredulously.\n\u201cAnd so I am. If you could see some of the storms we have, with waves\ntwenty or thirty feet high pouring over the deck, you\u2019d realize a man\ntakes his life in his hands when he tries to walk the length of the\nboat.\u201d\n\u201cWell, I hope we don\u2019t have any such weather,\u201d declared Phil, as they\nmounted the bridge and entered the pilot house, where they watched the\nwheelsman hold the big carrier on its course and later saw the first\nmate enter the incident of the boiler room in the log-book.\n\u201cBy the way, Mr. Adams, has the log been set?\u201d asked Captain Perkins, as\nhe entered the pilot house.\n\u201cJove, I forgot it, sir, in the excitement.\u201d\n\u201cThen tell the watchman to set it.\u201d\nAs the officer started off in obedience, the boys followed him.\nEntering the lamp room, which was located in one of the after-deck\nhouses, the watchman took down a coil of cod line to one end of which\nwas attached a small brass swivel, while to the other end was fastened a\nhook. Then he took down a brass-encased instrument which looked like a\nsmall edition of an iceman\u2019s scales. Going to one of the stanchions near\nthe stem of the boat, on the starboard side, the watchman made the\nindicator fast with a piece of rope, then placed the hook of the log\nline in its hole, and lowered the log into the water.\n\u201cThe only trick about this is to be careful not to lower so fast that\nthe hook jumps out of its hole. If it does, the log is lost,\u201d explained\nthe watchman. \u201cYou have to look out, too, to drop the log far enough out\nso that it doesn\u2019t get foul of the ship\u2019s propeller.\u201d\n\u201cBut how does it work?\u201d asked Phil.\nAs the line was all paid out and the log was churning through the water,\nthe watchman pointed to the scale-like indicator.\n\u201cJust look at that pointer and you\u2019ll see,\u201d he replied. \u201cThe log pulls\non the line, which, in turn, pulls on the scale, and the number to which\nthe indicator points is the speed we are making. It\u2019s easier to read\nthan the old-fashioned wooden log.\u201d\n\u201cIt points to ten, now,\u201d declared Ted.\n\u201cShe\u2019ll go higher as soon as No. 3 gets back into commission. We average\nbetween fourteen and fifteen knots an hour, empty.\u201d\n\u201cHow fast loaded?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cBetween ten and twelve; depends on the wind and currents.\u201d\n\u201cHow long do you keep the log overboard?\u201d inquired the younger boy.\n\u201cAll the time except when we enter a harbour, or the canal, and going\nthrough the Detroit and St. Mary\u2019s rivers.\u201d\n\u201cWhy not then?\u201d\n\u201cBecause the navigation rules compel us to slacken speed and there are\ntoo many boats to be passed. Hooray, it\u2019s grub time,\u201d he added, as a boy\nin white coat and apron passed along the deck ringing a big bell.\n                        A SERIES OF REVELATIONS\n\u201cI don\u2019t suppose the food will be very good,\u201d confided Phil to his\nbrother, as they removed the traces of the exciting morning, in their\ncabin.\n\u201cNo, according to the sea stories I\u2019ve read it won\u2019t,\u201d returned Ted.\n\u201cJust salt pork, hard tack, and weak coffee, I expect.\u201d\n\u201cThen you are due for a surprise,\u201d exclaimed a hearty voice, and,\nturning, the boys beheld the captain. At the thought that their\nuncomplimentary remarks had been overheard, the boys grew crimson. But\nthe skipper prevented any attempt at apology by saying: \u201cI hope some\ntime some one will write a story and tell the honest truth about the\nfood we sailors have on the Great Lakes. Maybe it\u2019s pork and hard tack\non salt water\u2014and from some of their sailors I\u2019ve seen that\u2019s plenty\ngood enough for them\u2014but if we don\u2019t set better meals than nine out of\nten of our men have at home, then I don\u2019t know a buoy from a\nlight-house.\u201d\nDeeming it best to say nothing, the boys quickly finished their\nablutions and accompanied the skipper aft to the dining-cabin.\nOn the port side the boys beheld the crew seated at tables covered with\nwhite oil cloth. Each table was provided with a big portion of corned\nbeef and cabbage, fish, potatoes, squash, peas, pies, bread, and cake,\nwhile from the coffee-pots there came the savoury aroma of good coffee.\n\u201cSee any hard tack?\u201d smiled the captain.\n\u201cIt looks bully,\u201d exclaimed Phil. \u201cWhere do we sit, anywhere?\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll eat at the officers\u2019 table;\u201d and the captain quickly led the way\ninto a dining-room seemingly perfect in its appointments and handsomely\nfurnished.\nThe officers were seated according to their rank, the navigating force\non one side and the engine room, including the oilers, on the other, but\nas the men who were eating were the ones going on watch, there was\nplenty of room for the young homesteaders.\nThe boy in the white coat and apron, who had rung the bell, waited upon\nthe table, serving soup and a dinner much the same as that of the crew,\nsave that there was roast lamb as well as corned beef and cabbage, a\ngreater variety of cake, and a pudding in addition to the pies.\nWell cooked and appetizing, the meal would have been good in any event,\nbut with appetites sharpened by the bracing air, it tasted delicious to\nthe boys, and the skipper smiled as they took second helpings.\nAs rapidly as the men finished, they withdrew, going to their stations\nto relieve the men on duty, for until the second watch came on, the\nfirst watch were obliged to remain at their posts.\n\u201cNow what do you think?\u201d asked Captain Perkins, as they passed out on\ndeck.\n\u201cThat the men who wrote those stories didn\u2019t know what they were writing\nabout or had never sailed on an ore carrier,\u201d responded Ted.\n\u201cAnd the grub is just as good on the other boats,\u201d asserted the skipper.\n\u201cOf course, some lines feed better than others, but it\u2019s all wholesome\nand well cooked.\u201d\nDuring the afternoon the boys amused themselves with the binoculars,\nstudying the ships they passed and watching people on shore when they\ncould find any.\nToward dusk they noticed a pall of smoke off the port bow.\n\u201cMust be a big fire,\u201d commented Phil.\n\u201cIt can\u2019t be a prairie fire, can it?\u201d eagerly asked his brother, who,\nlike most New Englanders, considered everything west of the Hudson River\nprairie.\n\u201cThat\u2019s Cleveland,\u201d smiled the captain. \u201cTake the glasses and perhaps\nyou can make out the tall buildings.\u201d But the smoky haze was too dense.\nAt sundown the ship\u2019s pennant and the Stars and Stripes were hauled\ndown, after which the big electric masthead lights were switched on, and\nthen the red and green running lights, for starboard and port\nrespectively.\nWith the setting of the sun a brisk breeze sprang up, whipping the water\ninto cat\u2019s paws, as white caps are called on the lakes, and the huge\ncarrier began to pound, owing to its emptiness.\n\u201cI should think she\u2019d break in two,\u201d exclaimed Ted, the rising and\nresounding fall of the bow seeming, to his inexperience, a serious\nmatter.\n\u201cGo aft and you\u2019ll scarcely notice any motion,\u201d explained the first\nmate.\nThe boys, however, preferred to stay in the pilot house, where the\nwheelsman allowed them to take turns in holding the vessel on her\ncourse, whenever the mate was absent.\n\u201cWhere are we now?\u201d asked Ted, as the boys came on deck early the next\nmorning and discovered they were passing through a seeming water lane,\nflanked on both sides by planking which topped the water by some two\nfeet.\n\u201cGoing up the channel into the Maumee River,\u201d answered a watchman, for\nthe captain and his mate were on the bridge, occasionally calling sharp\norders to the wheelsman in the pilot house below. \u201cWe\u2019re in Toledo\nharbour, now.\u201d\nToo afraid they would miss something of interest, Phil and Ted barely\ntouched their breakfast, despite its tempting fruit, flapjacks, and\nsteak, and soon they were on deck again, watching the monster draws in\nthe bridges swing open in answer to the carrier\u2019s signals, and the\never-changing shore line of the city.\n\u201cLook at those funny old scows, with little dinky engines and long\nspouts, skimming along! What on earth are they?\u201d exclaimed Phil,\npointing to a score or more of such craft that were scurrying, crablike,\ndown the river.\n\u201cThose are sand-suckers,\u201d explained the mate. \u201cWhen they get to their\npositions they drop those spouts into the sand and then suck it into the\nboats; the water runs out and the sand is left in the scow.\u201d\nA terrific screech on the Admiral\u2019s whistle called their attention to\none of the suckers that had crossed her bow so near that only a sharp\nthrowing over of the wheel prevented a collision.\nRoundly Captain Perkins berated the man in the pilot house, but a grin\nwas his only answer.\nApproach to the dock quickly diverted the skipper, however, as he called\norders to his wheelsman that brought the six-hundred-foot carrier\nalongside as easily as though she had been no more than a launch.\nLake carriers are met by no linesmen to help them on the docks, or throw\ntheir hawsers over the spilings, and as the boat swung alongside the\nheavy timbers, members of the crew sprang to the wharf. To them the\nlines were thrown, and in an incredibly short time the Admiral was fast,\nbow and stern.\nTowering above the dock was a structure resembling a huge skeleton\nelevator shaft, along the top of which extended an iron shield that drew\ntogether from both sides in an enormous shute.\nBack of the dock was a labyrinth of tracks and switches, upon some of\nwhich stood strings of loaded coal cars, and even as the Admiral made\nfast, a switch engine began to puff and snort, jerking a line of cars\nonto the track that ran between the uprights of the elevator-like\nstructure.\nDirectly behind the tracks rose a sand bank, along the top of which an\noccasional trolley car passed.\nThe boat docked, Captain Perkins ordered the discredited oiler brought\nto him.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to take you up town, Swanson, and I warn you not to make any\ntrouble,\u201d said he, tapping his side pocket, which bulged suggestively.\n\u201cMr. Adams, pass the word to the men off watch that there is to be no\nshore leave. Come, Swanson!\u201d And the skipper stepped onto the dock,\napparently unmindful that he had turned his back on his prisoner.\nThe members of the crew, however, watched the oiler closely, and as he\ndid not start instantly, the first mate snapped significantly:\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you hear?\u201d\nApparently Swanson had heard, for he stepped onto the dock and\ndisappeared from sight, walking beside the burly ship-master.\n\u201cNerviest man I ever saw, the skipper,\u201d exclaimed Mr. Adams, his\nadmiration of his superior evident in his voice. \u201cThere isn\u2019t another\nman on the lakes who would take Swanson, unshackled and without a police\nguard, up town.\u201d\n\u201cThen you think Captain Perkins is in danger?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cDanger?\u201d repeated the first mate; \u201cjust look at that hill!\u201d And he\nnodded toward the sand bank which, though nothing but a bare hillside\nwhen Phil and Ted had first noticed it, was now swarming with men and\nboys.\n\u201cWho are they? Where did they come from?\u201d asked both young passengers at\nonce.\n\u201cStrikers!\u201d exclaimed the second mate.\n\u201cMore likely sympathizers; the strikers are pretty orderly,\u201d returned\nMr. Adams. \u201cIf Swanson should call on them for help, they\u2019d attack.\u201d\n\u201cQuick, get behind the cabin!\u201d he shouted excitedly, interrupting\nhimself.\nWithout waiting to ask the reason, the boys obeyed, and with them went\nall of the crew near at hand. Scarcely had they gained the protection of\nthe deck houses than there was a patter like hail on the iron deck.\n\u201cStones,\u201d said Mr. Adams, simply.\n\u201cThey do hate to see a boat take on cargo,\u201d asserted Hansen. \u201cWonder\nwhere our guards are?\u201d\nThe guards themselves answered the question, for barely had the shower\nof stones ceased than the four men whom Phil and Ted had noticed when\nthey boarded the Admiral sprang from the cabin, revolvers in hand,\nrushed across the deck, leaped to the dock, and, joined by similarly\narmed guards who appeared from among the freight cars, charged up the\nbank.\nNot long did the crowd linger on the hill when they saw the guards, and\nas the men and boys scattered in all directions, an automobile dashed up\nfrom which six policemen jumped out and began to patrol the top of the\nsand bank.\nEver since the Admiral had docked, men had been working about the\nelevator and in the adjoining engine room.\n\u201cAll ready?\u201d called one of them to the mate.\nRecalled to his business, Mr. Adams looked along the deck. Every hatch\ncover was in place.\n\u201cLively, open those hatches, Hansen,\u201d he snapped; then, raising his\nvoice, he answered, \u201cAll ready.\u201d\nThere was the whir of drums winding up steel cables, then a snort from\nthe engine as they tightened.\n\u201cLook! look!\u201d cried Ted, grabbing his brother\u2019s arm, \u201ca coal car is\ngoing up on the elevator.\u201d\nInterestedly the boys watched as the big steel car, heaped with coal,\nslowly ascended; then a rattle on deck called their attention, and they\nturned just in time to see the hatch covers roll back from the hatches,\noperated by a series of rods to which electricity supplied the power.\nAs the covers were removed, the men on top of the coal elevator moved\nthe mouth of the shute by levers until it was over the central hatch.\nBy this time the car had reached the top of the elevator.\n\u201cAll ready?\u201d shouted one of the men on top.\n\u201cLet her go,\u201d returned the first mate, having gone to the middle hatch\nand squinted at the mouth of the shute, thirty feet above him.\nThere sounded the click of more levers, again the whir of the drums,\nfollowed by the snort of the engine, and the boys beheld one side of the\ncar tip forward as the rear of the elevator platform rose, then the coal\nthundered against the shield, rattled into the shute, and, amid a cloud\nof black dust, shot through the hatch into the hold with a roar.\n\u201cWhy, the coal car is on its side,\u201d cried Ted, looking at the elevator.\n\u201cIt\u2019s been turned up until it\u2019s empty.\u201d\nEven as the boy spoke, there came the click of levers again, the\nplatform dropped back, righting the car, which in due course was lowered\nto the ground, where it was backed off by another car that was, in turn,\nraised and dumped.\n\u201cSome class to loading coal by the carful, what?\u201d asked Mr. Adams,\nnoting the boys\u2019 amazement.\n\u201cIt\u2019s wonderful,\u201d replied Phil. \u201cHow long will it take to fill the\nhold?\u201d\n\u201cAbout three hours, if everything works well.\u201d As one compartment was\nfilled, the boat was shifted back or forth for the shute to be over one\nof the various hatches.\nWhen about half the cargo had been taken aboard, however, the loading\nwas stopped by a lack of coal and the boys had retired before work was\nresumed.\n\u201cWake up if you want any breakfast,\u201d exclaimed the steward\u2019s assistant,\ncalled the \u201ccookee\u201d in sailors\u2019 parlance, as he shook Ted none too\ngently by the shoulder, adding, as the boy opened his eyes: \u201cI can\u2019t\nfool round waiting all day for you. I\u2019ve got my dishes to do and the\nvegetables to prepare for dinner.\u201d\nAroused by the voice, Phil sat up in his bed, then sprang out, and, with\nhis brother, began hurriedly to dress, while the cookee lingered, much\ninterested in watching the proceedings.\n\u201cHave we finished loading?\u201d asked Ted, noting that the many noises, to\nbe heard on every side when he retired, were silent.\n\u201cCan\u2019t you tell from the quiver of the boat that we\u2019re steaming?\u201d\nreturned the lad, scornfully. \u201cI supposed even a \u2018lubber\u2019 could tell the\ndifference between the motion of a boat when she\u2019s going and when she\u2019s\ntied to the dock.\u201d\n\u201cYou must remember we are not sailors like you,\u201d interposed Phil\nhastily, winking at his brother and preventing the angry retort he saw\nTed was about to make. \u201cI suppose you have been a sailor for a number of\nyears?\u201d\n\u201cUhuh! I\u2019ve been running on ore boats for four seasons,\u201d returned the\ncookee, mollified by the flattering allusion to his service in the\ngalley as being a sailor.\n\u201cWhen did we leave the dock?\u201d asked Ted, proffering a box of candy.\n\u201cTwo o\u2019clock. And say, you\u2019se missed a circus,\u201d he added, all aversion\nto the \u201cyoung dudes,\u201d as he had dubbed the boys, banished by the candy\nto which he helped himself liberally.\n\u201cWhat was it?\u201d chorused Phil and Ted.\n\u201cYou heard the skipper tell Adams there was to be no shore leave? Well,\nthe wheelsman of the first watch sneaked ashore last evening and went up\ntown. When he came back, some strikers caught him on the sand hill and,\nsay, they certainly gave it to him good and plenty. If some of our men\naboard hadn\u2019t heard his yells, they would have pounded him to a jelly.\nBut just wait until you see him.\u201d\n\u201cDid Captain Perkins bring back the new oiler?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cSure.\u201d\n\u201cHave any trouble?\u201d\n\u201cNot him. Say, he could walk through a crowd of all the strikers put\ntogether and there wouldn\u2019t one lay a hand to him.\u201d\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d\n\u201cBecause they know him. Once, when there was a mutiny on one of his\nboats, he laid out ten coal passers with his \u2018dukes.\u2019\u201d Then, waxing\nconfidential, he added: \u201cTake it from me and don\u2019t bother him with no\nquestion today, he\u2019s got a fierce grouch.\u201d\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\u201c\u2019Cause he got word from Atwood to keep the four guards on board to\nDuluth. He ain\u2019t got no use for them ginks, and he\u2019s mad.\u201d\nDuring this imparting of the incidents of the night and ship\u2019s gossip\nPhil and Ted had finished dressing and were on the point of going on\ndeck, when the cookee exclaimed:\n\u201cJust wait until I can get back to the galley before you\u2019se come out; if\nyou don\u2019t, I\u2019ll get twigged for staying in here so long;\u201d and quickly\nthe lad departed.\nAs the boys emerged from their cabin, they gazed about them in surprise.\nNot a speck of land could they see, and the feeling was a novel one as\nthey realized for the first time the sensation of being out of sight of\nland.\nA stiff breeze kicked up the water, and as they proceeded to the\ndining-room, showers of spray now and then fell on the deck.\n\u201cWhy, we\u2019re only two or three feet above the water,\u201d exclaimed Phil,\ngoing to the rail.\n\u201cSay we only have \u2018two or three feet free board,\u2019 you land-lubber,\u201d\nchuckled his brother. \u201cYou didn\u2019t suppose we\u2019d ride high with all that\ncoal aboard, did you?\u201d\n\u201cOf course not, but we\u2019re loaded with coal, not ore, and coal isn\u2019t as\nheavy as copper or iron.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good thing I\u2019m the only one to hear you talk,\u201d grinned Ted, \u201cor\nI\u2019d blush to think you were my brother. What\u2019s the difference between\nthe weight of thirteen thousand tons of coal and thirteen thousand tons\nof ore?\u201d\nThe twinkle in Ted\u2019s eyes caused Phil to hesitate, then continue: \u201cWhy,\ner, none, of course, but you needn\u2019t be so cockey. A ton of coal takes\nmore room than a ton of ore, so they couldn\u2019t put thirteen thousand tons\nof coal aboard.\u201d\n\u201cThey could, too. If a boat\u2019s capacity is thirteen thousand tons, she\ncan carry thirteen thousand tons, whether it\u2019s sawdust or mercury.\u201d\n\u201cNot if the bulk is too great,\u201d returned Phil. For several moments the\nbrothers argued the problem, and then, as the first mate came in sight,\nTed said:\n\u201cWe\u2019ll leave it to Mr. Adams.\u201d\nReadily Phil consented, and as the mate came up, they stated their\nopinions on the question at issue.\n\u201cTed is right,\u201d smiled Mr. Adams. \u201cThe point is this, while the coal\nfills the hold, because of its greater volume per unit, there is plenty\nof room in the hold after we have thirteen thousand tons of ore aboard\nbecause of its greater weight per unit. Why, if we should fill the\nAdmiral with copper or iron ore, she\u2019d sink like a plummet.\u201d\n\u201cHow do you know when she is loaded to her capacity\u2014keep track of the\ntons?\u201d\n\u201cThat would be too difficult a task. The cars from which we load coal\nvary in the number of tons they carry, just as some of the ore pockets\nfrom which we load contain more ore than others. We save all trouble by\nloading until the keel is so many feet below the surface of the water,\nthe tonnage carried varying in accordance with the depth of water over\ncertain bars on our course and at the canal. On this trip we are only\nloaded to seventeen feet four inches. But as the water in the lakes is\nrising, when we come down we may be able to load to eighteen or nineteen\nfeet.\u201d\n\u201cBut how can you know to what depth to load?\u201d asked the elder of the\nboys.\n\u201cAn association, to which the owners or managers of the principal fleets\nbelong, maintains men at the various shoals and bars who report the\ndepth of the water night and morning. At the canal the information is\nfurnished by the United States Government. Knowing the length of time,\nunder ordinary conditions, it will take a carrier to cover the distance\nbetween the loading ports and the points involved, the captains load in\naccordance with the latest reports, which are always telegraphed them.\u201d\n\u201cA captain is compelled to know a lot of things, isn\u2019t he?\u201d exclaimed\nTed.\n\u201cRight you are\u2014and his mates as well. He must know the locations of the\nlight-houses, with their various kind of lights\u2014revolving, steady,\ntwo-colored, long or short flash, and the rest\u2014of the harbour and\nchannel lights, and buoys. We don\u2019t have any pilots come aboard to take\nus into harbour, as the salt-water boats do. Every captain and first\nmate must qualify as a pilot as well as a navigating officer before he\ncan obtain his \u2018papers\u2019 as they call the license issued by the United\nStates Government to sail a ship.\u201d\n\u201cCrickey, it\u2019s no easy job, I should think,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be sure of it when we have passed through the Detroit and St.\nMary\u2019s rivers,\u201d smiled Mr. Adams, as he turned to set the deck hands at\nwork washing away the coal dust from deck and cabins, while the boys\nwent to breakfast.\n\u201cLook, look, there\u2019s land again!\u201d cried Ted, when they returned to deck,\nand hurrying to the bridge, they asked what it was.\n\u201cCanada,\u201d replied Mr. Adams.\n\u201cThe first foreign country I ever saw,\u201d exclaimed the boy, as both he\nand Phil studied it closely.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll see enough of it until we pass the Soo,\u201d returned the mate.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll be so close to it going up the St. Mary\u2019s you can toss a pebble\nashore.\n\u201cWe\u2019re making the Detroit River, Mr. Perkins,\u201d called the mate, turning\nfrom the boys.\nQuickly Captain Perkins emerged from his cabin, and with a curt nod to\nhis young guests, took his place beside his first officer.\nAs the nose of the Admiral passed between the buoys marking the channel,\nthe skipper rang for half speed, and the big boat crept up the tortuous\nriver, now passing carriers bound down, now splitting the air with her\nwhistle as she announced her course.\nTo the left the sky-scrapers of Detroit came into sight, and across the\nriver from them the comparatively quiet hamlet of Winsor, Canada, the\ndifference in the two towns forming an eloquent commentary upon the\naggressiveness and methods of American business men.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a launch headed for us,\u201d cried Phil, as they came abreast of\nthe city.\n\u201cThat\u2019s our postman,\u201d explained the captain. \u201cIf you boys have any\nletters to send, be lively and take them to the watchman on deck, the\nman making a line fast to a mail bag.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know you could send or receive letters except at ports,\u201d\ndeclared Ted. \u201cDo you suppose he\u2019d wait while I scribble a line to my\nmother?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid not. You see, he and his relief have to meet every ship\ngoing up and down the river during the day and night, so they can\u2019t\ntarry at one boat long. It\u2019s a splendid institution for sailors, this\nMarine Post Office. It tends to keep a man contented when he can hear\nfrom home at the canal and at Detroit on his trips up and down. It is\nalso convenient for skippers and owners to send orders and reports.\u201d\nWhile listening, the boys had watched the launch as it darted, with the\nspeed of a racer, toward the Admiral; then its occupant swerved it, and\nshut off his power. As the boat ran alongside the big carrier under its\nmomentum, he picked up his heaving line and cast it deftly to the\nwatchman on deck, who made a quick turn around a cleat so that the mail\nlaunch was fast alongside ere its own headway had died.\nPicking up the mail bag, the watchman lowered it to the postman, who\nremoved the letters it contained, put in a package addressed to the\nAdmiral, tucked in several newspapers which members of the crew ordered,\nthen put on his power as his line was cast loose, and scudded away to\nanother carrier, bound down.\nUntying the package of mail, the watchman looked through it,\ndistributing such as there was for the crew, then mounted the bridge\nwith the remainder, which he gave to the captain.\n\u201cSeems to be mostly for you, boys,\u201d said the skipper, and he handed over\nto them a score or more of post cards and letters.\n\u201cBut how in the world did any one at home know about this Marine Post\nOffice?\u201d exclaimed Ted, as he eagerly took the missives addressed to\nhim.\n\u201cI suppose Dr. Blair told Momsy and the girls, and they passed the word\nalong,\u201d said his brother.\n\u201cWell, it certainly is a \u2018splendid institution\u2019,\u201d confirmed the younger\nboy. And many were the exclamations of amusement and delight as they\nperused their letters and read the bits of advice and good wishes\nwritten on the post cards.\n                       UP THE SAINT MARY\u2019S RIVER\nAs the Admiral passed from Lake St. Clair through the St. Clair flats,\nthe boys beheld with interest and wonder the colony of cottages and\nhotels built on the very water\u2019s edge of the American side, with the\nscores of launches scudding hither and thither, carrying merry\nvacationists on visits to friends or to fishing grounds. On the Canadian\nside, however, they could see nothing but a vast expanse of reeds and\nwater-grass, splendid for duck shooting but otherwise useless.\n\u201cHow do the people get here? Aren\u2019t there any roads?\u201d asked Ted, as he\nlooked in vain for some means of connection with the mainland.\n\u201cTo be sure,\u201d replied the skipper, whose customary geniality had been\nrestored by the receipt of a wireless message ordering him to set the\nunwelcome guards ashore at the Soo, as the Sault St. Claire is\nnicknamed.\n\u201cWhere are they? I can\u2019t see any,\u201d returned the boy.\n\u201cYou notice those lanes of water, don\u2019t you?\u201d and Captain Perkins\npointed to a series of courses, some twelve feet wide, which traversed\nthe flats at intervals of two or three hundred feet.\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cWell, those are the streets.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I mean regular dirt streets,\u201d protested Ted.\n\u201cThere aren\u2019t any. Unless you come by launch or some of the big\npassenger boats that ply between the summer settlements and Detroit, you\ncan\u2019t get within ten miles of the colony here.\u201d\nAt this statement the young homesteaders looked with increased interest\nat the novel settlement, and Ted began:\n\u201cWhy, it\u2019s a regular\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t say it,\u201d interrupted the skipper; \u201cthere\u2019s a fine of five\ndollars, if you do.\u201d\n\u201cSay what?\u201d demanded the boy. \u201cHow do you know what I was going to say?\u201d\n\u201cBecause they all do. We sailors have become so tired of hearing guests\ncall this colony \u2018an American Venice\u2019 that we have established a fine\nagainst the expression.\u201d\n\u201cMuch obliged for saving me the money,\u201d smiled Ted. \u201cBut it is a\nwonderful sight for a person who has never seen it\u201d\n\u201cI suppose so. It\u2019s the bane of all ore carriers, however. The people in\nthe launches persist in crossing our bows and darting in and out, until\nit gives our wheelsmen a nervous fit trying to avoid running them down.\u201d\nThe Admiral, however, passed the colony without accident and was soon in\nthe St. Clair River, whence she passed into Lake Huron, where it was\nagain plain sailing till the St. Mary\u2019s River was reached.\n\u201cM\u2019m, what a delicious odour! Smell it, Ted?\u201d exclaimed Phil, as he\nsniffed the twilight air, while the big carrier checked speed and passed\nbetween the lights marking the channel.\n\u201cThat is from the pine forests,\u201d explained Captain Perkins. \u201cYou are\nfortunate to get the pure fragrance. Later in the season there are\nusually fires raging, either in Michigan or Canadian forests, making the\nair stifling with smoke. I\u2019ve seen it so dense that we were obliged to\nbarely creep along, and blow our whistles just as in a fog.\u201d\nThe handling of the six-hundred-foot vessel as she steamed up the\nDetroit River had filled the boys with wonder, but as she made the sharp\nturns in the St. Mary\u2019s, now being obliged to clear a government dredge\nat work in the channel, now running so close to the shore that it seemed\nthey could jump from the bridge to land, they were amazed at the ease\nand skill with which the big carrier was navigated.\n\u201cMr. Adams, Mr. Adams!\u201d shouted the skipper. And as the mate hurried\nfrom the pilot house, he added: \u201cSee if you can pick up a spar-buoy, off\nthe port bow.\u201d\nIntently the officer peered through the fast-increasing darkness for a\nsight of the red light. \u201cCan\u2019t see it, sir,\u201d he replied.\n\u201cThen heave the lead, quick! If the light is out of commission, we may\nground before we can make this turn.\u201d\nEre the last words were uttered, the mate had stepped onto a plank\nprojecting from the bridge, picked up a long line to which bits of red\nand white bunting were alternately attached at regular intervals, with a\nslug of lead at the end, and, with a preliminary swing, shot it into the\nwater well toward the bow of the boat, then hauled it aboard rapidly as\nthe vessel came abreast of him.\n\u201cThree fathoms and a foot!\u201d he cried. \u201cStarboard your helm, hard over!\u201d\nroared the captain, springing toward the opening which communicated with\nthe wheelsman in the pilot house below.\n\u201cStarboard your helm, hard over!\u201d repeated the wheelsman, in accordance\nwith ship\u2019s custom.\nAgain the first mate heaved the lead.\n\u201cThree fathoms, lacking two inches!\u201d he called.\n\u201cHold your helm hard over!\u201d snapped the skipper, and, as the repetition\ncame to him, he pressed a button for full speed astern.\nAs the electricity carried the command to the indicator in the engine\nroom, the terrific churning of the water as the propellers whirled in\nreversed motion broke the stillness of the evening air, the boat\nquivered, then began to back.\n\u201cThree fathoms and seven inches,\u201d announced the mate.\n\u201cClose work,\u201d muttered Captain Perkins to himself, as he pressed another\nbutton for quarter speed ahead.\nFarther and farther the Admiral\u2019s bow swung to starboard as the\nwheelsman held the wheel over hard, and the mate\u2019s next announcement of\nthree fathoms and a half told them that the boat was once again in the\nchannel.\n\u201cStern will go over a buoy,\u201d warned Mr. Adams, as he glanced back before\nreturning to the bridge.\n\u201cHard aport!\u201d commanded the skipper, stepping to a spot whence he could\nwatch the light on the spar-buoy aft.\n\u201cHard aport!\u201d came the confirmation.\n\u201cThree fathoms, lacking an inch!\u201d called the mate, who, in view of the\ndanger of grounding astern, was again heaving the lead.\n\u201cStarboard, three points!\u201d yelled the captain, adding to himself,\n\u201cPlague take that current, it\u2019s liable to drive me on yet.\u201d\nWith a quickness that was remarkable, considering her size, the Admiral\nresponded to her tiller, and again her nose swung away from the shore of\nthe channel.\nAs he noted the fact, the skipper once more called for full speed, but\nthis time ahead.\n\u201cThey can fine me for exceeding the speed limit for this river if they\nwant to, but I\u2019m not going to run the danger of swinging across the\nchannel, bow and stern on, just for lack of a little speed,\u201d he\ndeclared.\nNo further man\u0153uvring was necessary, however, to negotiate the\nsurprisingly sharp turn, and when he was clear, the skipper checked his\nspeed.\n\u201cWhat are those things along the Michigan side, Captain? They look like\ncabins. I\u2019ve noticed several of them,\u201d said Phil, pointing to dark\nmasses that stood out from the rest of the shore line.\n\u201cIndian shacks.\u201d\n\u201cIndians here? What do they do?\u201d exclaimed Ted.\n\u201cPick blueberries, fish and sell them and the things they weave to the\ntourists at the Soo.\u201d\n\u201cI wish it was daylight so that we could see them. Just think, real\nIndians, Phil!\u201d\n\u201cOh, you\u2019ll have a chance to see enough of them at the canal,\u201d smiled\nthe skipper.\n\u201cBut they don\u2019t go into the town, do they? I should think they would\nscare the women and children to death.\u201d\n\u201cThey not only go into the Soo, but they bother the life out of people\ntrying to sell their wares. The quickest way to get rid of them is to\nbuy something. Children don\u2019t even notice them, unless to make fun of\nthem. But you mustn\u2019t expect to see story-book Indians, in war paint,\nfeathers, and blankets. They have taken to trousers and shirts.\u201d\nThe disappointment which settled on Ted\u2019s face at this shattering of his\nmental picture of the redmen caused the skipper to add with a smile:\n\u201cYou can still get a thrill from them, though, if we are held up at the\ncanal, by getting one to shoot the St. Mary\u2019s rapids with you.\u201d\n\u201cProvided you can find one sober enough,\u201d supplemented the first mate.\n\u201cOh, I hope so,\u201d declared the younger boy. \u201cDo they shoot the rapids in\ncanoes or boats?\u201d\n\u201cIn canoes. You can\u2019t get an Indian into a boat without a derrick, too\nmuch work to row one.\u201d\nThe guidance of the big carrier again claiming the captain\u2019s attention,\nthe boys, their minds filled with redskins, descended to the deck, where\nthey sought out some of the crew, who regaled them with experiences,\nsome very fanciful, they had had with the redmen.\n\u201cGet to your posts, you huskies! Watchman, call the other watch!\u201d\nsnapped Hansen, coming up to the group. \u201cYou boys better go to the\nbridge if you want to see how we lock a ship through the canal\u2014and\nyou\u2019ll be out of the way there,\u201d he added to himself, as the sailors\nobeyed. For when an ore carrier docks or goes through the canal, all the\ncrew are called on duty, regardless of whether it is their watch on or\noff.\n\u201cAre we at the Soo now?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cWill be in about ten minutes. See those lights ahead? The ones on the\nright are in the Canadian town. Some difference between that glim and\nthe one on our side, to the left, what?\u201d\n\u201cI should say so, but what are all those red, green, and white lights\njust ahead of us?\u201d asked Ted, as they mounted to the bridge.\n\u201cBoats waiting to lock through,\u201d replied the first mate.\n\u201cWhich means you will get your chance to shoot the rapids all right,\u201d\nobserved the captain. \u201cWe shall be lucky if we get through before noon,\nthere are so many ahead of us. Mr. Adams, when you find a good berth,\nlet the anchors go.\u201d\nFor a long time the boys remained on the bridge, fascinated by the scene\npresented by the illumination of the American and Canadian cities and\nthe vari-coloured lights on the boats, heightened by the occasional\nshout of a skipper or mate as one of his crew failed to handle a line\nproperly.\nOf the chief officers on the Admiral, the second mate alone was on the\nbridge.\n\u201cDo you think we shall get through tonight?\u201d inquired Ted, eager for\nanybody\u2019s opinion.\n\u201cWe may and we may not,\u201d returned Hansel, non-committally.\n\u201cCaptain Perkins said we wouldn\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cSkippers don\u2019t know _all_ there is to know.\u201d\n\u201cThen let\u2019s stay up all night, Phil. I wouldn\u2019t miss seeing the Admiral\nlocked through the canal for anything.\u201d\nAs his brother shared Ted\u2019s interest, the boys brought rocking-chairs\nand blankets from their cabin and made themselves comfortable on the\nbridge.\nThe novelty and excitement of the night scene, however, failed to\nwithstand the gentle, sleep-bearing air, and when Captain Perkins\nemerged from his cabin about three o\u2019clock, to see whether or not it was\nworth while to move the Admiral closer to the canal, he found them\nslumbering.\n\u201cBetter go to your beds,\u201d he said, as the young homesteaders awoke in\nresponse to his shaking.\n\u201cBut we want to see you lock through,\u201d explained Phil, drowsily.\n\u201cI told you we\u2019d be lucky if we got into Superior before noon, didn\u2019t\n\u201cYes,\u201d assented the boys.\n\u201cThen why are you sitting up?\u201d\n\u201cMr. Hansen,\u201d began Ted.\n\u201cBother Hansen! He\u2019s second mate and I\u2019m captain, what?\u201d\nAgain the young homesteaders assented.\n\u201cWell, if he\u2019d had as much experience as I have, he\u2019d be sailing a boat\nof his own instead of being my second mate. But if you want to sit up,\nall right.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have us called if you do move?\u201d appealed Ted.\n\u201cSure thing.\u201d\n\u201cBed\u2019s certainly more comfortable than this chair, Phil;\u201d and picking up\ntheir things, the boys made their way below to their cabin.\nScarcely had they gone to sleep again, it seemed to them, than they\nheard the voice of the first mate calling:\n\u201cWe\u2019re moving up to the canal. If you don\u2019t look sharp, you\u2019ll miss your\nchance to shoot the rapids.\u201d\nExpressing their thanks, Phil and Ted almost jumped into their clothes\nand were soon on the bridge, staring in open-mouthed wonder all about\nthem.\nTo the right they beheld the quaint buildings of the Canadian Soo and\nthe monster pulp works, but the foam of the rapids, as the water raced\ndown the twenty-foot fall from Lake Superior, almost a mile to the level\nof Lake Huron, quickly claimed and long kept their attention.\nIn front of them were the two American canals, one now useless because\nof the increased size of the lake carriers, with their locks and the\nmassive granite power-house, while work trains and dredges puffed and\nsnorted and a thousand men worked to remove the dirt from the course of\nstill another canal which was to have even longer locks. And back of the\ncanals, on the left, extended the steadily growing city of the American\nSault Ste. Marie. Far in the distance, to the right, they could see the\nCanadian canal, yet not a boat was waiting to use it.\nBut it was the rapids at which they were looking when the watchman, in\npassing, whispered: \u201cJust keep your eye on the skipper if you want to\nsee some boat jockeying.\u201d\nEven as the words were uttered, there sounded a series of ear-splitting\ntoots, seemingly abreast of them.\nIn response, the Admiral emitted a single, strident blast, Captain\nPerkins snapped some orders to his wheelsman, and the huge ore carrier\nswung on a diagonal course, making, under full speed, for a vacant place\nat the dock adjoining the canal abutments.\nThe man\u0153uvre successfully blocked other carriers, on both sides of the\nAdmiral, which had sought to reach the coveted berth before her, and\nthey slackened speed when their skippers realized they had not been able\nto steal a march on Captain Perkins.\n\u201cPretty work,\u201d grinned the mate, as he turned to his superior, \u201cbut\nhadn\u2019t you better check? Some inspector may see us and fine you.\u201d\nIn reply, the skipper pressed a button and the speed of the boat fell\naway, her momentum carrying her to the dock, where she was made fast,\npending her turn to lock through.\n\u201cCome ashore with me and we\u2019ll see what your chances are for a trip down\nthe rapids,\u201d called the captain, stepping from the bridge to the canal\nwall.\nQuickly the boys followed, and soon they were in the canal-master\u2019s room\nat the power-house.\n\u201cSome day I\u2019ll have to fine you, Perkins, for jockeying for dock\nposition,\u201d chuckled the master, as he shook the hand of the Admiral\u2019s\nskipper. \u201cI was watching and I thought those other fellows had caught\nyou napping for once.\u201d Captain Perkins\u2019 only reply was a grin, as he\nasked:\n\u201cHow long before we can go up?\u201d\n\u201cJust look over on Superior,\u201d returned the canal-master.\nAnd as they all turned, the boys beheld more than a score of boats\nwaiting to lock through.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not going to hold me until all those fellows are down?\u201d asked\nthe Admiral\u2019s skipper.\n\u201cI ought to, but seeing it\u2019s you, I\u2019ll let you up after I\u2019ve passed half\nof them.\u201d\n\u201cThat means two hours, anyhow.\u201d\n\u201cMore likely three; they are all big ones, so we can only take one at a\ntime.\u201d\n\u201cH\u2019m! I suppose I must be thankful you don\u2019t hold me for the twenty.\nSeen Afraid-of-his-wife this morning? I want him to take these friends\nof mine down the rapids.\u201d\n\u201cNo\u2014hold on, here he comes,\u201d added the canal-master, peering from his\nwindow toward the American side.\n\u201cWe\u2019re in luck all around,\u201d smiled the skipper, as, having thanked the\nmaster, he led the boys along the park-like reservation surrounding the\ncanals.\nHis companions gave him no heed, however, their attention being\nengrossed by the tall, bronze-faced man, clad in trousers and coat fully\na dozen sizes too big for him, who was approaching.\n\u201cHowde, chief,\u201d greeted the skipper. \u201cI want you to take these boys down\nthe rapids.\u201d\n\u201cFive dollar,\u201d grunted the redskin, after eying his prospective\npassengers for several moments.\n\u201cIf I were chief of police, I\u2019d arrest you for a robber,\u201d returned\nCaptain Perkins. \u201cYou\u2019ll get two dollars.\u201d\n\u201cAll right.\u201d\n\u201cIf you capsize, you won\u2019t get a cent and I\u2019ll take it out of your\nhide.\u201d\nA grin of understanding was the Indian\u2019s reply, and, nodding to the\nboys, he started toward the Superior end of the canal.\n\u201cMeet you here at the power-house,\u201d said the skipper, as Phil and Ted\nhurried after the redman.\nArrived at an inlet on the lake, the Indian shoved a twenty-foot\nbirch-bark canoe off the beach and held it while the boys got in.\n\u201cYou here,\u201d he grunted, motioning Ted to a seat in the bow. \u201cYou here;\u201d\nand he put Phil amidships. \u201cNo move. Sit still. Heap easy tip over. No\nmove, un\u2019erstan\u2019?\u201d\n\u201cWe do,\u201d chorused his passengers.\nTaking his paddle, Afraid-of-his-wife kneeled down in the stern, and\nwith a few powerful strokes sent the canoe out onto the lake and then\nturned it toward the foaming, roaring rapids.\nAs the frail craft was caught in the current and raced toward the raging\ntorrent, the boys instinctively grabbed the gunwales.\n\u201cNo move!\u201d cried the Indian.\nEre his passengers could answer, the canoe leaped over the fall, into\nthe seething waters of the rapids.\nWith tense lips and wide eyes the boys gazed at the merciless,\nsharp-pointed rocks whose presence lashed the river into foam. So many\nwere there that it seemed impossible the canoe could be guided in and\nout among them, and when a shower of spray drenched them, after a long\nleap, they screamed.\n\u201cNo move!\u201d shrieked the Indian, his shrill command audible even above\nthe roar of the rapids.\nAs they leaped, seemingly from white crest to white crest without\nmishap, the courage of the young passengers returned, and looking back,\nthey beheld the redman, kneeling on a crossbar, his face stolid, his\neyes keenly alert, only the play of his splendid arm muscles, as he\ndeftly turned his paddle, indicating that he was alive.\nConfidence established in his ability, Phil and Ted yelled in pure\ndelight as they raced along at express-train speed, and when, with a\nfinal leap, they shot into calm water, their one regret was that the\nrapids were not longer.\n                         THROUGH ONTO SUPERIOR\n\u201cI wonder if we have time to shoot the rapids again,\u201d exclaimed Ted, his\nblood a-tingle from the thrill of the dash through the swirling foam, as\nthe three of them walked up to the canal, the Indian towing his canoe.\n\u201cHow much would you do it for, Chief?\u201d The boy had first thought to call\nthe redman by his name, then, remembering that Captain Perkins had\navoided its use, he had employed the latter\u2019s mode of address.\n\u201cSame price, two dollar,\u201d grunted Afraid-of-his-wife.\n\u201cYou certainly are a robber,\u201d laughed Phil. \u201cThe second time is always\ncheaper, you know.\u201d\n\u201cHuh, you Yankee. Injun know. Yankee heap stingy. Help carry canoe back,\none dollar,\u201d declared the redskin, while the boys roared, both at his\ncharacterization of a Yankee and at his shrewdness in obtaining\nassistance for the \u201ccarry\u201d of more than a mile.\n\u201cWhat do you say, Phil, is it a go, or don\u2019t you think we can afford\nit?\u201d\n\u201cI guess we can stand the expense, Ted, but we\u2019d better wait before\nmaking any bargain until we see how much time we have.\u201d\nThe hurried approach of one of the Admiral\u2019s deck hands settled the\nmatter, however.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got a chance to lock through right now, and the skipper said you\nwas to get a move on,\u201d panted the sailor.\n\u201cAll right. Sorry, Chief, that we can\u2019t help you tote your canoe back,\u201d\nsaid Phil, handing the redman his fee.\nThe Indian made no comment, however, simply pocketed his money, and then\nsprang into his canoe, which he paddled vigorously toward the lock.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s he going?\u201d inquired Ted, as they broke into a trot.\n\u201cTo get into the lock and go through with us,\u201d replied the sailor. \u201cNo\n\u2018carrying\u2019 for him. Why, I\u2019ve seen a redskin wait half a day for a\nchance to lock through rather than tote his canoe the mile.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve always heard Indians were lazy,\u201d commented Ted.\n\u201cOnly one thing lazier and that\u2019s a New Orleans roustabout. I\u2019ve seen\nthe time down there when the shippers wanted to load cotton quick and\noffered those niggers double wages, yet they wouldn\u2019t lift a finger\n\u2019count of its being Sunday.\u201d\nAs the three came within hailing distance of the Admiral, Captain\nPerkins ordered them to hurry.\nAlready men were dragging her hawsers toward the spiles and cleats for\nthe first lock, and, jumping aboard, Phil and Ted hastened to the\nbridge.\n\u201cIf there\u2019s a twenty-foot fall between Lake Superior and Lake Huron, how\nin the world do we get up it?\u201d asked the younger boy.\n\u201cWait and see, don\u2019t bother anybody with questions now,\u201d quickly\nadmonished his brother, in a low voice.\nAnd the warning was timely, for if there is one occasion more than\nanother on an ore carrier when officers and crew are busy, it is when\nthey are locking through the canal.\nThe second mate takes charge of the stern, giving orders to the men at\nthe lines both on shore and on the boat; the first mate renders similar\nservice at the bow, and the captain gives instructions to both,\nregulates the speed of the vessel as she enters the locks, that she may\nnot ram the lock gates and thus put the entire canal out of commission,\nat the same time taking care not to scrape or jam the plates against the\nside of the canal\u2014no trifling task with a boat whose beam is only a\ncouple of feet less than the width of the lock.\nAt last the Admiral was in position, held fast bow and stern by hawsers\nrunning to each side of the canal.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see anything happening yet,\u201d observed Ted, in disappointment,\npeering ahead intently.\n\u201cJust look astern and you will,\u201d replied the captain.\nQuickly both boys faced about and beheld several canal officials on the\nbridges above the gates, which were slowly swinging shut. When at last\nthey were closed, the men turned the freight-car-brake like wheels which\nregulate the sluices and dropped the bolts into place.\n\u201cNow turn around and look ahead again,\u201d instructed the skipper.\nOn the bow lock another set of men were busy at the wheels, and as they\nraised the sluices, water began to bubble and foam at the bottom of the\ngates.\nSoon the big carrier commenced to strain at her moorings, her hawsers\ncreaking and groaning.\n\u201cWhy, the boat is rising,\u201d exclaimed Ted, excitedly.\nThe skipper was giving his attention to his boat again, and the boy\u2019s\ncomment was lost in the shouts of \u201cEase off a bit, bow! Ease off,\nstern!\u201d that were yelled at the line-tenders on the carrier.\nGreater and greater became the volume of water rushing into the lock as\nthe gates were opened wider, and when they were full open, the Admiral\nrode ten feet higher.\n\u201cCast loose,\u201d commanded Captain Perkins. When the line-tenders ashore\nhad received the word from the mates and obeyed, he pressed the button\nfor going ahead and the huge boat crept into the second lock.\nThe action was repeated in this, and when the lock was filled, the\nAdmiral was on the level of Lake Superior and steamed on her course, her\nline-tenders scrambling aboard as best they could, for it is the law of\nthe lakes that they must look out for themselves and not depend on a\nskipper\u2019s waiting for them.\nHeaving lines and hawsers properly coiled and the log set, the crew\nsettled down to their routine, thankful for the days ahead of them of\nstraight sailing.\nIn the best of humour because he had been locked through the canal\nwithout waiting for the passage of the entire down-bound fleet that had\nbeen anchored at the Superior mouth of the canal, Captain Perkins told\nthe boys to bring their chairs to the bridge and pointed out the points\nof interest on the fast-receding shores.\n\u201cWhere going?\u201d he asked, as Phil arose and started to leave the bridge.\n\u201cTo the galley, to get a drink of ice water.\u201d\n\u201cJust step into the pilot house, take the pail and line, and heave her\nover.\u201d\n\u201cBut I want ice water, sir.\u201d\n\u201cAnd you\u2019ll get it. On the hottest day of summer the water in Superior\nis always cold, practically ice-cold.\u201d\nSkeptical, Phil obeyed, but when he raised the water to his lips, he\nfound that the captain was right.\n\u201cWhat makes it so cold?\u201d\n\u201cThat is the question no one has yet answered satisfactorily. Superior\nis a queer lake. There is less known about it and it is more feared than\nany of the Great Lakes, even than Erie, where terrific storms come up in\na twinkling. You\u2019ve found how cold the water is, and if you\u2019ll look over\nthe side, you will notice that it is green, while the water in the other\nlakes is blue. They say that no body which was drowned in Superior has\never come to the surface, and, you know, in ordinary water a dead body\nwill rise in time.\u201d\n\u201cIs that the reason the lake is so feared?\u201d inquired Ted.\n\u201cPartly. The storms, when we do get them, are terrible. But the worst\nthing is the fog\u2014it comes as suddenly as the big winds on Erie. See that\nlight-house off the port bow?\u201d And the skipper pointed to a column,\npainted white with a red pinnacle, which was just visible on the end of\na barren promontory. \u201cWell, that\u2019s White Fish Point Light-house, and\nthere is nothing but white sand and scrub pine for miles in any shore\ndirection. About thirty miles southwest of the light-house is an\nuncharted reef, at least it was uncharted five years ago, and that\u2019s the\ntime I\u2019m going to tell you about.\n\u201cI was bound down on the Queen, a little two-hundred-and-fifty-foot tub,\nloaded with every ounce of copper we dared put in her. It was early in\nDecember\u2014owners took chances then running later into the winter that\nthey don\u2019t take now\u2014and it was bitter cold.\n\u201cMasts, cabins, deck, and rails were coated with ice, but the day broke\nclear, after a misty snow. I was crowding the old tub because I knew if\nthe cold held, I\u2019d be ice-bound at the Soo and unable to get through.\n\u201cSuddenly, along near the middle of the forenoon, a fog settled down on\nus, almost before you could say the words. I slackened speed a trifle,\nbut not much, because I was afraid of ice. For three hours we plugged\nalong, blowing our fog-horn and holding our course, as we thought.\n\u201cAll at once there sounded a series of reports, short and sharp, as\nthough somebody was exploding several sticks of dynamite, one at a time.\nI knew quick enough we\u2019d grounded, but before my first mate or I could\nspeak, there came a long, grating sound and the old tub began to settle.\n\u201cI tell you, it didn\u2019t take us long to get into my cutter, the crew only\nnumbered twenty all told, and pull away from the Queen. We hadn\u2019t gone\nmore than nine or ten fathoms when the old tub went down.\n\u201cWell, the fog still held and we knew we were off our course, but we\nrowed and we rowed and we rowed. It seemed as though it grew colder\nevery minute, and after we\u2019d rowed about six hours, the men\u2019s hands and\nfeet began to freeze. But we kept at it.\n\u201cSome of the men began to whine that we were rowing straight out into\nthe lake, and when darkness came, with no shore in sight, I admit I lost\nheart. However, I didn\u2019t let my men know it, and just nine hours after\nwe took to the cutter, we caught the flash from old White Fish\u2014and\nperhaps it didn\u2019t look good! The next day, we got word to the Soo and a\ntug was sent for us.\u201d\n\u201cWhat became of the Queen?\u201d asked Phil, when a long pause announced that\nthe captain had finished his story.\n\u201cYou saw that boat to which I tooted three times as we passed out of the\ncanal? Well, that is the Queen. The next summer, divers found she was\nonly in some thirty feet of water. Her cargo, what there was left, was\nlightered; she was raised, dry-docked, fitted with new plates, and the\nfirst mate who was with me then is now her master.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d cried Ted, sitting up in bed, his mind too dulled by\nsleep to identify the sound that had awakened him so suddenly.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s what?\u201d growled his brother, who had been aroused by Ted\u2019s cry.\n\u201cThat noise I heard?\u201d\n\u201cNoise nothing! Go to sleep! You were dreaming.\u201d\n\u201cBut I tell you I heard something. Why, it\u2014\u201d\nHis words were interrupted, however, by the ear-splitting screech of the\nAdmiral\u2019s siren.\n\u201cThere! What did I tell you?\u201d gloated the younger boy. \u201cI knew\u2014\u201d\nBut again his words were silenced by another shrill whistle.\nA veritable roar replied from the Admiral\u2019s siren.\nReaching quickly above his head, Phil switched on the electric lights in\nthe cabin, and the boys stared at one another as a still different-toned\nwhistle joined in the pandemonium.\n\u201cFog!\u201d they gasped, almost in the same breath. And even as they uttered\nthe word, they sprang to the floor, their minds recalling the statement\nof Captain Perkins in regard to the danger from the palls of mist.\nNever another word did either of them speak as they got into their\nclothes with a rapidity that would have established a record for\nquick-dressing, had any one been present to time them.\nStill silent, they rushed to the door and threw it open, then paused.\nNot a yard could they see ahead of them.\nThe screech of the Admiral\u2019s siren seemed continuous, interrupted\nincessantly by other whistles, while apparently from all about them, so\ndoes a Superior fog distort all sense of direction, came hails, some\nloud, others faint, in accordance with the distance of their utterers,\n\u201cDon\u2019t see a thing!\u201d from the lookouts on the carriers.\n\u201cLet\u2019s go to the bridge,\u201d whispered Phil, in an awed tone.\n\u201cBut we may lose our way\u2014and fall overboard. You know what Captain\nPerkins said about bodies\u2014\u201d\n\u201cForget that,\u201d cut in the elder boy. \u201cJust take hold of my arm. I\u2019ll\nkeep one hand on the cabin. Come on.\u201d\nAs they gained the bridge, the young passengers were just able to\ndistinguish half a dozen forms.\n\u201cSee anything?\u201d queried the skipper\u2019s voice, its tone indicating the\ntension under which he was, as there came an instant\u2019s lull in the riot\nof siren screeches and whistles.\n\u201cThought I saw something off the port bow a minute ago,\u201d responded a\nvoice which neither of the boys could identify, then it added: \u201cBut I\ncan\u2019t see it now.\u201d\n\u201cHow about lying to?\u201d suggested the first mate.\n\u201cDon\u2019t dare to,\u201d replied the captain. \u201cThose other boats are so close,\nI\u2019ve simply got to have steerage way. She\u2019s checked to quarter speed\nnow.\u201d\n\u201cWireless! Wireless!\u201d shouted another voice. \u201cThe Prescott wants to know\nour course and position. She\u2019s East by North, half East, off Moose\nPoint.\u201d\n\u201cAt the wheel, there! What\u2019s our course?\u201d demanded the skipper.\n\u201cNorth by East, half North,\u201d answered the wheelsman.\n\u201cSame course,\u201d snapped Captain Perkins. \u201cMr. Adams, where do you think\nwe are?\u201d\nWhen word of the request had been announced, the first mate had darted\nbelow to the pilot house and was scanning the log-book.\n\u201cAccording to our speed and the last bearing entered, we ought to be off\nMoose Point,\u201d he called to the skipper.\n\u201cTell the Prescott we are on the same course and in practically the same\nposition she is. Tell her to swing a point East and I\u2019ll swing a point\nNorth. Get that?\u201d\n\u201cAye, aye, sir!\u201d replied the wireless operator.\nScarcely had the instruments begun to crash out their message than there\nrose a terrified shout:\n\u201cBoat ahoy, sir! Right off the port bow!\u201d\n\u201cHard astarboard! Hard astarboard!\u201d bellowed Captain Perkins to his\nwheelsman, while he sprang to his buttons and frantically signalled for\nfull speed astern.\nAnd even as he spoke, there loomed a towering, fog-magnified mass,\nseemingly right upon them.\nThe lookouts on the Prescott had spied the Admiral only a few seconds\nafter the latter\u2019s, and while Captain Perkins was giving his orders, a\nfrenzied ringing of bells proved that her skipper was also doing his\nutmost to avert the collision which meant the foundering of both boats,\nbecause they were loaded, his vessel being older and not equipped with\nthe modern system for signalling the engine room.\nThough both carriers had been creeping through the fog with barely\nsteerage way, it seemed to the anxious groups on each that they were\nracing together at express-train speed. But the reversed propellers of\nthe Admiral were doing their work, the boat checked with a suddenness\nthat sent the boys and some of the crew sprawling on the bridge,\nquivered and then began to back, the bow swinging away from the\nPrescott.\n\u201cPort your wheel, hard over!\u201d ordered Captain Perkins, as his boat moved\nastern.\nStill the Prescott came on, then her propellers bit, and she, too,\nchecked, but not before her nose was where the huge carrier\u2019s had been\nscarce a moment before.\nFarther and farther to the right swung the bow of the Admiral, while the\nPrescott began to swerve to the left, and the danger was over.\n\u201cGreat work, Perkins! You\u2019ve saved our lives!\u201d megaphoned the other\ncarrier\u2019s skipper as she passed on.\n\u201cToo close! I don\u2019t want any more like\u2014\u201d began Captain Perkins, when\nthere came frenzied shouts from the Admiral\u2019s stern, which were quickly\npassed by the crew on deck, acting as lookouts, to the bridge: \u201cBoat\nahoy! Off the starboard stern!\u201d\n\u201cTake the bridge, Mr. Adams,\u201d exclaimed the skipper, ordering full speed\nahead. \u201cKeep your eyes open in front!\u201d and he hurried to the deck.\n\u201cWireless, sir! Prescott wants to know if she shall stand by?\u201d called\nthe operator.\n\u201cTell her \u2018yes\u2019!\u201d shouted back Captain Perkins, as he ran aft, where he\nquickly mounted the superstructure, the better to see, having instructed\nHansen to station men to pass his orders to the chief in the engine\nroom.\nThe other boat, however, had heard the cries and located the Admiral,\nthus averting the danger of collision by a wider margin than in the case\nof the Prescott.\nBut the shouts and exchange of hails had carried far through the fog,\nand again whistles and sirens screeched in all directions.\nWhen a lull came, the Admiral\u2019s skipper raised to his lips the megaphone\nhe had carried from the bridge.\n\u201cAhoy, astern! Who are you?\u201d he demanded. \u201cPalmer,\u201d came the answer. \u201cWe\npicked up your wireless, Admiral. There are boats all around us. How are\nwe going to get out of this tangle?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going to wireless everybody within fifteen miles to check and just\nkeep steerage way.\u201d\n\u201cReckon that\u2019s the safest thing, but all the boats haven\u2019t wireless.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have to watch out for those that haven\u2019t. Bring the Palmer close\nto my stern and swing to right angles. I\u2019ll hold the Prescott off my\nbow. The three of us can protect each other.\u201d\n\u201cRight-o!\u201d exclaimed the captain of the Palmer, and Mr. Perkins hastened\nto the bridge, where he quickly gave instructions to his operator,\nadding: \u201cTell each boat to answer, and that I\u2019ll report her to the\nAssociation if she refuses.\u201d For five minutes the man at the wireless\ninstruments sent out the code call for the attention of the other boats,\nthen flashed the captain\u2019s orders through the fog. Twice he repeated\nthem, then waited for replies.\nOne by one they came in and were reported to the skipper.\n\u201cThe Wolcott wants to know how she can protect herself from other boats\nbound down behind her, if she checks,\u201d announced the operator.\n\u201cTell her to send out her position when we have finished.\u201d\nFor some time there was silence, then Captain Perkins called:\n\u201cHow many answers have you received?\u201d\n\u201cEighteen, sir.\u201d\n\u201cThat ought to give you boys an idea of the danger in a Superior fog,\u201d\ncommented the skipper, turning to his young passengers. \u201cWith twenty-one\nboats within fifteen miles, counting the Palmer, Prescott and ourselves,\nand nobody knows how many others that haven\u2019t any wireless, there are\nplenty of chances for collisions.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, it\u2019s three o\u2019clock,\u201d exclaimed Phil, looking at his watch. \u201cWhat\ntime did the fog set in?\u201d\n\u201cFifteen minutes past twelve,\u201d returned the first mate.\n\u201cHow long will it last?\u201d\n\u201cGoodness knows,\u201d sighed the skipper. \u201cI\u2019ve seen them set in and lift\ninside an hour and I\u2019ve seen \u2019em hold three days. Your opinion is as\ngood as mine.\u201d\n\u201cWill all these boats be drifting for three days, if the fog holds that\nlong?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cUnless we can arrange some plan to keep out of the way of one another.\nOnly there are more likely to be sixty than twenty-one boats floating\nabout if the fog holds that long.\u201d\nToo careful a navigator to turn over his vessel to the mate when his\njudgment and nerve might be needed at any moment to meet an emergency,\nCaptain Perkins went into the pilot house, where he regaled the boys\nwith stories of other fogs.\n\u201cIt\u2019s lifting! It\u2019s lifting!\u201d suddenly shouted a voice, joyfully.\nQuickly the skipper was on his bridge, followed by Phil and Ted.\nIn the East a pink glow suffused the mist pall, before which the fog\nreceded. As dawn burst, the colour effect was gorgeous, and when the sun\nseemingly leaped from the lake, the fog vanished as if by magic.\nIn amazement, the young homesteaders looked about them. The water was\napparently alive with boats as far as they could see in all directions.\n\u201cHow much danger was there, Captain Perkins, of our sinking if we had\ncollided with the Prescott?\u201d inquired Phil, when they met at dinner, all\nhands, save the watch on duty, having refreshed themselves with sleep\nafter the terrible strain of the night.\n\u201cThat\u2019s hard to tell. Last summer two carriers, bound down with copper\nore, collided, and both sank so quickly not a single man jack of them\nwas able to save himself. Still, we should have stood a better chance\nthan the Prescott, because she\u2019s full of ore.\u201d\n\u201cBut we carry thirteen thousand tons of coal, and thirteen thousand tons\nis thirteen thousand tons,\u201d interposed Ted.\n\u201cRaked that up again, eh?\u201d smiled the captain. \u201cYou\u2019re quite right, but\nyou must remember that soft coal is porous and has a certain amount of\nbuoyancy, enough, perhaps, to have kept our boat afloat until we could\npatch her up or clear our cutters, but there\u2019s nothing I know sinks\nfaster than crude copper ore.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think the others could have\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, let up, Ted!\u201d exclaimed his brother. \u201cWe didn\u2019t have any collision,\nthanks to Captain Perkins, so let\u2019s not suppose cases.\u201d\n\u201cI was only going to ask how long it took to launch the cutters. I\u2019d\nlike to know, and I\u2019d also like to know what to do and how to do it at\nsuch a time. If anything had happened last night, I should have had no\nidea where to go.\u201d Phil\u2019s retort was prevented by the skipper.\n\u201cIt\u2019s always well to be prepared for emergencies, Ted. Mr. Adams, go to\nthe bridge and give the signal to \u2018abandon ship.\u2019 I should like to see\nhow quickly my crew can do the trick.\u201d As the whistle shrieked the dread\nsignal, coal-passers, firemen, oilers, and deck hands alike looked at\none another in amazement, then dashed to the posts assigned them\u2014some at\nthe boat falls, others whisking off the canvas covers, while still\nothers sprang into the boats to prevent the ropes from fouling as they\nwere lowered into the water.\nWatch in hand, Captain Perkins stood on the bridge looking aft.\n\u201cStarboard cutter, two minutes, ten seconds,\u201d he announced through his\nmegaphone. \u201cGood work, boys!\u201d\nThe other boats were in the water in less than four minutes, and the\nskipper was delighted with the result of the test.\n\u201cWe must have our drills more often after this, Mr. Adams,\u201d he said;\nthen turning to Ted, he asked:\n\u201cShould you know what to do now?\u201d\n\u201cY-e-s, that is, I think so, if I knew which boat to go to.\u201d\n\u201cIf anything happens, which I hope there won\u2019t, you boys make for the\nstarboard cutter as fast as your legs can carry you.\u201d\nThe remaining days before they sighted the harbour of Duluth were\nuneventful, the young homesteaders enjoying to the full the sensation of\nbeing for so many hours out of sight of land.\nIt was morning when the carrier entered the Duluth breakwater, and the\nboys gazed in wonder at the panorama. On the left was the port of\nSuperior, where a score of boats were receiving and discharging cargoes,\nbut it was the grain elevators of Duluth pouring their tons of wheat\ninto several vessels that claimed the greatest share of attention, and\nPhil and Ted listened with interest to the statistics concerning the\nstupendous amount of grain and iron ore, totalling millions of tons,\nshipped annually from the \u201ccity at the head of the lakes.\u201d\nWhen the Admiral was finally docked, it was with real regret that Phil\nand Ted bade goodbye to the mates, after thanking them for their\nkindness and patience, and turned toward Captain Perkins.\n\u201cI\u2019m going ashore with you,\u201d he smiled. \u201cMy instructions from Mr. Atwood\nwere not to leave you until you were safely on board your train for the\nWest.\u201d\nPhil, because of his nineteen years, felt that such guardianship was not\nonly unnecessary but humiliating and he was on the point of rejecting\nthe skipper\u2019s escort, when Ted quickly exclaimed:\n\u201cThat will be bully. Not that we need a guardian\u2014we\u2019re old enough to\ntake care of ourselves\u2014but it will be pleasant to have some one we know\nwith us. Can\u2019t Mr. Adams go too?\u201d\nThe boy\u2019s words were so cordial that the skipper smiled at the token of\nappreciation, while Phil was very glad that he had been prevented from\nsaying what he had intended.\n\u201cThat was just what I wanted to suggest,\u201d declared Captain Perkins.\n\u201cCome on, Harry; it\u2019s Harry any time except on board ship, you know\u2014we\nmust treat these boys right in Duluth. Some day we may want to beg\nenough wheat from them to make a couple of barrels of flour, if things\nkeep on as they are going.\u201d\n\u201cYou shall have it and welcome, and all you want of it,\u201d declared Phil,\nglad of the opportunity to atone for his former rudeness.\n\u201cBy Jove! Just think! Perhaps some day you\u2019ll carry some of our wheat in\nthe Admiral!\u201d exclaimed Ted. Then, turning to the vessel, he said,\nwhimsically: \u201cGood-bye, old boat. If you ever carry any of my grain,\ndon\u2019t you dare to sink with it.\u201d\nAfter a call at the bank, where the money needed for their railroad\ntickets, berths, meals, and incidentals was drawn against their letter\nof credit, the young homesteaders purchased their transportation. These\nmatters attended to, they had nothing else to occupy them until evening,\nand glad, indeed, were they of the companionship of the captain and\nmate.\nHaving, for reasons of economy, elected to travel in a \u201ctourist car,\u201d\nwhich in reality differs from the more expensive sleeping-cars only in\nfinishings and furnishings, Phil and Ted, after bidding their friends\ngood-bye, set about arranging their luggage and making themselves\ncomfortable for the fifteen-hundred-mile journey.\nEvery section in the car was taken by people who, like themselves, were\ngoing West to new homes or to visit friends, and from time to time the\nboys stole glances at them.\n\u201cThey look decent enough,\u201d whispered Phil, in surprise.\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t they?\u201d demanded his brother. \u201cJust because people choose\nto travel in a tourist car to save a few dollars\u2014and not so few at\nthat\u2014is no reason why they are not decent. Right here is where I am\ngoing to tell you something, and I don\u2019t want you to get angry.\u201d\n\u201c\u2018Out of the mouths of babes!\u2019\u201d began Phil.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t stop me.\u201d\n\u201cThen why don\u2019t you begin?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you won\u2019t like it.\u201d\n\u201cI expect to find a lot of things in the next few months that I won\u2019t\nlike, so fire away.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s this. You\u2019re a bit of a snob. Now don\u2019t interrupt. You know as\nwell as I do that if I hadn\u2019t prevented you, you would have given\nCaptain Perkins a snub when he said he was going ashore with us, and\nafter all his patience with and kindness to us.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use of throwing that at me?\u201d snapped his brother, his face\ncrimsoning. \u201cHe isn\u2019t with us now, is he?\u201d\n\u201cNo. But you were just as snobbish when you said these people in the car\nwere \u2018decent.\u2019 You know as well as I do that if we are going to succeed\nat Chikau, or wherever we settle, you must get over it. The people out\nin Washington are every bit as good as we are. You can\u2019t judge a\nWesterner by his clothes or his talk. A man may look like a tramp and\nwork in the fields with his men and yet be worth no end of money. Hustle\nall the time, early and late, is the custom out there. And there\u2019s no\ntaint to mixing with the help and working with your hands out West, as\nthere is in the East. Westerners take a man for what he is, not what his\nfamily are, or ancestors were. Most of the successful men out there went\nout penniless, like ourselves, and they have no use for snobs.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know you\u2019d been out West. Where did you get your information?\u201d\nsneered Phil, angry at the reproof, and all the more because, in his\nheart, he realized it was merited.\n\u201cI knew you\u2019d get mad, but I don\u2019t care. Dr. Blair told me to talk to\nyou.\u201d\nAt this statement the elder boy sat up straight.\n\u201cWhen?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cYou know that letter I received at Detroit and wouldn\u2019t show you? Well,\nit was in that.\u201d\nSurprised and mortified by this information, Phil sat in silence,\nsubjecting himself to a searching self-examination. And neither boy\nnoticed a kindly old gentleman, seated across the aisle from them, who\nnodded approvingly at Ted.\nAs the best all-round athlete in his school, Phil had been looked up to\nand, in some cases, worshipped by his mates. Because he was young, this\nhad given him an undue appreciation of himself. But it was a shock to\nhim to learn that Dr. Blair had noticed the fact and that his manner of\nsuperiority was so evident that the physician felt called upon to warn\nhim against it.\n\u201cDid Blair say anything else?\u201d he asked, finally, of the brother who had\nbeen covertly watching the effect of his verbal chastisement.\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cThen let\u2019s hear it.\u201d\n\u201cHe said we must remember that we know absolutely nothing about farming,\nor the life out West and that we would need all the friends we could\nmake. Then he quoted that line about having a thousand friends but never\na friend to spare, and said he wished me to tell you what he had\nwritten, so that you would not spoil our chances of success, on Momsy\u2019s\naccount.\u201d\n\u201cPhew! Did he put it as strongly as that? Let me see the letter.\u201d\n\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t like to read it. I\u2014I\u2019ve toned it down a bit, but I\u2019ve\ngiven the substance of it.\u201d Phil, however, was insistent, and at last,\nthough with evident reluctance, his brother handed over the letter.\nTwice and yet a third time the former baseball captain read the caustic\ncriticisms of himself.\n\u201cWas I really such a cad as Blair makes out, Ted?\u201d\n\u201cWell, you were Parker\u2019s star athlete, you know, and for that reason\npeople overlooked a lot of things,\u201d temporized his brother.\n\u201cWow! Then I guess I was. But I won\u2019t be any more. Much obliged, son,\nfor opening my eyes. Let\u2019s shake on it.\u201d\n\u201cNot unless you stop \u2018sonning\u2019 me. That\u2019s too condescending. It\u2019s as\neasy to say Ted as \u2018son.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cAll right, Ted. Shake. And now to prove that I\u2019ve waked up to myself, I\nam going to help that woman ahead, the one with the baby, open her\nwindow.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s only six o\u2019clock. Go back to sleep, you\u2019ll wake everybody in the\ncar,\u201d exclaimed Phil, aroused from his slumbers by his brother\u2019s\ncontortions as he dressed in their cramped section.\n\u201cI won\u2019t if you stop talking. Besides, I want to see as much of the\ncountry through which we are passing as I can.\u201d\nThe prospect of new scenes interested the elder boy, and he, too, began\nto dress.\n\u201cInstead of being the first ones up, we\u2019re the last ones,\u201d announced\nTed, withdrawing his head through the section curtains, after a look up\nand down the car.\nSuch was, indeed, the fact, and as they emerged from their compartment,\nthey were greeted by the grey-haired man opposite.\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard some of your conversation,\u201d he smiled. \u201cIf you\u2019re going to\nbe successful farmers, you\u2019ll have to get up earlier than this. I\u2019ve\nbeen a farmer all my life, and there isn\u2019t a time I can remember, since\nI was big enough to carry a pail, that I wasn\u2019t up at four-thirty,\nsummer or winter.\u201d\n\u201cBut what did you do? You couldn\u2019t begin to farm so early,\u201d returned\nTed.\n\u201cChores,\u201d answered the man. \u201cCows must be fed before they are milked and\nthe other stock must be attended to. The earlier a man gets his chores\ndone, the more time he can give to his farm. I\u2019ve no patience with these\nfellows who don\u2019t get through with their chores till the middle of the\nforenoon.\u201d\n\u201cBut you didn\u2019t have any cows to milk this morning. I should think you\nwould have indulged in the luxury of a late sleep,\u201d laughed Phil.\n\u201cI just couldn\u2019t. It was four-fifteen when I looked at my watch and I\ngrew so fidgety I had to get up. Marthy, can\u2019t you give these young\ngentlemen some of your good coffee?\u201d Turning, the boys beheld a plump\nlittle woman, from whose face and eyes kindness and good nature\nradiated, hurrying down the aisle with a steaming coffee-pot in her\nhand.\n\u201cTo be sure, I can, Silas.\u201d Then, beaming on the young homesteaders, she\nsaid:\n\u201cJust bring your cups. After I\u2019d made it. I knew there was more\u2019n twice\nas much as Silas and I could drink.\u201d\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t any cups, though we thank you just the same,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cNo cups? Land sakes, what did you expect to drink out of?\u201d cried the\nwoman in dismay, subjecting the boys to a penetrating scrutiny.\n\u201cGuess they haven\u2019t made the trip across the plains as many times as we\nhave, Marthy,\u201d interposed her husband.\n\u201cThis is our first time,\u201d explained Ted.\n\u201cLand sakes, I thought because you knew enough to travel in a \u2018tourist\u2019\nyou\u2019d been out before. If you haven\u2019t cups, then I don\u2019t suppose you\nhave anything but boughten pies, cake and such like,\u201d sighed the woman.\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t even those,\u201d smiled Phil.\n\u201cThen how did you expect to eat\u2014beg from those as provided?\u201d she asked.\n\u201cEasy, Marthy, easy,\u201d protested the man the boys knew only as Silas.\n\u201cI can\u2019t help it. I\u2019ve no patience with people who\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWe intend to get our meals in the dining-car,\u201d hastily interposed Ted.\n\u201cMust have money to throw away,\u201d opined the man.\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t, but we did not know about bringing any food or things with\nus.\u201d\nThe fact that the young homesteaders did not purpose sponging meals from\ntheir fellow passengers quickly re-established them in the motherly\nwoman\u2019s eyes, and, reaching under a seat, she drew forth a hamper from\nwhich she produced cups, plates, knives, forks, and spoons.\n\u201cNow I\u2019m not going to let you boys throw away your money in that\ndining-car. I don\u2019t know your names or anything about you, but you look\nlikely and that\u2019s enough for me.\u201d Quickly Phil introduced himself and\nTed, telling their new friends briefly about their home and the purpose\nof their trip.\n\u201cOur name is Hopkins,\u201d returned the woman, fairly bubbling over with\nsympathetic interest in the young homesteaders. \u201cI am glad we started\nyesterday instead of today, Silas. You can give these boys lots of\npoints. One of our sons has a big farm in Idaho. Now you just sit down\nand I\u2019ll go back and get the rest of the breakfast.\u201d And Mrs. Hopkins\nbustled away to the forward part of the car, where the boys beheld a\nhalf-dozen other women, their best\u2014and uncomfortable\u2014clothes of the day\nbefore changed for easy-fitting gingham dresses.\n\u201cThis is our sixth trip out, so you see we know the ropes,\u201d explained\nMr. Hopkins. \u201cWhen our sons and daughters travel with us\u2014we\u2019ve got five\nscattered from California to Idaho\u2014they make us ride in the parlour\ncars, but Marthy and I prefer the tourists; she says the folks ain\u2019t so\nstuck up and that our money and things are safer.\u201d\nWhen he had first spoken about early rising, Phil had decided that Mr.\nHopkins was an unsuccessful Eastern farmer making a last desperate bid\nfor fortune by going West. But as he heard him tell of the many trips\nacross the continent and of his family, he recalled vividly Dr. Blair\u2019s\nwords about judging by appearances.\nLooking down the aisle, Ted saw Mrs. Hopkins bustling about an oil\nstove, and soon she came toward them with two large plates.\n\u201cI always bring ham, it keeps better,\u201d she explained, as she set the\nplates, the other of which contained fried potatoes, on the table her\nhusband had improvised.\n\u201cBut I didn\u2019t know they allowed passengers to cook,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the beauty of a tourist car,\u201d returned Mr. Hopkins. \u201cMany a time\nwhen I have gone into a diner and tasted the messes they set before me,\nI\u2019ve wished I was in a tourist where I could have some of Marthy\u2019s\ncooking.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t wonder, it\u2019s bully,\u201d declared Ted, as he ate heartily. \u201cWe must\nwrite Momsy and the girls to come by a tourist car, so they can do their\nown cooking.\u201d\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ll give you a list of things to send them, things I\u2019ve found keep\nall right, so they won\u2019t buy food that will spoil,\u201d offered Mrs.\nHopkins.\n\u201cThank you, and now isn\u2019t there something we can do to return your\nkindness?\u201d asked Phil, when the simple but satisfying breakfast had been\neaten.\n\u201cYou may wash the dishes,\u201d smiled the kindly woman. \u201cThat\u2019s Silas\u2019 job,\nbut he doesn\u2019t like it very well.\u201d\n\u201cWe shall be glad to, only you must tell us where to do it,\u201d said Ted.\n\u201cJust go down to my oil stove. I left some water on it to heat. I\u2019ll\ngive you soap, a dishcloth, and towels;\u201d and again Mrs. Hopkins began\nrummaging in the hamper, finally producing the required articles.\nPicking up the dishes, the boys put them in a basket and started. Four\nor five young people were already busy at similar tasks, and as Ted and\nPhil joined them, they greeted them pleasantly.\nAwkwardly and with much embarrassment the boys set about their work.\n\u201cOuch!\u201d cried Phil, snatching his hand from the saucepan of water into\nwhich he had put a cup.\n\u201cHere, let me show you. I guess you don\u2019t know much about dish-washing,\u201d\nlaughed a pretty girl at the next stove.\n\u201cIt seems that we don\u2019t,\u201d returned Phil, looking at his still smarting\nhand.\n\u201cFirst of all, put out the flame of your stove, then get some cold water\nfrom the tank and cool that in the saucepan,\u201d directed their assistant.\nThe fact that they were fellow passengers broke down all barriers of\nreserve, and by the time the dishes had been washed, the young people\nwere talking of their homes and their hopes.\n\u201cI\u2019m so glad you are going to Washington,\u201d said the girl who had come to\nthe young homesteaders\u2019 rescue. \u201cI was afraid Tom and I would be the\nonly young people on the car, but now you\u2019re going through, we can have\na jolly time.\u201d\nAnd a jolly time they had, talking, playing cards, building air-castles,\nand discussing farm problems, in the latter of which Mr. Hopkins joined\nand gave them much valuable advice.\nAfter the second day of riding through endless acres of land upon which\nthe wheat was just sprouting, the novelty wore away, giving place to\nthat feeling of monotony which the undulating plains bring to\nEasterners.\n\u201cI should like to see a mountain or even a hill,\u2019 exclaimed Ted,\npetulantly.\n\u201cMountains! You Easterners don\u2019t know what mountains are,\u201d returned Mr.\nHopkins. \u201cJust wait until you see the Rockies. You\u2019ll think your little\nmountains are hills.\u201d\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d like to see them, just the same. They are better than these\neverlasting plains.\u201d\n\u201cA bit homesick, eh? Just remember that if it weren\u2019t for these plains,\nthere wouldn\u2019t be enough grain in the country to supply the congested\nEast with flour and things, making the cost of living still higher.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to be disagreeable, Mr. Hopkins, but we\u2019ve had nothing\nbut plains for forty-eight hours. I\u2019d like to see something new, or have\nsomething happen.\u201d And getting up, the boy strolled restlessly down the\ncar, pausing to say a word to his new acquaintances, finally, the desire\nfor a change still upon him, passing into the next car.\nThough this was also a tourist coach, Ted quickly noticed the occupants\nwere anything but prepossessing, and he was thanking his stars that Phil\nand he were located in the other car when a man spoke to him.\n\u201cSit down and talk to me,\u201d he commanded. \u201cI\u2019m pretty nigh \u2018loco\u2019 for the\nwant of some one to swap words with, but there ain\u2019t no one in here I\u2019d\nspeak to.\u201d\nThe man himself was not a person one would have selected as a travelling\ncompanion, being badly in need of a shave and clad in clothes none too\nclean. But despite his dislike of the fellow, Ted remembered his\ncriticism of Phil\u2019s snobbishness and dropped into the seat.\n\u201cI can see you ain\u2019t a \u2018prairie dog.\u2019 Going out West for a visit?\u201d began\nthe stranger.\n\u201cNo. My brother and I intend to take up a homestead.\u201d\n\u201cHope you have plenty of money.\u201d\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\u201cBecause it takes a pile to get started.\u201d\n\u201cHow do you mean? The fees for filing an entry are only ten dollars for\none hundred and sixty acres.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s the other things that count, farming tools, horses, men to help\nbuild your house and barns and to work your land.\u201d\n\u201cWhat makes you think so?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t think, I _know_. Ten years ago, I came out, full of making a\nfortune, just like you, and taking up a homestead. I had fifteen hundred\ndollars. Inside of ten months it was gone; then I lost my claim. The\nWest ain\u2019t no place for a poor man.\u201d\n\u201cBut you are still out here.\u201d\n\u201cBecause I ain\u2019t got enough money to go back East. By working here and\nthere, I manage to keep alive. Not much like the fortune I set out to\nmake, what?\u201d\nTo Ted\u2019s mood such conversation did not bring relief and he made no\nreply. Several times the man asked him pointed questions as to his\ndestination and plans, but the boy\u2019s answers were evasive and, finally,\ntiring of the attempts to extract information, he arose and returned to\nhis own car, where he sulked until bedtime.\n\u201cWho\u2019s there? What do you want?\u201d cried Phil, suddenly awakened by a coat\nfalling on his head. \u201cIs that you, Ted?\u201d\nThe fact that it was not his brother who had caused the coat\u2019s fall was\nsoon established by the latter\u2019s asking:\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d\n\u201cMy coat fell down and woke me.\u201d\nIn an instant Ted was on his knees in the berth, feeling along the hooks\nwhere their clothing had hung.\n\u201cMine\u2019s gone!\u201d he cried.\nThe other passengers had been aroused by the young homesteaders\u2019\nexclamations, and from several sections came demands of \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d\n\u201cSome one has taken my coat!\u201d returned Ted.\n\u201cLock the doors of the car!\u201d called Mr. Hopkins, then added: \u201cWhat\u2019s the\nmatter with the lights?\u201d\n\u201cThey are out,\u201d responded a woman.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll all be robbed!\u201d wailed another.\nAroused to the seriousness of the situation, all the passengers\nhurriedly donned clothes and quickly gathered in the aisle, talking\nexcitedly.\n\u201cThis won\u2019t do. Somebody light a lamp,\u201d ordered Mr. Hopkins.\nInstantly matches flickered, seemingly from all directions, and soon\nthree of the lamps were lighted.\n\u201cAre the doors locked?\u201d called some one.\n\u201cIt\u2019s too late now. The thief\u2019s had plenty of time to get out of the\ncar,\u201d answered another. But notwithstanding this statement, several men\nand women rushed to both ends of the car.\n\u201cHere\u2019s the coat\u2014on the floor!\u201d cried one of those who had gone forward.\nForcing his way along the aisle, Ted seized the garment and hastily felt\nin the inside pocket.\n\u201cMy bill-fold and some letters are gone!\u201d he gasped.\n\u201cMuch money in it?\u201d asked several.\n\u201cAll we had, save a few dollars.\u201d\n\u201cRailroad tickets, too?\u201d\n\u201cNo, I have those. At least, I think I have,\u201d said Phil. \u201cThey were in\nmy coat.\u201d\n\u201cBetter look and make sure,\u201d advised Mr. Hopkins. \u201cCome, Ted, we\u2019ll go\nfind the conductor.\u201d\nEre the boy and his friend had left the car, Phil called:\n\u201cThe tickets are safe.\u201d\n\u201cEvidently the thief dropped the coat before he could search it,\u201d\ncommented Mr. Hopkins. \u201cI\u2019m glad of that. How much money did you lose,\nTed?\u201d\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t money, sir. We had a letter of credit.\u201d\n\u201cGood for you. Then you won\u2019t lose a cent. Just have a little delay,\nthat\u2019s all. I\u2019ll have the conductor notify your bank. In the meantime,\nif you need any ready money, I shall be glad\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThank you, we have about thirty dollars between us, in other pockets.\u201d\nWhile they had been talking, the two had passed through three coaches in\nquest of the conductor, finally finding him in the fourth.\n\u201cSuspect any one?\u201d demanded that official, when he had been apprised of\nthe robbery.\n\u201cNo,\u201d returned Ted.\n\u201cThen it\u2019s a hopeless task to locate the thief, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d said the\nconductor.\n\u201cJust write a telegram to the bank and I\u2019ll send it at the next\nstation.\u201d\nOrdering a brakeman to stay in each passenger coach for the remainder of\nthe night, the man in charge of the train went to the scene of the theft\nand closely questioned all the passengers, but none of them had seen or\nheard anything until awakened by Phil\u2019s cries.\nThe next morning, the conductor reported that a passenger was missing\nfrom the car ahead of the boys.\nAt the announcement Ted started, then, without a word of explanation,\nhastened to the forward coach, where he found that his talkative\nacquaintance was nowhere to be seen.\nWhen informed of the facts, the conductor obtained a description of the\nmissing man, which was telegraphed broadcast, and ere evening word was\nreceived of the fellow\u2019s arrest, with the letter of credit intact,\nthough he had destroyed Ted\u2019s correspondence.\nAssured that their \u201cletter\u201d was being forwarded to them on the train\nfollowing, the boys recovered their former high spirits. The wheat\nfields had given way to the grazing grounds of Montana, and they beheld\nwith interest the herds of cattle and horses, and cried out in delight\nat their first sight of real cowboys galloping over the range.\n\u201cLook! Look! Those must be the Rockies!\u201d exclaimed Ted, as he caught a\nglimpse of a towering mass from his window toward the middle of the\nafternoon.\nHis words sent the other passengers to their windows, and they gazed\nwith awe and wonder at the massive mountains whose summits sparkled with\ndazzling brilliance, in marvellous colours reflecting the sun\u2019s rays as\nthey danced on the snow-capped peaks.\n\u201c_Now_ what do you think of your Eastern hills?\u201d smiled Mr. Hopkins,\nturning toward Ted.\n\u201cThey are more beautiful because they are entirely wooded. These are too\nbig and brutal.\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps you are right, anyhow you are loyal,\u201d laughed the man. \u201cThe\nRockies are certainly \u2018bad medicine,\u2019 as they say out here, to any one\nwho gets lost on them.\u201d\nThis remark evoked many stories of men who had never been seen after\nentering the mountains, to which the young people listened eagerly until\ntheir attention was diverted by a man and woman, both scarcely out of\ntheir teens, who boarded the car when a train stopped at a forsaken\nrailroad junction.\n\u201cB. and G.,\u201d snickered Phil.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a B. and G.?\u201d asked one of the others.\n\u201cHush, not so loud!\u201d cautioned Ted. \u201cIt means bride and groom.\u201d\nAt the words the newcomers became the centre of attraction, but they did\nnot seem to mind in the least, for, after they had stowed their luggage\nand removed their hats and coats, they joined the group in the middle of\nthe car.\n\u201cJust been down to the government\u2019s experiment station at Boscow,\u201d\nannounced the young chap.\nInstantly the young homesteaders were all attention. Before purchasing\ntheir tickets in Duluth, they had debated the advisability of visiting\none of these farms, but had abandoned the idea because of the increased\nexpense.\n\u201cMe and my wife \u2019lowed we\u2019d combine business and pleasure. We just been\nhitched, so\u2014\u201d\n\u201cLawsy, Jerry, do be quiet!\u201d pouted the bride. \u201cThere ain\u2019t no need of\ntelling everybody we are\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWell, ain\u2019t ashamed, even if you be,\u201d retorted Jerry.\n\u201c\u2019Tain\u2019t that, and you know it, but everybody has troubles of their\nown.\u201d\n\u201cAs if you was a trouble, Rosey.\u201d\nFearing that the other young people might not be able to restrain their\namusement at this scene much longer, Mr. Hopkins put an end to the\ndanger of offending the bride and groom by asking:\n\u201cHow did you find things at Boscow? I\u2019ve always thought I should like to\nsee how they run one of those experimental farms, or stations, as they\ncall them.\u201d\n\u201cWell, you\u2019d better save your money. It\u2019s interesting, of course, but\nit\u2019s all experiment,\u201d replied Jerry. \u201cThe whole farm is divided up into\nsections. In one they grow stuff according to the way it\u2019s always been\ngrowed, and in the next they are experimenting with some idee one of the\nexperts has had. Then, \u2019s like as not, the next section ain\u2019t got\nnothing planted at all, just going to waste. And the whole kerboodle of\n\u2019em is jest \u2018loco\u2019 over one idee\u2014\u2018cultivation.\u2019 If you ask how many\ntimes to irrigate a field of wheat, they\u2019ll say \u2018depends on how it\u2019s\nbeen cultivated.\u2019 It\u2019s \u2018cultivate\u2019 all the time. Dryfarming may be all\nright, but there\u2019s too much \u2018cultivating\u2019 and subsoil business about it\nfor me. I\u2019ll bet if you waked any of \u2019em up and told them there was a\ntornado coming, they\u2019d ask how often it had been \u2018cultivated.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you were more interested in Rosey than in the farm,\u201d smiled\nMr. Hopkins, as the young husband paused in his tirade against the\ngovernment stations. \u201cThanks to the experiments conducted by the\ngovernment, millions of acres that were considered barren are now\nbearing crops, and it is cultivation that has wrought the change. Where\nthe rainfall is light and the expense of irrigation is high, the lack of\nwater can be overcome to a certain extent by keeping the soil free from\nweeds and from a sun-baked crust, which cultivation does. In other\nwords, dry-farming where the subsoil is suitable. Yet it is only through\nnumerous experiments that this has been proved. The field that you\nthought was going to waste was undoubtedly a \u2018summer fallow.\u2019 In the\nsemi-arid regions the ground cannot produce crops year after year. When\na field which has been cultivated has been left unplanted, it is called\na \u2018fallow.\u2019 But in order to enable it to regain its vigour, the ground\nmust be kept free from weeds and the crust broken, in other words,\ncultivated.\u201d\n\u201cBut why couldn\u2019t they tell me how many times to irrigate a wheat\nfield?\u201d demanded Jerry.\n\u201cBecause that depends on several things\u2014the kind of soil, the grade of\nthe land, the number of years it has been planted, and its general\ncondition. After all, it is a matter of experience.\u201d\n\u201cThen what\u2019s the use of the experiment stations?\u201d persisted the groom.\n\u201cJust this. The experts on them plant several fields of, say, wheat and\nemploy a different method with each. A record is kept of each field, and\nwhen the wheat is harvested, the yields are compared. The method that\nhas produced the most bushels per acre is then recommended to\nwheat-growers where the soil conditions are similar.\u201d\n\u201cSay, I wish the government would put you on the Boscow station, then a\nfellow could know what they were talking about without toting a\ndictionary round with him,\u201d commented Jerry. \u201cHow can I tell if the\nsubsoil is fit for dry-farming or not?\u201d\n\u201cOnly by examination. They use a bore some six feet long; I suppose you\nsaw one at Boscow. No? Well, it is a great big augur, with a mark at\nevery foot. Samples of the soil are taken at each foot, and these are\nexamined for moisture and composition. As a usual thing, the greatest\nmoisture is found at a depth of from three to four feet, where there is\ngenerally a crust-like formation which holds it. This means that the\nroots of plants and grains must go down three feet for water when the\nsurface ground is dry. Where this moisture reservoir is five or more\nfeet below the level of the field, the subsoil is said to be unadapted\nto dry-farming.\u201d\nFor a long time the young homesteaders listened while Mr. Hopkins and\nJerry discussed various phases of farming and irrigation; then their\nattention was absorbed in looking at the gorges and canyons disclosed as\nthe train wound in and out in its ascent of the Rockies.\nAt last the station was announced at which the Hopkinses were to leave.\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget to send that list to your mother,\u201d reminded the\nkind-hearted woman, as she bade the boys good-bye.\n\u201cAnd be sure to let me know how you are getting along and to come to see\nus, if you ever have the chance,\u201d chimed in her husband. \u201cWe make our\nhome with my son Fred, here at Avon.\u201d\nHeartily the boys thanked them for the invitation, their many\nkindnesses, and the very useful and practical advice.\n\u201cSeems as though we were leaving old friends, doesn\u2019t it, Phil?\u201d\nobserved Ted, as they returned to the car, having assisted Mr. and Mrs.\nHopkins to carry out their bundles.\n\u201cI hope you aren\u2019t going into a funk every time any one gets off,\u201d\nscoffed his brother. But Jerry prevented any reply.\n\u201cWho was that old party?\u201d he asked, dropping into the boys\u2019 section.\n\u201cHis name is Silas Hopkins, that\u2019s all I can tell you about him,\u201d\nreturned Phil.\n\u201cNot really?\u201d\n\u201cSo he told us.\u201d\n\u201cLawsy me! And here I was a-talking to him jest as though he was you or\nme.\u201d\nJerry\u2019s surprise amused the young homesteaders, and, after laughing at\nit, Ted asked:\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t you? We were fellow passengers.\u201d\n\u201cMe talk to Silas Hopkins like I did if I\u2019d knowed who he was? Not on\nyour alfalfa! I wouldn\u2019t have dared open my yip, let alone a-disputing\nwith him. Lawsy me! Rosey, come here!\u201d he suddenly called. \u201cWho do you\nsuppose it was that I was a-arguing with?\u201d\n\u201cHow should I know, if you didn\u2019?\u201d\n\u201cIt was Silas Hopkins!\u201d\n\u201cLawsy!\u201d gasped the bride, rolling her eyes up.\nIt was the boys\u2019 turn to be surprised at the effect of the name upon the\ntwo Westerners, and they wondered at it.\n\u201cWho is Silas Hopkins?\u201d finally asked Phil.\n\u201cWho is he? Say, where do you come from?\u201d\n\u201cBoston.\u201d\n\u201cAnd you ain\u2019t heered of Si Hopkins?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\u201cThen I guess I ain\u2019t such a gawp, after all.\u201d\n\u201cBut who is he?\u201d\n\u201cThe biggest wheat-grower west of the Rockies and a millionaire.\u201d\n\u201cA mult-i-millionaire,\u201d corrected Rosey.\n\u201cThought you said there was no money-worshipping in the West,\u201d exclaimed\nPhil, when at last the bride and groom had returned to their section.\n\u201cIt is the fact that Mr. Hopkins is the biggest wheat-raiser on the\nPacific side of the Rockies that impressed Jerry, and not that he is a\nmillionaire,\u201d retorted Ted.\n\u201cMult-i-millionaire,\u201d smiled his brother, imitating Rosey.\n\u201cHere comes the conductor with a telegram. A bag of peanuts it is for\nus,\u201d exclaimed the younger boy, jumping at the excuse to change the\nsubject.\n\u201cYou\u2019re on.\u201d\nIn silence, the young homesteaders watched the official approach.\n\u201cThe next stop is yours,\u201d he said, pausing at their section.\n\u201cI thought there were two other stations before we came to Chikau,\u201d\nreturned Phil, taking a time-table from his pocket.\n\u201cThey are only flag stations and we have no passengers to let off. I\u2019ve\njust heard from our superintendent, and he told me to find out if you\nboys had money enough to last until your letter of credit reaches you.\u201d\n\u201cPlenty,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cThat is, if it isn\u2019t too long,\u201d added Ted.\n\u201cIt will not be more than twenty-four hours.\u201d\n\u201cThen we are all right, thank you,\u201d returned the elder boy.\n\u201cYou are quite sure?\u201d persisted the railroad man.\n\u201cPositive,\u201d asserted Phil, adding: \u201cthat is, if, as you say, it will not\nbe more than twenty-four hours before our letter of credit reaches us.\u201d\n\u201cYou may see for yourselves,\u201d smiled the conductor, and he handed the\ntelegram he held in his hand to the elder of the young homesteaders. And\nwith his brother looking over his shoulder, Phil read:\n  \u201cWhite, conductor 69, Westbound.\n  \u201cLetter of credit belonging to Porter boys will reach Chikau on 69\n  tomorrow. If they need ready money, advance them twenty-five\n  dollars and take receipt. Tell agent Chikau to look after them.\n\u201cSatisfied?\u201d asked the railroad man as the boy returned the telegram to\nhim.\n\u201cPerfectly.\u201d\n\u201cIt is surely very kind of Mr. Grey,\u201d added Ted.\n\u201cThe railroad always makes it its first business to care for its\npassengers,\u201d replied the conductor, with the glibness of his kind. \u201cWe\nregret the occurrence very much, and if you think you would feel safer\nto have the twenty-five dollars in your pocket, why\u2014\u201d\n\u201cChikau! Chikau!\u201d called the brakeman interrupting, and with another\nhasty refusal of the proffered aid, the young homesteaders quickly\ngathered together their belongings, bade hurried good-byes to their\ntravelling companions, and left the car.\nAs they reached the platform, they were joined by the conductor, who\ngrowled:\n\u201cConfound that agent, he is never here when he\u2019s wanted. Just take this\ntelegram and show it to him. Good-bye and good luck!\u201d And waving his\nhand, the railroad man swung aboard the train, leaving the boys standing\non the platform, alone in the wilderness save for their luggage.\nIn silence, Phil and Ted watched the train depart and, when they could\nno longer see it, turned to survey their surroundings.\nNot a soul was to be seen, not even a house.\n\u201cWonder where the town is,\u201d exclaimed Ted, his voice a bit tremulous.\nSave the main track, a siding which quickly lost itself in the forest,\nand an old freight car, they could see nothing but giant trees rearing\ntheir lofty tops all about them.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you suppose there are any houses in Chikau?\u201d asked Phil. \u201cI\nwonder why the railroad makes a stop at such a place.\u201d And he looked\nabout him disconsolately, his courage failing as he beheld the forsaken\nspot they had selected as the location of their new home.\n\u201cThere must be\u2014somewhere,\u201d declared his brother. \u201cLet\u2019s go up this\nswitch, maybe the town is back from the main line. We can probably find\nthe agent and give him the telegram.\u201d\n\u201cSuppose we might as well do that as stay here; we must find a place to\nsleep.\u201d\nBefore the boys had picked up their luggage, however, a big man, clad in\ncorduroys, a blue and yellow bandanna about his neck, came running along\nthe siding.\n\u201cDid 64 stop?\u201d he gasped, winded by his haste.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether it was 64 or not, but the train from Duluth did;\nthat\u2019s how we got here,\u201d replied Ted.\n\u201cJust my luck! Hasn\u2019t been a passenger stopped for three weeks, and when\nI go up to camp, 64 not only stops but leaves passengers. Reckon I\u2019ll\nget called down good and plenty. Did the conductor say anything?\u201d\nFrom his words, the boys decided the man must be the station agent.\n\u201cHe most certainly did,\u201d returned Phil; whereat the boys laughed.\n\u201cWas he mad?\u201d\n\u201cWell, he said,\u201d began the older boy, when his brother interrupted with:\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use of repeating what Mr. White said, Phil? Just give the\ngentleman the telegram.\u201d\nActing on the suggestion, Phil handed the piece of yellow paper to the\nagent, and both boys forgot their loneliness in their amusement at the\nchanges of expression that followed one another across the man\u2019s face.\n\u201cJumping elk! Wish I\u2019d been here,\u201d he exclaimed, as he finished reading\nthe message. \u201cI haven\u2019t got twenty-five\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNever mind, we don\u2019t need it,\u201d interposed Ted, \u201cbut if you _will_ show\nus the hotel, we shall be obliged.\u201d\n\u201cHotel?\u201d And the agent chuckled. \u201cThere isn\u2019t a hotel within thirty\nmiles.\u201d But observing the looks on the boys\u2019 faces, he added: \u201cBut I can\nfind a place for you to put up, all right, all right. Come on.\u201d And he\nbegan to pick up the young homesteaders\u2019 hand baggage.\n\u201cHow about our trunks?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cThey\u2019ll be just as safe on the platform as anywhere, unless it rains,\u201d\nreturned the agent. \u201cI\u2019ll come down for them later.\u201d Then, noting their\nwell-fitting clothes and hands, which showed no sign of hard labour, his\nface evidenced his wonder at their presence.\n\u201cGot folks here?\u201d he asked, his curiosity proving greater than his\ncontrol.\n\u201cNo,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cGoing to work in the logging camp?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\u201cThen what did you come to this neck of the woods for?\u201d\n\u201cTo take up a homestead,\u201d smiled Ted.\nAt this statement the agent again burst into a roar of laughter,\nslapping his thighs and repeating, \u201cCome to Chikau for a homestead,\u201d\nuntil his actions nettled Phil and he demanded:\n\u201cWhat\u2019s so funny about that?\u201d\n\u201cNothing\u2014only there isn\u2019t an acre within twenty miles of Chikau that\nisn\u2019t covered with trees.\u201d\nAt this announcement the boys looked at one another in dismay.\n\u201cWish we\u2019d got off at Avon with Mr. Hopkins,\u201d sighed Phil.\n\u201cWhat Hopkins?\u201d asked the man, eagerly.\n\u201cSilas Hopkins,\u201d both boys answered. And again they were made aware of\nthe potency of that name.\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say you were friends of Si?\u201d demanded the agent. \u201cReckon\nif he\u2019s back of you, you won\u2019t have any trouble locating. Anyway, Andy\nHowe will do his best for any of Si\u2019s friends, to say nothing of the\nrailroad\u2019s orders.\n\u201cBut shucks! You don\u2019t want to stay here all night. We\u2019ll go up to the\n\u2018city.\u2019 There are only two houses besides the general store, so we call\nit the \u2018city.\u2019 How big a section are you planning to take up?\u201d\nThe change in the agent\u2019s manner was very welcome to the young\nhomesteaders, for they had felt pretty lonely as, standing on the\nplatform, they had realized they were face to face with their new life,\nand they determined to make the most of Howe\u2019s friendship.\n\u201cWe\u2019d thought of a quarter section,\u201d returned Ted.\n\u201cGood! I know where there\u2019s a \u2018beaut,\u2019 just enough timber to pay a\nlittle profit and the rest easy to clear.\u201d\n\u201cWhere?\u201d chorused the boys.\n\u201cThat\u2019s telling,\u201d smiled Andy. \u201cUntil I see Si, I\u2019d rather not say.\u201d\n\u201cHow soon will you see Mr. Hopkins?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cI\u2019ll jump 15, that\u2019s the freight that hauls our logs East tonight and\nget back tomorrow. Twenty-four hours won\u2019t make much difference. Give\nyou a chance to go into the woods and see how we log out here where the\ntrees are trees. Ever see any like those back East?\u201d Following the\ndirection of the agent\u2019s finger, the young homesteaders gazed in wonder\nat the enormous tree trunks, towering a hundred and more feet above\nthem.\n\u201cMy eye! but they are big!\u201d exclaimed Ted.\n\u201cOnly middling here. Wait till you get to where they are logging. Twelve\nfeet through is nothing.\u201d\nAs the boys were still expressing their wonder at the size of the trees,\nthey rounded a curve in the track and came upon a clearing in which\nstood two log cabins and a long building, also built of logs.\n\u201cWelcome to our city,\u201d grinned Andy.\nAgain Phil and Ted felt their hearts sink as they beheld the\nhabitations.\n\u201cDo they\u2014er\u2014take boarders in any of those cabins?\u201d asked the elder.\n\u201cSeeing that one is mine, the other the camp foreman\u2019s, and the third\nthe store, they don\u2019t, that is, the kind we usually get. They are\nshipped right on to the logging camp. But any friends of Si Hopkins will\nbe taken care of,\u201d returned the agent, leading the way to the long\nbuilding.\nAs the trio mounted the steps, a weasel-faced little man appeared in the\ndoor.\n\u201cPeleg, I want you to put these boys up for a few days,\u201d announced Andy.\n\u201cWall, you _kin_ want. Let \u2019em go through to the camp.\u201d\n\u201cBetter get your glasses, Peleg. These boys aren\u2019t lumberjacks, they\u2019re\ngentlemen\u2014and special friends of Si Hopkins.\u201d\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say so in the fust place? Howde, gents. You kin stay as\nlong as you want. Glad to have you. Hey, Jennie, come git these duds and\ntake \u2019em up to your room. You kin sleep in the office.\u201d\n\u201cWhat did you say your names was?\u201d\n\u201cPorter. I am Phil, and this is my brother, Ted,\u201d returned the elder\nboy.\n\u201cMine\u2019s Hawkins. Most forgot it, though, ain\u2019t heered it for so long.\nEverybody calls me Peleg.\u201d\n\u201cJest sit down on the steps, Jennie will have to slick up a bit before\nshe\u2019ll let you go to her room, I cal\u2019late. Set down, too, Andy.\u201d\n\u201cCan\u2019t. I\u2019m going out on 15. Mind, you take good care of these boys,\nPeleg. I\u2019ll be in tomorrow on 64 with your letter of credit.\u201d And the\nstation agent started back down the track.\nSorry, indeed, were the young homesteaders to see their new-found friend\ndepart, for before he was out of sight, the storekeeper opened a\nbombardment of questions, some of them very personal.\nResenting the attempt to learn their private affairs, the boys parried\nthe most pointed inquiries, though they feared to do so too openly lest\nthey should arouse Peleg\u2019s hostility.\nConsequently it was with great relief that they heard a shrill voice\ncall:\n\u201cYou kin show the gents up to their room now, Pap.\u201d\nAt the words Phil and Ted sprang to their feet and began to pick up\ntheir luggage.\n\u201cJest let that be!\u201d commanded Peleg. \u201cHey, Jennie, didn\u2019t I tell you to\ncome and git them duds? Do you want to make these gents wait on\ntheirselves?\u201d\n\u201cWe don\u2019t mind in the least, we\u2019d really rather,\u201d hastily interposed\nTed.\nJennie, however, evidently understood her father\u2019s moods, and quickly\nshe appeared in the door, gave a timid glance at the boys, and started\nto relieve them of their parcels.\nWhile awaiting her coming, Phil and Ted had wondered whether she were\nyoung or old, pretty or homely, but neither of them was prepared to see\nthe small, wizened hunchback who stood before them, her face crimson.\n\u201cThe idea of your carrying our things!\u201d exclaimed Phil, his\nimpulsiveness getting the better of his tact.\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t mind. I\u2019m stronger tha\u2014than I look,\u201d stammered Jennie.\n\u201cShe can tote a bag of meal,\u201d proudly declared her father.\n\u201cAnd you let her?\u201d flared Ted, savagely, for he was angry at his brother\nfor his words and at Peleg for allowing the poor little cripple to\nperform such work.\n\u201cWhy not? I\u2019m sixty-five and she\u2019s twenty. Ain\u2019t it better for her to\ntote meal than an old man like me?\u201d\nTed opened his mouth to give vent to a sharp retort, when Jennie, with a\nsmile at her champion, averted further unpleasantness by asking:\n\u201cWill any of the men be down from camp tonight, Pap?\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019d better not. There ain\u2019t a dollar in the whole outfit, and I\ndon\u2019t charge nothin\u2019 more, I told \u2019em so last night.\u201d\n\u201cWon\u2019t your refusing credit drive them to Bradley?\u201d\n\u201cNot while the company they are working for owns this store. The boss\nfired five of them the other day for spending real money in Bradley.\u201d\n\u201cWell, I hope there won\u2019t any come tonight,\u201d declared the girl, adding,\nas the boys followed her inside the store, \u201cThey call me \u2018Spider\u2019 and\nmake fun of me awful.\u201d\n\u201cThey won\u2019t while we are here,\u201d snapped Phil.\nAgain the girl flashed the young homesteaders a look of gratitude, then\nmounted the stairs and opened a door in the loft.\n\u201cMy room ain\u2019t much to look at, but it\u2019s clean,\u201d she apologized, pausing\nin the evident hope that her words would be denied; then, as neither boy\nspoke, she said: \u201cSupper will be ready when you come down.\u201d\nUntil they could no longer hear her footsteps on the stairs, Phil and\nTed kept silence.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a shame the way that brute Peleg bullies the poor little thing!\u201d\ngrowled Ted. \u201cJust look at the way she has tried to decorate her room.\nFour lithographs and three of them beer advertisements. I\u2019ve brought a\nbunch of etchings for my room and I\u2019ll give some of them to her. But\nwhen Momsy comes, we\u2019ll have her take Jennie to live with us.\u201d\n\u201cEasy, Ted, easy! We shall have about all we can do to take care of\nMomsy and the girls. What do you think of Andy?\u201d\n\u201cThat he\u2019s better educated than he makes out. But about Jennie. We can\ntake her all right. Just think of those lumberjacks calling her\n\u2018Spider.\u2019 Didn\u2019t you see how she winced when she said it?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s too bad. I\u2019ll admit. However, we can talk about her later. I\u2019m as\nhungry as a bear, so let\u2019s get into some comfortable clothes as quickly\nas we can and go down to the kitchen.\u201d\nWhen Peleg had announced that none of the men from the camp would appear\nat the store, he was mistaken. While the boys were eating the delicious\nflapjacks that Jennie was frying, there sounded the tramp of heavy feet\nin the front part of the building and a voice called:\n\u201cSpider, come here!\u201d\n\u201cSet still!\u201d snapped Peleg, as his daughter looked at him, her face\nwhite.\nAgain came the call, more peremptory than before.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the \u2018Black Swede,\u2019 hadn\u2019t I better go?\u201d asked Jennie, in a\nwhisper.\n\u201cNo. He was one of the five the boys fired for trading in Bradley,\u201d\nreturned her father. \u201cGo on with your suppers, gents.\u201d\n\u201cCome out here, you Spider, or I\u2019ll put another hump on your back!\u201d\nroared the voice.\nAt the brutal words Phil and Ted sprang from their chairs with one\naccord and rushed into the store.\n\u201cStop \u2019em! Stop \u2019em! I\u2019ll go, Pap!\u201d pleaded the girl. \u201cThey\u2019ll git\nhurted.\u201d\nBut though the young homesteaders heard her words, they paid no heed to\nthem, but when they caught a glimpse of the Black Swede, they halted.\nMore than six feet tall, his feet encased in spiked boots, a slouch hat\npulled down over his villainous face, the man presented an awesome\nappearance.\n\u201cWhat do _you_ want? I called the Spider,\u201d he snarled.\nTwo companions, no more prepossessing than the other, were with the\nSwede, and they grinned and chuckled as they beheld the two slender boys\nfacing the giant.\n\u201cMiss Jennie is busy. Come back later and Peleg will attend to you,\u201d\nreturned Ted, quietly.\nAn instant the lumberjack blinked at him, then burst into a roar of\nlaughter.\n\u201cDid you hear that?\u201d he asked, turning to his friends. \u201cCalled the\n\u2018Spider\u2019 \u2018_Miss Jennie_,\u2019 says she\u2019s busy and we can come back later?\u201d\nThen he faced the boys again. \u201cWell, we won\u2019t go! so jump and hustle out\nthe \u2018Spider\u2019!\u201d\n\u201cMiss Jennie is busy,\u201d repeated Ted.\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll find her maself.\u201d\n\u201cNo, you won\u2019t,\u201d snapped Phil.\n\u201cWho\u2019ll stop me?\u201d\n\u201cWe will.\u201d\n\u201cYou? Why, with one hand I could wring\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThat will do, Jonson. I told you to leave Chikau on the day I\ndischarged you,\u201d exclaimed a quiet voice.\nAs they heard it, the lumberjacks wheeled toward the door and gazed, in\namazement, at a powerfully built man who stood just inside the entrance,\nhaving come in unobserved while the Swede was baiting the boys.\n\u201cThe boss!\u201d gasped the trio, making a rush to escape.\nBut the newcomer placed himself in the doorway.\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t go when I ordered you to, Jonson. Now you will not go until\nI tell you that you can. I found, on looking over Peleg\u2019s accounts, that\nyou owe the store six dollars. I heard you were hanging around, so I\ncame down from camp. You will go back and work out your bill.\u201d\n\u201cWhen?\u201d snarled the giant.\n\u201cRight now. If you hurry, you will get there in plenty of time to get a\nnap before breakfast.\u201d\n\u201cWall, I won\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cOh yes, you will.\u201d\n\u201cWhat makes you think so?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I tell you to.\u201d\nA moment the two men looked each other straight in the eyes, then the\nBlack Swede growled, \u201cAll right,\u201d and the boss stepped aside to allow\nhis man to pass from the store.\nAs he departed, the other two men started to follow him.\n\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d demanded the boss. \u201cWith Blackie,\u201d answered one\nof them.\n\u201cOh no, you\u2019re not. Jonson is too good a man for you to spoil him. If it\nhadn\u2019t been for you, he never would have gone to Bradley. I\u2019m going to\ntake you down to the station and ship you on the first train passing.\nCome along.\u201d\nAgain there was the clash of eyes. Again the boss won, and the two men\nslunk out the door while their master followed, saying:\n\u201cI\u2019ll be back later, Peleg.\u201d\n\u201cWho is that man?\u201d asked the boys, as they returned to their supper.\n\u201cSteve Anderson, the camp foreman,\u201d replied Peleg.\n\u201cBut Jonson was a great deal the bigger,\u201d declared Ted.\n\u201cSartain, but without the heart. Steve has the heart, his muscles are\nsteel, and every lumberjack west of the Rockies knows it. There ain\u2019t a\nforeman from British Columby to ole Mex can git so much work outen his\nmen, and never have no shootin\u2019, as Steve.\u201d\n\u201cAnd he\u2019s jest as kind as he is brave,\u201d added Jennie. \u201cHe never goes to\nthe city that he don\u2019t bring me back suthin\u2019, candy or a dress.\u201d\n\u201cI should think you would rather have books in a lonesome place like\nthis,\u201d observed Phil.\n\u201cI would, only,\u201d and the girl flushed, \u201cI can\u2019t read.\u201d\nIn amazement the young homesteaders looked at Jennie, for, though they\nhad heard of people who could not read or write, she was the first one\nthey had ever seen.\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll teach you,\u201d said Ted, impulsively.\n\u201cHonest?\u201d And Jennie\u2019s face shone with delight.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll begin this very night.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid we can\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I haven\u2019t any books.\u201d Then her face brightened as an idea came\nto her and she said:\n\u201cPerhaps Steve has one he\u2019ll lend me.\u201d\n\u201cYou need not bother to ask him, I have plenty,\u201d smiled Ted. \u201cNow let\u2019s\nhurry up with the dishes, so we can begin.\u201d\nNeither Jennie nor her father would listen to their guests helping in\nsuch work, however, and the boys passed through the store with Peleg and\nseated themselves on the steps while the storekeeper filled his pipe and\nsmoked.\n\u201cIt was kind in you to take Jennie\u2019s part, but I wouldn\u2019t do it again,\u201d\nhe observed.\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d asked Phil and Ted, almost in the same breath.\n\u201cBecause you ain\u2019t big enough to back it up. If it hadn\u2019t been for\nSteve, I don\u2019t know what would have happened. I was getting my gun, but\nif you\u2019d mixed it, \u2019twould have been hard work telling which was which\nto shoot.\u201d\n\u201cThere wouldn\u2019t have been any need to use it,\u201d said the same quiet voice\nthat had terminated the threatened trouble in the store.\n\u201cYou back, Steve? I ain\u2019t heered any train,\u201d declared Peleg.\n\u201cI sent the jacks down on the engine with Jim.\u201d Then, with the freedom\nof the woods, he turned to the boys. \u201cSo long as you looked Jonson in\nthe eye, you had him. He saw you had the heart to face him and it funked\nhim. Men like him are more animal than human, and I suppose you know\nthat if you ever get into a tight place with an animal, the thing to do\nis to stare it straight in the eyes.\u201d\n\u201cWill that work with b\u2019ars, Steve?\u201d inquired the storekeeper.\n\u201cSure, even with grizzlies. But you must keep perfectly still. Once you\nmove, you\u2019ve got to act lively. You chaps going to be here long?\u201d\n\u201cSeveral days,\u201d replied Phil.\n\u201cThey\u2019re friends of Si. Come in on 64,\u201d explained Peleg.\n\u201cAnd our name is Porter; that\u2019s Phil and I am Ted,\u201d supplemented the\nlatter.\n\u201cGlad to know you, especially after this evening. If you have time, you\nmust come up to camp, if you\u2019d like to see how we get out logs in\nWashington.\u201d\n\u201cIndeed we should,\u201d exclaimed both boys.\n\u201cThen why not go up with me in the morning?\u201d\nEagerly the young homesteaders accepted the invitation, and after\ntalking awhile, Ted went into the store to instruct Jennie in the\nmysteries of the alphabet, while the foreman went to his cabin,\npromising to call for them at five in the morning.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that, a fog-horn?\u201d cried Ted, rousing suddenly from his sleep at\na series of staccato toots.\n\u201cWe\u2019re not on the Admiral now, stupid! I should think you would know\nthat from the bed,\u201d returned his brother.\n\u201cThen what was it I heard?\u201d\nBefore Phil could express an opinion, there came a timid knocking at\ntheir door, and Jennie called:\n\u201cBreakfast is ready and Steve is waiting for you on the engine.\u201d\n\u201cThat is your fog-horn,\u201d Phil flashed at his brother; then asked: \u201cWhy\ndidn\u2019t you call us before?\u201d\n\u201cI did, sir, twice.\u201d\n\u201cGuess this bed isn\u2019t so hard, after all,\u201d commented Ted.\n\u201cAre you up _now_, Mr. Porters?\u201d inquired the girl.\n\u201cWe are,\u201d chorused the boys, and in quick order they descended to the\nkitchen, ate their breakfasts, and boarded the engine.\n\u201cHang on tight, this is no ordinary roadbed,\u201d cautioned the foreman, as\nthe engineer pulled open the throttle. And the young homesteaders soon\nlearned that he spoke the truth.\nMore like a dory at the mercy of a high sea than a locomotive did the\nengine seem as it pitched and tossed over the rails, first one side,\nthen the other, sinking sharply, in many cases taking a curve before it\nrighted itself.\n\u201cHow in the world can you pull a train over this track?\u201d Phil asked the\nengineer, as the locomotive struck a comparatively level stretch.\n\u201cThis is nothing, what, Steve?\u201d grinned the man at the throttle.\n\u201cNot for us, Jim.\u201d Then, turning to his guests, the foreman continued:\n\u201cWe can\u2019t take the time to lay much of a roadbed, we move too often.\nWe\u2019ve only been hauling over this course two days, and tomorrow will see\nus through with it.\u201d\n\u201cMy eye! but it must use up a lot of rails to change so often,\u201d\ncommented Ted.\n\u201cIt would if we didn\u2019t move them with us. As fast as we finish one\ncourse, we pull up the track and lay it in a different direction. That\u2019s\nwhy it doesn\u2019t pay to spend much time over the roadbed. But, as Jim\nsays, this course is nothing. In some places the inclines are so steep\nthat we are obliged to use cog-wheel tracks. When we stop, you can look\nat the cog-wheels under the engine. All our cars are equipped with them.\nThey hold the train on the track, no matter how sharp the grade, or\nsteep the pitch.\u201d\nThree piercing blasts from the whistle drowned the comment on Phil\u2019s\nlips, and with a grinding of brakes, the engine stopped.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the camp,\u201d announced Steve, nodding toward half a dozen cabins\nfrom which men of all sizes and descriptions were pouring, ready to\nbegin their day\u2019s work.\n\u201cThere\u2019s the Black Swede,\u201d suddenly exclaimed Ted, who had been watching\nthe lumber-jacks as they emerged from their log houses. \u201cI\u2019d recognize\nhim anywhere.\u201d\n\u201cI thought he\u2019d be here, but I wanted to make sure,\u201d smiled the foreman.\n\u201cJim, run up the branches and pick up your train. If we are not here\nwhen you are ready, don\u2019t wait. We\u2019ll walk; the boys can see more.\u201d And\ndescending from the engine, Steve and his young guests set off among the\nhuge tree stumps.\n\u201cHow many \u2018branches\u2019 do you have?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cFour, two on each side. In that way we can clear a tract two thousand\nfeet wide and four thousand feet long with each course of track.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that? It sounds like the whir of an airship?\u201d suddenly asked the\nyounger boy.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the drums unwinding the cables.\u201d\n\u201cCables?\u201d exclaimed both young homesteaders, together.\n\u201cExactly. We haul the logs by cable, they are too big to handle in any\nother way. But you will see how it\u2019s done in a few minutes.\u201d For several\nrods the trio advanced in silence, when they were halted by a lusty\n\u201cStand clear!\u201d\n\u201cTree falling,\u201d explained the foreman, and with his words there sounded\na creaking and snapping, then a sharp crackling followed quickly by a\nmighty crash, as an enormous tree fell to the earth with a shock that\nmade the ground tremble.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go on now,\u201d said Steve, and in a few minutes they were in sight\nof the tree just felled, a monster some hundred and twenty feet long and\nfifteen feet through the butt.\nAlready the lumberjacks were swarming like ants about it, some sawing\nthe trunk into thirty-foot lengths, others trimming off branches.\n\u201cWhy, there\u2019s a platform around that stump,\u201d observed Phil, in surprise.\n\u201cThat is for the sawyers. It would take too long to chop these trees\ndown, so we saw them.\u201d\n\u201cBut why build a platform? Why not stand on the ground?\u201d inquired the\nboy.\n\u201cBecause the bases of these trees are often rotted so that the timber is\nworthless for five, sometimes ten, feet,\u201d explained the foreman.\n\u201cOh, look, there comes the cable,\u201d cried Ted, pointing to where several\nmen were pulling on a lead-wire to which was attached a three-inch\ntwisted steel rope.\nQuickly the jacks seized the cable and made it fast to a log near the\ntree just felled.\n\u201cReady?\u201d called one of them.\n\u201cReady!\u201d replied the others.\nPutting a tin whistle to his lips, the first man blew three times. From\nthe distance came an answering toot, followed by the mighty whirring.\nWith a sharp hum the cable tightened, and then the huge log, weighing\nmany tons, started through the woods, hurdling everything in its path as\nit was drawn along with irresistible power.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll follow the log,\u201d said Steve, but so fast did it travel that the\nboys were obliged to trot to keep pace with it.\nAfter scrambling along for some seven hundred feet, the young\nhomesteaders beheld a donkey engine, puffing, snorting, and rocking on\nits skids from the exertion, close beside a spur of track upon which\nstood several flat cars.\nWhen the log was abreast of one of them, the hauling cable was released.\nOthers were adjusted, again the \u201cdonkey\u201d puffed, and the section of tree\ntrunk was pulled aboard.\n\u201cOnly think of bringing in a log from where that one lay and loading it\non a car without a man\u2019s lifting a pound!\u201d exclaimed Phil. \u201cWouldn\u2019t it\nmake the Eastern lumbermen open their eyes, though! There, you know, Mr.\nAnderson, the logs are handled by hand and horses in the woods.\u201d\n\u201cWe couldn\u2019t afford to do that here, it would take too many men and too\nmuch time. But if you think it would surprise them to see how we handle\nlogs, what would they say when they saw our donkey load itself?\u201d\n\u201cThere is a limit even to our credulity, Mr. Anderson,\u201d smiled Ted.\n\u201cBut I\u2019m telling you the truth. You notice the ends of the donkey\u2019s\nskids are hewed like sled-runners, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s so the engine can be pulled along. We simply hitch the\ncables to trees, the drums wind up, and the donkey pulls itself over the\nground. When it is opposite the car on which it is to be loaded, we\nreadjust the cables around other trees and it pulls itself aboard.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s wonderful,\u201d exclaimed Ted. \u201cYou Westerners can certainly show the\nrest of the country how to do things in a big way.\u201d\n\u201cAre such riggings very expensive?\u201d inquired Ted of the foreman, after\nthey had watched the donkey pay out cables and haul in and load other\nlogs.\n\u201cThat depends on your idea of expense,\u201d returned Steve. \u201cThe cables\nalone are worth close to a thousand dollars for each engine and the en\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYou need not say any more,\u201d broke in the boy. \u201cWe couldn\u2019t even buy the\ncables.\u201d\n\u201cWhy should you want to? Think of starting in the logging business?\u201d\n\u201cHardly, but we are going to take up a homestead and, as we shall be\nobliged to clear it, I wondered how much a rigging like this would\ncost.\u201d\nThe announcement of the boys\u2019 purpose surprised and interested Steve.\n\u201cYou don\u2019t say!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cEver had any experience farming?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\u201cThen, if I were you, I\u2019d tackle something else. It\u2019s no easy job\nclearing land, and when you\u2019ve got it cleared, like as not the soil will\nbe so dry you\u2019ll have to irrigate it. I\u2019ve seen a lot of farmers, good\nones too, who came out here thinking they\u2019d get rich in a few years. But\nwhen they found there was a mighty sight of difference between doing and\nthinking, before the time came when they could \u2018commute,\u2019 they\u2019d quit.\u201d\n\u201cWhy?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cToo hard work, that and the cost of getting started.\u201d\n\u201cWe expect to work hard; we realized that we should be obliged to before\nwe came out here.\u201d\n\u201cYou sure will, especially as you don\u2019t know anything about clearing\nground or planting. Why not take something easy\u2014a job with me, say?\u201d\n\u201cYou call this work felling and sawing trees \u2018easy\u2019?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cNo, I didn\u2019t mean that. I want some men to keep books\u2014one in camp here\nand one at Peleg\u2019s store. His accounts are in a terrible mess.\nUnderstand, I don\u2019t mean he\u2019s dishonest, but they are so mixed up it\u2019s\nan awful job to find out how much a man owes the company. Jonson was\nowing six dollars when I discharged him, but until I looked up the\nrecords to close his account, I didn\u2019t know it. What do you say? I\ncouldn\u2019t offer you more than fifty a month and board, but there\u2019s no\nplace where you can spend anything in these woods.\u201d\n\u201cMuch obliged, but we can\u2019t do it,\u201d replied Phil, after looking at his\nbrother.\n\u201cWhy not? You boys ain\u2019t got the slightest idea of the work and trouble\nof taking up a homestead. When men brought up on farms give it up, what\nshow have you? Just talk with the jacks when they come in for grub.\nEvery other one of them, almost, has sunk all he had on a claim and then\nwoke up and got into logging, where there is real money. I can tell you\nof\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s no need,\u201d interrupted Ted. \u201cWe came out here to take up a\nhomestead and we shall do it. Because others quit is no sign that we\nshall. Besides, our case is different.\u201d And on account of the kind\ninterest the foreman had evinced, the boy told him of the little mother\nill at home.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve sure got pluck,\u201d commented Steve, when the story was finished.\n\u201cBut what made you come to Chikau? If I\u2019d been you, I\u2019d have gone into\nCanada. There you can get what they call \u2018a ready-made home.\u2019 The\ngovernment, after looking you up and finding you O. K., not only gives\nyou a quarter section, but builds a house and barn on it for you, and\nwill loan you from five hundred to five thousand dollars with which to\nequip, stock, and get your farm started.\u201d\n\u201cThe United States is good enough for us,\u201d returned Phil. \u201cBut I should\nthink our government would do the same for its settlers.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s beginning to. So many families that entered claims in this country\nhave left them and crossed the line, it had to do something. At present,\nhowever, the few \u2018ready-made homes\u2019 in the United States are controlled\nby private interests, and the rates they charge are so high a man can\nhardly pay when crops are good. When they are not, he can\u2019t. As I asked\nbefore, how\u2019d you come to pick out Chikau?\u201d\n\u201cA friend of ours heard that it was a promising region,\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cAnd Andy\u2014I mean Mr. Howe\u2014says he knows a fine place. He\u2019s gone to talk\nwith Mr. Hopkins about showing us where it is.\u201d\n\u201cHe has, eh?\u201d exclaimed the foreman, in surprise. \u201cH\u2019m! Reckon I know\nwhere it is.\u201d\n\u201cWhere?\u201d asked both boys, eagerly.\n\u201cI\u2019ll let Andy tell you. But if you get it and Si says the word. I\u2019ll\nbring over one of my riggings and clear what you want.\u201d\n\u201cWill you really? How much will it cost?\u201d queried Ted.\n\u201cNot a cent; that is, I\u2019ll take my pay in logs and you can sell my\ncompany the rest.\u201d\n\u201cThat will be splendid. You\u2019re mighty kind, Mr. Anderson!\u201d exclaimed\nboth young homesteaders.\n\u201cDon\u2019t \u2018mister\u2019 me, or anybody else out here! We aren\u2019t used to it. You\nboys have the heart, I saw that when you faced the Swede last night.\nThat\u2019s what counts with me. So you can bank on my doing all I can to\nhelp you.\u201d\nThis promise revived the boys\u2019 spirits, which had sunk to a low ebb as\nthey had listened to the foreman\u2019s statements concerning men who had\ngiven up their struggle with the wild land, and they passed the rest of\nthe day tramping about the tract with Steve, entirely forgetful of their\nletter of credit, picking up all the points they could and asking\ncountless questions.\n\u201cAndy wants you to go right down to the station,\u201d shrilled Jennie from\nthe steps of the store where she had been watching for them, as she\nbeheld Phil and Ted climbing off the engine. \u201cI thought you never was\ncoming. Pap \u2019lowed you mought of got hurted. Hurry back. I\u2019ll have\nsupper ready.\u201d\n\u201cWhy should Andy send for us?\u201d mused Phil, as the engine started again.\n\u201cStation\u2019s the only place to talk where Peleg won\u2019t be listening,\u201d\nsmiled Steve. \u201cEvidently Andy has something important to say.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, we have for\u2014\u201d began Ted, only to be interrupted by the engineer.\n\u201cBet Peleg\u2019s snooping down there now,\u201d chuckled Jim.\n\u201cYes, there he is,\u201d cried Steve, pointing to a figure gliding among the\ntrees, as they neared the freight-car station.\n\u201cOh, you Peleg! Better get back to the store,\u201d shouted the foreman.\n\u201cAndy said he\u2019d duck you in the water tank if he caught you snooping\u2014and\nyou know you don\u2019t like water.\u201d\nNever a word did the storekeeper reply, but the others all laughed as\nthey saw him turn and go back.\n\u201cAren\u2019t hurt, are you?\u201d called Andy, anxiously, as he caught sight of\nthe boys. \u201cYou\u2019ve been gone so long, I was getting uneasy. Never\nsupposed any one would forget to meet a train that was bringing him\nmoney.\u201d\nAt the agent\u2019s words the boys looked at one another in dismay.\n\u201cOur letter of credit!\u201d they cried together.\n\u201cExactly,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cIt didn\u2019t seem natural that two\nki\u2014er\u2014strangers should not be on hand to meet the train that was\nbringing them so important a document. First, I thought you were late.\nThen, as time went on and you did not appear, I decided you must have\nbeen injured. I couldn\u2019t believe you would _forget_ a\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, cut the lecture, Andy,\u201d Steve broke in. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you are\ntalking about, but if there\u2019s any blame coming, put it on me. I asked\nTed and Phil to go to camp with me and tried to make them have a good\ntime.\u201d\n\u201cWhich you evidently succeeded in doing,\u201d the agent commented drily.\nSo serious was Andy that the boys felt something must have happened.\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t the man on the train give it to you?\u201d asked Phil, in alarm.\nDuring this scene, which they did not in the least understand, Steve and\nJim had glanced about the station, noticed the agent\u2019s rifle lying\nacross a box, while at his side hung his pistol holster.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s up? Never saw you packing a gun before,\u201d commented the engineer.\n\u201cI want you to see me pass this money to Phil and Ted.\u201d\n\u201cMoney for us?\u201d exclaimed the boys, in surprise.\n\u201cExactly.\u201d\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t any coming,\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cYes, you have. Five hundred and forty dollars.\u201d\n\u201cFrom whom?\u201d demanded Ted.\n\u201cSi Hopkins. He sent it to cash your letter of credit. Said there wasn\u2019t\nany bank short of Waterfield and that you\u2019d need it to fit out with.\u201d\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t the letter yet,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cWrong again. I\u2019ve got it. Express messenger on 64 gave it to me. Here\nit is, with the money.\u201d And the agent lifted the box and took from\nbeneath it the recovered letter of credit and a pile of bills. \u201cCount\nthem, please. Then sign this draft. It\u2019s to Si. If you act lively, I can\nsend it back on 17; she\u2019s whistling now.\u201d\nQuickly both young homesteaders went to the table and affixed their\nsignatures to the draft which would reimburse Mr. Hopkins for the money\nhe had sent.\n\u201cHave we time to write a letter?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cNo. Andy\u2019s flagging 17 now,\u201d returned Steve.\n\u201cI\u2019ve written \u2018Thank you very much. More later,\u2019\u201d said Ted. \u201cHurry and\nsign it, Phil.\u201d\n\u201cGot your names down?\u201d demanded the agent, poking his head through the\ndoor. \u201cGood! Put the draft in the envelope I\u2019ve addressed to Si and the\nletter of credit with it. That\u2019s the stuff. Give it here, lively!\u201d\nAnd with a bound Andy started for the cab of the engine, which had just\nstopped, handing the envelope to the engineer with instructions to\ndeliver it to the agent at Avon if he valued his job.\n\u201cNow perhaps you\u2019ll act like a sane man and tell us what this is all\nabout,\u201d said Steve, as Andy returned to his station.\n\u201cI wanted to get that letter back to Si tonight, I told him I would.\u201d\n\u201cWhat about the \u2018beaut\u2019 section?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cIt\u2019s yours. We\u2019ll go to it tomorrow. Si\u2019s coming over himself by and by\nto see how you are getting along.\u201d\n\u201cYou boys have sure landed on your feet,\u201d declared the foreman. \u201cWhat\nelse did Si say, Andy?\u201d\n\u201cA lot.\u201d\n\u201cThen let\u2019s hear it. Jim and me got to go back to camp.\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing more to hear. What else Si said was just for Andy\nHowe\u2019s ears.\u201d And he bustled about, so full of importance that the\nothers laughed.\n\u201cQuit fussing round and come up to supper,\u201d ordered Steve.\n\u201cCan\u2019t. Got to wait for 18.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, we don\u2019t expect any cars tonight,\u201d declared Jim.\n\u201cBut I do.\u201d\n\u201cWhat have you got coming\u2014airship?\u201d grinned Steve.\n\u201cNo. Horses.\u201d\n\u201cHorses? In Chikau?\u201d gasped the engineer.\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I said.\u201d\n\u201cWhat for?\u201d\n\u201cPhil and Ted and me. Si\u2019s lending them.\u201d\n\u201cGoing to start a livery stable?\u201d grinned Jim.\n\u201cNot much. These horses are for the boys and me to ride about on. We\nhave too much ground to cover to walk.\u201d\nThe sending of the money and the horses by the wealthy wheat-raiser\nindicated to the lumbermen that they would do themselves no harm by\nrendering every assistance in their power to his prot\u00e9g\u00e9s, and Steve was\nquick to recognize the fact.\n\u201cI told the boys, if Si said the word, I\u2019d take one of my riggings over,\nclear the land, and buy the logs from them,\u201d he announced.\n\u201cWhat makes you think the claim they are going to take up is anywhere\nnear here?\u201d demanded Andy.\n\u201cOh, come off! I\u2019m not a fool. It\u2019s just the place for them, too.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s go up and have supper,\u201d suggested Ted. \u201cI\u2019m right hungry and we\ncan talk just as well there. Come on, Andy!\u201d\n\u201cBut 18 might come in.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be the first time she ever got here before midnight, if she\ndoes,\u201d commented Jim. \u201cCall up and find out where she is.\u201d\nJumping to his telegraph instrument, Andy beat a veritable tattoo on the\nkey as he asked for 18\u2019s whereabouts, finally announcing:\n\u201cShe\u2019ll be here in an hour.\u201d\n\u201cThen we shall have plenty of time. Come on!\u201d cried Phil, springing to\nthe ground.\n\u201cHold on!\u201d called Andy. \u201cWhen we\u2019re at the store, \u2018mum is the word.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s mean, especially to Jennie,\u201d protested Ted. \u201cShe and Peleg are\nalmost wild with curiosity, and it can\u2019t do any harm to tell them about\nthings.\u201d\n\u201cIt can\u2019t, eh? You don\u2019t know Peleg,\u201d retorted the agent. \u201cIf he knew\nwhere you are going to settle, he\u2019d beat you to it.\u201d\n\u201cWe needn\u2019t tell him that, especially as we don\u2019t know ourselves, but I\ncan\u2019t see any harm in talking over other matters,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cSure! Let Jennie and Peleg in on the excitement,\u201d urged Steve, and\naccordingly it was agreed that they should be told of Mr. Hopkins\u2019\nsending the horses and of his promised visit but not of his forwarding\nany money.\n\u201cWhat relation be you to Si?\u201d queried the storekeeper of Phil, when he\nhad been told the facts.\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that the whistle of old 18?\u201d exclaimed Steve, ere either of the\nboys could speak.\n\u201cThat\u2019s what it is,\u201d asserted Andy, after a moment\u2019s pretended\nlistening. \u201cWho\u2019s going down to the track with me?\u201d\nHaving purposely created the diversion that there might be no necessity\nof answering Peleg, Steve quickly announced that he, the boys, and Jim\nwere going.\n\u201cOh, I wish I could. I\u2019ve never seen horses unloaded from a car,\u201d\nexclaimed Jennie, wistfully.\n\u201cYou shall. Come on!\u201d cried Ted.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t, nuther. There won\u2019t be no one to watch the store unless I\nstay and I want to go,\u201d whined the storekeeper.\n\u201cI guess I can\u2019t go,\u201d sighed his daughter. \u201cI\u2019ve got to stay here.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do no such thing. It won\u2019t hurt Peleg to stay himself,\u201d answered\nthe boy, and, seizing her hand, he hurried her along.\nThey were obliged to wait a good half-hour, however, before the train\narrived.\n\u201cAren\u2019t they beauties?\u201d cried Phil, as the three horses stood on the\nground.\n\u201cThey sure are, and kind and easy to ride as kittens,\u201d declared Andy.\n\u201cSi was afraid you might not be much on riding, so he sent two of his\ngrandchildren\u2019s ponies.\u201d\n\u201cYours is a man-eater, I suppose?\u201d grinned Jim.\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s some folks I know couldn\u2019t ride him,\u201d retorted the agent.\n\u201cHere, Phil, you and Ted take your choice. This sorrel is Pat, and the\nroan is Daisy.\u201d\n\u201cWhich do you want, Ted?\u201d asked his brother. \u201cYou are the elder, it\u2019s\nyour first choice.\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll take Pat, he\u2019s bigger.\u201d\n\u201cGood! Here are the saddles and bridles. Put them on and we\u2019ll ride up\nto the store,\u201d said Andy.\nBut before they could obey, it was necessary to show the boys how to\nplace the saddles and tighten the girths, for they did not know a cinch\nfrom a throat-latch. And fortunate it was that Mr. Hopkins had selected\nclever and gentle ponies, for the young homesteaders were sorry riders.\n\u201cNever mind, a baby can manage them, and you\u2019ll soon catch on to the\ntrick of sitting in a saddle,\u201d said Steve, as they made the animals fast\nfor the night in the store shed. \u201cThere\u2019s one thing not to\nforget\u2014whether you go without food and water, or not, be sure that Pat\nand Daisy don\u2019t. A good horseman always takes care of his pony before he\ndoes of himself. If you ever need a horse, you\u2019ll need it badly, and a\npony will do more for a person who is kind to it than for one who isn\u2019t.\nAnd don\u2019t think a horse doesn\u2019t know the difference, for it does.\u201d\nThe animals attended to, Andy and the boys went into the store, where\nthey purchased a supply of provisions, axes, woodmen\u2019s hatchets,\nshovels, hammers and nails, and rifles and revolvers, with the necessary\nshells and cartridges.\n\u201cEver do any shooting?\u201d asked the agent, while Peleg was packing their\nstuff in stout sacks.\n\u201cOnly a little, in shooting galleries,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cThen you must learn. Peleg, you\u2019d better triple that order of shells\nand cartridges.\u201d Then, turning again to the boys, he continued: \u201cYou\nought to practise, say, half an hour every day. You never know when you\nmay stumble across a bear in these forests. When you get your cattle,\nyou\u2019re more than likely to be visited by mountain lions, and when you\nshoot at a bear or a lion, you want to shoot straight.\u201d\nEvery minute that they were in the woods gave Phil and Ted a clearer\nunderstanding of the fact that they were in that part of the world where\nmen were accustomed to rely upon their own resources and ingenuity, and\nthe realization was rapidly developing them from care-free,\nhappy-go-lucky school boys into sober manhood.\nWhile the station agent had been dilating upon the necessity of being\nable to use their firearms intelligently, Phil and Ted had been handling\nthe weapons, but their awkwardness showed they knew practically nothing\nabout them.\n\u201cIf I can\u2019t read, I _can_ shoot,\u201d exclaimed Jennie. \u201cLet me show you,\nTed.\u201d And taking his rifle, she explained to him how to load and empty\nthe magazine and to hold the rifle when shooting, doing the same with\nthe big 44 revolver. Then she made the boy go through the motions\nhimself until, at last, he felt at home in working the different\nmechanisms.\n\u201cRemember,\u201d she said, finally, \u201calways to keep your guns clean and oiled\nand your shells and cartridges dry.\u201d\n\u201cAnd if I was you, I\u2019d sleep on my shooting irons,\u201d advised Peleg. \u201cThen\nyou\u2019ll know where they are and no one can steal them from you.\u201d\n\u201cYou talk as though this was a desperate country,\u201d laughed Phil.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t that, it\u2019s like it is with the ponies\u2014when you need your guns,\nyou\u2019ll need them mighty bad,\u201d put in Andy. \u201cAnd now that everything\u2019s\nready, you\u2019d best go to bed. We start at five tomorrow morning.\u201d\nThough the boys went to their room, they had so many things to talk over\nthat it was a long while before they went to sleep. Yet they were up\nbetimes, fed their ponies, ate a hearty breakfast, and were on their way\nonly a little after the hour set by their guide.\nBecause of the packs tied to each saddle and the inexperience of the\nboys in riding, they travelled slowly.\n\u201cHow much farther is it to our section?\u201d asked Phil, after they had been\nin the saddle more than two hours.\n\u201cGetting tired?\u201d inquired Andy.\n\u201cNo-o. I was only wondering how we\u2019d ever get Momsy and the girls to our\nhomestead.\u201d Smiling at the excuse, their guide replied:\n\u201cOh, you will be able to put a road through before they come. Your claim\nis only about twenty-five miles from the station at Chikau.\u201d\n\u201cMy eye! That will be some haul for our provisions,\u201d declared Ted.\n\u201cOh, you\u2019ll go to Bradley for them, that will be only fifteen miles from\nwhere your claim is. But I wouldn\u2019t go there very often. It\u2019s a pretty\nbad place, especially at night.\u201d\nAll during their advance through the woods, Andy had chopped off\nbranches at intervals of a rod or so, leaving the partially severed\nlimbs hanging and occasionally cutting the bark from a tree trunk.\n\u201cWhy do you do that?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cI\u2019m blazing the trail, so you can ride over, whenever you like, without\ndanger of getting lost. At first, when you go about your claim, you had\nbetter do the same. This is a bad country to get lost in, and to any one\nwho doesn\u2019t know the woods it\u2019s mighty easy to miss the way.\u201d\n\u201cBut why don\u2019t you cut the branches clean off?\u201d queried Ted.\n\u201cBecause a cut, or broken, hanging branch is everywhere the sign of a\ntrail.\u201d\nNow mounting sharp inclines, now descending into gullies, the trio\nadvanced, finally coming to a ridge below which extended a wooded flat.\n\u201cThere\u2019s your claim,\u201d announced Andy, drawing rein. \u201cAt least, if I were\nyou I\u2019d choose it, but you can take up any of the land we\u2019ve crossed, or\nin any direction you can see.\u201d\nAs they realized they were looking upon the spot selected by both Mr.\nHopkins and their guide as the site of their homestead, the boys gazed\nabout them, too deeply affected to speak for many minutes.\n\u201cI\u2019d like it if it weren\u2019t all covered with trees,\u201d finally declared\nPhil.\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t expect plowed ground, did you?\u201d demanded their companion,\nsharply.\n\u201cI think it is perfectly bully!\u201d quickly exclaimed Ted. \u201cLook, Phil,\nthere is a brook, to the right, from which we can get water for\nirrigation.\u201d\n\u201cExactly,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t find another quarter section so\nlevel, with the water so handy, yet having a sufficient fall to serve\nyour land, if you searched a hundred miles.\u201d\n\u201cBut the trees,\u201d protested the elder boy. \u201cThey seem thicker than where\nSteve is logging.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s because you are looking down on them. As a matter of fact,\nyou\u2019ll be surprised to see how much clearing there is when you get down\nthere. But after you have been at work a couple of weeks, you\u2019ll see a\nbig difference.\u201d\n\u201cThe stumps will be left, though. And we\u2019ve got to put some land under\ncultivation this year, you know.\u201d\n\u201cDynamite will remove the stumps for you. What do you think, do you want\nto stake your claim here?\u201d\nQuickly the boys looked at one another, doubt in the elder\u2019s eyes,\nconfidence in Ted\u2019s.\n\u201cYes, indeed, we do!\u201d asserted the younger, emphatically. \u201cAt least, _I_\ndo. If you don\u2019t like it, you can select a place for yourself, Phil.\u201d\n\u201cIf it suits you, it suits me, Ted.\u201d\n\u201cThen come on, let\u2019s get onto it!\u201d\nLed by Andy, they were soon on the flat, and in a few more minutes their\nguide drew rein on the bank of the creek.\n\u201cHere\u2019s a likely place to build your shake-down,\u201d he declared.\nDismounting, they took the packs from the saddles, hobbled the ponies,\nand, under Andy\u2019s directions, fell to work cutting poles, placing them\nand thatching a hut of boughs, some ten feet long, five wide and six\nhigh.\nTaking the hammer and nails, their companion drove a row along each side\nof the roof-pole.\n\u201cAlways hang your provisions up,\u201d he said, as he suited his actions to\nhis words. \u201cThat is, until you have your log cabin, and it\u2019s not a bad\nplan even then. It saves them from ants and all sorts of prowling\nanimals. And now let\u2019s get dinner.\u201d\n\u201cThat suits me,\u201d exclaimed Ted. \u201cWhat shall we have? I can fry eggs.\u201d\n\u201cThere, we forgot to get a stove, Andy!\u201d exclaimed the elder boy.\n\u201cThat\u2019s one on you. We\u2019re in a pretty fix, miles from anywhere with\nnothing on which to cook.\u201d\n\u201cYou sure don\u2019t know much about an entry-man\u2019s life,\u201d chuckled the\nagent. \u201cYou don\u2019t need a stove yet. Just come down to the brook and I\u2019ll\nshow you a trick. How do you suppose trappers and men who roam the woods\ncook their meals? They can\u2019t be carrying stoves about with them.\u201d And\ngoing to the water, he selected a thin flat stone, built others up on\nthree sides and placed the first one upon them.\n\u201cThere\u2019s your stove. Now build a fire underneath and in a few minutes it\nwill be so hot you can fry your eggs on it. Make another fire and set\nyour coffee-pot in it.\n\u201cOne thing you must be careful about, though. Always put out your\nfire\u2014_and see that it is out_\u2014before you leave it. If you don\u2019t, you may\nstart a forest fire that will take months to put out and destroy\nthousands of dollars\u2019 worth of lumber.\u201d\nWhile Ted fried the eggs, Phil brought out crackers, jam, and pickles,\nand in due course the dinner was ready.\n\u201cJust think, Phil, we\u2019re having our first meal on our very, very own\nhomestead!\u201d exclaimed Ted.\n\u201cAnd here\u2019s success, and the best of it to you!\u201d said Andy, raising his\ntin cupful of coffee.\nSilently and solemnly the three clinked their cups and drank the toast.\nDinner finished\u2014and it tasted all the better because the boys cooked it\nthemselves, upon what was to be their new home\u2014they washed the dishes,\nwet down the fire, and were picking up their saddles, preparatory to\nputting them on their ponies, when Andy stopped them.\n\u201cHold on there, not so fast! A horse can\u2019t eat as rapidly as a man, and\nwhen there is no pressing need, you never should use one directly after\nfeeding.\u201d\n\u201cBut we want to ride over our claim,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cCan\u2019t you walk?\u201d\n\u201cWhy, yes,\u201d flushed the boy, \u201cI suppose so, but I thought no one walked\nout West.\u201d\nThe answer drew a hearty laugh from their companion. \u201cYou\u2019re not on a\nranch, but a farm,\u201d he replied, finally. \u201cBesides, we can examine the\nland much better on foot. At the Land Office they\u2019ll ask you if you are\nfamiliar with the land on which you wish to file, and I want you to be\nable to say \u2018yes\u2019 truthfully.\u201d\n\u201cWill our things be safe here?\u201d inquired Phil. \u201cNo; probably the\nneighbour\u2019s children will run off with them,\u201d smiled their companion.\n\u201cSeriously, though, they will. You don\u2019t need locks in this part of the\nworld. If any one does come along, he\u2019ll eat what he needs, if he is out\nof grub himself, but he won\u2019t harm or steal anything. Of course, there\nmay be an occasional \u2018bad man,\u2019 but he is soon run out of the region.\nAnd another thing, don\u2019t refuse a meal to any one or to help any one.\nYou never know when you may need one or both.\u201d\n\u201cThere, Phil, you see the trees aren\u2019t very thick,\u201d observed his\nbrother, as their guide concluded. \u201cAnd over to the right there are none\nat all. We\u2019ll plow that up first.\u201d\n\u201cBetter keep it to graze your stock on; cattle and horses like this\nnatural grass,\u201d advised Andy.\n\u201cWhat we shall do when you leave us, I don\u2019t know,\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cI don\u2019t mean to be \u2018bossy.\u2019 I\u2019m just trying to give you all the\npointers I can.\u201d\n\u201cI realize that, Andy. It\u2019s only that we don\u2019t seem to hit anything\nright. Hey, Ted, what are you digging for\u2014gold?\u201d\n\u201cNo, angleworms. I read somewhere that you should never buy land for a\nfarm where there were no angleworms, the soil wouldn\u2019t be productive.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you won\u2019t find any, there\u2019s too much duff,\u201d said the agent.\n\u201cWhat is duff?\u201d asked both boys.\n\u201cThe\u2014well\u2014blanket formed by the leaves, rotted limbs, and logs that\nalways covers the ground in forests.\u201d\n\u201cWell, you\u2019re wrong for once,\u201d cried Ted, gleefully, as he held up a\nsquirming worm.\n\u201cGlad I am,\u201d smiled Andy. \u201cNow it won\u2019t be necessary for you to take my\nword that this land is fertile.\n\u201cThere\u2019s another thing I must tell you about. At the Land Office they\u2019ll\nask you a lot of questions, and one will be about whether there\u2019s enough\nrainfall to serve your crops. As to that, I can\u2019t inform you. You are\nsurrounded by hills.\u201d\n\u201cMountains, we call them,\u201d interrupted Phil.\n\u201cWell, mountains, then, so they may cut off your rain.\u201d\n\u201cBut we have the brook, so we can irrigate,\u201d put in Ted.\n\u201cSay, who is telling this\u2014you or me?\u201d\n\u201cGo on, we won\u2019t interrupt again,\u201d promised the boys.\n\u201cWhat I am trying to say to you is that the eastern side of hills and\nmountains always receives more rain and moisture than the western. No, I\ncan\u2019t tell you why it is, but it\u2019s true; at least, so the irrigation and\ndry-farming experts say. Now you have both an eastern and a western\nslope on your land, and if you don\u2019t get rain enough, you can irrigate.\u201d\n\u201cBut one part of a hundred and sixty acres wouldn\u2019t receive any rain\nwhen another didn\u2019t, would it?\u201d Phil asked.\n\u201cYou just wait and see. Wind currents and hills do queer things with\nrain.\u201d\n\u201cHow about minerals or coal? They\u2019ll ask if there are any here, won\u2019t\nthey?\u201d queried Ted.\n\u201cTell them \u2018no.\u2019 Si had this flat examined for coal; that\u2019s how I happen\nto know about it.\u201d At the words, confirming as they did the younger\nboy\u2019s opinion that the agent was other than he pretended to be, they\nboth glanced at one another.\n\u201cThen you can tell us about the subsoil, I suppose,\u201d flashed Ted.\n\u201cThat\u2019s for you to find out. Si said he told you how it was done.\u201d\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t any bore.\u201d\n\u201cJust try this;\u201d and Andy unslung a long leather case, which had caused\nthe young homesteaders much curiosity, from his shoulder, opened it, and\ntook out several pieces of augur. \u201cIt\u2019s a sectional bore,\u201d he said,\nfitting the parts together. \u201cMore convenient to carry than a single\nsix-foot length.\u201d\nThere were marks, every twelve inches, just as Mr. Hopkins had described\nto them in the train, and, when the handle had been adjusted, Ted took\nit.\n\u201cYou watch for the footmarks, Phil, and notice the moisture while I turn\nthe bore,\u201d he ordered.\n\u201cOne foot, fairly moist. Go on! Stop! Two feet, real damp. Try again!\nThree feet, wet. Any use of going deeper, Andy? Mr. Hopkins said the\nnatural reservoir was usually three or four feet down.\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you think, Ted?\u201d asked their companion.\n\u201cThat we\u2019ve gone far enough. If the soil is moist at one foot, damp at\ntwo, and wet at three, the crop roots won\u2019t lack water the first season,\nanyway.\u201d\n\u201cRight you are. Let\u2019s go over to the west slope and try.\u201d\nTo the boys\u2019 surprise, when the test was repeated, the soil was\npractically dry until the four-foot level was reached and then it was\nonly moist.\n\u201cGuess you are right about the rainfall,\u201d admitted Phil. \u201cWe\u2019ll be\nobliged to irrigate this side.\u201d\n\u201cI am glad you boys appreciate the necessity and value of irrigation,\u201d\ncommented the agent. \u201cIf more entrymen were aware of its importance and\npossibilities, they would use greater care in selecting their homestead\nlands\u2014and there wouldn\u2019t be so many abandoned. How\u2019d you come to know\nabout it, Si tell you?\u201d\n\u201cHe did\u2014but we\u2019ve read up on it ourselves,\u201d replied Ted.\n\u201cYou mean _you_ have,\u201d returned his brother. \u201cI\u2019m not much on such\nmatters, Andy, but Ted is daffy over building things. I believe he has\nalready decided on his system.\u201d\n\u201cHow about it, Ted?\u201d smiled the agent.\n\u201cI have one in mind. After I have examined the water supply I shall know\nwhether or not it will work.\u201d\n\u201cGood! Now we\u2019ll turn some more soil.\u201d\nAt the north and south ends of the quarter section other tests were made\nwhich gave results almost similar to the first, though the soil was not\nquite so moist.\n\u201cSee that tree with the cross blazed in the bark?\u201d Andy asked, as he\npointed to a tree a rod away.\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the boys.\n\u201cThat\u2019s your corner mark. If you go close, you will see an E 1, N.E. cut\nbelow the blaze. That means that your section is mapped as E 1 and that\nthis is the northeast boundary. You\u2019ll find marks at the three other\ncorners. Don\u2019t cut those trees down or deface the marks; there\u2019s a fine\nof two hundred and fifty dollars or six months\u2019 imprisonment, or both,\nfor destroying a corner mark placed by the government. Where there are\nno trees, stone posts are set up.\u201d\n\u201cDo you mean that all this region has been surveyed?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cIt has, and mapped as well. At the Land Office you can buy maps of all\nthe lands open for homestead entry, marked even into forty-acre lots,\nwith a list of all the people who have filed entries and the locations\nof their claims.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s some job, surveying and running lines,\u201d commented Ted.\n\u201cIt sure is, especially when the land must be examined for coal and\nmineral deposits, and the work is carried on, or has been completed, in\nall the prairie and Rocky Mountain States. You Easterners have no idea\nof the importance of the Department of the Interior, which has charge of\nthe public lands.\u201d\n\u201cThe only time we ever hear of it is when some land-grabbing scandal\nbreaks out,\u201d Phil declared.\n\u201cAnd the worst ones never have leaked out. But it\u2019s getting harder for\nthe rich syndicates to gobble up square mile after square mile of\nvaluable land. Some day it will be impossible, and no more priceless\nwater rights will be given away.\u201d\n\u201cBut how can the syndicates get the land, when a homesteader is only\nallowed to file for a hundred and sixty or, under certain conditions,\nthree hundred and twenty acres at the most?\u201d queried Ted.\n\u201cBy getting individuals to file entries, and when they have received the\nland, turn it over to the syndicates.\u201d\nThe fervour with which their companion spoke surprised his hearers, and\nPhil asked, guilelessly:\n\u201cYou have been in the reclamation service, haven\u2019t you?\u201d\nCasting a swift glance at his questioner, Andy flushed and snapped a\ncurt \u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cWhy did you leave it?\u201d\nAgain their companion flushed, but this time angrily.\n\u201cThey didn\u2019t want an honest man on my job\u2014but I spoiled their game, just\nthe same. Please not ask any more about my service. The business isn\u2019t\nended yet.\u201d\n\u201cI hope you\u2019ll win!\u201d exclaimed Ted, impulsively.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t myself I care about. I hate to see a few rich thieves, in and\nout of office\u2014and when any one tells you that land can be stolen without\nthe knowledge of the high officials, don\u2019t you believe them\u2014get for\nnothing rights that are too valuable even to sell.\u201d\nWith this outburst Andy grew silent, and it was not until they had\ninspected the brook, where Ted found conditions favourable for the\ninstallation of his system, that he recovered his cheeriness.\n\u201cThink you can sleep in such a place?\u201d he asked, as he fixed the fire\nafter returning to the bough hut.\n\u201cI don\u2019t mind the place. It\u2019s the sleeping on my guns that will bother\nme,\u201d Ted replied. \u201cI don\u2019t think they will be very comfortable.\u201d\n\u201cThat only means to have them under your pillows.\u201d\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t any pillows.\u201d\n\u201cUse your saddles.\u201d And Andy quickly showed the boys how to build a bed\nof boughs, and cover it with their blankets in such a way that the\nhardness of their saddles was relieved.\nWhen they had gathered a big pile of firewood for the night, Andy\nsuggested target practice.\nWith a shout the boys welcomed the suggestion, and while the agent set\nup a tin can some thirty paces from the bough hut, they broke out their\nrifles.\n\u201cYou\u2019re oldest, you shoot first,\u201d said Ted to his brother.\n\u201cAll right!\u201d And throwing his rifle to his shoulder, Phil sighted it a\nmoment, then fired.\nTo the surprise of the former member of the reclamation service, the can\nwas torn from the branch which held it.\n\u201cGood boy, Phil! Do it again!\u201d cried his brother, when he had replaced\nthe target.\nThree more times the boy fired, standing at different distances, and\nthree more times the can went spinning.\n\u201cThought you hadn\u2019t shot much?\u201d exclaimed Andy.\n\u201cNor have I. Only four or five times, before today, all told.\u201d\n\u201cH\u2019m! Try it with your 44.\u201d\nThe results with the revolver were as good, and their agent was both\nsurprised and delighted.\n\u201cNo fluke about those bulls-eyes,\u201d he declared. \u201cYou are a natural-born\nmarksman. You\u2019ve the quick, sure eye.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s his pitching that does it,\u201d enthused Ted, as happy at his\nbrother\u2019s remarkable showing as though it had been himself. \u201cPhil was\nthe star pitcher of the Interscholastic League, you know.\u201d\n\u201cThat may have developed his eye, but he\u2019s a natural-born marksman just\nthe same. Now let\u2019s see what you can do, Ted. Are you a pitcher, too?\u201d\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m not,\u201d replied the boy, as he squinted along the rifle barrel.\n\u201cHe\u2019s going to build an airship when we get E 1 cleared,\u201d laughed Phil.\nThe younger boy made a sorry showing, however, not scoring a hit though\nhe emptied his magazine, and he had no better success with his 44.\n\u201cNever mind, practice will develop your eye,\u201d consoled Andy. \u201cAnd now\nwe\u2019ll get supper.\u201d\nAs night advanced, the woods seemed to awaken. Owls hooted, twigs\nsnapped as night-prowling animals travelled about, and now and then the\ncry of a mountain lion sounded in the distance.\n\u201cI shan\u2019t dare shut my eyes tonight,\u201d exclaimed the younger boy.\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d returned their companion. \u201cThe fire will keep everything\naway. Don\u2019t think about the noises, just put your mind on the\npleasantest thing you can conceive and forget that you are in the real\nwoods.\u201d\nMore tired than they cared to admit, the young homesteaders lost no time\nin wrapping up in their blankets, after everything had been made\nshipshape for the night. But scarcely had they worked themselves into\ncomfortable positions than a terrified whinneying and snorting burst\nfrom the horses.\nHastily throwing aside their covering, the boys snatched their revolvers\nfrom under their saddles and sprang to their feet.\n\u201cWhat is it, Andy?\u201d they asked, excitedly, as they caught a glimpse,\nacross the campfire, of their companion as he ran to the ponies.\n\u201cBears, I reckon. I haven\u2019t heard a lion cry. But I don\u2019t know.\u201d\nA frenzied thrashing and tramping, in addition to the snorting, put an\nend to any further exchange of opinions, and with one accord the three\nrushed toward the terrified animals.\n\u201cSteady! Steady!\u201d soothed Andy, stepping among them.\nBut the horses refused to be quieted.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got our hands full this time, sure enough! Quick, put your\nbridles on! You can manage your ponies better. No, don\u2019t unhobble\u2014and\nhang on for dear life. If one of them gets away, there\u2019ll be no catching\nhim.\u201d\nSo thoroughly frightened were the animals, however, that it was all Phil\nand Ted could do to bridle them, but at last they succeeded. Yet they\nfound it no easy task to hold them even then, for they persisted in\nfacing north, whirling back so rapidly whenever the boys turned them as\nnearly to break away.\n\u201cWhat makes them do that?\u201d gasped Ted, out of breath from his exertions.\n\u201cBecause that is the direction from which the danger lies,\u201d Andy\nreplied.\n\u201cBut I can\u2019t hear anything out there,\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cThe ponies can smell it, though. That\u2019s what makes me think it\u2019s a\nbear. Horses can smell a bear farther than anything else. You brought\nyour rifles, didn\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cNo, the 44s.\u201d\n\u201cThen get your rifles, quick! You don\u2019t want to use a revolver at night.\nBesides, it wouldn\u2019t stop a bear any time.\u201d\n\u201cBut we can\u2019t leave our ponies,\u201d protested Ted.\n\u201cHere, I\u2019ll hold Daisy while you hustle back and bring the rifles,\u201d\nordered Andy.\nScarcely had the boy started than the horses whirled in the direction of\nthe campfire, snorting and jerking back frantically, unable to rear\nbecause of their hobbles.\n\u201cWow! they\u2019re on all sides of us!\u201d cried Phil, but Andy was too busy\ntrying to manage his two animals to reply.\n\u201cHurry, Ted, hurry!\u201d yelled his brother, as he saw that their companion\nhad more than his hands full, all his own strength being required to\nhold Pat.\n\u201cNever mind the rifles! Come back!\u201d added Andy.\nBut instead of seeing the boy return, they heard a wild shriek, then the\ncrack of a rifle, quickly followed by four others, fired to the\naccompaniment of fiendish roars.\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d shouted Phil.\nBut no answer did he receive.\n\u201cQuick! bind your reins around that sapling and give me the ends, then\ngo see. Take my rifle. It\u2019s slung across my back,\u201d commanded Andy.\nTrembling so at the thought of injury to his brother that he could\nhardly do what he was told, Phil finally managed to unsling the rifle\nand rushed toward the campfire, throwing the gun to his shoulder as he\ncame within its light.\nJust beyond the burning pile lay Ted, motionless, while scant fifteen\nfeet from him a bear wallowed in his death throes.\n\u201cAndy! Andy! Come quick!\u201d shouted Phil, as he leaped across the campfire\nand ran to his brother. \u201cTed! Ted! Are you hurt? Speak to me!\u201d he\nimplored, dropping to his knees beside the quiet form.\nFortunately the ponies, seeming to sense the fact that their danger was\nover, became quieter, and hastily the agent made them fast to the\nsapling, then rushed to the boy\u2019s assistance.\n\u201cJove! That was close work. He\u2019s a monster. Did he tear Ted with his\nclaws?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so. I can\u2019t find any wounds.\u201d By this time Andy himself\nwas kneeling beside the still motionless lad, swiftly running his hands\nover his limbs to learn if any were broken.\n\u201cThank goodness the bear didn\u2019t cuff him with his paws. There isn\u2019t a\nmark on him. Bring the coffee-pot. I think he has only fainted.\u201d\nQuickly Phil did as he was bidden, and Andy raised Ted\u2019s head, opened\nhis mouth, and poured a long draught of the strong black coffee down his\nthroat.\n\u201cRub his hands!\u201d he commanded.\nThe treatment, however, did not revive the young homesteader.\n\u201cOh, Andy, do _something_!\u201d pleaded Phil. \u201cHe isn\u2019t d\u2014\u201d\nBut a vigorous sneeze by Ted stopped the dread word on his lips, for the\nagent had struck a match and held the sulphurous fumes to the boy\u2019s\nnose.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the stuff!\u201d cried Andy, in relief. \u201cAnother match and he\u2019ll be\nhimself again.\u201d\n\u201cUgh! Stop sticking matches up my nose,\u201d exclaimed Ted, sitting up.\nThen, as he recognized his surroundings, he asked: \u201cDid I get him?\u201d\n\u201cYou sure did, and he\u2019s a monster,\u201d returned the agent.\n\u201cHe was just reaching for our bacon when I caught sight of him. I\u2019d got\nour rifles and was starting back when I heard a branch crack right\nbeside me, and there was Mister Bear, standing on his hind legs, clawing\nat the bacon.\n\u201cI was so frightened, I just stood and shook. Then I let out a yell for\nyou fellows. The bear must have heard it, for he turned his head, then\nrushed for me and I fired. But he kept on coming and I kept firing. The\nlast I remember, he seemed right on top of me. I\u2019m sorry I fainted.\u201d\n\u201cNever mind. There are not many men who would have been able to shoot at\nall, seeing a bear so close and for the first time,\u201d returned the agent.\n\u201cLet\u2019s take a look at him,\u201d suggested Phil, when his brother was on his\nfeet again. And quickly they reached the carcass.\nWhile the young homesteaders pulled the long fur and examined the\nterrible claws, Andy was searching to find where the bullets had hit.\n\u201cThat was some shooting, Ted,\u201d he finally announced; \u201cfive shots and\nevery one in the head.\u201d\n\u201cBeats hitting a tin can, what?\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cIt certainly does, especially in the night, when it is always harder to\nhit a mark because things look bigger.\u201d\n\u201cProbably I couldn\u2019t do it again.\u201d\n\u201cYou got him, though, and that\u2019s what counts.\u201d\n\u201cHow much do you suppose he weighs?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cCan\u2019t tell exactly\u2014about five hundred, I should think.\u201d\n\u201cGuess I won\u2019t have something to write home about, what?\u201d cried Ted, and\nagain the boys examined the black monster until they were called away by\ntheir companion.\n\u201cI don\u2019t blame you for being proud of him. I had my first bear stuffed\nand sent home. But we can\u2019t stay here all night. We\u2019ve got to move,\u201d\ncried Andy, who had been picking up their kits while the boys were\nadmiring the prize.\n\u201cMove, at this hour?\u201d exclaimed Phil, in amazement. \u201cWe can\u2019t leave our\nhut.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s what. The horses are beginning to tread again, they smell the\nblood, and they wouldn\u2019t give us a minute\u2019s rest all night. But we won\u2019t\ngo far, just fifteen or twenty rods to leeward.\u201d\nTaking only the blankets, saddles, and firearms, they quickly found\nanother suitable place close at hand where the wind would blow the scent\naway from them, and when they had lighted another fire they returned for\nthe horses, which they finally managed to lead around the bear.\nAfter about an hour they had calmed their mounts, and again they rolled\nup in their blankets, falling into a sleep from which nothing aroused\nthem.\n\u201cGet up, sleepyheads!\u201d called Andy, as he set the coffee-pot on the\ncoals and made ready to fry some bacon.\nAroused, the boys sat up, only to sink back, groaning.\n\u201cI\u2019m too stiff to move. How do you feel, Ted?\u201d inquired his brother.\n\u201cThe only thing I can do without its hurting is open my eyes.\u201d\n\u201cTry opening your mouths for some of this coffee,\u201d laughed their\ncompanion, standing over them with the steaming pot, from which he\npoured a few drops onto their necks.\n\u201cHey, quit that! Ouch, don\u2019t!\u201d yelled the young homesteaders, leaping to\ntheir feet under the smart of the hot liquid.\n\u201cNothing like a shock to drive away the aches,\u201d grinned Andy, and as the\nboys remembered how quickly they had forgotten their complaints of the\nmoment before, they laughed with him.\n\u201cGo and rub down your ponies, that will take a few more kinks out of\nyou,\u201d their companion ordered, yet before they had finished, he called\nthem to breakfast.\nWith a relish the boys ate.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s to do first?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cSkin the bear,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cThen I\u2019m going back to Chikau and you\ncan do what you please, but I should advise you to go to Bradley and get\nyour outfit. With proper tools you can begin work on your homestead in\nearnest. You will only be wasting time trying to accomplish anything\nwith what you brought from Peleg\u2019s.\u201d\nThe thought of being left alone in a place so wild that bears roamed it,\nsobered the young homesteaders instantly.\n\u201cCan\u2019t you manage, _somehow_, to stay with us at least another day?\u201d\npleaded Ted, his eyes wandering unconsciously to where the huge\nfur-covered carcass lay.\n\u201cNo, I can\u2019t,\u201d returned Andy, sharply. \u201cYou boys must start in on your\nown resources sometime, so the sooner the better.\u201d\n\u201cBut you know so much about everything. We can learn more from you in a\nday than by ourselves in a week,\u201d flattered Phil.\n\u201cNow see here, none of that sort of talk.\u201d\n\u201cBut it\u2019s true,\u201d protested Ted.\n\u201cPerhaps it is. But I learned mostly by experience, and so must you. Did\nyou expect to have some one do the work for you when you left home?\u201d\n\u201cNo,\u201d chorused both boys, stung by his tone.\n\u201cThen why should you change your minds just because you found me and was\ngood enough to take an interest in you and come over here with you?\u201d\n\u201cYou are right, Andy,\u201d exclaimed Phil, after a short pause.\n\u201cThat\u2019s better. You boys have the stuff in you. The way you faced the\nBlack Swede and the bear proves that. You are educated, you have studied\nupon farming and homesteading, and Ted, here, has at least mechanical\nknowledge if not genius. Left to yourselves, you _ought_ to come out on\ntop\u2014but you never will if you are going to rely on some one else to\nsolve all your difficulties.\u201d\nAs they had finished breakfast while talking, without another word the\nyoung homesteaders arose, picked up and washed the dishes, after which\nthey announced their readiness to go for their outfit.\nAmused at their sudden independence, the agent asked:\n\u201cDon\u2019t you want me to show you how to skin the bear?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve read up on that,\u201d returned Phil. \u201cWe can do it when we get back.\u201d\n\u201cUndoubtedly. But while I am with you, I shall give you the benefit of\nmy experience,\u201d smiled Andy. \u201cIf you don\u2019t dress the bear before you\nstart, you will have trouble with the horses you are going to bring\nback. They\u2019ll be afraid. Come on, let\u2019s see you skin the beast, Phil.\u201d\nThus put on his mettle, the elder boy took his hunting-knife, whetted it\non his leather boots, went to the carcass, picked up one paw, inserted\nthe knife, and slit the skin to the body, repeating the operation on the\nother three legs, then made a slit down the belly.\nWith now and then a word of direction, Andy watched, and soon the pelt\nhad been removed. This done, the agent showed the boys how to cut up the\nmeat and hang it on poles.\n\u201cYou said we could outfit in Bradley, didn\u2019t you, Andy?\u201d asked Ted, when\nthe task was ended.\n\u201cI did.\u201d\n\u201cHow do we get there?\u201d\n\u201cFollow the brook until you come to a road, then follow that until you\nreach Bradley.\u201d\n\u201cThank you. When will you be over again?\u201d\n\u201cAs soon as I can. Come on, I\u2019ll see you started.\u201d\nAnd when the ponies were saddled, the young homesteaders bade the agent\ngood-bye, shouting their thanks to him as they rode away.\nWith very little trouble they were able to keep along the brook,\nreaching the road in due course, and noon found them riding down the\nmain, and only, street of Bradley.\nA mushroom town built to cater to the desires of the lumberjacks from\nthree near-by camps, and the handful of settlers; there were more public\nhouses and dance halls than anything else, among which was tucked the\ninevitable \u201cgeneral store,\u201d and before this they drew rein.\nSeveral loungers seated on the store porch sat up and took notice as the\nboys made their ponies fast.\n\u201cOrphans\u2019 home is first street to the left,\u201d drawled one of them.\nPhil flashed upon him what he intended to be a look of contempt.\n\u201cLook out, Bill, that\u2019s young \u2018Eat-em-alive,\u2019\u201d grinned another loafer,\nrising and advancing toward the boys.\nThe proprietor of the store, however, had chanced to hear the loafers\u2019\nremarks, and, hurrying to learn their cause, arrived just as the young\nhomesteaders entered the door.\nStruck by the clean-cut and manly appearance of the boys, he ordered the\nbullies to be quiet, then asked:\n\u201cWhat can I do for you, gents?\u201d\n\u201cWe want a homesteader\u2019s outfit,\u201d replied Phil.\nThe words evoked loud guffaws from the loungers.\n\u201cFor whom?\u201d asked the store-keeper.\n\u201cOurselves!\u201d snapped Ted.\n\u201cWhere have you filed?\u201d\n\u201cCan\u2019t we buy what we wish without giving our history?\u201d demanded Phil.\n\u201cSay, do you think I\u2019m letting an outfit go without knowing where it\u2019s\ngoing?\u201d snorted the proprietor. \u201cHow could I collect?\u201d\n\u201cWe intend to pay cash,\u201d announced Ted. This statement evoked even more\nsurprise from those who had heard it than anything that had happened\nbefore, and the loungers commented freely upon it.\nTo the boys\u2019 relief, however, it turned the store-keeper from a\n\u201cdoubting Thomas\u201d to an eager salesman. And straightway he bustled\nabout, dragging out plows, harrows, cultivators, chains, hoes, rakes,\nand the many other things needed to work the ground and furnish the\ncabin.\nDetermined not to be denied some fun from baiting the boys, the loungers\nadvised the purchase of all sorts of useless implements, drawing upon\ntheir imaginations for instances when the possession of such and such a\ntool would have spelled the difference between success and failure to\nthemselves or friends. But Phil and Ted paid them no more heed than as\nif they had not been within a hundred miles.\nSelecting only the best, the outfit was at last complete, even to the\nseed, included in which Ted insisted upon having some \u201cdurum\u201d wheat,\nmuch to the amusement of the proprietor.\n\u201cHow much do we owe you?\u201d asked Ted, drawing out his pocket-book.\n\u201cHundred and sixty-five dollars,\u201d said the store-keeper, after adding up\nthe amounts.\n\u201cThat means a hundred and forty-eight dollars and a half, allowing us\nthe usual discount for cash,\u201d said Phil. \u201cPay him, Ted. Kindly give us a\nreceipt, please.\u201d\nSeveral times the proprietor opened his mouth to protest, but the sight\nof the money in the younger boy\u2019s hands and the chuckles of the loafers\ncaused him to shut it each time in silence, and, as though in a daze, he\npassed over a receipt.\n\u201cHow on earth are you going to get all these things home?\u201d asked one of\nthe bullies. \u201cYou can\u2019t load them on your ponies.\u201d\n\u201cIn a wagon, of course,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cBut you haven\u2019t any.\u201d\n\u201cNot yet, but we\u2019re going to buy one.\u201d And he led the way from the\nstore, followed by the loungers, mounted, and rode up the street,\nstopping at a big barn.\nAs the conclave halted, a loud voice called:\n\u201cHey, Sam Turner, here are a couple of babies want a go-cart.\u201d\nThe words brought the horse-dealer and hostlers to the door on the run.\nBefore any of them could speak, however, Phil said:\n\u201cWe want to buy a pair of horses, a wagon, and harnesses.\u201d\n\u201cEntrymen?\u201d grinned the horse-dealer.\n\u201cWe are,\u201d smiled Phil.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the claim?\u201d\n\u201cWe are friends of Si Hopkins,\u201d declared Ted.\n\u201cWill he sign the mortgage?\u201d\n\u201cWe aren\u2019t giving a mortgage\u2014that is, how much do you want for the\nhorses and wagon, Mr. Turner?\u201d asked the younger boy.\n\u201cH\u2019m! Let me see. You\u2019ll want time, of course, even if Si is back of\nyou. Money\u2019s high now, so I ought to get four hundred and fifty dollars,\none hundred down, the balance fifty every three months.\u201d\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t asked for time, sir,\u201d exclaimed Phil curtly. \u201cCome, Ted,\nlet\u2019s see if we can\u2019t get horses of some one who doesn\u2019t charge three or\nfour prices.\u201d\n\u201cIf you knew Sam as well as I do, you wouldn\u2019t mind his trying to be a\nrobber,\u201d exclaimed a hanger on.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll give you just two hundred and seventy-five dollars in cash, Mr.\nTurner. Take it or leave it.\u201d\n\u201cMake it three hundred and you can take the team with you.\u201d\n\u201cTwo hundred and seventy-five, I said,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cThey\u2019re yours, for cash.\u201d\n\u201cWrite out the receipt, then,\u201d exclaimed the elder boy, and Ted again\ncounted out the money. \u201cThat only leaves us one hundred and fifteen\ndollars until harvest time,\u201d he said as the horse-dealer went away to\nget the team. \u201cWouldn\u2019t it be best to buy on time, after all?\u201d\n\u201cNo, it wouldn\u2019t. Mr. Hopkins said that is the way so many settlers lose\nout. These traders are sharpers, and if a man lacks five cents of the\namount for a payment, they\u2019ll take everything away from him.\u201d\nAs Turner exchanged the receipt for the money, the boys hurried to\ninspect their latest purchases, and loud were they in their admiration\nof the powerful blacks.\n\u201cAre they vicious?\u201d inquired Phil, cautiously, visions of trouble in\nharnessing and unharnessing such big creatures before his eyes.\n\u201cGentle as lambs. Only thing you have to look out for is that they don\u2019t\nstep on you.\u201d\n\u201cBetter let us hitch \u2019em, Mr. Turner,\u201d said Ted. \u201cWe\u2019ve got to learn how\nsometime.\u201d With a smile, the horse-dealer agreed; and he explained which\nwas the nigh and which the off horse, and showed them how to handle the\nheavy harnesses.\nTwo or three trials, however, was necessary before the young\nhomesteaders could harness and hitch in properly. At last, with Daisy\nand Pat on lead ropes, they drove from the barn and up to the store,\nwhere their purchases were duly loaded into the stout farm wagon.\nSeveral men were lounging about when Phil and Ted drove up, and they\ncommented freely upon the horses and the whole outfit, watching the boys\nclosely.\n\u201cHope you need something more soon. I like cash customers,\u201d smiled the\nstore-keeper, as he placed the last package on the wagon.\n\u201cAren\u2019t you going to eat before you start back?\u201d asked Turner, who had\nridden up to look the boys\u2019 equipment over.\n\u201cCan\u2019t. We haven\u2019t any money left,\u201d laughed Phil.\n\u201cThen Sam and I will set up the dinners,\u201d declared the store-keeper.\nThe boys, however, declined, and starting their blacks were soon out of\nsight.\n\u201cCome on, speed up, Phil, they can\u2019t see from the store if anything goes\nwrong now,\u201d declared Ted, after a glance over his shoulder.\nBut the elder boy gave no heed to his brother\u2019s request. Indeed, it had\nbeen with many misgivings as to what the big, powerful black horses\nmight do that he had picked up the reins, for driving had not come\nwithin the range of either of the boy\u2019s experiences in Weston. The\nhorses, however, had been content to walk from the barn to the store and\neven more willing after the wagon had been loaded, much to Phil\u2019s\ndelight. Consequently he had been able to handle them without\ndifficulty.\nFor several minutes after his call for a faster gait, Ted kept silent,\nthen exclaimed:\n\u201cIf you are afraid, let me drive. We won\u2019t get home till dark if we\ndon\u2019t move faster.\u201d\n\u201cWhat if we don\u2019t! It\u2019s better to get home all right than to have the\nblacks run away.\u201d\n\u201cRun away! Fiddlesticks! Can\u2019t horses trot without running away?\u201d And\nbefore Phil could protest, Ted clucked to the blacks.\nInstantly they responded, breaking into a smart trot, causing the tools\nand boxes to rattle and bounce, making a surprising racket.\nAlarmed at the noise, the horses, in the evident endeavour to get away\nfrom the strange sounds, went faster and faster, finally breaking into a\nrun.\nHis face very white, Phil braced his feet and pulled with all his might\non the reins. But the blacks kept on running.\nSo rough was the road that the boys bounced about on the seat as though\nthey were pebbles, several times almost falling off.\nTwo or three times, Ted opened his mouth to speak, only to bite his\ntongue as the wagon gave a particularly vicious bounce, but at last he\nyelled \u201cWhoa!\u201d and the horses stopped with a suddenness that flung both\nboys to the ground.\nQuickly they picked themselves up, Phil still holding the reins.\n\u201cI\u2019ve a good mind to make you walk home,\u201d he called. \u201c_I_ knew what\nwould happen. You keep quiet while _I\u2019m_ driving. When I want to trot I\nwill.\u201d And when they both had regained the seat, he quietly started the\nblacks again.\n\u201cThere\u2019s no need of getting stuffy about it,\u201d chuckled his brother. \u201cYou\ncould have stopped them any time by saying \u2018whoa.\u2019 Just remember that\u2014if\nyou are ever driving alone, which you won\u2019t be, with my permission.\n\u201cGood thing the blacks are well trained or they would be running yet,\nfor all you would have\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, keep quiet!\u201d snapped Phil. And with another chuckle the younger boy\nsubsided.\nFor several miles they proceeded in silence.\n\u201cWonder how much farther it is to the brook where we turn off,\u201d Phil\nsaid, at last,\n\u201cCan\u2019t be more than a couple of miles. Why?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I think we\u2019d better hurry, so we can make everything shipshape\nbefore night.\u201d\n\u201cThen let me drive; if the horses run away again we may pass the brook.\u201d\nAnd snatching the reins, Ted put the blacks into a smart trot.\nIn vain Phil protested, but his brother only bade him sit tight and not\nbounce off the seat\u2014a thing which they both found difficulty not to do,\nfor the road grew rougher every rod.\n\u201cT-there\u2019s t-the br-rook,\u201d stammered the elder boy, suddenly. \u201cFor\ngoodness\u2019 sake, slow up. There isn\u2019t any road at all through the woods.\u201d\n\u201cCan\u2019t be much rougher than this,\u201d grinned his brother, but nevertheless\nhe drew in the blacks and, bracing himself, reined into the brush beside\nthe brook.\nNot a whit did the horses relish forcing their way through the young\ngrowth, and fortunate it was for the boys that they were well trained,\nas Ted managed them more by speaking to them than by the reins.\nWith the wagon pitching and tossing, now one side up so high it was in\ndanger of tipping over, then the other, the horses plunged ahead until\nthey came to a heavy growth of trees so close together that even the\nboys, inexperienced as they were, realized that the wagon could never\npass between them.\n\u201cWe\u2019re in a pretty fix, now,\u201d exclaimed Phil, as the blacks stopped of\ntheir own accord. \u201cI suppose we shall have to cut down some of those\ntrees before we can go any farther. And from the looks of them, it will\nbe night before we do it. I think Andy should have stayed with us. He\nmust have known we couldn\u2019t drive home.\u201d\n\u201cAnd _I\u2019m_ going to show him we can,\u201d returned Ted, taking a fresh grip\non the reins and bracing his feet carefully.\n\u201cHow?\u201d\n\u201cJust sit tight and don\u2019t ask questions.\u201d And before Phil could say\nanother word, the boy started the horses, reining them sharply to one\nside, straight for the brook.\n\u201cHold on! Stop! Are you crazy?\u201d demanded his brother, reaching for the\nreins.\n\u201c_You_ keep quiet, now,\u201d retorted Ted. \u201cWe rode down the brook, didn\u2019t\nwe? Well, I happened to notice its bed was almost level, so\u2014\u201d\nBut the blacks put a stop to his words by halting at the edge of the\nwater, snorting and plunging.\n\u201cThere! Those horses have sense enough to know they can\u2019t drag this\nwagon up the brook if you haven\u2019t,\u201d exclaimed Phil. \u201cWe\u2019ll tie them, get\nour axes, and cut out a road.\u201d\n\u201cAll right, go ahead, if you want to. Better take out some grub, though.\nYou couldn\u2019t cut out a road in a week. _I\u2019m_ going up to camp and _I\u2019m_\ngoing to drive up. Come on, you beauties! Steady, now! Giddap!\u201d And he\nslapped the blacks sharply with the reins.\nFor an instant the horses teetered; quivering, they leaped forward,\nlifting the wagon from the ground.\n\u201cSteady! None of that!\u201d soothed Ted. And as they stepped into the brook,\nhe went on: \u201cThat isn\u2019t so bad, is it? Go on, now.\u201d\nApparently finding that the water flowing against their legs was not an\nunpleasant feeling, the blacks advanced cautiously, pausing every now\nand then, only to resume their way as they heard Ted\u2019s voice reassuring\nthem.\nWith reins tight, and looking steadily ahead to guard against holes, the\nboy guided the horses through the brook until the heavily wooded land\nhad been passed, when he again reined them onto land. Twice more was it\nnecessary to take to the brook before they reached their shake-down,\nwhich they finally did without mishap.\n\u201cPhew! I wouldn\u2019t go through that again for a good deal,\u201d exclaimed\nPhil, as he sprang to the ground in front of the bough hut. \u201cI\u2019m as weak\nas a rag.\u201d\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t much fun, I\u2019ll admit,\u201d answered Ted. \u201cBut, fortunately, we\nwon\u2019t need to go out again until we have cut a road. We\u2019ll unharness and\nthen get something to eat. I\u2019m hungry as a bear.\u201d\nSlowly and awkwardly the young home-steaders went about the task of\nunhitching the blacks, but at last they managed to pull off the heavy\nharnesses, put on the halters, made them fast to some stout saplings and\nfed them. But instead of tying the saddle ponies, they hobbled\nthem\u2014discrimination which the blacks resented.\n\u201cShall we unload first and then eat or eat and then unload?\u201d asked Phil,\nafter they had hung the heavy harnesses in a tree beside the hut.\n\u201cEat,\u201d decided his brother, \u201cthough you can be taking out some of the\nlighter things while I am frying the bacon and eggs, if you want to.\u201d\n\u201cWhich I don\u2019t. I\u2019ll boil the coffee.\u201d And laughing over the stories the\nloungers at the store had told them, the boys cooked their meal and ate\nit ravenously.\nRefreshed by the food, they made but short work of the unloading, and\nwhen everything was safely stowed away, they started out to plan their\nnext day\u2019s work, having agreed that first they should clear and plant\nsome land for their vegetable garden and then build their irrigation\nsystem.\nAfter examining several locations, they finally selected one on the east\nside of the section, where the ground held sufficient natural moisture\nto insure good crops.\nOn the spot, however, there was a fairly heavy growth of underbrush.\n\u201cLet\u2019s get our axes and begin cutting today,\u201d suggested the elder boy.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t afford to waste any time. By the looks of this brush, it will\ntake us two or three days to chop it out, at the least.\u201d\n\u201cWish we had a piece of iron rail, then we could hitch the blacks, one\nat each end, and drag it, like Mr. Hopkins told us. That would save a\nlot of work,\u201d returned Ted.\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t, so we must do it the best way we can. Come on, let\u2019s\nsee how much we can clear before dark.\u201d\nEager to begin work on the homestead which was to mean so much to them\nand the little mother back in Weston, the boys set out for their axes.\nBut when they came in sight of their camp, they forgot about them.\n\u201cOne of the blacks is gone!\u201d cried Ted, stopping short and staring in\namazement at the sapling to which the horse had been tied.\n\u201cBet he was the one you hitched,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cBet he wasn\u2019t. _I_ know how to tie a knot a horse can\u2019t pull out.\u201d\n\u201cSo do I.\u201d\nWhile they were talking, the boys were running toward the remaining\nblack, and as they reached it, Ted glanced at the loop about the tree\nand cried:\n\u201cI knew it was the one you tied! See that double knot here? That\u2019s the\nkind to hold. Come here and I\u2019ll show you how to tie it!\u201d\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s no good in rubbing it in. He probably hasn\u2019t gone very\nfar. Get some oats in a pan and we\u2019ll go after him.\u201d\nQuickly Ted obeyed, and having found where the horse entered the woods,\nthey started in pursuit, expecting to come upon him browsing. When,\nhowever, at the end of half an hour they had failed to catch even a\nglimpse of the black, they halted.\n\u201cYou don\u2019t suppose he has gone back to Bradley, do you?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cI should think he would have taken the way we came in, if he has.\nInstead, he seems to have gone in the opposite direction.\u201d\n\u201cWhich makes me think we\u2019d better begin breaking branches to mark our\nown trail or we\u2019ll never be able to find our own way back.\u201d\n\u201cOh, we can follow the hoof-prints, all right.\u201d\n\u201cWhile we can see them, but it won\u2019t be more than a couple of hours\nbefore it is dark.\u201d\nThe thought that they were in a fair way to be caught in the woods by\nnight seemed to come to both boys at once, and they glanced at one\nanother apprehensively.\nTaking out his watch, Phil looked at it.\n\u201cIt\u2019s half-past four,\u201d he said. \u201cSuppose we hunt for another half-hour,\nmarking our trail, and then, if we don\u2019t find him, go back?\u201d\n\u201cWhy not go back now, saddle the ponies, and start out again? We must\nfind the black. We haven\u2019t enough money to buy another horse and,\nbesides, we can travel faster on the ponies.\u201d As this seemed a good\nsuggestion, Phil readily agreed. Making all possible haste, the young\nhomesteaders retraced their steps much faster than they had taken them,\nbeing careful to mark the trail by breaking branches and soon were\nmounted and again on the search.\nReturned to the spot whence they had gone back, they separated and rode\nsome hundred feet apart that they might search a broader area.\nIn silence, save for the creaking of their saddle leathers and the tramp\nof their mounts, they proceeded until Phil suddenly called:\n\u201cI can see a house over here to the right.\u201d\n\u201cDidn\u2019t know we had any neighbours so near,\u201d returned his brother as,\nriding over, he gazed in the direction Phil pointed. \u201cQueer Andy didn\u2019t\ntell us. Perhaps the black has gone there.\u201d\nShaking out their ponies, the boys were soon at the door of a\nweather-beaten log-cabin, and as they dismounted an old man came round\nthe corner, eying them suspiciously.\n\u201cHave you seen a black horse with a halter?\u201d asked Phil, ignoring the\nhostile looks that the man bestowed on them.\n\u201cNo, I ain\u2019t. I only got two horses and they\u2019re brown, so you can\u2019t work\nthat game on me. If you don\u2019t want to get into trouble, you\u2019d better be\ngoing. You can\u2019t\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWe are in trouble enough without getting into any more. Come on Phil,\u201d\ninterrupted Ted.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right, be off. You can\u2019t play any horse-stealing tricks on me,\u201d\nsnarled the old man.\n\u201cHorse-stealing?\u201d repeated Phil, \u201cwhy, we\u2019ve _lost_ one of our new\nhorses that we bought in Bradley this morning. We are not trying to\nsteal any.\u201d\nFortunately for the young homesteaders before they could get into\nfurther argument with the old man, they were joined by a girl so\nredolent with health and so pretty that the boys stared at her in\nspeechless amazement.\n\u201cWhat is it, Pap?\u201d she asked, noting the scowl on her father\u2019s face.\n\u201cThese fellers _claims_ to be looking for a black horse they say\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDid he have a new halter?\u201d quickly interrupted the girl, turning to\nPhil.\n\u201cYes. Have you seen him? Tell us where, please. We must get home before\ndark.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know as it was _your_ horse. I saw Lem Petersen leading a big\nblack, with a brand-new halter, toward his place.\u201d\n\u201cThank you _ever_ so much.\u201d And Phil whirled his pony.\nTed, however, was less affected by the blue eyes that gazed on them and\nasked:\n\u201cIn which direction does Petersen live?\u201d\n\u201cBetter not go to Lem\u2019s unless you can prove it\u2019s your horse,\u201d\ncounselled the old man. \u201c_He_ won\u2019t stand any nonsense.\u201d\n\u201cI guess we know the horse we bought,\u201d exclaimed the elder boy,\nimpatiently. \u201cTell us, please, where this man lives.\u201d\n\u201cAbout four mile over that way, southwest,\u201d replied the man, pointing.\n\u201cBut how do we get there? Where is the road, I mean?\u201d inquired Phil.\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you ride over with them, Pap? You know Lem. Mebbe you can\nhelp get the horse back,\u201d suggested the girl.\n\u201cSure, I know _Lem_, but I don\u2019t know these fellers and I don\u2019t know\nthey bought or lost a horse. I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWon\u2019t you take our word for it?\u201d demanded Phil.\n\u201cIf Mr. Hopkins were here to back us up or even Andy Howe, I guess it\nwould make a difference, wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cYou know Si?\u201d inquired the old man, in less hostile tones.\n\u201cWe do. These are his ponies. He loaned them to us until we get our\nhomestead cleared.\u201d\n\u201cSo you\u2019re entrymen, eh? Anywhere near here?\u201d\n\u201cWell now, ain\u2019t that funny? This is E 2. I ain\u2019t heerd of any one\ncoming onto E 1.\u201d\n\u201cThat is not surprising in view of the fact that we got here only\nyesterday,\u201d returned Phil, adding a brief account of how they happened\nto have lost the black.\n\u201cCome on, Pap, we\u2019ll _both_ go,\u201d announced the girl, as the boy\nfinished, and, running to the barn, she quickly returned, mounted on a\nbig roan and leading another.\nThough he little relished the errand, the old man yielded to his\ndaughter\u2019s pleading, and they were quickly galloping toward Petersen\u2019s\n\u201cquarter,\u201d Phil riding beside the girl and the other two close behind\nthem.\n\u201cI mistrusted something was wrong when I saw Lem leading that horse,\u201d\nsaid the girl. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t buy horses.\u201d\n\u201cHow does he get them?\u201d inquired her companion, his tone evidencing his\nsurprise at the statement. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t steal them, does he?\u201d\n\u201cNot exactly. That is, Lem says it ain\u2019t stealing, but I say it\u2019s just\nthe same. He lends money, and when the people can\u2019t pay, he takes their\nhorses. But I saw this black was fat and sleek, so I knew it hadn\u2019t been\nworked any.\u201d\n\u201cNice sort of a person this Petersen seems to be,\u201d commented Phil.\n\u201cHe\u2019s a bad man. I wouldn\u2019t trust him as far as I could see his shadow\nat noon. But he\u2019s got into trouble with the forest fire patrol. They\nthink he set a couple of fires last summer and they are watching him all\nthe time, though he doesn\u2019t know it. They\u2019ve only got to keep watching\nhim long enough and they\u2019ll get him. And when the patrol gets him, his\nmoney won\u2019t save him.\u201d\n\u201cEasy, gal, easy,\u201d cautioned her father. \u201cWe\u2019re liable to run across him\nanywhere now and he\u2019s too handy with his matches to have him get any\nmore angry at us than he is.\u201d\nThese words, suggesting as they did the old man\u2019s fear that Petersen\nmight seek revenge by burning his buildings, gave the boys their first\nintimation of the danger attending the quest of the black to the girl\nand her father, and Phil quickly said:\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t come another step with us. We can find the way, all right,\nand not for worlds would we have any trouble come to you through us.\u201d\nBut neither the old man nor the girl drew rein, and the boy asked:\n\u201cWon\u2019t you _please_ go back?\u201d\n\u201cNo, we won\u2019t,\u201d snapped the girl. \u201cPap\u2019s always afraid Lem will burn us\nup, but I tell him Lem daresn\u2019t.\u201d\nFinding that they could not dissuade their companions, the boys rode on,\nbut Phil took good care to turn the conversation into other channels,\nregaling the girl with an account of their experiences in purchasing\ntheir outfit, and the drive back to the camp.\nWell did this serve to take the homesteaders\u2019 minds from the risk they\nwere running, and they were laughing and joking about the loungers\u2019\nadvice when a man suddenly stepped from the underbrush into the road in\nfront of them.\n\u201cWhat you riding on my quarter for, Jasper?\u201d he demanded. \u201cAin\u2019t I told\nyou to keep offen it?\u201d\nAt the words and the menacing manner of the man, the four had pulled in\ntheir mounts.\n\u201cWe was looking for a black hoss, Lem, and the law says a man ain\u2019t\ntrespassing when he\u2019s hunting his livestock,\u201d retorted the old man,\nsharply.\n\u201cWhat makes you think he come this way?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I saw you leading him,\u201d exclaimed the girl.\n\u201cThat warn\u2019t a black, that was my dapple bay.\u201d\n\u201cJust as if I didn\u2019t know the difference between a dapple bay and a\nblack, Lem Petersen,\u201d snapped the girl. \u201cThese boys have lost a black,\nwith a new halter like the one you was leading. Better give it back to\nthem\u2014and save trouble.\u201d\n\u201cI tell you, I ain\u2019t\u2014\u201d began Petersen, angrily, only to be interrupted\nby a loud whinny from the heavy brush to the right of the group.\nLike a flash Ted leaped his pony into the undergrowth, and before the\nothers could follow, he shouted:\n\u201cHere he is. Here\u2019s our black tied to a tree. Wait there and I\u2019ll lead\nhim out.\u201d\n\u201cYou leave that horse be!\u201d roared Petersen. \u201cHe\u2019s mine. I bought him\nfrom\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNever knew you to _buy_ a horse, Lem. Thought you boasted you didn\u2019t\nhave to \u2019cause you could always get enough for debt,\u201d broke in the old\nman.\nThis thrust seemed to render Petersen speechless with fury, and before\nhe could find words to express himself, Ted reappeared, leading the\nrunaway black.\n\u201cDapple bay, is it? You\u2019d better have your eyes examined, Lem,\u201d taunted\nthe girl.\nIn the face of the discovery that he had lied, Petersen screamed:\n\u201cYou drop that halter. That\u2019s my horse. I took him from Joe Hunt for\ndebt. If you don\u2019t let him go, I\u2019ll have you arrested for\nhoss-stealing.\u201d\nBut the old man paid him no heed. Instead he asked Phil:\n\u201cIs that the horse you lost?\u201d\n\u201cIt certainly is.\u201d\n\u201cThen come on. We\u2019ll lead him back. You young folks ride ahead. None o\u2019\nthat, Lem,\u201d he added harshly, as the fellow\u2019s hand dropped to his\nhip-pocket. \u201cMurder would be goin\u2019 too far\u2014even for you.\u201d\nAn instant Petersen glowered at the old man who faced him so fearlessly,\nthen snarled:\n\u201cBut I tell you I got that black from Joe Hunt. I ain\u2019t going to let an\nold numbskull like you beat me out of him, neither.\u201d\n\u201cYou know\u2014\u201d began the girl, but she was quickly silenced by her father.\n\u201cLet _me_ do the talking, gal. Look a here, Lem, that horse ain\u2019t never\nbeen worked and you know it. If Joe Hunt had a horse like that, he\nwouldn\u2019t feed it for a week. He\u2019d figger he could live on his fat that\nlength of time.\u201d Petersen opened his mouth to reply, when Phil said:\n\u201cIt is a simple matter to prove the ownership. We\u2019ll lead him over to\nthis gentleman\u2019s tonight and tomorrow we will ride into Bradley and\nbring back Sam Turner, from whom we bought the black. _He_ would\ncertainly recognize one of the horses he sold us.\u201d\n\u201cThere, that\u2019s fair, Lem,\u201d declared the old man. \u201cCourse, the hoss might\nhave been Joe Hunt\u2019s, though it would be the _first_ time he ever had a\ndecent one, but Sam Turner will know if he sold him to these\nhomesteaders. You know me well enough to know the black will be safe in\nmy barn.\u201d\nExpecting an explosion of wrath, the others were amazed to hear Petersen\nbreak into a loud laugh.\n\u201cSay, you folks can\u2019t take a joke, nohow, can you?\u201d he gasped between\nbursts of forced merriment. \u201cI was just \u2018stringing\u2019 you along, Jasper. I\nwanted to see how far you\u2019d go. I found the horse grazing beside the\nroad. Realizing he had broken loose and seeing he was valuable, I was\ntaking him home to keep till the owner showed up. When I saw you coming,\nI knew these kids was the owners and I thought I\u2019d have a little fun.\u201d\nOne and all who heard this explanation realized it was a clever lie to\nget himself out of an unpleasant predicament, but the old man said:\n\u201cAll right, Lem. You\u2019ve had your joke and we have the hoss. Now we\u2019ll be\ngoing.\u201d\nAnd without more ado they put their mounts to a trot, Ted still leading\nthe black. But as they retraced their course, they commented sharply\nupon Petersen\u2019s words and actions.\nArrived at the weather-beaten log cabin, the young homesteaders thanked\nthe girl and her father heartily for their assistance, and turned their\nhorses to go back to their camp.\n\u201cBut you mustn\u2019t go home till after supper,\u201d protested the girl.\n\u201cSure not,\u201d chimed in the old man, taking his cue from his daughter.\n\u201cJoy\u2019s one rare, fine cook.\u201d\n\u201cThank you, but it will be too dark then for us to find our way back,\u201d\nreturned Phil, though in a voice that proved his desire to accept.\n\u201cThen Pap and I\u2019ll ride over with you, or you can stay till morning.\u201d\n\u201cWe couldn\u2019t think of putting you to so much\u2014\u201d began Phil, when his\nbrother exclaimed:\n\u201cOh, let\u2019s stay. My mouth is watering for something good to eat. I\u2019m\ntired of bacon and eggs, and I\u2019ve only been eating them for a couple of\ndays.\u201d\nTed\u2019s ingenuousness sent them into a gale of laughter, and with one\naccord they all rode to the barn, where the horses were put up, after\nwhich they returned to the cabin, and the boys watched eagerly while Joy\nbrought out pies, cakes and other toothsome dainties and set them on the\ntable.\n\u201cLand sakes, here we be, entertaining comp\u2019ny, and we don\u2019t even know\ntheir names,\u201d exclaimed the old man, after they had been eating for some\ntime.\n\u201cWe were too excited to remember to introduce ourselves,\u201d apologized the\nelder boy. \u201cOur name is Porter. This is my brother, Ted, and I am Phil.\u201d\n\u201cOh, what a lovely name,\u201d exclaimed the girl, and then, blushing in\nconfusion, she added hastily: \u201cOurs is Jay. They call Pap Jasper and me\nJoy.\u201d\nThe glance that Phil gave the girl showed he thought the name most\nappropriate, though he sensibly refrained from saying so, but Ted gave\nhim a wink to let him understand he read his mind.\nHappy in the thought of such unexpected companionship, the young people\nlaughed and chatted, oblivious of Mr. Jay and the intentness with which\nhe scrutinized the boys.\nAll at once, during a pause in conversation, their attention was drawn\nto the old man.\n\u201cYou look like him, yet you don\u2019t,\u201d Jay murmured to himself; then\nleaning forward, he asked suddenly: \u201cBe you any relation to Winthrop\nPorter?\u201d\nFor a moment the boys stared at the old man in silence.\n\u201cWhy, he was our father,\u201d finally replied Phil.\n\u201cGlory be! I\u2019ve found \u2019em at last! I\u2019ve found \u2019em at last!\u201d cried the\nold settler, in delight. \u201cJust to think it was Porter\u2019s boys I helped\nget their horse from Lem. That pays part of my debt and this will make\nup the balance, though I don\u2019t reckon it will mean to you what it did to\nme.\u201d\nAnd fumbling in his pocket, Mr. Jay drew out an old and worn wallet,\nfrom which he took two hundred-dollar bills which he handed to Phil.\n\u201cI\u2014I don\u2019t understand,\u201d returned the boy, gazing from the soiled bills\nto the old settler and then at the others.\n\u201cThirty year ago, Winthrop Porter grubstaked me for two hundred. It\u2019s a\nlong story. But it gave me and Melissie our start. For five year I\u2019ve\nbeen carrying them bills against meeting some one who could tell me\nwhere Winthrop Porter was. Joy, she writ when I first had \u2019em, but the\nletter was sent back stamped \u2018Not known,\u2019 so I callated he\u2019d moved. Now\nme and Winthrop Porter is square, \u2019s fur as money is concerned.\u201d\n\u201cBut we can\u2019t take this money, Mr. Jay,\u201d protested Phil, recovering from\nhis amazement. \u201cIf father let you have it, he gave it to you, he didn\u2019t\nlend it.\u201d\n\u201cSure you will take it,\u201d flared the old settler.\n\u201cWhy not let the matter rest for a while?\u201d suggested Ted.\n\u201cNo. I want it settled right now.\u201d\n\u201cWell, we won\u2019t take it,\u201d declared Phil; then seeing the protest in Mr.\nJay\u2019s eyes, he added: \u201cPlease don\u2019t ask us to. Father wouldn\u2019t like to\nhave us.\u201d And he held out the money.\nA moment the old settler hesitated, then took it.\n\u201cGlory be, Joy! I can git that reaper now,\u201d he exclaimed.\n                      BUILDING AN IRRIGATION PLANT\nThe discovery that the Porters and Jays were really old friends opened a\nfloodgate of questions and answers, and the boys were telling of their\nhopes and ambitions, when there sounded footsteps on the gravel walk,\nand as they all turned toward the door, it was opened and in walked\nAndy.\n\u201cHow in the world did you know where to find us?\u201d exclaimed Phil, after\nthe agent had exchanged greetings with Joy and her father.\n\u201cOr weren\u2019t you looking for _us_?\u201d asked Ted, with an impish grin.\n\u201cOh, it wasn\u2019t difficult,\u201d smiled Andy. \u201cWhen I found only one horse at\nyour camp, I imagined the other had got away and that you had gone after\nit, and I knew you couldn\u2019t travel very far without striking Jasper\u2019s.\nDid you find the other black?\u201d\nIn answer, Joy gave a graphic account of the meeting with Petersen,\nwhich caused the agent\u2019s face to grow serious, for he realized the\ndanger to the Jays from drawing Petersen\u2019s wrath. But with a swift\nglance of understanding at Jasper, he kept his thoughts to himself, and\nsoon the boys launched on another recounting of their trips to and from\nBradley.\nAt last Phil chanced to look at the clock.\n\u201cDear me, I had no idea it was ten o\u2019clock,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cWe\u2019ve had a\nvery happy time, finding a friend of father\u2019s. And, Joy, I never ate\nfood that tasted so good. I hope you\u2019ll ask us to come again.\u201d\n\u201cThe latchstring is always out to any of Winthrop Porter\u2019s folks,\u201d\ndeclared Mr. Jay, heartily. \u201cIt will do Joy good to have some young\npeople about. I try to do what I can, but I\u2019m old and I know she\u2019s\nlonesome, though she wouldn\u2019t admit it.\u201d\n\u201cThe idea, Pap, me lonesome with you and all the work and the hens and\ncows and horses,\u201d and the girl put her arm affectionately about her\nfather\u2019s shoulders and stroked his hair.\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll be over again soon and thank you again for going to Lem\u2019s\nwith us. Goodnight.\u201d And Phil advanced to shake Joy\u2019s hand.\n\u201cWhere you going?\u201d dryly inquired Andy.\n\u201cWhy, back to camp, of course.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I guess Jasper can find a place for us.\u201d In amazement, the boys\nlooked at him and he quickly added: \u201cIt\u2019s too dark to tramp through the\nwoods tonight.\u201d\nHad the boys paused to think, they would have realized that to a man\naccustomed to roam the woods, this excuse was very flimsy, but they\naccepted it readily.\n\u201cWill it do to leave the other black there alone?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cHe isn\u2019t there,\u201d Andy replied. Then, in response to the looks of alarm\nwhich spread over the boys\u2019 faces, he added: \u201cI brought him over with\nme. He\u2019s out in your barn now, Jasper.\u201d\n\u201cAnd we never heard you\u2014that\u2019s b\u2014\u201d began Mr. Jay.\n\u201cYou were laughing and talking too much,\u201d interrupted Andy. \u201cJoy, just\ntell us where we are to sleep. We must be up early, we\u2019ve a lot to do\ntomorrow.\u201d\nQuickly Joy disappeared into the other room the cabin held downstairs,\nand when she reappeared she announced that all was ready for the guests,\nand with hearty \u201cgood-nights\u201d they retired.\nWearied by the events of the day, the young homesteaders quickly fell\nasleep, and when he was sure of the fact, Andy arose, joining Jasper\noutside the cabin, and together they guarded the buildings against any\nattempt at revenge on Petersen\u2019s part.\nNo mention did either of the men make of their vigil, and after a\ndelicious breakfast the agent and the boys returned to E 1.\n\u201cSo long as I am here, we\u2019d better build your irrigation plant,\u201d\nannounced Andy when they arrived at the camp.\n\u201cBut we won\u2019t need to irrigate this year, shall we?\u201d queried Ted.\n\u201cDepends on the season. According to the signs, I think it\u2019s going to be\nhot and dry. Anyhow, it won\u2019t do any harm to have the plant ready, and\nwe can put it in in a few days and at less cost than you could hire any\none else next year or the year after. Besides, you won\u2019t be obliged to\nmake a long haul with the necessary timber.\u201d\nReadily the young homesteaders assented and accompanied Andy to the west\nclearing, where they chopped a few trees, then harnessed the blacks and\ndrove over to Steve\u2019s camp and had them sawed into planks.\nAll that day and the next was consumed in hauling the lumber Steve sawed\nout for them, for the boys bought several loads rather than to take the\ntime necessary to cut trees and draw them from their quarter.\n\u201cThe first thing for you to do,\u201d said the agent, when they returned to\nE 1 with the last load of planks, \u201cis to decide where you want your dam.\nWhile the creek usually runs freely, you\u2019ll need a reservoir to give a\nhead sufficient to cover the fields on this side. So we\u2019ll look it\nover.\u201d\n\u201cMr. Hopkins said the grade was just as important as the head,\u201d Ted\nremarked, as they followed the edge of the stream.\n\u201cSo it is. But that applies more to the laying out of the laterals, or\nbranch ditches, than to the reservoir. The higher you have that, the\ngreater your fall of water and the more land you can cover.\u201d\n\u201cThen why not build the dam as close to our line as we can?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cSay, you boys are \u2018catching on\u2019 like good ones,\u201d praised Andy. \u201cThat\u2019s\njust the thing to do.\u201d And when they reached the boundary of the\nsection, he showed them with how little work, thanks to the lay of the\nland, a reservoir a hundred feet long and as wide could be built.\nThis decided upon, they returned to the clearing, where the agent\nconstructed a simple level to establish the grade. Taking three pieces\nof board, he cut one to the length of 16\u00bd feet and another to 3 feet and\n4 inches.\n\u201cThe grade of the land is about 1 inch to the rod on this west side,\u201d\nsaid Andy, \u201cand that is the only one you will have to irrigate.\u201d Then he\ndrew out a table showing the number of miner\u2019s inches a ditch carrying a\n6-inch head of water would discharge. For the grade of 1 inch per rod,\nthis proved to be 37 miner\u2019s inches, or .93 cubic feet per second, for\nthe ordinary-sized ditch having a 14-inch width at the bottom and a mean\ndepth of 5 inches.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a \u2018miner\u2019s inch\u2019?\u201d asked Phil.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the most common method of measuring water for irrigation purposes.\nI\u2019ve been making an apparatus to measure the water flow, and I can show\nyou by working it better than by explaining. But just let me finish this\ngrader first.\u201d\nAs Andy had found the grade to be 1 inch per rod, he cut the third board\nto a length of 8 feet and 5 inches, then nailed it firmly to one end of\na long board, and the 8-foot 4-inch piece to the other. This done, he\nput a strip of 1-inch board under the shorter leg, then bound a\ncarpenter\u2019s spirit level to the centre of the long board.\n\u201cYou carry this carefully, Ted,\u201d he ordered, giving the home-made grader\nto the boy. \u201cI\u2019ll get my measuring board, and then we\u2019ll go back to\nwhere we are intending to put in the dam.\u201d\nInterestedly the young homesteaders inspected the latter piece of\napparatus after they had reached the site of the reservoir. It consisted\nof a board 1 inch thick, 12 inches wide, and 8 feet long. In this had\nbeen cut an opening 50 inches long and 6 inches wide, the centre of the\nslot, on the upstream side, being 4 inches from the top of the board,\nwhile the down-stream side was bevelled to present a sharp edge to the\nwater.\nA second 12-inch board, with one end fashioned into a handle, was placed\nagainst the upstream side of the slot and so hung upon the first board\nthat it could be shoved back and forth. On the down-stream side of the\nopening, a bevelled block was fitted and screwed to the second board,\nand the inches were marked.\nPlacing the apparatus in the creek so that it dammed it, the water\nquickly flowed over the top.\n\u201cPull that handle back until the block is at the 12-inch mark along the\nslot,\u201d directed Andy. As Phil did so, the water fell below the top of\nthe board.\n\u201cNow shove it back until the water is level with the top,\u201d the agent\nordered. And when it had been done, Ted said the block was at the 6-inch\nmark.\n\u201cThe number of miner\u2019s inches flowing through the slot is equal to the\ntotal square inches in the opening, that is, near enough for all\npractical purposes in a small stream like this,\u201d explained Andy.\n\u201cWhy, that makes 36 miner\u2019s inches,\u201d said Phil. \u201cWhat was the use of\ndoing all this when the table showed 37 miner\u2019s inches, with a 6-inch\nhead, for a grade of 1 inch per rod?\u201d\n\u201cTo show you how to measure miner\u2019s inches and to determine a supply of\nwater when you do not know it, in case you should ever want to.\u201d\n\u201cThen you won\u2019t need to build a reservoir?\u201d said Ted.\n\u201cWhy not? This simply proves that the brook has a natural flow of about\n37 miner\u2019s inches.\u201d Then taking out another table, he read: \u201cOne miner\u2019s\ninch equals .02 cubic feet per second; 1.2 cubic feet per minute; 72\ncubic feet per hour. Now an acre-inch of water, or water to cover the\nsurface of an acre of ground to the depth of 1 inch, equals 3630 cubic\nfeet, which 1 miner\u2019s inch will supply in approximately 50 hours. The\naverage amount of water for one irrigation of ordinary ground, that is\nnot sunbaked, is 2.3 inches. With a little calculation you can determine\nhow long it would take your flow of 37 miner\u2019s inches to give you 2.3\nacre-inches.\u201d\n\u201cMay we take that table, Andy?\u201d asked Ted. \u201cI\u2019ll copy it tonight. We\nnever could remember it, and when it is time to irrigate, we shall want\nto know how long it will require.\u201d\n\u201cBut what has all this to do with the reservoir?\u201d Phil inquired, as the\nagent handed the table to his brother.\n\u201cJust this. On the reverse of the table you will find the miner\u2019s inch\nrepresented in gallons; 27,152 gallons are required for an acre-inch.\nWhen you get the west side cleared, you will have about 60 acres. Now 1\ncubic foot of water equals 7.48 gallons. To get the required depth of\n2.3 acre-inches for irrigating, you must have 8349 cubic feet of water,\nor practically 62,450 gallons per acre, or 3,747,000 gallons for the 60\nacres. As your reservoir will have a depth of only 10 feet, you will\nhave a million gallons, which will allow you to irrigate only about a\nquarter of your land at one time. But, of course, it will be years\nbefore you will have the entire 60 acres under cultivation, considering\nall you have on the east side, and by that time you may be in a position\nto double the size of your reservoir. In irrigating, the more laterals\nyou can use at one time the better, and the more water you have the more\nyou can use. Now we\u2019ll lay out the course for the ditch with our\ngrader.\u201d\nPlacing the shorter leg at the spot where the head gate to control the\nsupply from the reservoir was to be, he told Ted to swing the longer leg\nuntil Phil should announce that the bubble was in the centre of the\nspirit level. When this had been done, the agent marked the second spot,\nthen placed the shorter leg on it, and continued the operation until\nthey had traversed all of the section to be irrigated, the contour, as\nthe course is called, being nearly diagonal.\n\u201cTomorrow we\u2019ll plow a furrow connecting those grade marks and then\nconstruct a ditch,\u201d said Andy, when the grading had been finished, \u201cor\nrather begin it.\u201d\n\u201cWhere do the laterals come in?\u201d queried Phil.\n\u201cThey run from your farm, or main, ditch. For grain, they are usually 75\nfeet apart; for alfalfa, 90, and about 1300 feet long and they will run\nhere at a grade of from one-half to three-fourths of an inch to the\nrod.\u201d\n\u201cMy eye! but there is a lot to this irrigation business,\u201d exclaimed Ted.\n\u201cMy head actually aches with trying to remember all you have told us.\u201d\n\u201cIt won\u2019t seem so complicated when you are doing it,\u201d smiled the agent.\n\u201cI hope not,\u201d Phil said. \u201cBut I don\u2019t see what holds the water on the\nfields after you get it there.\u201d\n\u201cYour borders. You must build banks about each field. That is the\nsimplest method on land that is as easy to irrigate as yours. The banks\nare not high, just a furrow, so as not to interfere with passing from\none field to another to mow and reap.\u201d\n\u201cOf course, this year, you will plant only two or three fields. In later\nyears you can complete the system. The chief thing is to build your farm\nditch long enough at first. Now let\u2019s go home and eat.\u201d\n\u201cWhich makes me think, Joy insisted that we should go over there for\nsupper. Hurry, or we shall be late,\u201d urged Phil.\nThe next morning found them at the site of the dam with horses and plow.\nFor two days they worked on the reservoir, and then the boys and Andy\nplowed three furrows on the grade line, then ran a \u201ccrowder,\u201d\nconstructed of two planks in the shape of a V, with the wide end braced\nstoutly, up and down, forcing out as much dirt as possible, and for the\nnext three days they all worked like beavers clearing the main and\nlateral ditches and shaping the borders on four fields.\nTo supply the water from the laterals to the fields, they constructed\nboxes, open at each end, 6 inches square and 8 feet long, which were\nlaid beneath the banks of the laterals.\n\u201cWe really ought to have plank heads at the laterals, but they are too\nexpensive just now, so we can use canvas dams,\u201d said Andy. \u201cIt isn\u2019t\nworth while to spend the money on \u2018tappoons,\u2019 or metal dams, because in\na few years you will be able to put in the regular plank gate, or even\ncement and steel gates, and every cent you save now is precious.\u201d\nTo regulate the water in the reservoir, they put in two gates, one to be\nkept open all the time to let water into the creek and the other to feed\nthe main ditch.\nA covered flume, made of 3-inch plank, laid double, 30 feet long, 4 feet\nwide, and 4 feet high, was placed at the bottom of the dam. On both\nsides stout plank wings were built, the better to receive and discharge\nthe water, the set in the reservoir resting against the dam, that in the\nditch being carefully packed in order that no water might escape.\nFitted into the end along the farm ditch was a plank gate which could be\nraised and lowered at will.\nWithout accident the dam was finished and the gate opened six inches,\nthat the creek might not be checked while the reservoir was filling.\n\u201cNow all you need to do is to plow and harrow the fields, then you can\nirrigate and sow,\u201d said Andy.\n                         A TERRIBLE EXPERIMENT\n\u201cWhat shall we do today?\u201d asked Phil, as they sat down to breakfast on\nthe morning following the completion of their irrigation system.\n\u201c_I_ am going back to Chikau. Don\u2019t dare stay away another day,\u201d\nreturned Andy.\n\u201cI was afraid you would say that,\u201d exclaimed Ted. \u201cIt has been mighty\ngood of you to work with us as long as you have. But\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt certainly has,\u201d interrupted the elder boy. \u201cSome day, we may be able\nto do more than merely express our gratitude.\u201d\n\u201cOh, Andy knows that without our telling him,\u201d declared Ted. \u201cWhat I\nwant to know is whether he thinks we should go over to Waterville and\nfile our claims or wait awhile.\u201d\n\u201cYou must do that very soon,\u201d responded the agent, \u201cbut if I were you, I\nwould clear some of the other land and seed it down first.\u201d Then, noting\nthe disappointment that appeared in the boys\u2019 faces, he added, in\nexplanation: \u201cKnowing the land agent, I should not be surprised if you\nhad some trouble in getting him to file your entry. Therefore, if you\ncan say that you have not only built an irrigation system but have\nseeded down several plots of ground, you can the better prove your good\nfaith.\u201d\nAt the suggestion of difficulty in filing their claim, the young\nhomesteaders looked at each other in dismay.\n\u201cBut why should the land agent refuse to accept our entry?\u201d demanded\nPhil. \u201cI think you should have told us before we laid out so much money\nand work.\u201d\n\u201cNow don\u2019t get excited,\u201d soothed Andy. \u201cI just wanted to warn you that\nyou might be the better prepared to meet any objections Simmons, the\nregistrar, might raise.\u201d\n\u201cBut why should he raise any?\u201d persisted the elder boy, repeating his\nquestion.\n\u201cWell, for one reason, he has had an eye on E 1 himself. Only the law\nforbidding a land agent from taking up homesteads has prevented his\ndoing so.\u201d\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t he get some one to take it up for him?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cHe has tried to, but it didn\u2019t work because Si exposed the fraud.\u201d\n\u201cYou don\u2019t seem to like Simmons,\u201d mused Phil.\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m not the only one who doesn\u2019t. Si Hopkins is on his trail, and\nwhen he gets him there will be a new land agent at Waterville. That\u2019s\none reason I want you to wait about filing your claim\u2014there may be a new\nagent any day.\u201d\n\u201cHow would we know if there were?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cI\u2019d tell you,\u201d said Andy, with a smile. \u201cSo, don\u2019t ask any more\nquestions,\u201d he added, noting the facial expressions of his youthful\ncompanions. \u201cJust clear some land, seed it down. When you have done\nthat, if I haven\u2019t been over to see you, come to Chikau and I will\nadvise you about going to Waterville.\u201d\nVainly did the young homesteaders seek to learn more concerning the\npresent land agent and the reasons for a possible change in the office,\nbut though their questions were ingenuous, Andy parried them, changing\nthe trend of the conversation at every opportunity.\n\u201cI\u2019ll warrant if there is any change, it will be Andy Howe we find in\nthe Land Office,\u201d suddenly declared Ted.\nThough this suggestion caused both boys to watch their companion\nclosely, beyond casting a quick glance at the younger, Andy made no\ncomment, merely announcing that he would see them within a few days, and\nafter saying \u201cgoodbye\u201d started back to his station.\n\u201cThat was a shrewd guess of yours, Ted. Whatever put it into your head?\u201d\nquestioned his brother, as they went to select their tools for clearing\nthe land.\n\u201cOh, he seemed so bent on our waiting, I knew there must be some good\nreason. I hope he gets the appointment. Just the same, before we lay out\nany more money or work, _I_ think we ought to find out about our entry\nbeing accepted.\u201d\n\u201cSo do I, but speaking of money makes me think, where are you carrying\nours?\u201d\n\u201cIn my pocket-book, in the bag about my waist.\u201d\n\u201cSeems to me, it would be safer to hide it in the hut. You might lose\nthe bag, you know.\u201d\nThough he protested that he would not, Phil insisted, and they finally\nput the pocket-book, from which they took out all over one hundred\ndollars, dividing the amount between them, in an old tin can, burying it\nin the ground under their bed of boughs.\nWith axes and grub-hoes, the young homesteaders set forth to clear the\nfirst field touched by their irrigation system.\nAt Ted\u2019s suggestion they began on the most densely brushed section, that\nthey might do the hardest work while their ardour was most keen.\nWith a will they chopped and \u201cgrubbed,\u201d but the headway they made was\nscarcely noticeable.\n\u201cHere we\u2019ve been working two hours, my hands are so blistered I can\nhardly hold my axe or hoe, and you wouldn\u2019t know we had been working at\nall,\u201d exclaimed Phil, in disgust stepping out to survey the result.\n\u201cLooks as though some animal had been rooting for fun.\u201d\n\u201cOh, come on. Wait till we\u2019ve been working a week and then see what a\nchange there will be,\u201d returned his brother.\n\u201cA week?\u201d expostulated Phil. \u201cAt that rate it will be fall before we\nhave anything planted. There must be some easier way than the one we\u2019re\ntaking. I have it. We are a couple of \u2018boneheads.\u2019 We\u2019ll use dynamite.\nWe can blow more brush out in five minutes than we can clear as we have\nbeen doing in a day. Come on back to camp. You know more about handling\nit than I do.\u201d\n\u201cBut they only use dynamite to blow out rocks or tree stumps,\u201d protested\nTed.\n\u201cThen it will surely blow out brush.\u201d\n\u201cYes, and a lot of good earth, too.\u201d\n\u201cWell, let\u2019s try it anyhow. We\u2019ll only use a little at first. If it\nworks all right, we can use more.\u201d\nThough expressing his doubts as to the success of the experiment, the\nyounger boy finally yielded, and, going to camp, they returned with\nthree sticks of the explosive, caps, and fuses.\nMaking a hole among the roots of a particularly dense growth of scrub\nbushes, Ted planted a stick of dynamite, placed the cap, attached the\nfuse, and went into another clump of brush some two rods distant, to\nrepeat the operation, for it was his purpose to explode the three\ncharges at the same time by way of experiment to learn how much\nterritory they would clear.\nBefore he had more than made the hole for the second stick, however,\nPhil shouted:\n\u201cHow do I stop the fuse, Ted? I\u2019ve lighted it.\u201d\n\u201cStamp on it,\u201d Ted yelled, springing to his feet.\nBut before he could part the bushes to see what his brother had done, he\nheard a frantic scream \u201cRun!\u201d followed by the crackling and snapping of\nbranches as the elder boy fled from the scene.\nRealizing the danger that the other two sticks of dynamite might be\nexploded by the force of the detonation, Ted hurriedly flung them with\nall his might in the direction opposite to that from which Phil\u2019s voice\nhad come, then bent low, and dashed through the brush.\nNot a yard had he gained, however, before there came a deafening roar,\nthe ground rose under him and, in the midst of a cloud of earth, roots,\nand brush, he rose in the air.\nTerrified, he shrieked. But the roar of the explosion drowned his cries,\nand he dropped to the ground, unconscious of the mass of dirt and brush\nthat fell on him or about him.\nArrived at what he considered a safe distance, Phil had turned just in\ntime to see the cloud raised by the dynamite shoot into the air. In vain\nhe scanned the bushes near him for the sight of his brother coming\ntoward him, and as the mass of debris dropped back to the ground and the\nechoes crashed from mountain to mountain, his face went white and his\nknees trembled under him.\nCompletely unnerved at the thought that his warning had been too late\nand that his brother had fallen victim to his carelessness in firing the\nfuse before informing him of his intention, Phil fled, panic-stricken,\nfrom the spot, rushing madly to the camp, where he bridled his pony,\nleaped on its bare back, and raced toward the Jay farm.\nAt the sound of the rapid hoof-beats, Joy ran to the door.\n\u201cOh, what is it? What\u2019s happened?\u201d she cried, as she beheld the look of\nterror on Phil\u2019s face.\n\u201cW-where\u2019s your father? Quick!\u201d gasped the boy.\nCool in emergencies, Joy stepped back into the house, picked up a tin\nhorn, returned to the door, blew three shrill blasts, and then rushed to\nthe boy, arriving just in time to catch him as he reeled from his pony\nin a faint.\nTo Jasper, working in his field behind the barn, the three blasts on the\nhorn carried the signal that he was urgently needed at the cabin, and,\ndropping his tools, thinking only that Petersen had come to avenge the\ndiscovery of his theft of the horse, he ran to the back door, seized his\nrifle, cautiously advancing round the corner just as Joy dropped to the\nground, took Phil\u2019s head in her lap, and began to bathe it in some water\nshe had fetched.\nPausing in his tracks, the aged farmer stared from the lather-dripping,\nbarebacked pony to the seemingly lifeless boy whose head his daughter\nwas bathing and caressing. Unable to solve the puzzle, Mr. Jay called:\n\u201cWho hurt him?\u201d\nStartled at the suddenness of the hail and wondering if her father had\nheard any of the words she had uttered as she worked over Phil, Joy\nturned a flushed face toward her father, only to scream:\n\u201cPut down that rifle, Pap! Don\u2019t point it at us.\u201d\nInstantly her father obeyed, at the same time asking:\n\u201cWhat\u2019s happened?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d And tersely Joy explained Phil\u2019s arrival, his words, her\nblowing the horn, and the boy\u2019s fainting.\n\u201cMust be something wrong with t\u2019other one,\u201d opined the farmer. \u201cWasn\u2019t\nthat a blast I heerd just agone? Probably t\u2019other one got hurted. You go\nsaddle up, your fingers is limberer than mine, and I\u2019ll bring this young\nfeller round.\u201d\nJoy also had heard the explosion, and, as her father\u2019s words recalled it\nto her mind, she readily accepted his explanation of Phil\u2019s arrival and\nswoon.\n\u201cDon\u2019t be rough with him, Pap; he ain\u2019t our kind,\u201d she cautioned, as she\ntenderly placed Phil\u2019s head on the ground, sprang to her feet, and raced\ntoward the barn.\nIn reply, the aged farmer grunted, watching his daughter till she\nentered the horse-stable, then darted into the cabin, opened a cupboard,\nseized a black bottle, and, returning to the boy, raised his head, then\nforced some of the brown liquid down his throat.\nThe strength of the stimulant burned Phil\u2019s throat, causing him to gag\nand sputter, and as Joy led forth the two horses, he opened his eyes.\n\u201cHere, take another dose. Can\u2019t have you going off again before we know\nwhat\u2019s wrong. \u2019Twould be a waste of time that must be precious seeing\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m all right,\u201d murmured the boy, sitting up. \u201cIt\u2019s Ted. I set off\nthe dynamite too soon. I yelled to Ted, but he didn\u2019t c-come. O-o-h!\u201d\nand again Phil fell back in a swoon at the evident thought that he had\nkilled his brother.\nHorrified at the words, father and daughter looked at one another and\nthen at the prostrate boy.\n\u201cYou go, Pap. I couldn\u2019t stand it to see\u2014anything,\u201d she finished lamely.\n\u201cGive him another dose from this,\u201d he began, only to check himself and\nsay, \u201cNo, you\u2019d better let him sleep till I get back, if he will.\u201d And\nrunning to his horse, he climbed onto his back and galloped toward E 1.\nHaving closed his eyes when he found himself in the twisting, whirling\nmass of earth and brush, Ted lay perfectly still for several moments\nafter he felt himself strike. As the roar in his ears subsided, however,\nhe moved first one arm, then the other and finally his legs. Finding, to\nhis surprised delight, that he could do so without pain, he shoved the\ntangle of brush away from him, sat up, rested a moment, then got to his\nfeet, and gazed about him.\n\u201c\u2018Jumping elk!\u2019 as Steve says, but that charge sure did clear some\nspace!\u201d Then his scattered wits returning, he bethought himself of his\nbrother and yelled: \u201cPhil, oh, Phil!\u201d\nWhen no answering hail came to him, he started to run only to stop, his\nface twisted in pain.\n\u201cFeels as though a million needles were sticking into me,\u201d he murmured\nto himself. And again he felt of his arms, legs, and body. \u201cNothing\nbroken,\u201d he finally announced. \u201cMust have been the shock of moving after\nlanding so suddenly. Seems to me I\u2019ve read something like it\u2014a man who\nwas blown up described.\u201d\nAssured that his limbs were sound, the boy began to walk slowly, and as\nthe pricking numbness vanished, he increased his pace, shouting all the\nwhile for his brother.\nAlarmed at the failure to be answered, he suddenly paused.\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t have thrown those two sticks toward him!\u201d he gasped, then\ndashed frantically forward.\nSearch, however, failed to show the sign of any other upheaval.\n\u201cMaybe he\u2019s gone to camp for stuff for me,\u201d Ted said to himself, and\nquickly hastened to the hut, where the absence of Pat suggested to him\nhis brother\u2019s actions.\n\u201cPoor old Phil! He thinks he\u2019s done for me,\u201d he exclaimed, and quickly\nsaddling Daisy, he leaped onto her back and headed her toward the Jay\nfarm, reasoning that his brother would go there for aid.\nEager to relieve the anguish he knew Phil would feel, Ted rode hard and\nwas within a few feet of the clearing when a voice hailed him.\n\u201cWell, I swan! How\u2019d _you_ git here? Thought you was\u2014\u201d And then the aged\nfarmer stopped abruptly, realizing his words were untimely.\nBut Ted seemed not to have heard them.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Phil?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cBack at the cabin\u2014in a dead faint. That is, he was when I left. But\nhow\u2019d you\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNever mind now,\u201d returned the boy. And shaking out his pony, he raced\nahead, Mr. Jay following as best he could.\nJust as Ted appeared in sight, Phil opened his eyes, and as the sound of\nhoof-beats reached him, he looked questioningly at Joy.\n\u201cWhy, it\u2019s Ted _himself_!\u201d cried the girl, in amazed delight.\nAt the words Phil sprang to his feet, but, as he assured himself of\ntheir truth, he sank down again.\nWith a cry of concern, Ted leaped from his pony and knelt beside his\nbrother. Frantically he and the girl worked over Phil, and at last he\nrecovered consciousness.\n\u201cTed!\u201d \u201cPhil!\u201d And the brothers embraced lovingly.\nWhen their composure had been restored, Ted related his experiences\nwhile the others marvelled at his escape.\n\u201cBetter let me lend you a rail,\u201d commented Mr. Jay. \u201cYou can drag that\nand it will pull up the brush. It\u2019s slower, but it\u2019s safer.\u201d\n\u201cThanks, we will,\u201d smiled Ted. \u201cBut I guess we\u2019ll let the clearing go\ntill tomorrow. I think I\u2019ll take a vacation the rest of the day.\u201d\n\u201cOh, goody! You can stay with us and I\u2019ll teach you how to cook,\u201d\nexclaimed Joy.\nEagerly the young homesteaders accepted the invitation, but they\ninsisted upon being allowed to help, and donning some of the girl\u2019s\naprons, they were soon daubed with flour and dough.\n\u201cLorsey, what a sight!\u201d laughed the old settler, coming in a short time\nlater. \u201cI\u2019m going to sow some alfalfa and thought maybe you\u2019d like to\nsee how \u2019twas done.\u201d\n\u201cNow, Dad, you know Ted wants to rest. You shouldn\u2019t have asked them,\u201d\nJoy protested.\n\u201cI\u2019m doctor and they can\u2019t go; besides, I am teaching them to cook so\nthey won\u2019t be obliged to live on canned stuff.\u201d\n\u201cWall, I kin put off planting the alfalfa until tomorrow. I\u2019ve got\nenough to do in the garden,\u201d and Mr. Jay went out.\nWhen milking-time came, the boys insisted on going to the corral in\nwhich the cows were herded to be milked.\n\u201cMay I try?\u201d asked Phil.\nReadily the permission was granted, but after a few futile efforts to\nextract even a drop of milk, the cow looked round as though to see what\nmanner of thing was pulling at her bag. Her inspection was evidently\nunsatisfactory, for she gave a kick that put Phil on his back and sent\nthe pail spinning.\n\u201cTry this cow, I\u2019ve got her started,\u201d directed Jasper, when the boy had\npicked himself and the pail up.\nThis time, thanks to the old settler\u2019s instruction, Phil did better.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get the knack with a little practice,\u201d he said. \u201cShe\u2019s the\neasiest milker in the herd, and when you go home you must take her.\nYou\u2019ll find it mighty good to have fresh milk, and Joy\u2019ll show you how\nto prepare the cream and make butter. No, you can\u2019t buy her. If I can\u2019t\nlend Winthrop Porter\u2019s boys a cow, it\u2019s a pity.\u201d\nFor the next two days the boys, still unnerved by their experience,\nhaving brought over the blacks from their camp to insure their safety,\nalternated between watching the old settler cultivate his land and Joy\ncook and do her churning.\n\u201cReckon I\u2019ll have to go over tonight and see if Petersen will rent me\nhis team to plow,\u201d announced Mr. Jay, at supper.\n\u201cWith our blacks in the barn, eating their heads off?\u201d exclaimed Ted.\n\u201cKnow any more \u2019bout plowing than you did about milking?\u201d\n\u201cWe can learn, though; we ought to be able to help some.\u201d\n\u201cSure you kin. And I\u2019ll be mighty glad. I don\u2019t like Petersen, but he\u2019s\nmy nearest neighbour, except you, you know. He\u2019ll forget our little\ntrouble when he thinks he\u2019s going to get some of my money.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid you\u2019ll be sorry we are not farther away,\u201d said Ted. \u201cIt will\nbe easier to ride over than to cook a meal.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll always find a welcome,\u201d returned Joy, blushing. \u201cWon\u2019t they,\ndad?\u201d she added to cover her confusion at the fear the boys might think\nher forward.\n\u201cThem _and_ their horses. Them blacks takes _my_ eye.\u201d And they all\nlaughed.\nThe next morning, with Ted driving and Phil holding the plow, the boys\ntravelled back and forth across the field, more than holding their own\nwith the older man.\n\u201cThey done fine, Joy,\u201d declared her father, at dinner. \u201cI wish they was\nmy boys. You wouldn\u2019t know this quarter in two year. I\u2019m a gettin\u2019 too\nold to work it properly, but they could. Seems though you young folks\nought to be able to fix it somehow. E 1 and E 2 would make a splendid\nfarm if they was joined.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, Daddy Jay! The idea of your saying such a thing!\u201d exclaimed the\ngirl, her face turning to a bright crimson.\nTurning to his brother, Ted was amazed to see that he too was blushing,\nand he coughed impishly as he surprised an interchange of glances\nbetween Phil and Joy.\n\u201cGuess we may be able to arrange it, Mr. Jay,\u201d he chuckled, whereat Phil\nand Joy became exceedingly interested in their food. \u201cYou old fox!\u201d he\ncried, slapping his brother on his back, as they went out to hitch up\nthe horses. \u201cNow I understand why your head ached so you had to go back\nto the house yesterday and the day before, only you\u2019ve located your\ntrouble in the wrong organ. Go in and win. She\u2019s a bully girl, and\nMomsy\u2019ll like\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, dry up!\u201d snapped Phil. But though he obeyed, at intervals during\nthe afternoon Ted gave vent to hearty chuckles.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go over to our quarter tomorrow,\u201d announced his brother, as they\nwere preparing for bed.\n\u201cWhy? _I_ wouldn\u2019t turn away from such a g\u2014\u201d\nA swiftly thrown pillow, striking him full in the face, smothered the\nrest of the sentence, and before he could continue, Phil was saying in\nhis most impressive manner:\n\u201cIf we can plow for Jasper, we can plow for ourselves. We mustn\u2019t let\npleasure interfere with our serious purpose.\u201d\n\u201cOh, rats! But if you are ready to go, I am. Too bad, though, Jasper\ndidn\u2019t build his cabin on the line. We could build ours on our side and\nyou wouldn\u2019t have to waste fifteen minutes riding over. Poor Pat! He\u2019ll\nwish he was back in Avon.\u201d\nPhil\u2019s retort was a snore so studied that the younger boy laughed aloud.\nThe next morning, both the old settler and Joy urged the young\nhomesteaders to stay the rest of the week, but they pleaded the\nnecessity of getting their land planted as soon as possible.\nAlthough they had bidden the girl good-bye before they went to the barn,\nPhil kept delaying to start, now that they were ready, with the ponies\nand cow tied behind and the iron rail in the wagon, his many covert\nglances toward the cabin indicating that he hoped for another glimpse of\nJoy.\n\u201cGuess you\u2019ll have us for dinner, after all, Mr. Jay,\u201d grinned Ted. \u201cWe\ndon\u2019t seem to be travelling very fast.\u201d\nA slap of the reins that started the blacks so suddenly they almost\njerked the other animals off their feet was his brother\u2019s answer.\nBut before they had proceeded a rod, Joy ran from the cabin, staggering\nunder the weight of a big basket.\n\u201cHere are some things I cooked for you,\u201d she said, as Ted sprang to the\nground and relieved her of her load. And as the young homesteaders set\nout again, she called: \u201cCome over to supper tomorrow night.\u201d\nSeveral times Ted tried to start a conversation, but his brother\nmaintained a haughty silence, and at last he gave it up and began to\nexamine the basket Joy had given them, with the remark that if he\ncouldn\u2019t talk he would eat.\nNo sooner had he raised the cloth than his eyes rested on an envelope.\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Phil Porter,\u2019\u201d he read. \u201cFunny that should be in _my_ basket.\nWonder who _he_ is?\u201d With a growl Phil snatched the envelope, while Ted\ngrinned: \u201cBetter let me drive. Your poor head will ache so in a minute\nyou won\u2019t be able to see the road.\u201d\n                    A SERIES OF UNPLEASANT SURPRISES\nBy tacit and mutual consent, when the young homesteaders arrived at\ntheir section, they made no mention of their terrible experience, and\nsetting out some of Joy\u2019s food, ate ravenously.\n\u201cWe ought to be able to clear and plow one field this afternoon,\u201d said\nPhil, when the last dish was wiped and put away.\nReadily the younger boy agreed, and hitching the blacks to the plow,\nthey were soon at the clearing, which looked as though it were\npockmarked, the surface was so pitted with holes where the brush had\nbeen blown out.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll save time by dragging with an iron rail, the way Mr. Jay told us,\ninstead of trying to plow this scrub growth and grass under,\u201d declared\nTed. Accordingly they took the whiffle-trees and some chains from the\nplow, returned to camp, hitched on to the rail the aged settler had\nloaned them, drew it to the clearing, where they quickly made a horse\nfast to each end.\n\u201cReady?\u201d called Phil.\n\u201cReady,\u201d answered his brother.\n\u201cThen giddap.\u201d\nAs the horses started, the edge of the rail bit into the ground, tearing\nup everything in its course, and by night the boys had cleared a couple\nof acres, for the growth was not heavy.\n\u201cWhich shall it be\u2014clear some more land or plant what we have cleared?\u201d\ninquired Phil, when they were ready to work, the next morning. \u201cOr I\nsay, better still, as there is no wind, let\u2019s burn the brush we cleared\nyesterday. Those piles don\u2019t look very well, and if Petersen\u2014\u201d\n\u201cOh, bother Petersen! As Joy said, he\u2019s afraid of us. But we won\u2019t burn\nany brush till Andy or Steve is here, it\u2019s too dangerous.\u201d\n\u201cGuess you are right. Which is it, clear or plant?\u201d\n\u201cPlant. If I don\u2019t sow my \u2018Durum\u2019 wheat right off, it won\u2019t have any\nchance.\u201d\n\u201cHoped you had forgotten Durum for a while,\u201d laughed his brother. \u201cBut\nas you haven\u2019t, I suppose you must have your way. You can sow Durum and\nI\u2019ll sow alfalfa.\u201d\nLaughing and chatting happily, the young homesteaders cut two bags in\nhalves, tied short pieces of rope to the corners of the lower portions,\nfilled them with their respective seeds, and, slinging the ropes over\ntheir shoulders, set forth for their clearing.\nTaking a handful of the seed, they scattered it broadcast, as they\nwalked back and forth across the fields they had prepared.\n\u201cWe must go back for more alfalfa,\u201d called Phil, before he had covered\nquite half of his clearing.\n\u201cMore seed?\u201d repeated his brother, in amazement. \u201cWhy, you had enough\nfor that whole field. What on earth have you done with it?\u201d\n\u201cSowed it, of course.\u201d\n\u201cDumped it, you mean,\u201d grinned Ted. \u201cLook! I\u2019ve got half of mine left.\nThere won\u2019t be room for your alfalfa to grow, it will be so thick.\u201d\n\u201cAnd your Durum will be so thin you can drive a team between each\nstalk,\u201d retorted Phil.\n\u201cWell, my seed will last to cover all the land I want, which is more\nthan you can say for your alfalfa. If you keep on as you\u2019ve started, you\nwon\u2019t have enough to plant one field, instead of four. And you know the\nstorekeeper said we had a plenty for four.\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps _you_ can make it last longer, I can\u2019t. I don\u2019t believe that\nman in Bradley told the truth,\u201d snapped the elder boy.\n\u201cNow don\u2019t get peevish. Go back to camp, get some more seed, and when\nyou return, I\u2019ll show you how to sow it.\u201d\nIn no pleasant mood Phil started off, only to return at full speed,\nbeckoning frantically to his brother.\nSurprised at such actions, and the more that Phil uttered no word of\nexplanation, Ted ran to meet him.\n\u201cThere are two men at the hut, and they are throwing our things out,\u201d\ngasped the elder boy, in a hoarse whisper, as they came within easy\nhailing distance.\n\u201cAnd our guns are inside,\u201d bemoaned Ted. \u201cWhat did they say?\u201d\n\u201cThey didn\u2019t see me. I didn\u2019t give them the chance.\u201d\n\u201cWell, we have our rakes. We ought to be able to put up some fight with\nthem. Come on.\u201d\nBut when the young homesteaders, after approaching the camp with all the\nstealth they knew, arrived at their hut, no sound came from within.\n\u201cProbably they have seen us,\u201d whispered Ted, in his brother\u2019s ear.\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll fool them,\u201d returned Phil. And taking off his cap, he placed\nit on the end of the rake, then pushed it forward until it was at the\nedge of the door where it would be plainly visible to any one inside.\nHearts seemingly in their mouths, the boys waited. But still there was\nno sign of the men Phil had seen.\nAt the end of several minutes Ted moved close to the hut, and carefully\nmade an opening through which he could look.\n\u201cNot a soul in there,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cYou must have been dreaming,\nPhil.\u201d\n\u201cGuess I know two men when I see them,\u201d he retorted. \u201cLet\u2019s act as\nthough we didn\u2019t know they were here. We\u2019ll talk out loud and pretend to\nbe returning from the clearing. That ought to fetch them. Be ready,\nthough.\u201d\nThis ruse also failed in its purpose, and, throwing discretion to the\nwinds, Ted rushed boldly round the corner, then paused abruptly.\nHung beside the door was a sheet of paper on which was written in crude\nspelling:\n  You claim jumpers must go! Take your things and get! E 1 belongs\n  to us. We filed on it 3 munths ago. We\u2019ve put your things outside,\n  as the law directs. If we find you or them here when we return,\n  there\u2019ll be more to it. Claim jumping ain\u2019t healthy in these\n  regions!\nToo astonished to speak for the moment, the boys stared at the warning.\n\u201cThat\u2019s some trick!\u201d Ted exclaimed at last.\n\u201cBet it\u2019s Petersen\u2019s work,\u201d added his brother. \u201cIt\u2019s somebody\u2019s, that\u2019s\ncertain,\u201d agreed Ted. \u201cThe thing for us to do is to go to Waterville and\nfile our claim as fast as we can.\u201d\n\u201cSuppose these men have been there first,\u201d suggested the elder boy.\n\u201cAndy would have told us. Come on, we haven\u2019t any time to lose. You get\nthe money while I saddle.\u201d\nEre Ted had finished, however, Phil joined him, his face white.\n\u201cThe money\u2019s gone!\u201d he shouted.\nDropping the cinch he was buckling, his brother dashed into the hut\nwhere the displaced boughs, the uncovered hole, and empty can proved the\ntruth of the announcement.\n\u201cEvery cent we had in the world,\u201d he sobbed.\n\u201cNot quite. We kept out some, you know. Twenty dollars, to be exact.\nThat\u2019s enough to pay the cost of filing. Let\u2019s show these robbers we can\ndo a thing or two. Good! They must have overlooked our pistols, though\nthey\u2019ve helped themselves to our rifles.\u201d\nAngered at the robbery and warning, the young homesteaders hurriedly\nbuckled on their holsters, put some cartridges in their pockets,\nselected some food from the pile of their belongings in front of their\ndoor, and, finishing the saddling of their ponies, galloped away.\nHaving learned from Andy that the way to Waterville was the road leading\npast Petersen\u2019s section, they lost no time in going down the brook and\nwere soon racing along the highway.\nWith their mounts dripping lather, the young homesteaders finally drew\nrein in front of a building bearing a sign \u201cLand Office.\u201d\n\u201cWe want to file on a claim,\u201d said Phil, when they had entered.\n\u201cGot the money?\u201d demanded a man on the front of whose desk was the word\n\u201cRegistrar.\u201d\n\u201cYes\u2014that is, how much is it?\u201d stammered the boy, amazed at such a\nquestion.\n\u201cNineteen dollars.\u201d\n\u201cWe have it,\u201d announced Ted, wondering if the relief he felt as he heard\nthe amount was evident in his voice.\nWith a grunt the registrar took a form from his desk, got up, and\nadvanced to the counter.\n\u201cAnswer these questions,\u201d he snapped. \u201cNames.\u201d\n\u201cPhil and Ted Porter,\u201d replied the elder boy.\n\u201cWhere do you want to file?\u201d\n\u201cOn quarter section, E 1, Chikau township.\u201d\nMindful of Andy\u2019s statement that the registrar had long coveted the\nsection upon which they had settled, the boys watched him closely as\nthis answer was given. No outward sign of emotion did he evince. His\nhead, however, was bent over the paper on which he was writing, and\ncould the young homesteaders have seen the light that appeared in his\neyes, they would have become even more upset than they were at the\nwarning they had received.\n\u201cRaise your right hands and be sworn,\u201d droned the agent, and when the\noath had been administered, he continued his interrogations, having put\ndown their general description, leaving the particulars of their\nparentage and family.\n\u201cYou have examined the land you desire for a homestead?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d replied Phil, who was acting as spokesman.\n\u201cAny coal or minerals?\u201d\n\u201cNo, sir.\u201d\n\u201cYou are not filing this entry for the purpose of selling out to any\nperson, persons, or corporations, or with their connivance?\u201d\n\u201cNo, sir.\u201d\n\u201cYou will live on and cultivate the land to the best of your ability?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\u201cBy the way, you will enjoy the benefit of the law just signed by the\nPresident reducing the period of residence from five to three years and\nrequiring a sojourn on the land of only five months in each year. You\nare not taking up this land as a speculation?\u201d\n\u201cNo, sir.\u201d\nSeveral more minor questions the registrar asked, then said:\n\u201cNow just sign your names, there. Good! That completes the filing of\nyour entry, except the payment of the fees. As you are taking up one\nhundred and sixty acres, you must pay the government ten dollars; if you\nhad taken only eighty, or less, it would only have been five: I am\nentitled to a commission of a dollar and a half for each forty acres and\na fee of a dollar and a half for administering the oath and taking your\naffidavit, nineteen dollars in all.\n\u201cAh, thank you,\u201d as Ted handed him the money. \u201cNow, if you wish, at the\nend of fourteen months, you can commute your entry. That is, by paying a\ndollar and a quarter an acre and the necessary fees for being sworn,\nhaving four witnesses testify that you have lived on and cultivated the\nland for fourteen consecutive months, and the cost of notice by\npublication in a newspaper of your intended commutation, you can obtain\nyour title to the land, which is called the patent. Of course, at the\nend of three years, without any charge per acre but with the fees for\nwitnesses and the rest, you can obtain your patent just the same. The\nrest of the details you can learn from this pamphlet.\u201d\n\u201cThen you have accepted our entry?\u201d asked Ted, after a silence of\nseveral seconds had brought no more questions.\n\u201cNot by any means.\u201d And there was a sinister smile about the registrar\u2019s\nmouth. \u201cI have merely entered your claim.\u201d\nAs they heard the words, so evidently portent with meaning, the boys\u2019\nhearts sank, for they had taken hope as the interrogation had proceeded\nso smoothly.\n\u201cDoesn\u2019t this constitute the filing of our entry?\u201d hazarded Phil,\ntimidly.\n\u201cNo, I told you.\u201d\n\u201cWhy not? Has\u2014has any one filed before us?\u201d stammered Ted.\n\u201cWhat makes you ask that?\u201d\n\u201cWhy\u2014\u201d began the boy, when Phil broke in: \u201cWe were told this would be\nthe regular form.\u201d\n\u201cSo it is. I wanted to get your answers under oath. The government is\nkeen for punishing land frauds.\u201d\n\u201cLand frauds?\u201d exclaimed both boys together.\n\u201cExactly. You boys are neither of you of age. You have offered no paper\nfrom your parent approving your act, you have not received a special\npermit from the Secretary of the Interior, you have not offered evidence\nof having served in the army or navy, which would allow you to become\nhomesteaders even if not of age. It is evident, therefore, that you are\nmaking a fraudulent entry. It will be my duty to have you arrested.\u201d\n\u201cTake back your money, Ted,\u201d commanded his brother, boldly, though\ninwardly quaking at the threat of arrest.\n\u201cDon\u2019t touch it!\u201d snapped the registrar.\n\u201cWhy not? The money is ours. You have refused our entry, so you have no\nright to it.\u201d\n\u201cIsn\u2019t my time worth anything?\u201d\n\u201cNot out of our money. Put it in your pocket, Ted.\u201d\n\u201cLeave it there. It is necessary as evidence of your filing.\u201d\n\u201cThen give us a receipt,\u201d retorted the elder boy.\nRealizing that he could not bluff the young homesteaders, Simmons made\nout a receipt, whereupon Ted pushed the money toward him.\n\u201cI warn you not to leave this region until I have instructions from\nWashington about dealing with you,\u201d admonished the registrar.\n\u201cYou will find us on our homestead, if you want us,\u201d returned Phil.\n\u201cIf you go there, you do so at your own risk.\u201d\n\u201cBut our claim holds, pending your instructions from Washington?\u201d\ndemanded Phil.\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cThen come on, Ted. Oh, how soon may we expect to hear about it?\u201d\n\u201cIn two weeks, more or less.\u201d\n\u201cWhich will give us time to consult Mr. Hopkins,\u201d commented the elder\nboy, and summoning all his dignity, he led the way from the office, his\nbrother at his heels, while the registrar laughed unpleasantly.\nVaulting easily into their saddles, the boys lost no time in starting\nhomeward, but so hard had they ridden to reach Waterville to file their\nclaim that they were compelled to spare their ponies on the return.\nEarnestly did they discuss the words of the registrar, speculating as to\nwhether or not they really had committed a fraud and discussing the\nother surprising features of their interview with the official.\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s some satisfaction to know our application protects us until\nword is received from Washington,\u201d Ted finally declared. \u201cIt will block\nthe game those claim-jumpers are trying to play.\u201d\n\u201cI hope so. It doesn\u2019t seem as though Simmons, knowing we were friends\nof Silas Hopkins, would dare to grant entry to whomsoever they are, now\nthat we have put in our claim.\u201d Descending darkness caused the boys to\ngive all their attention to guiding their ponies until they realized\nthat the animals were cleverer at keeping the road than they were\nthemselves, and after they made this discovery, they devoted their\nsenses to listening. For it was their first night in the saddle, alone,\nand they feared surprise both by men and wild beasts.\nWithout mishap, however, they finally reached their hut, where to their\ndelight they found Andy. And eagerly they poured out their troubles to\nhim.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll attend to this business in the morning. Go to bed now. You\u2019ve had\nenough excitement for one day.\u201d\nBefore dawn, however, the rain began to come down in torrents,\npercolating the thatched roof and compelling the young homesteaders and\ntheir guest to spread ponchos, blankets, and anything they could find to\nkeep the water from their beds and from the food.\nAs later they looked out upon a rainy day, Ted\u2019s heart sank.\n\u201cEverything\u2019s either soaked or damp and nasty,\u201d he complained. \u201cThe fire\nwon\u2019t burn enough to cook anything decently and we can\u2019t work.\u201d\n\u201cNever mind the work part of it,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cThis rain will do a\nworld of good. Before harvest time you will probably be praying for a\nthird as much of a downpour. We\u2019ll find enough to do, don\u2019t worry. What\ndo you say to going fishing?\u201d\n\u201cI say \u2018no,\u2019\u201d replied Phil. \u201cIf you are not going to do anything about\nour claim, I\u2019m going over to see Mr. Jay.\u201d\nAt this announcement the others laughed heartily.\n\u201cI must think before I act,\u201d said Andy.\n\u201cMr. Jay doesn\u2019t care any more about seeing you than you do about seeing\nhim. If I were going to shirk all the chores, I\u2019d at least tell the\ntruth,\u201d grinned his brother. But Phil had fled from the water-soaked\nshakedown at the first words.\n\u201cYou going too?\u201d inquired Andy.\n\u201cNot much. If my letter paper isn\u2019t wet, I shall write home. If it is, I\nmay ride over and give Jennie another lesson.\u201d\n\u201cYou boys aren\u2019t very keen on fishing, evidently,\u201d commented Andy, as he\noverhauled his tackle.\n\u201cI never caught but two fish in my life. One was a \u2018pumpkin seed\u2019 and\nthe other was a smelt. It took me four days to get them and I must have\ntramped thirty miles.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll find it\u2019s different out here. If you followed this brook thirty\nmiles\u2014which you can\u2019t because it\u2019s only about ten from source to\nlake\u2014you\u2019d have more fish than you could carry. Better come.\u201d\nBut Ted was not to be persuaded, and after they had finished the chores,\nAndy set out, leaving Ted writing.\nIn their letters to their mother the boys had refrained from mentioning\nthe shooting of the bear and the incidents of the fateful dinner,\nfearing to alarm her, and Ted was busy explaining to her about the\nirrigation system when he heard hoof-beats.\nWondering who could be coming, he went to the door, and beheld a\nrubber-clad chap of about thirty, tall, lithe, and well set up, his face\ntanned by sun and wind, calmly leading his horse under the animal\nshelter.\n\u201cPray make yourself perfectly at home,\u201d called the boy, sarcastically.\n\u201cThanks,\u201d returned the other, smilingly ignoring the slur. \u201cI am\nChester, of the forest patrol. How long have you been here? I\u2019ve noticed\nyour smoke for several days, but this is the first rainy day I\u2019ve had to\nleave my station to investigate.\u201d\n\u201cMy name is Porter. Come in. My brother and I have had a rather rough\ntime with strangers, which accounts for my uncivil greeting. I thought\nyou patrolmen investigated every smudge as soon as you saw it.\u201d\n\u201cThe patrolmen do, if it is on their route. I only said I belonged to\nthe forest patrol, I\u2019m a lookout.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\n\u201cI have a station on the top of Bear Mountain from which I can cover\nabout a thirty-mile radius. Whenever I see smoke, I report it to the\npatrolman in whose section it lies, or to the nearest settler who has a\n\u2019phone, if our man is out on his route.\u201d\n\u201cHasn\u2019t been any one here.\u201d\n\u201cBecause I didn\u2019t report it, it is off the regular route. I noticed the\nsmoke showed and died down at certain periods, never gaining in volume,\nso I decided it was some new entryman. It being rainy, however, I rode\ndown to make sure.\u201d The appearance and bearing of his visitor was so\nself-reliant, Ted felt that he was no enemy and did his best to be\nagreeable, telling him about his mother and sisters and the robbery,\nfinally deluging him with questions concerning the life on the station.\nIn love with his work, as all the forest patrol are, Chester talked of\nit so interestingly that Ted began to envy him.\n\u201cIt must be bully knowing you are guarding millions of dollars worth of\nlumber and the lives of so many people,\u201d he declared enthusiastically.\n\u201cStill, I should think you\u2019d get lonesome off up there by yourself, but\nI suppose you read a lot.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m too busy watching for fires except when it rains, and then I\nusually have a trip to make, either like looking up a smudge or\nrepairing a telephone. But a fellow can\u2019t be lonesome among the trees\nand mountains, if he loves them.\u201d\n\u201cHow long are you on duty?\u201d\n\u201cFrom snow-going to snow-coming. I sleep when I can. That is, when I\ncan\u2019t see any smoke, I take a nap for half an hour, watch again, then\ntake another nap, and so on. But why not ride back with me? Never seen a\nlookout station, have you?\u201d\n\u201cNever, and I\u2019d like to immensely. But let\u2019s eat before we go.\u201d\n\u201cIt sure will be good to taste grub I haven\u2019t cooked myself,\u201d declared\nChester, as he ate with keen relish. \u201cYou\u2019re some cook, if you made that\npie.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t. A friend of ours gave it to us.\u201d\n\u201cThen you know Joy?\u201d\n\u201cYes. We were taken there after we had been drugged, and she kept us\nseveral days.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s be on our way,\u201d said Chester, rising so suddenly that Ted looked\nat him in surprise. But it was not until long afterwards, when the\nlookout and the young homesteader were fast friends, that the boy\nlearned the action was caused by the knowledge that the girl had\nbestowed some of her far-famed cooking upon strangers while she had\nalways refused to give any to Chester, whom she had known all her life.\n\u201cWhat a glorious view!\u201d cried Ted, turning to look back as, for the\nfirst time in his life, he passed beyond the timber-line of a mountain.\n\u201cIt is superb. But wait until you get to my nest. It\u2019s wonderful from\nthere.\u201d\nWhen they reached the summit, however, the wind was blowing so that they\nlost no time in entering the octagonal cabin, one end of which was used\nfor a stable.\nExtending full across each side, about four feet from the floor, was a\nwindow, two feet high, enabling the lookout to sweep the country with\nhis telescope.\n\u201cI should think you could see better if the windows were taller,\u201d\ncommented Ted.\n\u201cSome of the winds I get would break them in a minute. As it is, I often\nam obliged to put up the shutters and stand outside.\u201d\nIn the centre of the cabin was a big table upon which lay a quantity of\nreport blanks, paper, and a detail map of the country, within the radius\nof the lookout\u2019s station, showing ponds, lakes, rivers, towns, highways,\nrailroad tracks, homesteads, and lumber camps, and giving the names of\nall settlers, with a code mark against those who had telephones. In\nother places were instruments for measuring the velocity of the wind,\ngauging the rainfall and the like.\nResting on a chair was a planed and polished piece of wood with a line\nrunning through the centre lengthwise, and another crosswise, to which\nan arrow, free to move in any direction, was attached.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a traverse board,\u201d explained Chester. \u201cI\u2019ll show you how it\nworks. First look under the map. See those marks on the table? They are\nthe points of the compass. When you use the traverse board, you first\n\u2018orient\u2019 it, that is, place it that its bearing is true with the points\nof the compass, the needle pointing north. Now sit down. Take my\ntelescope and look, say, south. Suppose you see smoke, but can\u2019t exactly\nlocate it. You clamp the arrow to the traverse board, the point toward\nthe smudge, so. Next, you put the map with my station directly over the\ncentre of the traverse, that red dot which I\u2019ve marked, so. Now stick a\npin through my lookout and into the centre of the board, then twist the\nmap until its north and south line covers the north and south line of\nthe board, so. Take the range-finder, place its bevelled edge against\nthe pin, raise the sight, no, keep the one with that upright hair away\nfrom your eye, and look at your smoke again. With the tables and marks\nyou can quickly get the range and locate it on the map.\u201d\nFor several minutes Ted squinted along the sights, glanced at the range\ntables and then at the map.\n\u201cI should say it was about there,\u201d he said, putting his finger on a spot\nsouth of Bear Mountain.\n\u201cToo bad it isn\u2019t pleasant, you might find a real fire to practise on.\u201d\n\u201cBut I have found one. My eye! but the smoke is getting thick. Yes, I\u2019m\nsure it\u2019s where I pointed on the map.\u201d\nAt first the lookout had believed his visitor to be pretending that he\nhad discovered a forest fire, but as he heard his last words, he pushed\nhim from the chair and sighted along the rangefinder.\n\u201cYou\u2019re right! You\u2019ve located it, Porter. It\u2019s on Carl Petersen\u2019s\nquarter.\u201d\nAnd springing to his telephone, Chester called for connection with the\nman who was Jasper Jay\u2019s nearest neighbour, with the exception of the\nyoung homesteaders.\n                         AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL\n\u201cNobody answers, eh? That\u2019s funny. Give me Burke, then, please, central.\nOh, I say. You don\u2019t know where Larry is, do you? Petersen is on his\nroute and\u2014What? Yes, please. If you locate him, tell him to go to\nPetersen\u2019s, find out about the fire, and call me up. Yes, I\u2019ll be at the\nstation. Oh, hello, Burke. This is Chester. I wish you would ride over\nto Petersen\u2019s and take a look at that fire. Yes, the sooner you can let\nme know the better.\u201d\n\u201cDo you often have a fire break out on a rainy day?\u201d asked Ted, as the\nlookout swung around in his chair, after setting down his telephone\ninstrument.\n\u201cThat\u2019s just the point exactly,\u201d said Chester, evidencing that the young\nhomesteader\u2019s remark had fitted in with his own train of thought. \u201cNo\nordinary fire could break out after the soaking everything has had for\nthe last twelve hours, though the sun will be shining again in a couple\nmore.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe it\u2019s his house,\u201d suggested Ted.\n\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t make so much smoke. It\u2019s hardly big enough to turn round\nin.\u201d\n\u201cThen why not ride down and find out? Is it far?\u201d\n\u201cNot very, but I want to wait here until I get a report.\u201d\nThe expression on the boy\u2019s face, as he heard this statement, showed\nthat he considered the lookout to be shirking his duties and, noting it,\nChester said:\n\u201cI know what\u2019s in your mind. You think I\u2019m too lazy to ride a few miles\nin the rain. It isn\u2019t that\u201d; then he paused a moment, and looked\nsearchingly at his visitor before continuing: \u201cYou seem like the right\nsort. If you weren\u2019t, Andy Howe, Steve Anderson, and Si Hopkins wouldn\u2019t\nlift a finger for you, let alone doing all they could to help you. The\npoint is this. We are suspicious of Petersen. He\u2019s had trouble with all\nhis neighbours. He set up a sawmill last winter, and they caught him\ncutting trees beyond his lines. To cover this, he cut down the corner\ntrees. The matter is in court.\u201d\n\u201cAnd he tried to steal one of our horses. But how would a fire help\nhim?\u201d\n\u201cRemove the evidence that he had cut down the government trees and let\nhim swear that he thought he was cutting on his own land.\u201d\n\u201cI see. Yet what could he set on fire that would burn after this rain?\u201d\nThe outlook\u2019s answer was forestalled by the buzzing of his telephone.\n\u201cGood for you, Larry!\u201d he exclaimed, after listening a few minutes. \u201cI\ntried to raise you through central. So it\u2019s in the sawdust pile, eh?\nReckon we\u2019ve got Petersen this time. What, must have been burning\nseveral days? It doesn\u2019t make any difference if it has, I think he set\nit just the same. Sure he didn\u2019t see you there? Good. Yes, I sent Burke\nover. Meet him and impress him and his men. I\u2019ll send you some others.\nSure. Tunnelling is the only thing, I\u2019m afraid. But be careful. That\npile must be forty feet high and a hundred and fifty long. It wouldn\u2019t\ntake more than a minute to bury a hundred men. Yes, I\u2019ll stay here. Let\nme know how things are going. Yes, from Burke\u2019s. Good luck and watch out\nwhen you are tunnelling.\u201d For many minutes after he had talked with the\npatrolman, the lookout was busy calling up various settlers and ordering\nthem to go to the fire, finally notifying the district chief in whose\ndivision Petersen\u2019s homestead was located.\n\u201cDo you suppose those men will go?\u201d asked Ted, as Chester set down his\ntelephone, picked up his telescope, and trained it on the smoke.\n\u201cYou bet they will and anybody else I order. Cross my heart! but that\u2019s\ngoing to be some fire. Look, there is twice as much smoke as there was\nbefore.\u201d And he handed the telescope to the boy, who was amazed to see\nseveral columns of smoke where there had been only one or two when he\nhad discovered it.\n\u201cBut how can you know they\u2019ll go?\u201d queried Ted, returning to the subject\nof collecting the band of fire-fighters.\n\u201cBecause they can be arrested if they refuse. I\u2019m a fire warden, all\nlookouts are, and I can order anybody and everybody I see fit to fight a\nfire, even you. It\u2019s hard and dangerous work at a big fire and most men\ndon\u2019t like it. So in order to insure a warden\u2019s securing the necessary\nassistance, it has been made law that men must go when ordered, on\npenalty of imprisonment. It is the same in all States where there is a\nfire patrol. Of course, our regular men are sent when they can be\nspared.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I shouldn\u2019t be much good. I wouldn\u2019t know what to do.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019d be told quick enough.\u201d And the lookout began an explanation of\nthe various methods of stopping and fighting forest fires, from the\nsimple method of making furrow-checks with plows, hoes, and shovels for\nthe blaze that runs over the ground to back-firing, or starting a fire\nin opposition when the wind is right to drive it toward the forest\nfire\u2014a method only used in desperate emergencies when the fire is beyond\ncontrol and leaping from tree to tree.\nFinding a willing and eager listener in the young homesteader, Chester\nwas pointing out on the map and describing the biggest fires that had\noccurred in his division, when his buzzer again rang.\n\u201cHo? Oh, you, Mr. Jackson? Yes, sir, right away.\u201d And hastily picking up\na notebook and pencils, he hurried toward his pony, saying: \u201cSorry, but\nthe district chief has sent for me. Wants to question Petersen and I\u2019m\nthe only man he has handy who writes shorthand. Casey\u2019s on his way to\nserve here.\u201d\nWith a rapidity that surprised Ted, the lookout had saddled and bridled,\nthen turned to help him. And at a pace that seemed foolhardy, the warden\nwas soon descending the trail, leaving the boy far behind.\n\u201cBetter go back to your claim,\u201d he shouted, as he reached the level.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to ride so hard you\u2019d get lost trying to follow. See you again\nsometime.\u201d\nAnd before the young homesteader could protest, for he was keen to\nwatch, and perhaps help, in the fire-fighting, Chester was out of sight.\n\u201cGood thing I paid especial attention to the trail when we rode over,\u201d\nsaid Ted to himself, as he turned Daisy toward E 1. \u201cSome time, though,\nold girl, they\u2019ll find you and I can cover ground even if I am a\ntenderfoot.\u201d\nAs the lookout had predicted, the sun burst through the clouds before\nthe boy reached the shakedown, and its torrid rays were quickly drying\nthe trees.\nComing within sight of the thatched hut, Ted suddenly drew rein, as he\nbeheld a pony tied near the door.\n\u201cWonder who it is this time.\u201d And the boy\u2019s hand dropped to his holster,\nwhich Andy had cautioned the young homesteaders never to be without, in\nview of the warning they had received.\nBut he withdrew his hand as quickly as he had lowered it when the person\nwho had ridden the strange pony, having heard his approach, appeared in\nthe doorway.\n\u201cJennie, of all people!\u201d gasped Ted, as he saw the crippled little\nfigure. \u201cWhat on earth brought _you_ over here?\u201d Then noting the shadow\nof pain his abrupt words had sent to the girl\u2019s face, he added hastily:\n\u201cI surely am mighty glad to see you. I was thinking of riding over this\nafternoon.\u201d\nHer smile restored by these assurances, Jennie said:\n\u201cI came with a telegram for you.\u201d\n\u201cA telegram? How did you get it when Andy is here?\u201d\n\u201cIt was sent to Hutchins when Chikau couldn\u2019t be raised. The agent there\ntelephoned it over. I think it is important, so I brought it. Steve is\naway and I took his horse.\u201d\n\u201cGood girl. Where\u2019s the message?\u201d\n\u201cPap was out when it came. I couldn\u2019t write it, so I remembered it. It\nsaid: \u2018Phil and Ted Porter, Chikau. Your mother and sisters will arrive\nFriday!\u2019\u201d\n\u201cWhy, today is Friday!\u201d\n\u201cI know it. That\u2019s why I thought you ought to get it.\u201d\n\u201cI should say \u2018yes.\u2019 But where\u2019s it been all this time? You can\u2019t travel\nfrom Weston to Chikau in a few hours. Who sent it?\u201d\n\u201cHow do I know? I never was in Weston.\u201d\n\u201cI mean who signed it. There\u2019s always a signature to a telegram and a\ndate line, as well.\u201d\n\u201cOh dear! I didn\u2019t pay \u2019tention to them. I never took a telegram before.\nI thought it was just what it said that counted.\u201d And Jennie\u2019s face\npuckered ready to cry. For she had been proud at being the bearer of the\nmessage and had confidently expected praise instead of criticism.\n\u201cNever mind, so long as I know Momsy\u2019s coming, that is the main thing.\nBut we haven\u2019t much time to get to Chikau. How\u2019s the road?\u201d asked Ted,\nas he hurried from the shakedown and began to harness the blacks.\n\u201cToler\u2019ble.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s better than it was when we rode over here.\u201d And without more\nwords they filled the wagon with blankets and pillows to ease the\njouncing for the little mother, then tied Daisy and Jennie\u2019s pony to the\ntail.\n\u201cAlmost forgot to leave a note for Phil and Andy,\u201d exclaimed the boy as\nhe was climbing to the seat. Stepping down, he ran into the hut, hastily\nscrawled, \u201cGone to meet Momsy and the girls,\u201d and placed it on a branch\nbeside the door where it would not fail to attract attention.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure it said Friday?\u201d asked Ted, as they drove along.\n\u201c\u2019Deed I am. I asked three or four times, \u2019special.\u201d\n\u201cFunny it didn\u2019t get here sooner. It must have been Dr. Blair who sent\nit. At least, it sounds like\u2014\u201d\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s the name,\u201d Jennie eagerly interrupted. \u201cI wasn\u2019t sure, so I\ndidn\u2019t want to say.\u201d\n\u201cAnd was it dated Weston or Boston, Mass.?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t remember.\u201d\nThe time passed quickly for the girl as she listened to her companion\u2019s\naccount of his doings, but it seemed to Ted that they never would come\nin sight of Peleg\u2019s store.\n\u201cGracious! it\u2019s four o\u2019clock,\u201d he cried in dismay, looking at his watch.\n\u201cAs they didn\u2019t come this morning, they must be coming on 64 and she\u2019s\ndue at five. How near are we?\u201d\n\u201cInside of five miles.\u201d\n\u201cThen sit tight. I\u2019ve got to trot if we\u2019re going to cover five miles\nover this road in time to meet the train.\u201d\nBut the going was so rough that after almost being thrown under the\nhorses\u2019 hoofs several times, the boy slowed down.\n\u201cMomsy\u2019ll be disappointed if no one meets her,\u201d he murmured.\n\u201cLet\u2019s stand up back of the seat. Then you can trot,\u201d suggested Jennie.\nAnd doing so, they were soon bumping along at a smart pace.\n\u201cThere\u2019s the store,\u201d gasped Ted, catching a glimpse of the welcome\nlandmark, and he urged the blacks faster.\n\u201c64\u2019s just whistled,\u201d announced Peleg, as the boy drew up in front of\nthe steps.\n\u201cQuick, take the reins, Jennie, and wait here. I can run to the station\nfaster than I can drive.\u201d And jumping to the ground, the young\nhomesteader sped down the track, arriving in just time enough to recover\nhis breath as 64 stopped.\nWarm were the greetings between the little mother and Ted and his\nsisters, and they were prolonged until Sallie suddenly asked:\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Phil?\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s sparking. It was only luck I got your telegram in time to get\nhere. It didn\u2019t come until this morning, and if a little friend of mine\nhadn\u2019t ridden twenty-five miles, I should not have received it.\u201d\n\u201cMust we travel twenty-five miles _more_ tonight?\u201d groaned Margie. Then,\nseeing nothing but trees all about, she asked: \u201cHow do we go, fly?\u201d\n\u201cYou will stay at Chikau tonight and we\u2019ll drive home\u2014just think, Momsy,\n_home_\u2014tomorrow.\u201d\n\u201cBut where is Chikau? I\u2019ve been looking for it ever since I got off the\ntrain,\u201d declared the younger girl.\nBefore her brother could reply, however, Sallie exclaimed:\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the baggage man to give us our trunks? Here are our checks.\u201d\n\u201cThere, there, daughter. Give Ted time. We are in the wilderness, you\nknow,\u201d interposed Mrs. Porter. But she did not prevent the avalanche of\ncaustic criticisms that the boy poured upon his sisters for their\nunreasonableness and airs.\n\u201cHere comes somebody or something,\u201d cried Margie, pointing to the woods,\nand turning, they beheld the blacks driven by Jennie and Peleg.\n\u201cHow do you like those horses? They are yours, Momsy,\u201d said the young\nhomesteader, proudly.\nRunning out, Ted brought up the team, introduced the storekeeper and his\ndaughter, then helped his mother and sisters into the wagon, and merrily\nthey chatted and laughed as they bumped along to the settlement.\nTaking Mrs. Porter to her room, Jennie bustled about getting supper,\nassisted ably by Ted, while his sisters looked on delightedly as the boy\nmade a spider cake.\n\u201cOh, our trunks! They haven\u2019t been brought from the station yet,\u201d cried\nSallie in alarm, as they were eating.\n\u201cNobody will run off with them but a bear, and I shot the only one that\nwas around here,\u201d chuckled Ted.\n\u201c_You?_\u201d gasped his sisters. Whereat the boy hurried away and returned\nwith the pelt, which he had brought in the wagon, as evidence of his\nmarksmanship.\nAs they were seated about the store, talking, after supper, Steve came\nin, and later, Phil.\n\u201cWhy, Momsy looks better already just for the sight of you farmers,\u201d\nsaid Margie.\n                        FIGHTING FOR THEIR HOME\nEarly the next morning the boys, who had slept in Steve\u2019s cabin while\ntheir mother and sisters had used Jennie\u2019s room, were awakened by Andy,\nwho was talking earnestly to Steve.\nStarting to rise up on his elbow, Phil was pulled back by his brother,\nwho motioned him to lie quiet and listen.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether we shall be able to stop it or not,\u201d the agent was\nsaying. \u201cIt\u2019s a pity that Mrs. Porter and the girls couldn\u2019t have waited\na bit longer. It will be an awful disappointment to them to get out here\nand then find their claim wiped out. I came back by way of the camp and\nsent your jacks over to E 1. I told Thomas to put them at work hauling\nthe brush we\u2019ve cleared off back onto the fields at the west. I opened\nthe head gate as I came along. From the way things were going, I don\u2019t\nbelieve it will be possible to save Jay\u2019s. He and Joy were packing up\nwhat stuff they could and loading it into their old schooner. They\u2019re\ngoing to bring them and their livestock over to the boys\u2019 shakedown. If\nwe can\u2019t stop the fire at E 1, it will sweep the country right through\nto your camp. Be quiet about going out so as not to waken Ted and Phil.\nI\u2019m afraid they would be so anxious to help that they would get into\ntrouble. They don\u2019t know anything about fighting fire.\u201d\n\u201cYou may think you can keep us from fighting for our home, but you\ncan\u2019t!\u201d declared Ted, leaping from the bed.\n\u201cAnd we\u2019ll show you that we aren\u2019t such duffers, after all,\u201d added his\nbrother. \u201cWe\u2019re going with you\u2014and you can\u2019t keep us away.\u201d\n\u201cBut how about your mother and sisters?\u201d queried Steve. \u201cOne of you\nought to stay here with them and quiet them. If I had my way, you\u2019d both\nstay. Two men more or less will not make any difference in checking the\nfire.\u201d\nAt the thought of the little woman and the girls, the young homesteaders\nlooked at one another in dismay.\n\u201cI\u2019m older and I shall go. You must stay. As head of the family, I order\nyou to,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cLike fun!\u2014\u201d began the younger boy, when a timid knock at the door\ninterrupted him.\n\u201cPlease, Mr. Jackson has sent over here for coffee and food for the\nfire-fighters and the ladies are taking on something awful,\u201d gasped\nJennie from the door which Steve had opened.\n\u201cThe whole kettle is in the fire now,\u201d growled Andy. \u201cCome on, we\u2019ll go\nover to the store and question Jackson\u2019s man.\u201d\n\u201cOh, Phil, this man says our homestead is going to be burned up,\u201d wailed\nMargie, as she caught sight of her brother in the dim light of the\nstore.\n\u201cNonsense. You should know better than that, Ivers,\u201d snapped Andy, who,\nnoting at a hurried glance that Mrs. Porter seemed on the verge of\ncollapse, was endeavouring to ease her mind. \u201cIf there is one place\nwhere we can check the blaze, it is at E 1.\u201d\n\u201cLike\u2014\u201d began the messenger, only to be cut short by Steve.\n\u201cWhat did you come over for?\u201d\n\u201cCoffee and all the food I can carry.\u201d\n\u201cThen get it and get out. Tell Jackson that my jacks are on E 1. Because\nof the cleared ground there, that is the place to check the fire. Tell\nhim we are going over there ourselves directly, and ask him to send his\nforce, or all that he can spare, over to us,\u201d instructed Andy.\nIn short order Ivers was loaded down with cans of all kinds of food, and\nquickly he galloped away.\n\u201cI am sorry you have learned about the fire, Mrs. Porter,\u201d said the\nagent, \u201cbut it may be just as well, after all. Steve and I are going\nover. You will be perfectly safe here, and you can rest assured that we\nshall do everything in our power to save your homestead.\u201d\n\u201cAnd we\u2019re going too,\u201d announced Ted.\n\u201cThen we shall all go,\u201d declared the little mother. \u201cI should never have\na second\u2019s peace if I should stay here while you are all over there. No,\nit won\u2019t do me nearly as much harm to go over as it would to force me to\nremain here. Margie, run and get our things. We will be ready in a few\nminutes, Mr. Howe.\u201d\nAt this decision the agent looked at the foreman.\n\u201cReckon it may be the best thing, after all,\u201d murmured Steve. \u201cAnyhow,\nit will put more heart into the men to know that the family is on the\nquarter.\u201d And accordingly the men hastened away to harness the blacks,\nwhile the others bustled about making ready, and at last, with Ted\ndriving, his mother and sisters seated on piles of blankets and\ncushions, they set out, Phil, Andy, and Steve having ridden on ahead.\nPausing at the ridge overlooking their homestead, the boy cried:\n\u201cThere\u2019s E 1, Momsy, down where you see all those fields.\u201d\nIn silence the woman and her daughters looked upon the haven, then\nimpulsively threw their arms about one another\u2019s necks. And alternately\ncrying and laughing, they arrived at the shakedown, where they found Joy\nalready busy making a washboiler full of coffee.\nThe pall of smoke could be seen in the west. Under its stress the\nintroductions were short, and quickly the girls were assisting Joy in\npreparing the drink and food for which men were beginning to come in,\nsome waiting to eat, others carrying back baskets and pails full to\nthose on the fire lines.\nAssured of their mother\u2019s safety, the boys hastened away to the fire,\nbut they went no farther than the edge of their quarter, where men were\nbusily felling trees so that the branches and tops fell toward the\nblaze.\nSeeing Andy, Steve, and another man talking, Phil and Ted rode to them\njust in time to hear the stranger say:\n\u201cIt was a splendid idea making our stand on this clearing. There\u2019s no\ndoubt about our being able to check the fire here.\u201d And, after being\nintroduced to the district chief, for the stranger was none other than\nMr. Jackson, the boys hurried back to carry the gladsome news to their\nmother and sisters that their home was safe, after all.\nNot without herculean effort was it, however, that the fire was checked\non E 1. As the flames fell upon the tree-tops lying toward them, they\nleaped into the air, sending forth heat and smoke before which the\nfire-fighters were compelled to give way. And as they yielded ground,\nlittle tongues of flame shot out into the grass, and soon the entire\nsection seemed to be ablaze.\n\u201cBetter move the women. The shakedown is doomed,\u201d announced Mr. Jackson\nto Andy. \u201cWe can hold the fire on E 1, all right, but we can\u2019t save the\nhut.\u201d\nAs cheerfully as he could, the agent delivered his instructions. And to\nhis relief, the women did not go into hysterics.\n\u201cWhere do you wish us to go?\u201d asked Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cTo the dam. We\u2019ll load everything into the wagon, there is plenty of\ntime, and haul it up there.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s too bad the shakedown must go, it\u2019s so cute,\u201d sighed Margie. \u201cAnd\nI did so want to sleep on a bed of boughs.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have chance enough, and without a roof over your head, either,\u201d\nreturned Ted. \u201cWe\u2019ll be obliged to sleep outdoors until we build a\ncabin.\u201d\n\u201cWhich won\u2019t be very long,\u201d smiled Andy, as he noted the look of horror\nwhich settled on Sallie\u2019s face. \u201cI\u2019ll speak to some of the boys and\nwe\u2019ll have a regular, old-fashioned house-raising.\u201d\nBefore either of the girls could ask what such an occasion was like,\nAndy was summoned, and he waited only long enough to give the boys\ndirections for action in case it should be necessary to resort to heroic\nmeasures at the dam, then hurried away.\n\u201cI think he\u2019s just grand!\u201d exclaimed Sallie, following the lithe form of\nthe agent as he walked away.\n\u201cBetter chain your children up, Momsy,\u201d chuckled Ted. \u201cIf you don\u2019t\nyou\u2019ll lose them out here. I\u2019m just holding Phil by the hair of his\nhead.\u201d And without giving his brother time to reply, he started the\nhorses, while the rest of the little family walked.\nAs they stopped at the dam and looked down upon the burning section, the\nflames leaped upon the hut.\n\u201cOh, dear, there goes our home. I feel just as though we were losing\neverything, section and all,\u201d wailed Margie, bursting into tears.\nThe words, recalling their anything but satisfactory visit at the Land\nOffice, caused the boys to glance sharply at one another, and neither\ncould find the heart to speak.\nAfter the first terrific flash as the grass and brush caught fire, the\nblaze soon died down, and the fire-fighters were soon able to check the\nground-running tongues of flame, even before they reached the area which\nAndy had flooded.\nAt last, word was brought to the anxious little group that all danger\nwas over, and in ecstasy of thanksgiving they dropped on their knees and\nprayed.\n                         THE GIRLS MAKE FRIENDS\nAssured that all danger was over, Phil announced that he was going to\nlook over the burned area to find out how extensive it was.\n\u201cI\u2019m going too,\u201d declared his brother. \u201cI can tell better than you\nbecause I have a better eye for distances.\u201d\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t leave us alone among all these strange men,\u201d pleaded Sallie.\nAs she heard the words, Joy flushed.\n\u201cThe men in Washington are just as good\u2014from things I have read they\nmust be better than those in the East, Miss Porter,\u201d she exclaimed\ndefiantly.\nElevating her eyebrows, Sallie was about to retort scathingly, when Ted,\nwho knew his sister\u2019s mannerisms, interposed:\n\u201cJoy is _right_, Sis. The men out here may not be quite so\u2014er\u2014polished\nas those back East, but their hearts are in the right place and you are\nperfectly safe with them\u2014and you want to lay aside all your fool\nnotions, or you won\u2019t be popular.\u201d\n\u201cListen to the\u2014\u201d began Sallie, only to be interrupted by the arrival of\nMr. Jackson and Chester.\n\u201cI wonder if you can make some more coffee?\u201d inquired the former. \u201cSome\nof the fire-fighters are pretty badly used up. If you can, I will send\nthem up here.\u201d\n\u201cSurely we can,\u201d answered Joy, while the two Eastern girls looked at\neach other helplessly. And immediately she began the preparations.\n\u201cCan\u2019t you two help?\u201d demanded Phil. \u201cNow\u2019s the time for you to prove\nthat you are useful as well as ornamental.\u201d\nIf looks could have killed, the boy would have been struck down by the\nglances his sisters bestowed on him, but they set about assisting Joy\nwith a will.\n\u201cThank you, thank you very much,\u201d said Mr. Jackson, with a smile. \u201cI\u2019ll\nsend the men to you in about fifteen minutes.\u201d\nThe pall of smoke still hung over the lowland, however, or those\npreparing the coffee and such other food as they had would have seen\nthem already stumbling exhaustedly toward the dam.\nOf a sudden there sounded a deafening roar, followed by piercing\nshrieks.\nIn horror, those about the wagon gazed below.\n\u201cThat\u2019s dynamite!\u201d exclaimed Mr. Jackson. \u201cIt can\u2019t be that you boys\nwere thoughtless enough to leave any at your\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIf they had, it would have exploded when the hut burned, not now, so\nlong afterward,\u201d interrupted Chester. While Phil said:\n\u201cNo, sir. I put it all in a bag, in the wagon, on some bedding.\u201d\n\u201cThen where could it have come from?\u201d demanded the superintendent.\n\u201cIt must have been those two sticks I threw away the day Phil and I were\nblowing out brush,\u201d announced Ted.\nAbout to upbraid the young homesteaders for their carelessness in\nleaving the explosive unreclaimed, Mr. Jackson held his words, and with\na command to Chester, ran down the hill, followed by the boys.\nAt this fresh catastrophe Joy\u2019s heart sank, for she expected the girls\nand their mother would collapse. But she was agreeably surprised. Though\ntheir faces were very white and their hands trembled, the three Eastern\nwomen turned with one accord to the pile of bedding and began to tear\nthe sheets into strips for bandages.\n\u201cThank goodness, you won\u2019t need those,\u201d declared Andy, suddenly\nappearing.\n\u201cBut the cries?\u201d exclaimed Sallie.\n\u201cJust surprise and warnings. The men\u2019s nerves have been badly strained\nand the explosion startled them.\u201d\n\u201cWe certainly have a great deal for which to be thankful,\u201d said Mrs.\nPorter. \u201cI should never get over it if any of these brave men had been\ninjured through my boys\u2019 carelessness.\u201d As he heard the words, the agent\nlooked at the little woman in amazement.\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d he murmured. In reply, Mrs. Porter repeated Ted\u2019s\nstatement.\n\u201cWell, it is a relief to know there were only two sticks of it lying\nabout,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cI was afraid some one might have planted the\nexplosive throughout the section.\u201d\nThe arrival of others of the fire-fighters put an end to further\nconversation, for Andy assisted the women in serving the coffee and\nfood.\nAs the men came forward, they greeted Joy heartily, while they looked\nwonderingly at the two stylish Easterners.\n\u201cThese are Phil\u2019s and Ted\u2019s sisters and their mother,\u201d said the agent by\nway of introduction, whereat the men bowed stiffly and became silent.\nDetermined to break the awkwardness of the situation, Margie exclaimed:\n\u201cIf you please, we prefer to be known for ourselves and not as Phil\u2019s\nand Ted\u2019s sisters. I am Margie and this is Sallie.\u201d And she made a mock\ncourtesy.\n\u201cBrava! That\u2019s the way to get on out here,\u201d laughed Mr. Jackson, who had\ncome up just in time to hear Margie\u2019s introduction. Then turning to Mrs.\nPorter, he added: \u201cWe are all like one big family out here. Somehow the\nwoods make us forget ceremony.\u201d\nThus a feeling of fellowship having been established, the men ate and\nrested, recounting the narrow escapes they had had as the fire drove\nthem back.\n\u201cThere\u2019s always a silver lining to the blackest cloud,\u201d declared\nChester. \u201cYou boys have been spared a lot of hard work it would have\ntaken to clear your land.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s true enough,\u201d assented Ted. \u201cWhat worries me, though, is whether\nthe fire has dried all the natural moisture there was in the ground. If\nit has, our crops won\u2019t amount to much.\u201d\n\u201cThe growth was so light, I doubt if the soil has been damaged,\u201d\nreturned Mr. Jackson. \u201cA few tests with a soil box, however, will tell\nyou positively.\u201d\n\u201cThen let\u2019s make them,\u201d suggested Phil. \u201cAndy\u2019s sectional bore is in the\nwagon.\u201d\nThe boy\u2019s eagerness evoked laughter from the other men.\n\u201cYou must wait a couple of days until the ground cools,\u201d announced\nChester.\n\u201cJust at present the thing to do is to build a shelter for the ladies,\u201d\nsaid Mr. Jackson.\n\u201cOh, no. We are going to sleep outdoors, Ted said so,\u201d declared Margie.\n\u201cI think it will be lots of fun if too many bugs and things don\u2019t crawl\nover us.\u201d\n\u201cOr unless it rains,\u201d grinned one of the firefighters.\n\u201cYou can sleep in the open if you care to,\u201d said Andy, \u201cbut when we have\nso many men here it would be a pity not to take advantage of the fact.\nWe can put up a house of boughs in no time. Come on, fellows. Let\u2019s show\nthese Eastern ladies how quickly we can build one.\u201d\nGlad of the opportunity to atone for their awkwardness with knives and\nforks, the men seized axes, shovels, and hoes and fell to work, erecting\na camp in a surprisingly short time.\n\u201cThere, you can live in that all summer,\u201d declared Steve, as the task\nwas finished.\n\u201cI thought we were to have a log cabin,\u201d Margie exclaimed.\n\u201cSo we are, when we have time to build it,\u201d returned Phil. \u201cAt present,\nthe most important thing is to repair our irrigation plant and then sow\nour seed.\u201d\n\u201cI say, why not have an old-fashioned house-raising?\u201d exclaimed Chester.\nThe suggestion met with hearty response, and after much talk and\nlaughter it was agreed that the boys should notify their neighbours when\nthey had finished their planting and that they would give them two days,\none for preparing the logs and the other for the \u201craising.\u201d\n\u201cBut we never can repay you,\u201d said Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cJust feed us, that is all the pay we will ask,\u201d replied Chester.\n\u201cFood _and_ a dance,\u201d added one of the others, \u201cthat is, if the young\nladies dance.\u201d And he looked inquiringly at Sallie and Margie.\n\u201cOh, I think we might be persuaded to try,\u201d laughed the younger girl.\nAnd when they had discussed the plans again, the men returned to their\nseveral homes, leaving the family alone save for the Jays and Andy.\nWhile the girls were washing the dishes, Phil told his mother about Mr.\nJay\u2019s acquaintance with their father, and the little woman then and\nthere took Joy to her heart.\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to look over the section with Andy,\u201d finally announced\nPhil. \u201cWhen we get back, we\u2019ll help fix up the camp.\u201d But when they\nreturned from their inspection, they found that the girls had\nanticipated them and that the bough house was surprisingly homelike.\n\u201cMy, but it does seem good to come back and find you here, Momsy,\u201d said\nTed, putting his arm about her affectionately.\n\u201cTell us how you happened to come out so soon,\u201d demanded the elder boy.\n\u201cHonestly, when I found Ted\u2019s note saying he had gone to meet you, I\nthought he was playing a trick on me.\u201d\nBefore Mrs. Porter could answer, however, Margie exclaimed:\n\u201cWe made Momsy come. There was no living with her. Your train wasn\u2019t out\nof sight from the station before she began to worry about you, and when\nshe got so she couldn\u2019t say ten words without wondering how you were\ngetting along, Sallie and I just put our feet down and said we would\ncome out here, so we could have a few minutes\u2019 peace.\u201d\n\u201cWell, we\u2019re sure glad to see you, even if we couldn\u2019t give you the\nreception we hoped,\u201d said Phil. \u201cStill, I think it would be best for you\nto board at Peleg\u2019s for awhile.\u201d\n\u201cPay board when we can live on our own homestead and in our own house?\nDo you think we are millionaires?\u201d demanded Sallie.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve made a nice mess of things,\u201d snorted Ted, looking at his brother\nangrily. \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t you keep quiet for awhile? Don\u2019t you know Momsy\u2019s\nhad enough with this fire?\u201d\nAt the words, so evidently full of meaning, the little woman and the\ngirls looked at one another and then at the boys, in wonder.\n\u201cSeems to me it\u2019s _you_, not I, who has made the mess,\u201d retorted Phil.\n\u201cStop talking in riddles and tell us why you want us to board,\u201d\nexclaimed Margie, impatiently.\nAs the boys had taunted one another, Joy and her father had listened in\namazement, and they were as keen to hear the explanation as the others.\nWhen Phil had finished the story of the warning and of the trip to the\nLand Office at Waterville, Jasper exclaimed:\n\u201cDon\u2019t you worry one mite, Mis\u2019 Porter. First thing tomorrow, I\u2019ll drop\nround to see some of the neighbours. _There won\u2019t be any more warnings!_\nAs for Bill Simmons, the land agent, when I tell him a thing or two I\nknow, I \u2019low _he_ won\u2019t be so high and mighty.\u201d\nBut it was Andy who did the most toward reassuring Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cI am going to tell you all a secret,\u201d he said. \u201cSimmons is going to be\nremoved as land agent. Several complaints have been filed against him in\nWashington, and they are so serious that the Secretary of the Interior\nhas decided to appoint another agent. From this man you may be certain\nyou will receive justice. In the meantime, my advice is to go ahead,\njust as though your entry had been accepted.\u201d\n\u201cI hope you are right, I am sure, Mr. Howe.\u201d\n\u201cAndy, please, Mrs. Porter.\u201d\n\u201cWell, Andy, then. But you know we haven\u2019t much money, and if we should\nspend what I have and what the boys have and then lose the homestead, we\nshould\u2014be ruined.\u201d\n\u201cI should not advise you to go ahead if I thought there was any doubt,\nMrs. Porter.\u201d Then, seeing that the little woman was not yet entirely\nreassured, he added: \u201cI will tell you, and this is even more of a secret\nthan the other, that I expect to be appointed land agent in Simmons\u2019\nplace.\u201d\n\u201cGood! Fine! _Now_ we\u2019ll be all right!\u201d exclaimed the boys, while Jasper\nand his daughter also expressed their delight at the prospect.\n\u201cI suppose Si Hopkins is back of you?\u201d said the aged farmer.\n\u201cHe is,\u201d Andy replied.\n\u201cSpeaking of money,\u201d said Joy, after they had discussed the reasons for\nthe land agent\u2019s removal, \u201cdid you think to dig up the tin can when you\ncleared out the camp, Phil?\u201d\n\u201cNobody was talking of money,\u201d returned the boy, frowning. But his\nattempt to put off the question was futile, for Margie and Sallie\nbadgered him about burying his money, and then, as he showed no signs of\ngoing to dig up the can, his younger sister declared she would.\n\u201cIt\u2019s no use,\u201d he growled. \u201cThe men who wrote the warning dug it up.\u201d\n\u201cYou mean you\u2019ve been robbed?\u201d gasped Sallie.\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\u201cOf how much?\u201d\n\u201cA hundred dollars.\u201d\n\u201cHow much have you left?\u201d\n\u201cAbout a dollar, isn\u2019t it, Ted?\u201d\n\u201cEighty-five cents, to be exact.\u201d\n\u201cWhat on earth were you going to do?\u201d demanded Margie.\n\u201cOh, we had food enough and all our seed and tools, so, after planting,\nwe were going to hire out to our neighbours, if we could,\u201d returned\nPhil.\n\u201cSteve offered us each a job at fifty dollars a month, when we first\ncame,\u201d said Ted. \u201cWe figured we could work a month while our stuff was\ngrowing. That would give us back the hundred we lost.\u201d\n\u201cThe idee, and me with the two hundred Winthrop Porter loaned me in my\npocket,\u201d exclaimed Jasper. \u201cHere, take it.\u201d And drawing out his\nwell-worn wallet, Mr. Jay again took out the two bills.\n\u201cWe settled that once, Mr. Jay,\u201d said Phil. And he explained his\ndecision to his mother.\n\u201cMy boy decided rightly, Mr. Jay,\u201d declared Mrs. Porter. \u201cBesides, I\nhave about three hundred dollars, so that we shall do very well.\u201d\nAnd though both Joy and her father urged them to take the money, the\nPorters refused.\n\u201cWhy, you\u2019ve lost everything except what you brought in your schooner,\u201d\nexclaimed Phil. \u201cYou need it even more than we do.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s true, Jasper,\u201d declared Andy. \u201cFurthermore, Si won\u2019t let these\nboys fail for lack of a little money, to say nothing of myself.\u201d\n\u201cWhy not let Andy keep our money for us, Momsy?\u201d suggested Sallie.\n\u201cThose horrid men might take it from us. But it would be safe with him.\u201d\n\u201cYou seem to have a mighty fine opinion of Andy,\u201d chuckled Ted, in a\ntone that sent flushes to his sister\u2019s cheeks. But they all recognized\nthe wisdom of the suggestion, and Mrs. Porter handed over the money, for\nwhich the station agent insisted upon giving a receipt.\n\u201cI hated to tell you about it, Momsy, but I\u2019m glad it\u2019s settled,\u201d\ndeclared Phil. \u201cIt didn\u2019t seem right to have any secret from you, yet\nTed and I did not wish to cause you any worry.\u201d\n\u201cNow suppose we all turn in,\u201d said Andy. \u201cWe\u2019ve had a hard day and\nthere\u2019s a lot of work to be done tomorrow.\u201d\nThis suggestion was readily accepted, and while the womenfolk made\nthemselves comfortable in the bough house, the men, after making certain\nthe horses and cows were securely tied, rolled up in their blankets\nabout the campfire.\nUp bright and early the next day, it was decided that Jasper and Joy\nshould stay and help the homesteaders do their planting, after which Ted\nand Phil would assist them.\nGoing down to the lowland, they discovered the ground had cooled to such\nan extent that Andy and Jasper decided it would do no harm to plow, and\naccordingly they went at it, while the agent returned to Chikau.\nOn the aged farmer\u2019s advice, they worked the land into fields thirteen\nhundred feet long and about seventy wide, for in that size they would be\neasier to irrigate.\n\u201cThis soil, being virgin, will be productive, but the ashes will prove a\nmighty good fertilizer,\u201d said Jasper, as they worked. \u201cCourse, this side\nof the section doesn\u2019t need irrigating now, probably won\u2019t for several\nyears. So we\u2019ll just work up enough fields for you to plant some\nalfalfa, some wheat, and some corn, and then we\u2019ll fix the land on the\nother side. It will be interesting to see which side grows faster\u2014this\none with natural moisture and fertilized by the ashes, or the other\nirrigated but without fertilizer.\u201d\nToward the middle of the forenoon the boys were surprised to see Joy and\ntheir sisters, bags hanging from their shoulders, appear on the field.\n\u201cWhat have you brought, something to eat?\u201d called Phil.\n\u201cNo. Seed,\u201d answered Margie.\n\u201cBut we are not going to plant until we have all the fields ready,\u201d\ndeclared Ted.\n\u201cWe are, though. Joy said it would help, and we want to do it,\u201d returned\nMargie.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be like Phil, sow enough for an acre in less than a quarter.\u201d\n\u201cYou just wait and see, Mr. Smarty. Joy is going to show us, and she\nknows more about planting than you do, I guess.\u201d\nAmused and pleased to think their sisters were really willing and eager\nto help, the young homesteaders watched them scatter the seed and then\nreturned to their own task.\nSo well did the girls work that when night came four fields were planted\nand the seeds harrowed in.\nWhen the boys called their sisters the next morning, they were answered\nby groans and the information that the girls were too sore and stiff\nfrom their unusual work of the day before to get up.\n\u201cYou are fine specimens to help carry on a farm,\u201d commented Phil.\n\u201cTell them breakfast is ready,\u201d announced Ted. \u201cThey\u2019d get up to eat\nwhen they wouldn\u2019t get up to go to a party.\u201d\n\u201cBring breakfast in to us,\u201d pleaded Margie. \u201cWaiter, serve the ladies\u2019\nbreakfast in the rooms,\u201d mocked Phil.\n\u201cNow don\u2019t try to be funny, Phil,\u201d called Margie. \u201cI guess tramping over\nrough ground and sowing seed is harder than pitching a baseball, but I\nremember a boy in Weston who always lay in bed the morning after he had\npitched and insisted on having his little sisters bring his food to him,\nalthough they had all the housework to do before going to sc\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAll right, I\u2019ll bring it,\u201d broke in the elder boy, starting to pick up\nsome plates. But a wink from Ted caused him to pause in his\npreparations.\nMindful of the manner in which Andy had cured his aches and pains, the\nboy seized the coffee-pot and darted into the bough house.\n\u201cHere\u2019s your coffee,\u201d he said. \u201cOpen your mouths.\u201d And without waiting\nfor compliance with his command, he poured a generous supply of the hot\nliquid over each of his sisters.\nAll thought of soreness and stiffness forgotten, the girls leaped up,\nbut Ted had wisely vanished as suddenly as he had entered.\nIn an amazingly short time and while Jasper and Joy were still laughing\nat Ted\u2019s joke, Sallie and Margie, fully dressed, dashed from the door,\nseized some hoes, and rushed for their brothers.\n\u201cSome cure for aches, what?\u201d grinned the younger boy, as he dodged a\nblow. \u201cI think I\u2019ll call myself Dr. Porter and advertise.\u201d\nThe girls, however, were bent on vengeance, and chased their brothers\nuntil their mother called:\n\u201cIf you girls feel strong enough to run, you can help me shake out these\nblankets.\u201d\n\u201cWe are farmers, not housemaids, Mrs. Porter,\u201d returned Margie, without\nabandoning the pursuit.\n\u201cBut breakfast is getting cold and my \u2018flap-jacks\u2019 will be spoiled,\u201d\ninterposed Joy.\nAt the words Phil stopped running. \u201cI\u2019ll give you each two whacks at me,\nif you\u2019ll let me eat,\u201d he announced.\n\u201cSo\u2019ll I,\u201d agreed his brother.\n\u201cUm, if Joy\u2019s flap-jacks are so good you are willing to be beaten, I\nthink I\u2019ll eat them myself,\u201d decided Margie. \u201cWe\u2019ll punish you by\nallowing you only one apiece. Come on, Sallie and Momsy. Joy, you sit\ndown. I\u2019ll serve the flap-jacks.\u201d\nNot until Ted had told his sisters that he and Phil had been subjected\nto the same \u201ccure\u201d were the girls appeased, but Joy was compelled to fry\nmore flap-jacks, so ravenously did the Easterners eat them.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to live wherever you do, Joy,\u201d declared Margie, helping\nherself to more.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have another sort of ache, if you don\u2019t quit eating soon,\u201d\nchuckled Ted. \u201cWe\u2019re going to irrigate this afternoon and we\u2019ll need\nyour help.\u201d\nLeaving the girls to wash the dishes, the young homesteaders set out\nwith Mr. Jay and their horses to prepare the dry land. Mindful of all\nthey had learned the day before, the boys were able to work much more\nrapidly, and when the girls came to call them for dinner, four fields\nwere ready for irrigation.\nAfter dinner Ted took his sisters and Joy to the farm ditch and\ninstructed them about placing the canvas dams so as to throw the water\ninto the laterals and onto the four fields.\n\u201cBut we\u2019ll get our skirts sopping,\u201d protested Sallie, as they walked to\nthe dam.\n\u201cWhy can\u2019t we put on some of the boys\u2019 overalls?\u201d asked Margie. \u201cIt\nwould be a lark and there won\u2019t be anybody to see us.\u201d\nAccordingly it was decided that they should don the apparel. Quickly\nthey returned to the hut to do so, and while they were busy at the task,\nTed took out the table Steve had given him and calculated the length of\ntime it would take to irrigate the four fields.\n\u201cWhy, we can do it all in half a day,\u201d he declared, after having covered\nseveral pieces of paper with figures. \u201cOur stream is 37 miner\u2019s inches.\nWith that we can get the required 2.3 acre-inches onto a field in a\nlittle more than three hours. But we have so much water in the reservoir\nthat we can turn on 74 miner\u2019s inches, which will reduce the time to an\nhour and a half, only six hours for the four fields.\u201d\n\u201cWe can do it sooner than that,\u201d returned his brother. \u201cWe have head\nenough so that we can irrigate all four fields at once. Anyhow, we\u2019ll\ntry it.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a \u2018head\u2019 of water?\u201d demanded Margie. \u201cI\u2019ve heard of blockheads,\nbut never of a water\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIt means the depth of water in the dam, silly,\u201d interrupted Ted. \u201cNow\njust get over your nonsense. This is serious work and it is important\nthe irrigation should be successful.\u201d\n\u201cI stand rebuked, _Professor_ Porter,\u201d mocked the girl. \u201cCome on.\u201d\nWhen they were ready, Mrs. Porter insisted upon accompanying them. Phil\nwent to the head gate at the dam, Ted took his station at the first\nlateral, Margie and Sallie at the second, and Joy and her father with\nthe girls.\n\u201cReady?\u201d shouted Phil.\n\u201cReady,\u201d answered his brother, who, after making sure that the boxes\nleading from the laterals into the fields were unobstructed, ran to\nwhere his sisters were to help them with the canvas dam.\nWith a rapidity that surprised them the water came down the main ditch\nand in such force that it swept the canvas dam aside.\n\u201cQuick, you girls, take hold, one on each side,\u201d commanded Ted. And\ntaking a shovel, he hurriedly threw in dirt at the back of the canvas\nuntil he had built a temporary dam which held the canvas in place.\n\u201cIt\u2019s going into the field splendidly,\u201d said a voice close beside the\nyoung people.\nLooking up, in surprise, the girls blushed furiously as they beheld\nAndy.\n\u201cOh dear! I didn\u2019t think any one would see us,\u201d cried Sallie, dropping\nto the ground in confusion.\n\u201cMost sensible thing you could have done,\u201d commented Andy, in such a\nmatter-of-fact tone that the girls\u2019 embarrassment vanished, and in a few\nminutes they were walking along the contour with him, watching the water\nspread over the fields, as unconcernedly as though they were in their\nregular skirts.\nSo evenly that it amazed the young homesteaders did the water flow onto\nthe prepared ground, the borders holding it with very little seepage.\n\u201cIt\u2019s two and a half inches deep,\u201d Ted announced, after thrusting a foot\nrule into the pond which covered one of the fields.\n\u201cBetter give it another inch, it won\u2019t do any harm,\u201d advised Andy, and\nwhen the desired depth had been obtained, Phil hastened back to close\nthe head gate.\nWhen this had been shut, the others closed the first lateral, and\narranged the canvas dams to turn the water into the second field,\nrepeating the operation with the two remaining fields.\n\u201cIsn\u2019t Andy a perfect dear?\u201d exclaimed Sallie, when she and Margie were\nback at the cabin, changing into the ordinary clothes. \u201cThere are not\nmany men who would have been as nice about seeing us in those overalls.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s got plenty of sense,\u201d commented her sister. \u201cBut he isn\u2019t a bit\nnicer than Chester would have been.\u201d\n\u201cSo that\u2019s the way the wind is blowing, eh?\u201d laughed the elder girl.\nThen chancing to look out the window, she said: \u201cSpeaking of angels,\nhere your lookout is.\u201d\nRapidly they dressed and joined the boys and their two friends.\n\u201cI\u2019m the answer book,\u201d smiled Chester, as he greeted the girls. \u201cI\u2019ve\nfound out a lot of things which will clear up several points. Mr.\nJackson and I have been questioning Petersen again. He laid the setting\nof the fire to two of his men who, he declared, in order to vent their\nspite on him, had set fire to the sawdust pile and then disappeared. Of\ncourse, we didn\u2019t believe him. Something he said, however, gave me an\nidea, and I located the men he accused, fellows known as Shorty and Tot.\nBy pretending to know more than I did, and telling them that Petersen\nhad laid the blame for the fire at their door, they told me he had hired\nthem to set the pile afire and when they had done it, refused to pay\nthem, declaring that he would have them arrested for arson. He promised\nthem a hundred dollars.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s just the amount stolen from us,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\n\u201cSo I remembered,\u201d smiled Chester. \u201cTo make a long story short, I\nlearned from the fellows that Petersen had been in Bradley when you\noutfitted and that one night later he announced he must go to Waterville\nto protect himself against some claim-jumpers.\u201d\n\u201cSo it was Petersen who posted that warning. I had fancied Simmons was\nmixed up in it,\u201d commented Andy.\n\u201cWe shall know more after Mr. Jackson has Petersen in jail; he has gone\nto arrest him now. We expect to recover the money of which you were\nrobbed.\u201d\nWhen the excitement over this information had subsided, Andy said:\n\u201cWhile we are in the explanation business, I might as well say that I\nhave discovered why that telegram was delayed. As I was over here when\nit was first sent over the wire, of course I could not receive it. The\noperators tried to raise me on the succeeding days, and not being able\nto, when it came Friday, they sent it to the agent at Hutchins, with\ninstructions to telephone it to some one who would deliver it. Naturally\nhe sent it to Peleg.\u201d\n\u201c\u2018All\u2019s well that ends well,\u2019\u201d laughed Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cAnd now it\u2019s my turn. I don\u2019t understand how a pile of sawdust could\nburn on a wet day,\u201d said Margie.\n\u201cIt\u2019s like this,\u201d began both Andy and Chester, almost in the same\nbreath. Whereat the others laughed, and the agent nodded to the lookout\nto proceed.\n\u201cWater acts on sawdust much as it does on coal: instead of putting out\nthe fire, it makes it hotter.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose it isn\u2019t polite, but why did you and Chester happen over\ntoday, Andy?\u201d asked Ted, as they sat about the campfire after supper.\n\u201cCan\u2019t neighbours call without giving their reasons, in the East?\u201d\nreturned the agent quietly, while Chester blushed deeply.\n\u201cOf course they can,\u201d declared Sallie. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t mind Ted. He is\nirrepressible.\u201d\n\u201cYou mean irresponsible,\u201d corrected Margie. \u201cWell, you weren\u2019t over here\nevery few hours when we were alone,\u201d protested the boy, impishly.\n\u201cWhich proves their good sense,\u201d retorted Margie. \u201cWhy should two _men_\ncome to see two callow kids play farmers?\u201d\n\u201cOh, I understand,\u201d grinned the boy. \u201cCome on, Phil, we\u2019ll leave the\n_men_ with the young ladies.\u201d But as Ted looked toward his brother, he\nsaw him walking away with Joy, and, with a forced cough, he exclaimed:\n\u201cMr. Jay, won\u2019t you and Mrs. Porter come into the house where we can\ndiscuss our plans uninterrupted by these children\u2019s chatter?\u201d\n\u201cBut it was to discuss plans that Chester and I came,\u201d declared Andy,\nwhen the laughter and rebukes of the girls had subsided. \u201cWe want to\nknow if day after tomorrow is too soon for the house-raising.\u201d\nThe exclamations of delight from the girls were rudely interrupted by\nTed.\n\u201cIt is,\u201d he announced emphatically.\nAs the boy had been most keen for the fun when the idea had been first\nproposed, the others looked at him in amazement.\n\u201cWhy is it too soon, Ted?\u201d demanded Margie. \u201cWe can cook enough food\ntomorrow.\u201d\n\u201cYou mean Joy can,\u201d corrected her brother. \u201cIt took you two hours to\nmake and bake a cake the other day, and then you couldn\u2019t eat it. But\n_I\u2019m_ not always thinking about food. We promised to help Jasper after\nwe had finished our planting and there will be no houseraising until\nwe\u2014\u201d\n\u201cLand sakes, if that\u2019s all to hinder, don\u2019t you young folks put off your\nfun another day. I can wait,\u201d interrupted the aged farmer.\n\u201cThat\u2019s just sweet of you, Mr. Jay,\u201d exclaimed the younger girl. \u201cI\u2019m\ncrazy for a dance.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re crazy, all right,\u201d returned her brother, disgustedly. \u201cAren\u2019t\nyou ashamed, after all Jasper and Joy have done for us, to put off\nhelping them until you can have a dance? Two or three days will make a\nlot of difference to his crops.\u201d\n\u201cSo that\u2019s the trouble, is it?\u201d asked Chester. \u201cWell, you can rest easy,\nthen. I rode over Jasper\u2019s section today, on my way to Petersen\u2019s, and\nit won\u2019t be necessary to do any replanting. His fields are all up. The\nfire didn\u2019t injure them.\u201d\n\u201cOf course it didn\u2019t, fire don\u2019t burn cleared ground that\u2019s been\nplowed,\u201d said Mr. Jay. \u201cI\u2019d have told you that, only I supposed you knew\nit.\u201d\n\u201cThere, Mr. Smarty, that should teach you to be sure of your facts\nbefore you talk,\u201d taunted Margie. \u201cAnd honestly, Mr. Chester, my second\ncake was dandy.\u201d\n\u201cI am sure of it,\u201d smiled the fire lookout, while the others laughed.\n\u201cThen there is no objection to passing the word for day after tomorrow?\u201d\n\u201cI think not,\u201d said Mrs. Porter, to whom they all turned.\n\u201cAll right. Don\u2019t kill yourself cooking. Miss Margie. Good-night, all. I\nmust get back to Bear Mountain.\u201d\n\u201cAnd I to Chikau,\u201d announced Andy.\nThroughout the following day all hands gave their attention to preparing\nfood for the house-raisers, the boys and Jasper supplying wood and water\nwhile the women cooked, and toothsome indeed did the pies, cakes,\ncookies, and doughnuts look, arranged on a quickly improvised table.\nAnxiously the homesteaders surveyed the sky when they arose, and great\nwas their delight to see the day break clear.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good omen,\u201d declared Jasper. \u201cWonder who will be the first one\nhere?\u201d\n\u201cCan you guess?\u201d grinned Ted, coming up with two brimming pails of milk.\n\u201cOh, let\u2019s all guess,\u201d proposed Sallie.\n\u201cYou don\u2019t have to,\u201d returned her brother. \u201cJust look!\u201d And he pointed\ntoward the brook up which Andy and Chester were riding.\nScarcely had they arrived, however, before others came, some on foot,\nsome horseback, and some in schooners with their wives and children.\nNot one of the bachelors but brought some present, varying from baskets\nwoven from scented grass to stuffed birds and furs for rugs and\nblankets.\n\u201cIf we only had a couple more sisters, we wouldn\u2019t be obliged to do a\nstroke of work, Phil,\u201d laughed his brother.\nBut the men did not linger long at the camp. Taking their axes and saws,\nthey went into the woods, and soon the air rang with the sounds of\nchopping and orders.\nMaking themselves perfectly at home, the women helped get the dinner,\nand merry was the midday meal.\nWhen Andy announced that some of the men would remain at camp to prepare\nthe foundations for the cabin, there was more jollification, for all\ndemanded the privilege.\n\u201cWhy not draw lots?\u201d suggested Margie. Instantly there was a protest of\n\u201cnoes,\u201d while others agreed. And the matter of selection was as\ndifficult of solution as before until Ted, with Solomon-like wisdom,\nsuggested:\n\u201cAs we must have the foundations, why not let the married men fix them?\u201d\nShouts of laughter and more protests greeted the idea, but it was\nfinally adopted, the bachelors taking the horses to the woods to haul in\nthe logs.\nWith so many to help, the ground was soon leveled, the ground timbers\nplaced, and nighttime found the floor laid.\n\u201cNow for the dance,\u201d said Chester, when supper had been cleared away and\nthe dishes washed.\n\u201cWho\u2019s going to play?\u201d asked Phil, in dismay. \u201cI\u2019ve heard of songs\nwithout words, but never of a dance without music.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ll whistle,\u201d declared Ted.\nBut several of the men moved away, quickly returning with fiddles and\naccordions.\n\u201cBetter take turns,\u201d said Phil, wondering what the concert of\ninstruments would sound like.\n\u201cGuess you never heard our Chikau band,\u201d laughed Andy. \u201cJust give them a\nsample, boys.\u201d To the surprise of the newcomers, the men struck into a\nwaltz which they played with perfect rhythm. And before they had\nfinished, the young people were dancing.\nPicturesque was the scene when the moon rose, flooding the vale with its\nsilver, while the occasional howl of some beast of prey in the distance\nrecalled the merrymakers to their isolation in the wilderness.\nThe floor being hard for waltzing, most of the dances were the\nold-fashioned \u201ccountry dances,\u201d the men dancing together to fill out the\nsets, while the girls often changed partners several times during a\nfigure, that none might be slighted.\n\u201cEleven o\u2019clock! Dance over!\u201d announced Andy, and when they begged for a\nfew more sets, he reminded them that the morrow would be a long hard\nday.\nAgain the weather was pleasant, and the working of mortising the\nuprights, ridge-pole, and rafters proceeded rapidly.\nJust before dinner there sounded the clatter of hoofs, and two men rode\nup.\n\u201cBill Simmons!\u201d exclaimed Chester.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s going on here?\u201d demanded the land agent, for he it was.\n\u201cHouse-raising. Can\u2019t you see?\u201d retorted Andy, while the others gathered\nabout the two interlopers.\n\u201cWhose house?\u201d\n\u201cThe Porters\u2019.\u201d\n\u201cWell, you can save yourselves the trouble. Where\u2019s those Porter boys?\u201d\n\u201cHere,\u201d chorused the young homesteaders, stepping toward the agent.\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard from Washington,\u201d Simmons announced. \u201cAs I told you, at my\noffice, I thought would be the case, the government has refused your\nentry. Therefore you are trespassers on E 1, and if you are not off the\nsection in six hours, I shall proceed\u2014\u201d\nAngry protests interrupted the agent, while Andy demanded:\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the letter denying the entry?\u201d\n\u201cIsn\u2019t my word, the word of the land agent in Waterville, enough?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\u201cYou bet it isn\u2019t!\u201d exclaimed several voices.\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s all you\u2019ll get. I expected to meet opposition, so I came\nprepared. Deputy, I order you to arrest Phil and Ted Porter for\ntrespass, and Andy Howe for interfering with a United States officer in\nthe per\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBuncombe! There\u2019s no such law!\u201d declared Andy. \u201cI\u2019ll give you five\nminutes to get off E 1, Simmons, or\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWe will arrest _you_ for trespass,\u201d exclaimed a stern voice.\nTurning, the men and women who had been engrossed in the controversy\nbetween the station agent and the land officer, beheld two more men.\n\u201cSi Hopkins!\u201d cried several voices, while others added:\n\u201cYou come just in time, Si!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m glad,\u201d returned the wealthy wheat-man. \u201cWhen I learned, upon my\narrival in Waterville, where Simmons had gone, I hurried as fast as I\ncould.\u201d\n\u201cDeputy, arrest Silas Hopkins!\u201d roared the land agent.\nBut the man, realizing the millionaire\u2019s presence had some important\nmeaning, made no move.\n\u201cNow see here, Simmons, just keep quiet, or I\u2019ll have you arrested,\u201d\nadvised Mr. Hopkins; then turning to Andy, he asked: \u201cWhere is Mrs.\nPorter?\u201d\n\u201cI am Mrs. Porter,\u201d replied the little woman, stepping forward with a\nquiet dignity, though she knew not what was in store for her.\n\u201cI am delighted to meet you,\u201d smiled the wheat-man, shaking her hand,\n\u201cand I am more sorry than I can express that you should have been\nsubjected to such treatment. But the West is no different from other\nsections of the country, we have rascals here as well as elsewhere. I\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDeputy, will you\u2014\u201d began the land agent, purple with fury.\n\u201cNo, he won\u2019t, Simmons,\u201d snapped Mr. Hopkins. \u201cPardon me, Mrs. Porter,\nwhile I deal with this fellow and put an end to his interruptions.\nSimmons, you no longer have any power. Here is the order removing you\nfrom office,\u201d and he handed the astonished man a much be-sealed\ndocument, \u201cand here is your appointment as land agent for the district\nof Waterville, Andy,\u201d he smiled, extending another document to the\nstation agent.\nFor a moment there was silence, while the men and women drank in the\nmeaning of the words, then came a roar of shouts and exclamations of\napproval.\n\u201cW-why didn\u2019t this come by mail, in the usual way?\u201d demanded Simmons,\nduring a lull.\n\u201cBecause the Secretary of the Interior wished to be sure you received\nit. You know several documents sent by mail were never received by you,\nso you claim,\u201d answered Mr. Hopkins, significantly.\n\u201cI won\u2019t surrender my seal and papers to Howe,\u201d stormed the deposed\nagent.\n\u201cI am sorry further to abuse your hospitality, Mrs. Porter, but I must\norder the marshal to take charge of Simmons. When you change your mind,\nSimmons, the marshal will bring you to Waterville. Take him to Bradley,\nJohnson.\u201d\n\u201cI won\u2019t go! You have no warrant. You can\u2019t\u2014\u201d\n\u201cRead the warrant, Johnson,\u201d snapped the millionaire.\nProducing a paper, the marshal read the document, which contained\ncharges of misappropriating government funds, of conniving at frauds in\nconnection with homestead entries, and the wilful destruction of orders\nfrom the Secretary of the Interior.\n\u201cAnd some folks say there\u2019s no such thing as justice,\u201d exclaimed Jasper,\nin the silence which followed the marshal\u2019s reading.\n\u201cTake him away, Johnson,\u201d commanded Mr. Hopkins.\nAnd as the two moved off, Andy said:\n\u201cIt will be my pleasure, Mrs. Porter, as my first official act, to enter\nyour claim on E 1. Now that you are here, you can file the entry\nyourself, which will save any necessity of special permission because\nPhil and Ted are not of age.\u201d\n\u201cIf we don\u2019t start to work again, the cabin won\u2019t be finished today,\u201d\ndeclared Chester, after the men, dividing into groups, had discussed the\ndownfall of the land agent for some time.\n\u201cRight you are,\u201d agreed Andy. \u201cCome on, fellows!\u201d But though the men\nreturned to their several tasks, they continued to talk about the recent\nevents they had witnessed.\nSurrounded by the Porters, Mr. Hopkins led the way to the bough house.\n\u201cI hope the strenuous reception hasn\u2019t upset you, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said,\nturning to the frail little mother. \u201cMy wife has been very much worried\nabout you. You seem to be looking pretty well, though.\u201d\n\u201cAnd I am,\u201d smiled Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cAll the excitement has really done Momsy good,\u201d declared Margie. \u201cThere\nhas been so much going on that she hasn\u2019t had time to get lonesome for\nher friends back in Weston.\u201d\n\u201cAs if I could ever be lonesome when I am with my children,\u201d protested\nthe mother.\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I told Mirandy. You certainly have a family of which to be\nproud. I like what Andy has told me about the way the boys and the young\nladies have taken hold.\u201d\n\u201cOh, we shall be all right provided our crops come out well,\u201d said Phil.\n\u201cI wish, though, that we could have planted ten days ago.\u201d\n\u201cIt would have been better, of course, in view of the fact that you are\nnot experienced farmers. Nevertheless, by following the most approved\nand scientific methods, you will be able to force your crops. By that, I\nmean frequent irrigation and cultivation. You have one advantage over\nyour neighbours who have migrated from farms in other regions. They are\nunwilling, or seem so, to realize that the soil out here, being drier\nthan that to which they have been accustomed, requires a different\ntreatment. On the other hand, you, having no experience and no\nprejudices, ought to be wise enough to realize that the government\nexperts seek only to aid our homesteaders and to follow the\nrecommendations for planting and cultivation they make, as a result of\nthe most exhaustive experiments. Nine out of ten of the settlers,\nhowever, can see in their work only what they term \u2018new-fangled\ntheories.\u2019 Bear in mind that you must rotate your crops. Follow corn\nwith potatoes, potatoes with beans, alfalfa with corn. By doing so, you\nwill conserve the phosphates and nitrates in the soil, whereas if you\nplant the same ground to the same crop season after season, you will\nsoon exhaust them.\u201d\n\u201cWhat should follow wheat?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cThat is difficult to say. I have heard some good farmers advocate\npotatoes and others beans. _I_, however, believe it is best to let the\nland lie fallow for a season, being careful to keep the top crust\npulverized, and then to sow corn or alfalfa.\u201d\n\u201cAs you are the biggest wheat-grower west of the Rockies, I think we\nwill follow your plan,\u201d declared Phil.\nSmiling at this praise, Mr. Hopkins said:\n\u201cIf I were you, I should send samples of the soil from your different\nfields to the experiment station at Boscow, telling them what you have\nplanted on each and asking their advice as to the best crop to sow next\nyear.\u201d\n\u201cWe will surely do that,\u201d assented the boys, while Ted added: \u201cWe will\ndo it in a few days. It will be interesting to learn the opinion of the\nexperts as to the seed we have already planted in the various soils.\u201d\nAs the young homesteaders spoke, Mr. Hopkins smiled delightedly, turning\nto Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cThere you see, ma\u2019am, the advantage it gives men to be able to\nunderstand the benefits of scientific farming. Your boys have the\nability to realize the value of expert study of soils. If they take the\nadvice of the men at the experiment station, they will soon have a farm\nthat will not only support you comfortably but will make money for you.\u201d\n\u201cI say, aren\u2019t you people coming out to see the raising?\u201d asked Andy,\nputting his head inside the door. \u201cWe are all ready, and the fellows\nwill be disappointed if you don\u2019t.\u201d\nQuickly the Porters and the rich wheat-grower arose, and followed the\nnew land agent.\nWhen they reached the floor, they beheld the men divided into groups,\neach about logs that were to serve as uprights, ridge-pole, and\ncrossbeams and rafters.\n\u201cReady?\u201d asked Andy, rejoining them.\n\u201cReady,\u201d answered the different groups.\n\u201cThen up with your timbers.\u201d\nWith an ease which seemed remarkable considering the size and length of\nthe logs they handled, some of the men raised the uprights and dropped\nthem into their mortises; this done, others swarmed up them and fitted\nthe crossbeams that were lifted to them into place, after which still\nothers carried the ridge-pole aloft, and when it had been set, the\nremaining groups quickly fitted the rafters. And as the last one slipped\ninto place, men and women cheered.\n\u201cMany hands certainly do make light work,\u201d said Mr. Hopkins, as the\nEasterners voiced their amazement at the ease and rapidity with which\nthe frame had been erected.\nThe work of fitting the roof and side logs was speedily accomplished,\nand after dinner, while the men chatted and rested, the women did their\npart in arranging the inside.\n\u201cOh, we must have another dance,\u201d declared Margie, when the\nhouse-raisers were preparing to go to their several homes. The\nsuggestion met with instant approval, and though some of those with\nfamilies left before dark, it was late in the evening before the last of\nthe helpers departed.\nThe next day Jasper announced his intention of returning to his farm,\nbut the Porters would not hear of it.\n\u201cYou and Joy can live in the bough house, and we can go over to your\nfarm from here,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cBesides, your grass was all burned and your cattle would have poor\ngrazing, while they can have a fine range on our west side,\u201d added Ted.\nIt was Joy, however, who finally decided the question by declaring she\nwould feel lonesome at leaving the only young friends she had ever had,\nand her father humoured her.\nFor several days the boys assisted the aged farmer in clearing up the\nruins of his home, and then busied themselves building shelters for\ntheir livestock.\nEach day the girls inspected the fields, and one afternoon, as the boys\nreturned from a trip to Bradley for provisions, Margie greeted them with\nthe cry:\n\u201cThe crops are up! The crops are up! Every field is covered!\u201d\nSo excited were Phil and Ted at the announcement that they could hardly\nwait to unharness the blacks and feed them before they ran to see the\ngreen shoots for themselves.\n\u201cLet\u2019s take samples of each field this very day,\u201d enthused Ted, and\npressing their sisters and Joy into service, they took clouts of soil\nfrom the different sections, using aprons, dress-skirts, and\nhandkerchiefs to carry them.\nIn the evening they wrapped each sample in paper, writing the name of\nthe seed sown carefully on the outside.\n\u201cI\u2019ll take them over to Chikau tomorrow,\u201d declared the younger boy.\n\u201cIt\u2019s my day to give Jennie a lesson.\u201d\n\u201cIf it weren\u2019t for Peleg, I should like to have the poor little thing\nwith us,\u201d said Sallie. \u201cI\u2019ll never forget how she fondled and looked at\nmy clothes when I unpacked them.\u201d\n\u201cWell, why can\u2019t she come?\u201d\n\u201cPeleg would have to work if she did,\u201d returned Margie.\n\u201cWhich would be jolly good for him. Can I ask her, Momsy? I will arrange\nwith Steve to make Peleg stay at home.\u201d\nReadily Mrs. Porter gave her consent, for her kindly heart had gone out\nto the poor little cripple, so lonely and forlorn. Indeed, she had even\nthought of suggesting that Jennie be asked to visit them, yet had\nhesitated in fear that her daughters might not share her views.\nAccordingly Ted stopped at the lumber-camp the next day, and,\naccompanied by Steve, rode to the store and extended his mother\u2019s\ninvitation.\nBut had it not been for the foreman, Peleg would have refused to part\nwith his daughter. As it was, he upbraided her as graceless for leaving\nhim when he was so helpless with rheumatism, and carried on to such an\nextent that it required the threat of the loss of the position as\nstorekeeper before he finally consented.\nTo Jennie the prospect of visiting the Porters seemed like a trip to\nfairyland, and they all enjoyed her delight at being with them.\nClosely Phil and Ted watched their fields, noting each day\u2019s growth.\n\u201cI think we ought to irrigate again,\u201d said the latter, one morning.\n\u201cI don\u2019t. The stuff is growing well,\u201d returned his brother.\n\u201cHas been growing well, you mean,\u201d corrected Ted. \u201cFor the last two days\nthe plants have been at a standstill. Mr. Hopkins said we could force\nthe crops, and irrigating is what will do it.\u201d\n\u201cIrrigating and cultivation,\u201d added Margie, for the girls had\naccompanied their brothers.\n\u201cBut we can\u2019t cultivate wheat and alfalfa while they are growing,\u201d\nanswered Phil.\n\u201cOh, yes, you can,\u201d announced Joy. \u201cIt is ticklish work and slow, but\nthe growth is so short that by using hay-rakes you can break up the\ncrust without injuring the plants.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s ask Mr. Jasper,\u201d suggested Sallie. \u201cWe will not,\u201d said Ted,\nemphatically. \u201cWe can never succeed if we always depend on some one\nelse. It\u2019s for us to decide. What do you say, Phil?\u201d\n\u201cThat Joy knows more about farming than we do, so if she\u2014\u201d\n\u201cAll right,\u201d interrupted his brother, with a grin. \u201cGet into your\noveralls, ladies. It will be some job to rake all these fields, mark my\nwords.\u201d The eagerness to make their crops grow rapidly, however, caused\nthe young people to make light of the work, and for the next three days\nthey were at it early and late, breaking the surface crust. When this\nhad been done, they irrigated the broken sections, and the result amazed\nthem. The plants seemed to jump upward.\n\u201cIf we irrigate once a week, we\u2019ll beat out our neighbours, after all,\u201d\nsaid Phil, enthusiastically.\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll do it,\u201d declared his brother. \u201cI\u2019ve heard a lot of people\nsay we wouldn\u2019t have any crops to harvest, and I\u2019ll work twenty-four\nhours a day to show them we can do more by scientific methods, as Mr.\nHopkins said, than they can in their way.\u201d\n                         A FORTUNATE DISCOVERY\nThe ease with which Margie and Sallie adapted themselves to the hard and\noften rough tasks of homestead life surprised their neighbours who had\nbeheld their stylish clothes and hands that very evidently were\nunaccustomed to labour, with many a shaking of the head. And when they\nfound that the girls were really natural and unaffected, the sturdy\nsettlers took them to their hearts.\nRare was the day that some of the neighbours were not calling upon or\nreceiving visits from Mrs. Porter and her daughters, for the boys had\ninsisted upon their learning to ride the ponies that Mr. Hopkins had\nloaned.\nIn spare moments the young people practised with their firearms until\nthey all became good shots, even the little mother overcoming her\naversion enough to learn to fire both a rifle and a revolver with fair\nmarksmanship.\nAs the season advanced, the young homesteaders irrigated their fields\nevery week, with the result that their crops grew splendidly. But as\nPhil and Ted watched them mature with pride, their neighbours watched\nthem with jealousy.\nOf this feeling, Chester was the first to learn, and when he did, he\nlost no time in seeking out Andy.\n\u201cSimmons is at the bottom of this,\u201d declared the new land agent, when\nthe fire lookout had imparted the unpleasant information.\n\u201cIt certainly sounds like his work, but he has appealed to the settlers\u2019\npockets, and that means trouble,\u201d returned Chester. \u201cAren\u2019t the boys\u2019\ncrops far enough along so that they can give up irrigating them without\ninjury?\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps\u2014I haven\u2019t been over for a couple of days. But it makes my blood\nboil to think that these other homesteaders, who have had plenty of\nopportunity in years past to build irrigating plants and never did so,\nshould start trouble now that Phil and Ted are taking advantage of the\nwater supply.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it, Andy. So long as none of the others irrigated, no one\nthought about it. But now that two boys, without experience, take up a\nclaim and, by irrigating, produce crops far and away ahead of any in the\nregion, the others realize their mistake. It isn\u2019t fair, but it\u2019s true.\nYou, as land agent, are the only person who can handle the situation,\n_and you\u2019ve got to hurry_!\u201d As though to emphasize the fire lookout\u2019s\nwords, two horsemen drew rein in front of the Land Office, dismounted,\nand entered.\nFrom their faces Andy and Chester realized they were in no pleasant\nmood.\n\u201c\u2019Lo, Hall. \u2019Lo, Perkins,\u201d greeted the land agent, affably. \u201cHaven\u2019t\nseen you for a long time. Sit down and have a cigar. Oh, you needn\u2019t be\nafraid of them,\u201d he added, as neither man took one from the proffered\nbox; \u201cthey are some Si Hopkins sent me.\u201d\n\u201cWe ain\u2019t come to chin, we come on business,\u201d grunted Hall, still\nrefusing to accept a cigar.\nWith a snap Andy closed the cigar box, and replaced it in a drawer of\nhis desk, while the newcomers glowered in silence.\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you get to it?\u201d he demanded, when several moments had passed\nwithout anything being said.\nQuickly Hall and Perkins exchanged glances, then the latter snapped:\n\u201cWe want our rights!\u201d\n\u201cBut I haven\u2019t got them,\u201d blandly replied Andy.\n\u201cNow don\u2019t get funny,\u201d growled Hall. \u201cYou know what we mean.\u201d\n\u201cUnfortunately, I don\u2019t,\u201d returned the land agent, quietly.\nIrritated by Andy\u2019s calmness, Hall fairly screamed:\n\u201cThem kids has been stealing Perkins\u2019 and my water. They got to stop\nirrigating, and they got to pay us for ruining our crops by stealing our\nwater. They\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSimmons made a mistake there\u2014\u201d began Andy, only to be interrupted by\nPerkins.\n\u201cSimmons? Simmons? Who said anything about him? _We\u2019re_ talking about\n_our_ water rights.\u201d\n\u201cWhich you would never have thought of if Simmons had not put the idea\ninto your heads. But, as I said, he has made a mistake. The Porter boys\nare entitled to a certain amount of water, and I know they have not used\nmore than their share because I helped them build their irrigating\nplant, and I made the sluice of such size that if they irrigated twice a\nweek they would not quite use up their lawful allowance. As it is, they\nhave irrigated only once a week, so, you see, your water rights have not\nbeen infringed.\u201d\n\u201cBut they dammed the stream\u2014they ain\u2019t no right to do that,\u201d stammered\nPerkins, much of his bravado gone.\n\u201cOh, yes, they have, provided, of course, they do not check the natural\nflow of the brook except on the days when they are entitled to the water\nfor irrigation purposes.\u201d\n\u201cCome on, Jerry. I told you in the first place, Andy was in with \u2019em,\u201d\nexclaimed Hall.\nReluctantly his companion obeyed, but as they reached the door, Perkins\nturned.\n\u201cThis ain\u2019t the last of the matter, not by a long shot. We want our\nwater\u2014and _we\u2019re going to get it_.\u201d\nIn silence the friends of the young homesteaders watched the two angry\nsettlers mount and ride away.\n\u201cLooks like trouble for the Porters,\u201d commented Chester. \u201cWish the women\nfolks hadn\u2019t come out so soon. What you going to do?\u201d\n\u201cRide over to E 1, and then \u2018feel out\u2019 the other settlers. It is evident\nSimmons has a hand in the business. If I can only get proof of that fact\nfrom some of the neighbours, I will soon put an end to this \u2018water\nrights\u2019 talk.\u201d\nThe Porters were at supper when the land agent and the fire lookout\narrived and, quietly putting up their horses, they entered the house.\n\u201cHello, folks. Want some mail?\u201d he asked, and in response to the eager\nhails, he handed several letters to Mrs. Porter.\n\u201cHere\u2019s a letter for you, Phil, from Boscow: the rest are for the\ngirls.\u201d\n\u201cWonder what is going on in Weston,\u201d said Ted, but Sallie and Margie\nrefused to open their letters until Phil read the report from the\nexperiment station. It began:\n  We have read your letter and examined the specimens of soil with\n  interest. If one of our experts had inspected your section and\n  advised you as to what crops to plant, he could not have made a\n  better selection.\n  If you do not make the mistake of being afraid to irrigate, we see\n  no reason why you should not reap handsome crops. Be careful not\n  to let a crust form while the plants are small. Never irrigate\n  until you have broken the crust.\n  We should be glad if you would inform us of your yield per acre of\n  wheat, corn, alfalfa, and potatoes.\n  When we have these data, we will advise you as to the best crops\n  for rotation.\n  One of our farmers will call upon you before very long. If you\n  ever have the opportunity, we should be pleased to have you visit\n  our experiment station at Boscow.\n  Please do not hesitate to consult us upon any problems that\n  trouble you\u2014that is what we are for, to aid farmers to increase\n  their yields and to advise them in their difficulties.\n  With best wishes for your success,\n                      (Signed) Andrew Harris,\n                      Supt. Government Experiment Station at Boscow.\n\u201cThat letter lowers my opinion of the government\u2019s experts,\u201d scoffed\nSallie. \u201cThey can\u2019t tell luck in happening to put the right seed in the\nright kind of soil from real knowledge of conditions. I wonder they\ndon\u2019t ask you to accept positions as expert farmers on their stations.\u201d\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t all luck that Phil and Ted planted as and where they did,\u201d\nreturned Andy, surprised at the girl\u2019s sarcasm. \u201cMr. Hopkins gave them a\nlot of points on the way out here\u2014and they remembered them.\u201d\n\u201cTo say nothing of all you told and showed us,\u201d added Phil.\n\u201cThe more you know Sallie, the less attention you will pay to her\nopinions,\u201d declared Ted. \u201cBet there\u2019s something in one of her letters\nthat has made her mad, and she\u2019s taking it out on us. \u2019Fess up, now,\nSallie, isn\u2019t it so?\u201d\n\u201cIt is. Nell and Tom say they are coming out to visit us.\u201d\nAt the announcement the younger boy danced about in impish glee.\n\u201cI knew it. I knew it was something like that!\u201d he chuckled.\n\u201cWrite and say we can\u2019t have them. Say we\u2019re sick or starving\u2014anything\nthat will make them stay at home,\u201d snapped Phil.\nTo Andy, Joy, and Jennie this outburst was incomprehensible, for it\nseemed to them that a visit from their friends in the East would be most\nwelcome, and in her ingenuousness Jennie asked:\n\u201cAren\u2019t they nice people that you don\u2019t want them?\u201d\n\u201cThey are nice, Jennie, very nice,\u201d laughed Ted, who enjoyed the\nsituation thoroughly. \u201cThat\u2019s not the trouble. But I\u2019ll tell\u2014\u201d\n\u201cKeep quiet,\u201d growled Phil.\n\u201cNot much, I won\u2019t. The trouble is, until they came out here, Phil\nthought Nell was the nicest girl in the world, and Sallie thought\u2014\u201d\n\u201cMomsy, won\u2019t you make that imp hold his tongue?\u201d demanded the girl.\nBut Ted, satisfied with the mischief he had wrought, as evidenced by the\nflushed faces of Joy and Andy, took to his heels, shouting back: \u201cShall\nI go over to Chikau to telegraph Tom and Nell to come at once?\u201d\nAwkward, indeed, was the situation, and Mrs. Porter was wondering how\nshe could best relieve it, when Margie cried:\n\u201cYou needn\u2019t worry about Tom and Nell. Beth says they are all going up\nto a camp in the Adirondacks and that they will postpone their visit to\nus until next year.\u201d\n\u201cThank goodness,\u201d exclaimed Phil.\nThe embarrassment relieved by Margie\u2019s information, Andy said:\n\u201cI have received word that your application for entry has been accepted,\nMrs. Porter. Here is the paper which secures your claim. In due time the\nhomestead will be granted to you.\n\u201cI have also seen Mr. Jackson. Petersen has made a full confession,\nwhich implicates Simmons in the effort to drive your sons from E 1. He\nalso has returned the money he stole from the camp, and here it is.\u201d\nGratefully the mother accepted it.\n\u201cBut why did he confess to so much?\u201d asked Margie. \u201cWon\u2019t it make his\nsentence more severe?\u201d\n\u201cThat remains to be seen. We have long suspected he was but a tool in\nSimmons\u2019 schemes. Undoubtedly he reasoned that, by making a clean breast\nof it, he would prove a valuable witness against Simmons and thus\nperhaps escape punishment. In the morning I want to look over your\ncrops. Chester tells me that they are ahead of any others about here.\nThe settlers are all talking about them, and declaring that you are\ncutting off their water supply by so much irrigating. I may as well tell\nyou that two complaints have been filed. While I believe they are\nprompted by jealousy, I desire to look over the ground myself. By\nlearning conditions, I shall be able to prevent any serious trouble.\u201d\nAt Andy\u2019s words consternation seized the family, and the boys related in\ndetail their method of breaking the crust and then irrigating once a\nweek.\n\u201cWho is making the complaints, Andy?\u201d asked Joy.\n\u201cOh, let\u2019s forget about them\u2014they don\u2019t amount to anything.\u201d\n\u201cI was only wondering if it were Jerry Perkins and Lafe Hall.\u201d\n\u201cWhat makes you mention them?\u201d\n\u201cBecause I saw them riding to Bradley with Simmons yesterday.\u201d\nGlad were the land agent and fire lookout that it was twilight, and that\nthe expressions on their faces at this information could not be seen.\n\u201cMuch obliged for telling me, Joy,\u201d returned Andy, quietly. \u201cAnd now\nlet\u2019s think of something else. By the way, I\u2019ve some good news that I\nalmost forgot. Si wrote that he might be over this way any day now.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I hope he comes before we begin to harvest. I want him to see our\nalfalfa standing,\u201d exclaimed Ted.\nThe mention of the harvest brought up the question of method, and Mr.\nJay offered the boys the use of his mowing-machine and reaper in return\nfor their assistance in garnering his crops.\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you rent E 2 to Phil and Ted, Jasper?\u201d inquired Chester.\n\u201cMebbe I will\u2014if they ask me to. They\u2019d make a mighty purty farm, E 1\nand 2 would.\u201d\nThis suggestion roused a train of possibilities that the young people\ndiscussed until Mrs. Porter declared they would never get up in the\nmorning unless they retired at once. And with brains awhirl with big\nthoughts, they exchanged \u201cgood-nights.\u201d\nTo Ted it seemed that he had only just closed his eyes when his shoulder\nwas shaken and Margie\u2019s voice sounded in his ear.\n\u201cI saw two men at the head gate of our ditch,\u201d she breathed.\n\u201cYou\u2019re dreaming,\u201d retorted her brother. \u201cHow could you see them when\nyou were in bed?\u201d\n\u201cBut I wasn\u2019t. I got up for a drink of water. Something made me look out\nthe window\u2014and I saw them. I know I did. Shall we wake the others?\u201d\n\u201cAnd have them laugh at us? Not much. We\u2019ll sneak up there ourselves.\nI\u2019ll make you go as punishment for setting me on such a chase at this\ntime of night. But mind, not a word to any one. _I_ don\u2019t want to be\nguyed, even if you do. Go dress and wait for me.\u201d\nStealthily the boy got into his clothes, then took his pistol and his\nrifle, and joined his sister, who also carried rifle.\n\u201cBetter leave that here. You\u2019ll have an attack of nerves and fire it and\nwake everybody.\u201d\nMargie, however, refused to relinquish the weapon, and together they\nstole from the house.\nThe silence of the night, together with that indescribable effect bright\nmoonlight produces upon trees and land, enhancing shadows and making\nstartling forms and figures out of every bush and rock, awed the brother\nand sister.\nUnconsciously they drew closer together, holding their rifles at the\n\u201cready,\u201d the while they peered intently toward the head gate.\n\u201cDo you see that thing, there to the left of the gate? It\u2019s moving,\u201d\ngasped Margie, her teeth chattering so she could scarcely enunciate.\nThough his heart seemed in his mouth, Ted stopped, raised his rifle to\nhis shoulder, and sighted along the barrel. But even as he did so, he\nbeheld a spurt of flame, then heard a report\u2014and a bullet \u201cpinged\u201d over\ntheir heads.\nInstantly Ted fired his rifle, then whispered hoarsely: \u201cDrop to the\nground. Crawl back to the house and get the boys. I\u2019ll crawl to the head\ngate.\u201d\nThe two reports, rending the stillness, waked Andy and Chester. With a\nbound they were out of bed, dressed hurriedly, seized weapons, and ran\nout.\n\u201cSome one at the dam,\u201d called Ted. \u201cCome on.\u201d\n\u201cStay where you are. We\u2019ll pour in a few volleys,\u201d exclaimed Andy.\nBy this time the women had been aroused.\n\u201cDon\u2019t come out,\u201d ordered Chester. But, arming themselves, they\ninsisted, and were made to lie down and shoot in the volleys with the\nothers.\nThree times responses came from the dam, then there were no more.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve taken to the woods. Let\u2019s follow,\u201d cried Ted.\n\u201cWhich is just what they want,\u201d returned Andy. \u201cWe\u2019ll at least wait\nuntil daylight.\u201d\nNever did time seem to go so slowly as to the anxious watchers, for none\nof them could be persuaded to return to bed. But at last dawn broke, and\nthey cautiously advanced upon the dam.\nThree axes, as many crowbars, and some dynamite lay about on the right\nside of the gate. But no harm had been done to it.\n\u201cYou got that drink of water just in the nick of time, Margie,\u201d\nexclaimed Chester. \u201cIf it hadn\u2019t been for you, E 1 would be minus an\nirrigation plant this morning.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s trail them right now. Here\u2019s a bully track!\u201d cried Phil.\nAndy, however, insisted that they have breakfast first.\n\u201cBut the fiends may get away with so long a start,\u201d protested Sallie.\n\u201cIt is hardly necessary to try to track them,\u201d returned the land agent.\n\u201cI\u2019ve an idea who the three are.\u201d\nWhen breakfast had been eaten, however, the young homesteaders insisted\nupon taking the trail.\nIn vain Andy and Chester sought to dissuade them, then, finding they\ncould not, left Jasper to guard the womenfolk, and all four rode forth.\nGoing to the head gate, they picked up the trail and followed it toward\nE 2 for a mile. At the highway the miscreants separated, and their\npursuers did likewise, Andy and Chester taking two of the tracks and the\nyoung homesteaders the other.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll ride till ten o\u2019clock,\u201d said the land agent. \u201cIf we don\u2019t find\nour men by then, we\u2019ll go back to the cabin. If we see them, the one so\ndoing will fire three times in rapid succession.\u201d\nBut no sight of their quarry did any get, and at ten the boys turned\nhomeward.\nTheir course had taken them beneath a cliff on the Jay farm. As they\nrepassed it, Phil drew rein.\n\u201cLook at that dark streak in the rock, Ted. It looks like blood,\u201d he\nexclaimed.\nDismounting, both boys scrambled a few feet up the face of the cliff to\nthe streak.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t blood, but it\u2019s queer,\u201d said Ted. \u201cHere\u2019s a chunk I can get.\nIt will make a good paper-weight.\u201d And after much prying and rapping\nwith his hunting-knife, he succeeded in obtaining a piece of the\ncurious-looking quartz as large as a hen\u2019s egg. \u201cMy, but it\u2019s heavy,\u201d he\nannounced, as he put it in his pocket and then promptly forgot it.\nAt the cabin they found not only Andy and Chester and their family\nanxiously awaiting them, but Mr. Hopkins.\n\u201cThank goodness, you are back safe,\u201d exclaimed Mrs. Porter. \u201cI was so\nworried.\u201d\n\u201cIt was a bit risky for you two boys,\u201d commented the wealthy\nwheat-grower. \u201cThe miscreants would probably have been more glad to hurt\nyou than your dam.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t baby them, Mr. Hopkins,\u201d exclaimed Margie. \u201cI don\u2019t believe they\nsearched at all. Probably they hid until it was time to come back. _I_\nknow _I_ could have found something if\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIs that so, Miss Smarty? Well, we did find something; see?\u201d flared Ted.\nAnd he drew the chunk of quartz from his pocket, displaying it\nmockingly.\nAmused, the others gazed at the stone, then suddenly Andy exclaimed:\n\u201cLet me see it.\u201d\n\u201cLook out, it\u2019s heavy,\u201d laughed the boy, as he tossed it to the agent.\nAs he caught it, Andy hefted it, then examined it closely, scraping it\nwith his knife.\n\u201cWhere did you find it?\u201d he asked, in evident excitement.\nCatching his eagerness, the others closed in, asking, \u201cWhat is it? What\nis it?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s gold\u2014that is, it\u2019s quartz-bearing gold.\u201d\n\u201cGold. Oh my, and I thought it was blood,\u201d cried Phil, and quickly he\ntold of the manner of the discovery.\n\u201cPretty good work, I call it,\u201d said Mr. Hopkins. \u201cYou set out to find\nsome \u2018bad men\u2019 and ran onto a gold mine.\u201d\n\u201cBut it\u2019s on Joy\u2019s land,\u201d declared Phil.\n\u201cBut you found it,\u201d returned the girl.\n\u201cH\u2019m! Guess you\u2019d better arrange a partnership, Jasper,\u201d smiled the\nmillionaire. \u201cPhil found it and Joy owns it.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll leave that to the young people,\u201d chuckled the old settler. \u201cBut\nfirst let\u2019s all go see the vein.\u201d\nQuickly the blacks were harnessed into the big wagon, hay, rugs, and\npillows thrown in, and soon they were excitedly discussing the\nsurprising and delightful discovery, as they jolted along.\nIt was impossible to drive to the spot, but when they reached the cliff\nAndy, after a hurried examination, declared that it was a real vein of\ngold.\n\u201cI knew there was gold in this country, but I didn\u2019t know where to look\nfor it,\u201d commented the millionaire. And on their return he related\nnumerous experiences he and his agents had had prospecting.\nArrived at the cabin, they found Petersen, who lost no time in declaring\nthat Hall, Perkins, and Simmons were the ones who had tried to blow up\nthe dam.\n\u201cSure you weren\u2019t there too?\u201d demanded Mr. Hopkins.\n\u201cYes, sir. I\u2019m good now. I prove by catching Hall, Perkins, and Simmons,\nyes?\u201d\n\u201cYou certainly will, if you deliver them to the sheriff at Bradley,\u201d\ndeclared Andy.\n\u201cGood. I do it.\u201d And he galloped away.\n\u201cWhen can we begin mining?\u201d asked Ted.\n\u201cAfter the harvest. The gold will keep, but your crops won\u2019t,\u201d smiled\nthe millionaire.\n\u201cBesides, we\u2019ll need the harvest money to buy tools to work the mine,\u201d\ninterposed the ever practical Sallie.\n\u201cAs to that, I shall be glad to finance the company,\u201d returned Mr.\nHopkins. \u201cJasper, now we\u2019ve learned there really is gold there, how\nabout that partnership?\u201d\n\u201cI said we\u2019d leave it to the young people, Si.\u201d Eagerly all eyes were\nturned upon Phil and Joy. Blushing furiously, the boy and girl looked at\none another, then Phil said:\n\u201cI think we can arrange it.\u201d\nTHE END\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hiking Westward, by Roger W. 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{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\nBOYS' BOOK\nOF\nMODEL BOATS\n[Illustration: \u00a9_Jack Sussman_\nA TWO-FOOT STEAMBOAT\nMaking her way across the park pond. Ten miles an hour is a common speed\nfor a boat of this type]\nBOYS' BOOK\nOF\nMODEL BOATS\nBY RAYMOND FRANCIS YATES\n          WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS\n          FROM DRAWINGS AND\n          PHOTOGRAPHS\n[Illustration]\n          THE CENTURY CO.\n          THE CENTURY CO.\n          PRINTED IN U. S. A.\n          LAVERNE YATES\n          A BUILDER OF MODEL BOATS\nPREFACE\nEVERY boy likes to build boats. The interest in boats seems to be born\nin the race. The little three-year-old chap is instinctively attracted\nby a puddle of water in which to sail his \"boat,\" which may take the\nform of a piece of shingle or common board. Few men have passed through\ntheir boyhood days without having built boats at some time.\nThe author was an ardent boat-builder, and he well remembers how he\ncombed the Children's Department of the local library in search of a\nbook that would tell him something about boats, and especially for\ninformation regarding the construction of models. He found books on\nmodel airplanes, toys, electricity, radio, and chemistry, but alas!\nnothing about model boats. He vowed then that when he became a man he\nwould write a book on model boats--a book that would contain all the\ntreasured information he had accumulated during his boat-building\nyears.\nThis book is the result of that vow, and the author earnestly hopes that\nit will gladden the heart of every boy who builds and sails a boat.\nThere are probably few happier moments in a boy's life than when he sees\nhis little model steamer proudly make her way across the park pond, or\nhis little sail-boat respond to the summer breeze.\nThe author takes this opportunity to thank his wife, who acted as his\namanuensis in the preparation of this manuscript.\nCONTENTS\n   III HOW TO MAKE SIMPLE BOATS, WITH AND WITHOUT POWER DRIVE  26\n    IV STEAM AND ELECTRIC PROPULSION                           42\n   VII AN ELECTRICALLY DRIVEN LAKE FREIGHTER                   91\n  VIII AN ELECTRIC SUBMARINE-CHASER                            98\n     X THE DESIGN OF MODEL STEAM-ENGINES                      126\n   XII OPERATION OF FLASH STEAM POWER PLANTS FOR MODEL BOATS  149\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n  A two-foot steam boat                            _Frontispiece_\n  A powerful gasolene blow-torch                              112\n  A twin-cylinder steam engine for model marine use           168\nBOYS' BOOK OF MODEL BOATS\nBOYS' BOOK OF MODEL BOATS\nCHAPTER I\nWHY A BOAT FLOATS\nBEFORE taking up the construction of any of the model power boats\ndescribed in this book, it will be well for the young boat-builder to\nbecome acquainted with such terms as buoyancy, displacement, center of\ngravity, etc. Knowledge of these subjects is more or less necessary if\nsuccessful boats are to be made. Aside from this, they are terms that\nevery boy who claims an interest in boats should understand.\n\"How does a steel boat float?\" is a question that many boys ask. The\nreason they usually designate a steel boat is probably because steel is\nso much heavier than water. But many things heavier than water can be\nmade to float if they are in the form of a boat. Concrete, for instance,\nis now being used in ship construction, and this substance, when\nreinforced with steel rods, is very much heavier than water.\nBefore learning how a boat floats, what is known as \"specific gravity\"\nmust be thoroughly understood. Gravity is a force that is continuously\n\"pulling\" everything toward the center of the earth. It is gravity that\ngives a body \"weight.\" Some substances are heavier than others; or, to\nbe more correct, it is said that the specific gravity of one substance\nis greater than that of another. It will be well to keep in mind that\nspecific gravity merely refers to weight. It is simply a scientific\nterm. The specific gravity of a substance is always expressed by a\nfigure that tells how much heavier any substance is than water, because\nwater has been chosen as a standard.\nThe specific gravity of water is 1. The specific gravity of gold is\n19.26, meaning that it is about 19-1/4 times heavier than water. The\nspecific gravity of a piece of oak is 0.86, which shows that it is not\nquite so heavy as water. One cubic foot of water weighs 62.42 pounds.\nIt will be understood that a cubic foot of gold would weight 19.26 x\n62.42, because it is 19.26 times heavier than water. A cubic foot of\noak, however, would weigh only 54 pounds, because it has been found that\nit has a specific gravity of only 0.86 which is less than water.\n[Illustration: FIG. 1]\nA cubic foot of oak (see Fig. 1), with a weight of 54 pounds, will float\nwhen placed in water. The cubic foot of brass (_B_), however, will not\nfloat, because it weights 8.1 times as much as water. For the present,\nthen, it can be said that a substance lighter than water will float in\nwater, but that substances heavier than water, such as iron, lead, gold,\nsilver, etc., will not float. If the cubic foot of oak (_A_) were\nplaced in water, it would sink to the depth shown at _C_. When the block\nsinks into the water, a certain amount of water will be forced away or\n\"displaced\"; that is, the block in sinking occupies a space that was\npreviously occupied or filled with water. The oak block sinks to within\na short distance of the top because the oak is really just a trifle\nlighter than water. If a pine block were placed in the water it would\nsink only to the distance shown at _D_, since the weight of pine is less\nthan oak, or only 34.6 pounds per cubic foot. A pine block will, then,\ndisplace only about 34.6 pounds of water, which leaves nearly half of\nthe block out of the water. Thus, it will be seen that for a given\nvolume (size) a cubic foot of wood will sink to a depth corresponding to\nits weight. Different kinds of wood have different weights.\nIf a cubic foot of brass is placed in water, it will sink rapidly to the\nbottom, because the brass is much heavier than water. How is it, then,\nthat an iron or concrete ship will float? If the cubic foot of brass is\nrolled or flattened out in a sheet, and formed or pressed into the\nshape of a boat hull, as shown in Fig. 2, it will float when placed upon\nthe surface of the water. Why is it that brass is caused to float in\nthis way, when it sank so rapidly in the form of a solid square?\n[Illustration: FIG.2]\nIt will be remembered that the pine and oak block were caused to float\nbecause they displaced a greater weight of water than their own weight.\nThis is just what causes the brass boat-hull to float. If the amount of\nwater actually displaced by the hull could be weighed, it would be found\nthat the weight of the water would be greater than the weight of the\nhull. It will be understood that the space occupied by the brass\nboat-hull is far greater than the space occupied by the block of brass\nbefore it was rolled out and formed into a hull. What is true of brass\nholds true of iron, steel, etc. A block of steel will not float, because\nthe water it displaces does not weigh nearly as much as the block. If\nthis block, however, were rolled out into a sheet and the sheet formed\ninto a hollow hull, the hull would float, because it would displace a\nvolume of water that would more than total the weight of the steel in\nthe hull.\nIn the case of the brass boat-hull, it would be found that a greater\nportion of the hull would remain out of the water. The hull, then, could\nbe loaded until the top of it came within a safe distance from the\nwater. As the load is increased, the hull sinks deeper and deeper. The\ncapacity of big boats is reckoned in tons. If a boat had a carrying\ncapacity of ten tons it would sink to what is called its \"load\nwater-line\" (L.W.L.) when carrying ten tons. As a load or cargo is\nremoved from a vessel it rises out of the water.\nWhat if the hull of a boat has a hole in it? If the hole is below the\nwater-line, water will leak in and in time completely fill the inside of\nthe hull, causing the boat to sink. Also, if too great a load or cargo\nwere placed in a boat, it would sink. It must be understood that water\nleaking into a boat increases its load, and if it is not stopped it will\ncause the boat to sink.\nThe center of gravity of a boat is a very important matter. First,\nattention will be directed to the meaning of \"center of gravity.\" If a\none-foot ruler is made to balance (as shown in Fig. 3) at the six-inch\nmark, the point at which it balances will be very close to the center of\ngravity. The real center, however, will be in the middle of the wood of\nwhich the rule is composed. It should constantly be kept in mind that\nthis \"center of gravity\" is a purely imaginary point.\nLook at Fig. 4. If wires are arranged in a wooden frame, as shown, the\npoint where the wires cross will be the center of gravity if the square\nformed by the wooden strips is solid. Every body, no matter what its\nshape, has a center of gravity. The center of gravity is really an\nimaginary point in a body, at the center of its mass. Oftentimes\nengineers are heard saying that the center of gravity of a certain\nobject is too high or too low. Fig. 5 shows the center of gravity in a\nboat. If the center of gravity in a boat is too high (as illustrated in\nFig. 6) the boat is said to be topheavy and unsafe. When a boat is\ntopheavy or its center of gravity is too high, the boat is liable to\ncapsize. In fact, some very serious marine accidents have been caused by\nthis fault.\n[Illustration: FIG. 4]\n[Illustration: FIG. 5]\n[Illustration: FIG. 3]\n[Illustration: FIG. 6]\nThe center of gravity (or center of weight) in a boat should be as low\nas possible. A boat with a low center of gravity will be very stable in\nthe water and difficult to capsize. This is true of model boats just as\nmuch as it is true of large boats. The model boat builder must keep the\nweight of his boat as near the bottom as possible. For instance, if a\nheavy cabin were built on a frail little hull, the boat would be very\nunstable and would probably capsize easily.\nCHAPTER II\nTHE HULL\nMODEL boat-hulls are generally made by one of two methods. One method is\nthat of cutting the hull from a solid piece of wood. The other method is\ncommonly known as the \"bread-and-butter\" system. The hull is built up of\nplanks laid on top one of another with marine glue spread between them.\nThe last-mentioned method (which shall hereafter be called the built-up\nmethod) possesses many advantages over the first.\nCutting a model boat-hull from a solid piece of wood is by no means a\nsimple or easy task, especially for beginners. Of course, after several\nhulls have been produced in this fashion, the worker becomes practised\nin cutting them out.\n[Illustration: FIG. 7]\n[Illustration: FIG. 8]\nThe construction of hulls on the built-up principle will be described\nfirst. For the sake of convenience, the drawings of the boat-hull shown\nin Figs. 7 and 8 will be followed out. Before going further it will be\nwell to understand drawings of boat-hulls; that is, how to know the\nlines of a boat from a drawing. By the \"lines\" is meant its shape.\nMarine architects employ a regular method in drawing boat-hulls. Fig. 7\nshows the side of a boat and half of the deck plan. It will be seen\nthat this drawing does not tell much about the real shape of the boat,\nand if a hull were to be produced according to the shape given, the\nbuilder would have to use his own judgment as to the outline of the hull\nat different places. For convenience, the boat is divided into ten\nsections, represented by the lines 0 to 10. It will be seen that the\nshape of the hull at section 2 will be different from the shape of the\nhull at section 8. Again, section 0 will be much narrower than section\n[Illustration: FIG. 9]\nNow look at Fig. 8. Note the shape of the cross-section of the hull at\nthe different sections. For instance, the line at section 1 in Fig. 8\nrepresents the shape of the hull at section 1 in Fig. 7. It must be\nremembered, however, that this is only half of the section, and that the\nline 1 in Fig. 8 would have to be duplicated by another line to show the\ntrue shape. The cross-section of the boat at section 0 is shown in Fig.\n9. One half of the drawing in Fig. 8 represents the forward half of the\nhull, and the other half represents the stern half of the hull. If the\nshape of the boat at section 10 is desired, the line 10 in Fig. 8 could\nbe traced on a piece of tissue paper. The paper could then be folded in\nhalf and the line first made traced on the second half. This would then\nproduce the section of the boat at point 10. Thus, by closely examining\nFig. 8 the shape of the entire hull can be seen.\n[Illustration: FIG. 10]\nIf pieces of wire could be used to form the lines of the hull at the\nvarious sections, it would appear as shown in Fig. 10 when assembled.\nNotice that in Fig. 8 there is a load water-line, which the vessel\nsinks to when loaded, and the second and first load water-line, which\nthe vessel sinks to when only partially loaded or when carrying no load\naside from its regular necessary equipment. The keel line of the boat is\nthe line that runs along the bottom from bow to stern. (The bow of the\nboat is the front and the stern the back.)\nMotor-boating and marine magazines often publish the lines of different\nboats, and if the young boat-builder understands how to read boat\ndrawings he will be able to make a model of any boat that is so\ndescribed.\nDirections will now be given regarding the method of producing a\nboat-hull similar to the lines shown in Figs. 7 and 8, by the built-up\nmethod of construction.\nFirst, it will be necessary to procure the lumber. Several clean white\npine boards will be very suitable to work with, and will not require\nmuch skill in handling. Let us assume that the boat-hull is to measure\n22 inches in length, with a depth of 4 inches. The beam, which is the\nwidth of the boat at its widest point, will be 5 inches. (It will be\nwell to remember what the term \"beam\" means, since the term will be\nused constantly throughout the book.)\nOn a piece of heavy wrapping-paper draw the deck plan full size, that\nis, 22 inches long by 5 inches at its widest point. Next cut out along\nthe pencil line with a pair of shears. Now lay the paper outline on a\nplank and mark out the pattern on the wood. Repeat this process with\nthree more planks. When this is done, cut out the boards with a keyhole\nsaw.\n[Illustration: FIG. 11]\nAfter the boards are cut out mark them as shown in Fig. 11. The space\nmarked out on the board must be sawed out in two of the boards, to form\nthe inside of the hull, if the boat is to carry some form of power, such\nas a battery-motor, or steam-engine. After the lines are marked out,\nmake a hole with a 3/4-inch bit, as shown in Fig. 12. Insert the point of\nthe keyhole saw in one of these holes to start it and cut out the\npiece. Treat the second board in the same way. The third board must\nhave a smaller portion cut out of the center, owing to the fact that\nthis board is nearer the bottom of the hull, where the width of the boat\nis narrower. The width of the piece cut out in the third board should\nnot be more than 2 inches.\n[Illustration: FIG. 12]\nWhen this work is done, a very thin layer of glue is placed over the\nboards, and they are then laid one on top of another. The boards are\nthen placed in a vise or clamp and allowed to remain there over night.\nIn applying the glue, the builder should be careful not to put too much\non the boards. Too much glue is worse than not enough. It should be\nmerely a thin film.\nAfter the boards have been glued together the crude hull will appear, as\nshown in Fig. 13.\n[Illustration: FIG. 13]\nAt this point the hull sections from 0 to 10 must be marked off. By\nreferring again to Fig. 7 it will be seen that the sections 0 to 1 and 9\nto 10 are not so far apart as the other sections. Section 0 is 1 inch\nfrom the bow of the boat and section 1 is 1 inch from section 0.\nSections 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 are all 1 inch apart. Section 9 is 1\ninch from 10 and 10 is 1 inch from the stern. Lines should be drawn\nacross the deck to correspond with these sections, which can be measured\noff with a ruler. It will now be necessary to cut some templates, or\nforms, from cardboard to guide the builder in bringing the hull to\nshape. It will be an easy matter to make these templates by following\nFig. 8. A template of section 9 is shown in Fig. 14. It will be necessary\nto make eleven templates, corresponding to the sections 0 to 10. The\ntemplates should be cut from heavy cardboard so they will hold their\nshapes.\n[Illustration: FIG. 14]\nThe hull of the boat is now placed in a vise and roughly brought to\nshape with a draw-knife. After it has been brought to shape by this\nmeans a spoke-shave is used. This little tool has an adjustable blade by\nmeans of which it is possible to regulate the cut. When the builder\nstarts to use the spoke-shave he should also start to use his templates\nor forms, applying them sectionally to determine how much more wood he\nwill have to remove to bring the hull to shape. For instance, when he is\nworking in the vicinity of sections 5, 6, and 7 he will apply these\nforms at the proper points occasionally to determine when enough wood\nhas been removed. This procedure is followed out the entire length of\nthe boat, care being taken to see that both sides are the same and that\ntoo much wood is not removed, since there is no remedy for this mistake.\nThe builder who proceeds carefully and is not in too great a hurry to\nfinish the work need not make this mistake.\nOf course, it will not be possible to bring the hull to a perfect finish\nwith a spoke-shave. This can be done, however, by the use of a coarse\nfile and sandpaper. The coarse file is used to take the rough marks of\nthe spoke-shave away, and the marks left by the file are in turn removed\nby the sandpaper. The sandpaper must be applied unsparingly and always\nwith the grain. It will be necessary to use considerable \"elbow grease\"\nto obtain a good finish.\n[Illustration: FIG. 15]\nBoat-hulls can also be hewn to shape from a solid block, but it will be\nunderstood that this method involves more work than the one just\ndescribed. Of course, the procedure of bringing the hull to shape by the\naid of the draw-knife, spoke-shave, and templates is the same, but the\nhollowing out of the inside of the hull will be a much more difficult\njob. However, with a couple of good sharp chisels and a gouge the work\nwill not be so difficult as at first appears. The use of an auger and\nbit will greatly aid in the work. After the outside of the hull is\nbrought to shape the wooden form is drilled with holes, as shown in Fig.\n15. This will make it much easier to chip the wood away. After the major\nportion of the wood has been taken out with the chisel, the gouge is\nbrought into use. The gouge should be used very carefully, since it will\neasily go through the entire hull if it is not handled properly. For the\nbeginner it is not safe to make a hull less than 1/2 inch in thickness.\nOf course, it is not necessary to carefully finish the inside of the\nhull, since it is covered up with the deck and cabin.\n[Illustration: FIG. 16]\nThe solid hull has one advantage over the built-up hull. It is not\naffected by moisture and it is therefore not so liable to warp and lose\nits shape. It will also stand more rough usage.\n[Illustration: FIG. 17]\n[Illustration: FIG. 18]\n[Illustration: FIG. 19]\nThere is still another method of producing a boat-hull. This hull is\nknown as the Sharpie type. A Sharpie hull is shown in Fig. 16. The\nmethod of producing a hull of this type will be seen quite clearly by\nreference to Fig. 17, which shows the boards and parts cut out ready to\nassemble. The boards are made from 1/8-inch mahogany, which can be\nobtained at any lumber-yard. First, the bow piece is cut to shape and\ncarefully finished. Then the two side pieces are fastened to it, as\nshown in Fig. 18. The screws used should be brass, since iron screws\nwill rust and cause trouble. Three screws should be used for each side\nboard, and they should be driven into the bow piece so that the screws\non one side will not interfere with those on the other. The first\ncross-piece is then screwed in place, as shown in Fig. 19. The second\nand third cross-pieces are then screwed in place and the back or stern\npiece attached. The bottom of the boat is then carefully put in place\nwith small screws. It will be noticed that the bottom board of the boat\nis cut to fit the inside of the bottom. It is held in place with small\nbrass brads. The crevices or seams along the bottom of the boat should\nbe carefully covered with pitch or marine glue to prevent leakage when\nthe boat is in the water. The bow of the boat should be finished off\nnicely to a point with a heavy file or a wood-rasp.\nThis type of hull is extremely easy to produce and it is capable of\ncarrying a considerable load. However, it is not a good type to use for\nall kinds of boats. It makes a splendid little pleasure yacht or\nsubmarine-chaser, but for a torpedo-boat destroyer or a freighter it\nwould not be suitable.\nThe young model boat builder is advised not to try to construct hulls\nfrom metal. This is a very difficult task even for the thoroughly\nexperienced mechanic. Wood is much easier to work with and will produce\nthe same results.\nCHAPTER III\nHOW TO MAKE SIMPLE BOATS, WITH AND WITHOUT POWER DRIVE\nTHIS Chapter will be devoted to the construction of very simple types of\nboats. The boats described will be constructed largely with blocks of\nwood cut into various shapes and sizes. The results obtainable by this\nmethod of construction are surprising, and there are few types of boats\nthat cannot be modeled by following the method. After the model-builder\nhas constructed a few boats along this principle he will be able to\nduplicate the general appearance of almost any craft he sees by\ncarefully planning and cutting the blocks he uses.\nThe first boat described is a submarine. This is shown in Fig. 20. Four\nblocks of wood form the basis of its construction, and these are cut\nfrom 1-inch stock, as shown in the drawing. Such a submarine can be\nmade practically any size up to 12 inches in length. Beyond this size\nthey begin to look out of proportion and they are more difficult to\npropel. After nailing the blocks together as shown in the drawing, a\nsmall piece of sheet brass is bent at right angles and tacked to the\nstern piece. This is to act as a bearing for the propeller.\n[Illustration: FIG. 20]\n[Illustration: FIG. 21]\nThe propeller-shaft is bent into a hook over which rubber bands are\nplaced. The opposite end of the rubber bands are fastened to a screw-eye\ndriven into the under side of the bow. A heavy piece of copper wire is\nfastened to the stern of the boat by staples, and bent as shown. A\nrudder is then cut from thin sheet brass, and the end of it is bent\naround a piece of wire larger in diameter than the wire used for the\nrudder-post. It is then taken from this wire and slipped over the wire\non the boat. It should be pinched in place by a pair of pliers, so that\nit will stay in any position in which it is put. The end of the wire is\nbent over so that the rudder will not slip off. The boat can be steered\nin a circle or it can be made to go straight, depending upon the\nposition of the propeller.\nThe horizontal rudders are mounted forward, as shown. They are made from\nthin sheet brass bent as indicated in the little insertion. A hole is\ndrilled in them as shown, and a screw is placed through these to hold\nthe rudders to the side of the craft. The screws should be tightened so\nthat the rudders will stay at any angle at which they are put. If the\nboat is to be submerged the rudders are pointed as shown. If the boat is\nto travel on the surface of the water the rudders are brought up into a\nhorizontal position or parallel with the deck. A little gray paint\nplaced on this model will greatly improve its appearance.\nAnother submarine, more complicated than the one just described, is\nshown in Fig. 21. The body of this submarine is formed by a part of a\nbroomstick or shovel-handle. This submarine is truer to type and can be\nmade with very little trouble. The piece of broomstick or shovel-handle\nis cut 22 inches in length. It is pointed at each end, and part of it is\nplaned off to form the upper deck. When this is done, a small flat piece\nis cut as shown, and nailed or screwed to the flat portion. The\nconning-tower and periscope are placed on the upper deck, as shown. The\nrudder on this craft is not made adjustable, so that it always travels\nin a perfectly straight line. The horizontal rudders however, are made\nadjustable, and the boat is therefore able to travel upon the surface\nor submerge, depending upon the position of the rudder.\nThe power plant of this boat is made up of rubber bands. The power\ntransmission to the propeller is a little different than the one\npreviously described. A gear and a pinion are salvaged from the works of\nan old alarm-clock, and mounted on a piece of brass, as shown. A little\nsoldering will be necessary here to make a good job. By using the gear\nmeshing with the pinion a considerable increase in the speed of the\npropeller is obtained, and therefore the speed of the boat is\nconsiderably increased. The method of holding the power plant to the\nbottom of the boat is made very clear. In order to bring the boat down\nto the proper level in the water, a strip of sheet lead can be tacked to\nthe bottom. The builder should take care to get a piece of lead just the\ncorrect weight to leave the surface of the deck awash. A coat of gray\npaint will also greatly improve the appearance of this craft.\n[Illustration: FIG. 22]\n[Illustration: FIG. 23]\n[Illustration: FIG. 24]\nAttention is directed to the construction of boats of different types\nmade without power plants. Many interesting little crafts can be\nproduced in this way, and the energetic model-builder can produce a\nwhole model harbor or dock-yard by constructing a number of boats of\ndifferent types according to the following instructions.\nThe first boat described will be the tug _Mary Ann_ shown in Fig. 22 and\nFig. 23. The blocks necessary to construct this boat are shown in Fig.\n24. The hull of the boat is produced by three pieces of wood sawed out\nto the same shape with a keyhole saw and glued together. After the glue\nis dry the blocks are placed in a vise and the top one or deck block is\nplaned down as shown. It will be seen that the deck inclines slightly\ntoward the stern of the boat. When this is done the hull is turned\nupside down and the bottom of the stern planed off as illustrated. The\noutside of the hull can be finished up with a sharp knife and a\njack-plane.\nThe little bow piece can also then be tacked in place. After this the\npieces that form the hull can be nailed together from the bottom and\nfrom the top. This is quite necessary, for glue will not hold them in\nplace after the boat has become thoroughly soaked with water.\nThe cabin and engine-room are shown very clearly in the illustration and\nlittle need be said about erecting this part of the craft. The two doors\nand window on the side of the cabin are made by cutting out small pieces\nof cigar-box wood and gluing them to the cabin and engine-room. A good\nsubstitute for the wood can be found in tin, but of course this would\nhave to be tacked on. The little skylight on the back of the tug is made\nby a single block covered by two pieces of cigar-box wood.\nIn order to stabilize the craft and to bring her down to the proper\nwater-line, a lead keel must be nailed to the bottom. The weight of this\nkeel will have to be adjusted until the boat rests properly in the\nwater. The reader will notice that no dimensions have been given for\nthis boat. This is because most boys will wish to build different sized\nboats, and therefore it has not been deemed advisable to dimension the\nboats described in this Chapter. What the author desires to do is to\nimpart the principles of construction, so that every boy may use his own\ningenuity in regard to size and proportion of length to beam.\nIf tugs are constructed according to the design outlined above, the\nmodel boat builder will also desire to have something that the tug can\nhaul. A very simple barge for this purpose is outlined in Figs. 25 and\n26. This is formed of a single slab with the ends cut at an angle as\nillustrated. A square flat piece is then tacked to the upper deck, which\nacts as a cover. Four posts are then put in place in the same way as\nthose on the tug. One is placed in each corner. A boat or a scow like\nthis is generally painted red, and the model described can be made to\nlook much more realistic by painting it this color.\n[Illustration: FIG. 25]\n[Illustration: FIG. 26]\n[Illustration: FIG. 27]\n[Illustration: FIG. 28]\nThese barges are so easy to construct that the model-builder should make\nthree or four of them at a time. If the pieces for several are cut out\nat the same time, the construction will be just that much easier. If the\nboat does not sink far enough into the water, a piece of lead should be\nplaced on the bottom to bring it down. This piece of lead should be\nplaced as near the center as it is possible to get it. Otherwise the\nboat will list or tip at one end or the other. With a little patience\nand care the weight can be so adjusted on the bottom as to bring the\nscow to a perfectly level position. The reader will understand that the\nwater-line of a scow or any boat made according to the directions in\nthis book will depend largely upon the nature of the wood. In the first\nChapter of the book it was pointed out that the specific gravity of\ndifferent woods varies, and therefore the buoyancy will vary.\nA model freighter is shown in Fig. 27. The hull of this boat can be\nformed by two 1-1/2-inch planks. These will require a little hard work\nto cut out; but, on the other hand, the effort will be entirely\njustified by the pleasing appearance of the little craft that can be\nproduced in this way. A bow and stern block to raise the deck are cut\nout and nailed in place, as shown. A cabin is also placed on the stern\nof the craft, and this is formed by a block with a piece of cigar-box\nwood placed on the top. The cigar-box wood should project a little over\nthe edges to form a canopy. The center of the deck can be raised by a\nthird block; and three independent blocks, two large ones and a small\none, form the main cabin. Sandwiched in between these blocks are three\npieces of cigar-box wood. The remaining details of the craft are so\nsimple that they may easily be made by following the diagram.\n[Illustration: FIG. 29]\nLet us turn our attention to model war-ships. A torpedo-boat destroyer\nis clearly illustrated in Figs. 28 and 29. This is very simple to\nconstruct and makes a pleasing craft when finished. The hull is formed\nby two blocks. One of these forms the raised deck on the bow of the\nboat. The cabin is built up on this raised deck. It will be seen that\nthe part of the hull that rests in the water is formed by one block. In\nbuilding boats of this nature the constructor should be careful to keep\nthem long and slender, since torpedo-boat destroyers are always of this\ntype. They are high-speed craft, and their displacement must therefore\nbe as small as possible. Some of these boats carry four stacks and some\ntwo. The author prefers four stacks as giving the boat a better\nappearance than two. The two little cabins near the stern of the boat\nare placed there merely to take away the plainness of construction. The\nguns mounted forward and aft are merely round pieces of wood with a\npiece of wire bent around them and forced into a hole in the deck.\n[Illustration: FIG. 30]\nThe boat-builder should not be satisfied with one or two of these craft;\nhe should make a whole fleet. This will afford the average boy a great\namount of pleasure, since he can add to his fleet from time to time and\nhave official launchings. Each boat can also be given a name and a\nnumber. A little gray paint on the hull of these boats and black on the\nstacks gives them a very presentable appearance.\n[Illustration: FIG. 31]\n[Illustration: FIG. 32]\nA battleship is shown in Fig. 30. A battleship should be at least twice\nas long as a torpedo-boat destroyer. A view of the battleship as it will\nlook in the water is shown in Fig. 31. By carefully examining this\ndrawing the builder will be able to see just the number and shape of\nthe blocks that enter into the construction of the craft. The battleship\nis provided with four main batteries mounted in turrets, one forward and\nthree aft. A mast is also built, and strings run from it to the top of\nthe main cabin and to the end of one of the turrets mounted aft. A screw\nis placed through the centers of the fore and aft turrets, so they can\nbe turned to any position. Battleships should be painted gray. It will\nbe necessary to place rather a heavy keel on the boat just described in\norder to bring it down to the proper depth in the water. Otherwise it\nwill be topheavy and will capsize very easily. A fleet of battleships\nand battle-cruisers can easily be made according to the foregoing\ninstructions, and the builder should not be satisfied with producing\nonly one.\nA pleasure yacht is illustrated in Fig. 32. The hull of this craft is\nformed by two boards nailed together. The cabins are very simple, being\nformed by a solid block of wood with a piece of cigar-box wood tacked to\nthe top. The windows and doors are marked in place with a soft\nlead-pencil, and the stack is mounted midway between the two cabins. A\nwireless antenna should be placed on the boat, with a few guy-wires from\nthe masts run to various parts of the deck. A lead-in wire also runs\ndown into one of the cabins. The hull of this boat should be painted\npure white. The deck can be left its natural color, while the stack\nshould be painted black and the cabins white with green trimmings.\nAlmost any type of boat can be produced by the use of simple blocks of\nwood and other miscellaneous pieces easily brought to shape from\nordinary materials. This method of construction offers a wonderful\nopportunity for the boy to exercise his creative faculties.\nCHAPTER IV\nSTEAM AND ELECTRIC PROPULSION\nBOATS are propelled by two different systems. Some inland-water boats\nstill employ side paddle-wheels, while ocean-going vessels use the more\nmodern propeller or screw.\nThe paddle-wheel really acts as a continuous oar. Such a wheel is shown\nin Fig. 33. As the wheel goes around the paddle dips into the water and\npushes the boat forward. If the direction of the boat is to be reversed,\nthe rotation of the paddle-wheels is reversed.\n[Illustration: FIG. 33]\n[Illustration: FIG. 34]\n[Illustration: FIG. 35]\n[Illustration: FIG. 36]\n[Illustration: FIG. 37]\n[Illustration: FIG. 38]\nBefore passing onto the screw, it may be well to explain just how a\npaddle-wheel causes a boat to move. When a man gets into a rowboat, he\ngenerally pushes himself off by placing his oar against the dock or\nshore and pushing on it. That is just what the paddle does in the water.\nIt dips into the water and pushes against it. It must be remembered,\nhowever, that water is unlike a solid substance and it \"gives.\" When a\nman places his oar against the bank and pushes it, the bank does not\nmove, and all of the man's energy is used in starting the boat. Water,\nhowever, does not remain stationary when the paddles push against it,\nand therefore all of the power it not utilized in moving the boat--part\nis used in moving the water.\nThe paddle-wheel is not so efficient in moving a boat as the more modern\npropeller--or screw, as it is more often called. The screw receives its\nname from the ordinary metal screw, because its theory of operation is\nexactly the same. A wood screw, when turned, forces itself into wood. A\npropeller, when turned, forces itself (and thereby the boat) through the\nwater. A small propeller is illustrated in Fig. 34. This is an ordinary\nthree-blade propeller. (The writer prefers the word propeller instead of\nscrew.)\nFrom the drawing, it will be seen that the propeller-blades are mounted\nat an angle. This angle of the blades causes them to force water back as\nthey cut through it when the propeller is revolving. This forcing of the\nwater back tends to produce a forward motion of the propeller, and in\nthis way the boat on which the propeller is mounted moves through the\nwater. The propeller is caused to revolve by a steam-engine,\nsteam-turbine, or gasolene-engine, as shown in Fig. 35. Longer boats\nhave more than one propeller. A boat that has two propellers is called a\ntwin-screw boat. A boat driven with four propellers is called a\nquadruple-screw boat.\nWhen a machine screw is turned around just once, it moves forward a\ncertain distance, as a glance at Fig. 36 will show. The distance the\nscrew moves forward will depend entirely upon the distance between the\nthreads. The distance between the threads is called the pitch of the\nthread. If the threads are 1/32 inch apart, then the screw will move\n1/32 inch every time it revolves.\nIf a propeller acts in the same way as a screw, then it too must have a\npitch. The pitch, or the distance that a propeller will advance in one\nrevolution, is measured in inches. A propeller with a pitch of ten\ninches should move ten inches through the water at each revolution.\nHowever, there is a certain amount of \"slip,\" and a propeller does not\nactually advance the distance that it should theoretically. The pitch of\na propeller is really the distance it would advance in one revolution\nif it were revolving in an unyielding or solid substance.\nTo make a simple propeller, first cut out of thin sheet brass three\nblades as shown at _A_, Fig. 37. Sheet brass with a thickness of 1/32\ninch is very suitable for this purpose. Next, a block, as shown at _B_,\nis carefully carved out so that the propeller can be hammered down into\nthe depression. The same block is used for the three blades, so that\neach will have the same curvature. The block should be cut from oak,\nsince this wood will not split or lose its shape when the forming is\ndone.\nThe hub is made next. This is shown at _C_, Fig. 37. The hub, of brass,\nis made according to the stream-line method. It is filed to shape from a\npiece of round brass stock. A hole runs lengthwise in the brass, as\nshown, and a set-screw is used to hold the hub of the propeller-shaft.\nThe method of cutting the slots in the hub is shown at _D_, Fig. 37. The\nhub is clamped between two boards placed in the vise, and a hacksaw is\nused to cut a slot in the hub. The hub is then turned around one third\nof a revolution, and another slot cut, using the same saw-marks in the\nboards, so that the angle of the second slot will be the same as the\nfirst one. The third slot is cut in the same manner. The three blades\nthat were cut out are now fastened in these slots and held there by\nsolder. This completes the propeller and it is now ready to be fastened\nupon the propeller-shaft.\nLet us consider the general method of putting the propeller-shaft in\nplace. The young boat-builder will readily understand that it would be\nvery impractical merely to bore a hole in the hull of the boat to put\nthe propeller-shaft through. In this way water would surely leak into\nthe hull and the boat would sink in a short time. Some method must be\nevolved to keep the water out of the hull, and yet allow the\npropeller-shaft to revolve freely.\nThe propeller-shaft is arranged within a brass tube, as shown at Fig.\n38. The brass tube should be about 1/8 inch larger in diameter than the\npropeller-shaft. A little brass bushing must also be arranged at each\nend, as shown. When the propeller-shaft is mounted in place in the\ntube, there will be a space between it and the tube. Before the\npropeller-shaft is put in place it is well smeared with vaseline, and\nwhen it is placed in the tube the space between the shaft and the tube\nwill be completely filled with it. This will prevent water from\nentering. Owing to the fact that vaseline is a soft, greasy substance,\nit will not prevent the rotation of the propeller-shaft. The brass tube\nis placed through a hole bored in the hull of the boat. The hole should\nbe a trifle smaller than the diameter of the brass tube, so that the\ntube can be forced into the hole.\n[Illustration: FIG. 39]\n[Illustration: FIG. 40]\n[Illustration: FIG. 42]\nOne of the simplest methods of propelling a boat is by means of rubber\nbands. Such a boat is shown in Fig. 39. This is a small wooden hull\nfitted with a two-blade propeller. The propeller is shown at Fig. 40. It\nis cut in a single piece and held to the propeller-shaft merely by a\ndrop of solder since there will not be much strain upon it owing to the\nlow power of the rubber-band motor. The opposite end of the\npropeller-shaft is bent into a hook, and the rubber bands run from this\nto another hook placed at the bow of the boat. The rubber bands may be\nsimilar to those employed by model airplane builders. The motor, of\ncourse, must be wound up by turning the propeller around until the bands\nbecome twisted into little knots, as shown at Fig. 39. Boats driven by\nrubber bands cannot be very large unless a great number of rubber bands\nare used. Even then the power is short-lived. However, building a few\nsmall boats driven by rubber-band motors will do much to teach the\nyoung boat-builder some valuable lessons in boat construction.\nProbably the best method of propelling model boats is the electric\nmethod. By building a boat large enough to accommodate two dry batteries\nor a small storage battery and a little power motor, a very reliable\nmethod of propulsion is made possible. The boat must have sufficient\ndisplacement to accommodate the weight of the dry-cells and storage\nbattery. A boat two feet long, with a beam of 4-1/2 inches, is large\nenough to accommodate one dry-cell and a small motor, providing the\nfittings of the boat are not too heavy.\nA suitable power motor for small boats, which will run with either one\nor two dry-cells, is shown in Fig. 41. The connections for the motor are\ngiven clearly in Fig. 42, and a suitable switch to control the motor is\nshown at Fig. 43.\nOwing to its greater power, the storage battery is to be preferred.\nDry-cells are extremely heavy and occupy considerable space. They are\nalso costly, since they do not last long and cannot be worked too hard\nunless they polarize.\n[Illustration: FIG. 41]\n[Illustration: FIG. 44]\n[Illustration: FIG. 43]\n[Illustration: FIG. 45]\nA very suitable method of mounting an electric motor is illustrated in\nFigs. 44 and 45. It will be noticed that the motor is inverted. A small\npinion or gear is mounted upon the armature-shaft of the motor. A larger\ngear (about three times the diameter of the small one) is placed upon\nthe propeller-shaft. This gives a speed reduction of three to one. It\nwill be seen that the propeller-tube is strapped within a strip of brass\nto a small cross-piece nailed to the bottom board of the hull. The hull\nis of the built-up type, and the other three boards that go to make it\nup are not shown. When the three boards are glued in place, a brass\nstrip is run across the top board and the base of the motor is screwed\nto this. This holds the motor rigidly in place so that it will not move\nwhen the power is turned on. The brass strip used should have sufficient\nthickness to hold the motor rigid. It will also be seen that the motor\nis tipped slightly so that it will come in line with the\npropeller-shaft.\n[Illustration: FIG. 46]\n[Illustration: FIG. 47]\n[Illustration: FIG. 48]\nIt is not always possible to obtain small gears. For this reason the\nmodel boat builder may find it necessary to use a different method of\nfastening the propeller-shaft to the motor. A very good method of doing\nthis is shown in Fig. 46. Here a coiled wire spring is used. This is\nwound to shape on a rod, and a drop of solder holds it to the propeller\nand motor shafts. In the method of propulsion shown in Fig. 44 the\narmature-shaft of the motor must be perfectly in line with the\npropeller-shaft, or the gears will bind and unsatisfactory operation of\nthe motor will result. With the little spring the motor will not have to\nbe mounted exactly in line with the shaft, and it will also be possible\nto mount the motor standing up. Of course, if the motor is mounted in\nthis way it will be necessary to make the propeller-shaft longer, as is\nshown in Fig. 47.\nStill another method of driving the propeller is illustrated in Fig. 48.\nThis method is so simple that the author feels explanation to be\nunnecessary.\nClockwork can often be employed for propulsion purposes, but this method\nis not very satisfactory. It is also very difficult to obtain suitable\nclockworks to install in a boat. Oftentimes it will be possible to\nsalvage the works of an old alarm-clock, providing the main-spring is\nintact. It is a very easy matter to mount the clock-spring and connect\nit to the propeller. Any one of the aforementioned methods can be\nemployed.\nSteam propulsion has its advantages; but, on the other hand, the writer\nis not inclined to recommend it as strongly as the electric method for\nreliability. Of course, steam is a more powerful agency in the\npropulsion of small boats and thereby greater speed is attainable by its\nuse.\n[Illustration: FIG. 49]\n[Illustration: FIG. 50]\n[Illustration: FIG. 51]\nHere is a very simple small power plant suitable for driving boats up to\n3-1/2 feet in length. The boiler is shown in Figs. 49 and 50. The method\nof assembling the boiler is pictured clearly in Fig. 49. A brass or\ncopper tube about 2-1/2 inches in diameter is used. Two end pieces are\ncut to shape and forced into the boiler ends. A hole is drilled in the\ncenter of these pieces before they are put in place. After the end\npieces are forced in place solder is carefully flowed around their\nedges. The brass rod is then threaded at each end and placed\nconcentrically within the boiler, as shown in Fig. 49. A nut is placed\non each end of this rod and tightened. The nut is then soldered in\nplace. This brass rod, called a stay-rod, prevents the end of the boiler\nfrom blowing out when the steam pressure has reached its maximum value.\nThree holes are drilled in the brass tube, as shown. One is to\naccommodate the steam feed-pipe that goes to the engine; another is for\nthe safety-valve, and still another for the filling plug. The\nsafety-valve and filling plug are both shown in Fig. 51. The little\nspring on the safety-valve is adjustable, so that the valve can be\nregulated in order to prevent it from blowing off at pressures lower\nthan that at which the engine operates.\n[Illustration: FIG. 52]\nA suitable firebox for the boiler is shown clearly in Fig. 52. This is\ncut to shape from stovepipe iron and held together with small rivets.\nHoles should be punched or drilled in the side of the firebox to give\nthe burner a sufficient supply of air. The burner is illustrated\nclearly in Fig. 52. The fuel-tank can be made from an ordinary tin can\nwith the cover soldered on, and a hole made for a cork by means of which\nit is filled with denatured alcohol. A little pipe runs from the\nfuel-tank to the burner. It is advisable, if possible, to place a small\nvalve in this pipe to cut off the fuel supply when necessary. The only\nother method of putting the burner out would be to stand it on its end.\nThe burner consists of a rectangular tin box with a top cut out as\nillustrated. A piece of brass or copper gauze is placed in the top.\nAsbestos wool is used to fill the can, and the alcohol is drawn into the\nwool by capillary attraction, where it burns with a steady hot flame at\nthe surface of the copper gauze. In the corner of the can near the\nfeed-pipe another small piece of copper gauze is soldered as shown. This\ncovers up the feed-pipe entrance so that the asbestos will not plug up\nthe pipe.\n[Illustration: FIG. 53]\n[Illustration: FIG. 54]\nThe engine to be used in connection with the boiler just described is\nshown in Fig. 53. This is a very simple engine of the oscillation type,\nand there should be little trouble in making it. A more mechanical\ndrawing of the engine is shown in Fig. 54. The details of the engine are\nshown in Fig. 55.\n[Illustration: FIG. 55]\nThe cylinder of the engine should be made first. This is made from a\npiece of brass tubing with an internal diameter of 3/4 inch. Two end\npieces, or a cylinder-end cover and cylinder head, must be cut to fit\ninside the cylinder. These should be cut to shape from 1/16 inch brass,\nand a hole drilled in the cylinder head 1/8 inch in diameter to\naccommodate the piston-rod. The cylinder head is then soldered in place.\nThe cylinder-end cover should be left until the piston-rod and piston\nare made.\nThe piston head is cut to shape from a piece of 3/16-inch sheet brass,\nor it can be cut from a piece of 3/4-inch round brass with a hacksaw.\nThe piston-rod is soldered into a hole in the piston-head. A small\nsquare piece of brass is placed on the opposite end of the piston-rod to\nact as a bearing. This little piece is cut and drilled as shown in the\ndrawing. Before it is soldered in place on the piston-rod the\ncylinder-end cover should be placed on the rod. Both the piston and the\ncylinder-end cover can then be placed inside the cylinder, and the\npiston-end cover is soldered in place. Before final assembling the\npiston should be made to fit nicely into the cylinder. This can be\nbrought about by applying emery cloth to the piston-head until it slips\nnicely into the cylinder with little or no play. Thus a steam-tight fit\nis made, and this contributes greatly to the efficiency and power of the\nengine.\n[Illustration: FIG. 56]\n[Illustration: FIG. 57]\nThe cylinder blocks are shown in Fig. 55. These are cut and brought to\nshape with a hacksaw and file. With a half-round file one side of one of\nthe blocks is filed slightly concave, so that it will fit on the outside\nof the cylinder. Two 1/8-inch holes are drilled in this piece as shown\nin the drawing. The hole at the top is the steam entrance and exhaust\nfor the engine; that is, when the cylinder is at one side steam enters\nthis hole, and when the crank throws the cylinder over to the other side\nsteam leaves through the same hole after having expanded in the\ncylinder. This cylinder block is soldered to the piston as shown in\nFig. 56. The pivot upon which the cylinder swings is then put in place\nin the hole at the bottom of the block. Solder is flowed around the\npivot to hold it securely in place.\nThe second cylinder block is now finished according to the drawing. This\nhas two holes 1/8 inch in diameter bored in it. One of these holes is\nthe steam inlet and the other the exhaust. When the cylinder is at one\nside of its stroke the hole that was bored in the top of the steam block\nwhich was soldered on the cylinder is in line with the inlet hole in the\nblock under consideration. Steam then enters the cylinder and forces the\npiston down. This turns the crank around, and the crank in turn pulls\nthe piston over to the opposite side, so that the hole in the first\npiston block of the cylinder now comes in line with the exhaust hole on\nthe second cylinder block. The steam in the cylinder escapes and the\nsame operation is repeated over again. Of course, it must be understood\nthat this steam admission and exhaust takes place very rapidly. The hole\nin the second cylinder block, which goes over the pivot, must be made a\ntrifle more than 1/8 inch in diameter, so that it will slide freely over\nthe pivot.\nThe engine is mounted on a very simple frame, which is a piece of\n1/16-inch brass cut and bent as illustrated. After it is cut and bent to\nshape the second cylinder block is soldered in place. The cylinder can\nthen be mounted. It will be seen that the pivot goes through both the\nsecond cylinder block and the engine standard. A small spring is placed\nover the protruding end of the pivot and a nut put in place. By turning\nthis nut the pressure on the face of the two cylinder blocks can be\nadjusted, and the model engineer must always remember that the pressure\non these springs must be greater than the steam pressure in the\nfeed-pipe. Otherwise the steam pressure will force the cylinder-block\nfaces apart and steam leakage will result. On the other hand, the\npressure of the spring should not be too great, since that would\ninterfere with the free movement of the engine cylinder.\nNothing now remains to be made except the crank and the flywheel. The\ncrank revolves in a small brass bearing which is soldered in place on\nthe engine standard. It will be seen that the sheet brass that makes up\nthe engine standard is not thick enough to offer a good bearing for the\ncrank. The crank is bent to shape from a piece of 1/8-inch brass rod,\nand the author advises the builder to heat the brass rod red-hot while\nthe bending is done. This will prevent it from fracturing, and will also\npermit a sharp bend to be made.\nThe flywheel is a circular piece of brass 1 inch in diameter. Its center\nis drilled out and it is soldered to the crank as illustrated in Fig.\n54. Two other holes 1/8 inch in diameter are drilled in the flywheel as\nillustrated, and two small brass pins are cut out from 1/8-inch brass\nrod and forced into these holes and then soldered. These provide a\nmethod of driving the propeller-shaft that is shown very clearly at Fig.\nThe steam feed-pipe that runs from the boiler to the engine can be of\nsmall copper tubing. It may be necessary to mount the engine on a small\nblock, as shown in Fig. 53. After the steam in the boiler has reached a\nsufficient pressure the engine crank should be given a couple of twists\nin order to start it. Before operating the engine a little lubricating\noil should be run into the cylinder through the inlet or exhaust ports.\nThe cylinder should always be kept well lubricated. The contacting faces\nof the cylinder blocks should also be kept lubricated.\n_Caution._ Always keep water in the boiler. Never permit it to run dry,\nas this would cause a boiler explosion. When the engine is started and\ncannot be made to run, take the burner from under the boiler so that\nsteam will cease to be generated. With the safety-valve the model boat\nbuilder need have little fear of an explosion. Nevertheless the\nforegoing directions should be carefully adhered to.\nCHAPTER V\nAN ELECTRIC LAUNCH\nTHE little electric launch to be described is of very simple\nconstruction, and when finished it will provide the builder with a very\nshipshape little model from which he will be able to derive a good deal\nof pleasure. It has a speed of from 2-1/2 to 3 miles an hour when\nequipped with dry batteries or storage batteries. The hull is of the\nSharpie type, and this offers very little trouble in cutting out and\nassembling.\nThe general appearance of the boat and hull will be gathered from the\ndrawings. The pieces necessary to assemble the hull are shown in Fig.\n58. Only five pieces are necessary: two side pieces, a stern piece, a\nbow piece, and a bottom piece. The length of the boat over all is 40\ninches with a 7-inch beam. The widest part of the boat is 1 foot 10\ninches from the bow.\nAfter the pieces that form the hull are cut they are thoroughly\nsandpapered to produce a smooth surface. The heavy imperfections in the\nwood can be taken out with coarse paper, and the finishing can be done\nwith a finer paper. It is understood that sandpapering should always be\ndone with the grain, never across the grain. The sides of the boat are\ncut about 1/4 inch thick, but they are planed thinner in places where\nthe bend is most pronounced. The side pieces are 2-3/4 inches deep at\nthe stern and 2-1/4 inches at the stern. There is a gradual curve from\nthe bow to the stern, which is more marked toward the head.\nThe stern piece is thicker than the side pieces, being made of 1/2-inch\nwood. It is cut to the shape shown at Fig. 58, and beveled along the\nbottom edge to enable it to be fixed on the slant. The bow piece is a\ntriangle 2-3/4 inches in length.\nAfter the parts are thoroughly finished with sandpaper the stern piece\nis fixed in position. In making all the joints on the boat the builder\nshould see that plenty of fairly thick paint is run in while the joint\nis being screwed up. This will help greatly in making the boat\nwater-tight. Plenty of 3/4-inch brass wood-screws are used in assembling\nthe hull. All the holes for the wood-screws should be countersunk so\nthat the heads will come flush with the surface of the hull. Now one of\nthe sides should be screwed to the stern piece, at the same time bending\nthe bottom and side to meet. This is done gradually, inch by inch, and\nscrews are put in place at equal distances. When the bow is reached, the\nside piece is beveled to fit the bow piece, which should already have\nbeen screwed into place. The other side of the boat is treated in a\nsimilar manner, and the young worker should take care to keep the side\nand bow piece perfectly square and upright. This may sound easy on\npaper, but it will be found that a good deal of care must be exercised\nto produce this result.\nAfter the hull has been assembled it is given a good coat of paint\ninside and out. When the first coat is dry the holes left by the\nscrew-heads are carefully puttied over, and the hull is given a second\ncoat of paint. This procedure will produce a perfectly water-tight\nhull.\n[Illustration: FIG. 58]\n[Illustration: FIG. 59]\n[Illustration: FIG. 63]\nThe stern tube is 3/8 inch, outside diameter. A hole is bored in the\nbottom of the boat to receive the stern tube. This job must be done\ncautiously; otherwise the bottom of the boat may be ruined. It is best\nto screw a substantial block to the inside of the boat. This block\nshould be cut to fit the bottom and will act as a support for drilling.\nIt will also help greatly to make a water-tight joint around the tube.\nThe distance from the point where the stern tube passes through the\nbottom to the stern should be about 12-1/2 inches. The stern tube should\nbe mounted as nearly parallel with the bottom as possible, since on this\ndepends the speed of the boat. As the angle of the propeller-shaft\nincreases, the speed of the boat will decrease. In drilling the hole the\nboat-builder should be careful to keep the drill running along the\ncentral line of the boat.\nAs before mentioned, the stern tube is a piece of brass tubing 3/8 inch\nin diameter and 8 inches long. It is filed square at both ends, and a\nbrass plug is fastened with solder in each end. The tube is then filled\nwith melted vaseline, which is allowed to cool. The hole in the hull\naround the tube is then well smeared with thick paint. When this is\ndone, a layer of red lead or putty is placed around the joint both on\nthe inside and the outside of the boat.\nWhile the putty is drying the spray-hood or turtle-deck can be made.\nThis is bent to shape from a piece of tinplate and extends half way\ndown the boat. When the turtle-deck is finished, it is best to lay it\naside, before finally fastening it in place, until the entire boat is\ncompleted.\nThe wooden part of the deck is made of 1/8-inch wood and scribed with a\nsharp knife to represent planking. This method of producing planking was\ndescribed in detail in Chapter II.\nToward the stern of the boat and just behind the motor a hatchway is\nfitted to give access to the batteries and starting switch.\nThe finished Sharpie hull without its driving batteries or motor should\nweigh about 1 pound 3 ounces. The hull being finished, let us consider\nthe electric propelling equipment.\nA 1/8-inch cold-rolled steel driving or propeller-shaft is used. The\nshaft is 13 inches long and a gear-wheel 1 inch in diameter is fixed to\none end of this shaft. This gear-wheel meshes with a brass pinion on the\nmotor-shaft. This forms a 3-1/2 to 1 reduction gear, which produces a\ngreatly increased speed of the boat. The other end of the\npropeller-shaft rests in the skeg bearing. In this present case this\nconsists of a tube about 1/2 inch long, which is made for a revolving\nfit on the propeller-shaft and supported by a sheet-metal bracket. This\nis shown in Fig. 63. The end of the propeller also revolves adjacent to\nthe bearing in the skeg.\n[Illustration: \u00a9_Jack Sussman_\nGETTING READY FOR A TRIP\nHeating the blow-torch to a point where it will burn automatically]\nThe propeller is a three-blade affair with a diameter of 2-1/4 inches.\nIt is attached to the propeller-shaft with a set-screw. The motor is a\nvery simple type obtainable in the open market. It is similar to one\nshown in Fig. 41. As before mentioned, either dry or storage batteries\nmay be used as a source of current. The writer strongly advises the use\nof storage batteries if possible. The initial cost of these batteries is\ngreater than that for dry batteries; but, on the other hand, the small\nstorage battery can be charged repeatedly and will outlast many dry\nbatteries. If the boat is used much the storage battery will probably be\nthe more economical of the two.\nThe steering gear of the boat is very simple. The rudder works in a\nbearing that is screwed to the stern piece. The end of the rudder-shaft\nis tapped, and a brass screw is used to clamp it in position after\nsetting it with the fingers. The rudder-shaft is a 3/4-inch brass rod.\nThe lower end of this rod is slit with a hacksaw and the rudder is\nplaced in this. Solder is then flowed along the joint.\n[Illustration: \u00a9_Jack Sussman_\nALL READY TO GO!\nA little boat with steam up, ready for a trip when her owner releases\nher]\n[Illustration: FIG. 60]\nOf course, the builder may paint his boat whatever color he may select;\nbut a maroon hull with a white-enameled spray-hood or turtle-deck makes\na very pleasing combination. Fig. 60 shows a rough plan of the general\narrangement of the power machinery. Figs. 61, 62 and 63 will do much to\ngive the reader a clear idea of the method of construction which could\nnot be gained by reading a description.\n[Illustration: FIG. 61]\nThe general appearance of the boat can be improved materially in many\nways. For instance, a little stack or ventilator may be added to the\nturtle-deck, and a little flag-stick carrying a tiny flag may be placed\non the bow and on the stern.\n[Illustration: FIG. 62]\nThe motor current should be turned on only when necessary, for dry-cells\ndeteriorate rapidly when in use, and small storage batteries quickly\nlose their charge, although they will last much longer than dry-cells\nand give much better service.\nCHAPTER VI\nA STEAM LAUNCH\nTHE steam launch _Nancy Lee_ is an attractive little craft when finished\nand it is capable of attaining considerable speed. It is really designed\nafter the cruising type of motor-boats. This type of boat is\nparticularly adaptable for simple model-making, owing to the elimination\nof awkward fittings. The power machinery is of very simple construction\nand presents no real difficulty.\nThe following materials are necessary to construct the _Nancy Lee_:\n          Large wood block for hull.\n          Thin white pine for deck, etc.\n          Sheet-metal tube, rod and wire for the boiler, engine, etc.\n          Lamp-wick, paint, screws, and brads\n          Miscellaneous fittings\nThe actual expense necessary to construct the boat is very small.\nHaving obtained the block for the hull, you are ready to start work. The\nhull, when planed on all sides, should be 30 inches long, 6-1/2 inches\nwide, and 3-3/4 inches deep. A center line is drawn down the length of\nthe hull, and five cross-section lines are drawn at right angles to the\ncenter line 5 inches apart. On these lines the builder should mark off\nthe greatest lengths of the boat, taking the dimensions from the\nhalf-breadth drawing shown in Fig. 64. It will be noted that the deck is\nwider than the L. W. L. forward and narrower than the L. W. L. at the\nstern. The block should be cut to the widest line on the half-breadth\npart.\n[Illustration: FIG. 65]\n[Illustration: FIG. 67]\n[Illustration: FIG. 64]\nThe half-widths in Fig. 64 are drawn each side of the center line on the\nblock. The block will be cut out to this line and planed up as true as\npossible. The builder should then project the section lines with a set\nsquare on each side of the boat, mark off the profile from the sheer\nplan, Fig. 65, and cut the block to this line, afterward planing it up\ntrue.\n[Illustration: FIG. 66]\nThe blocks should now appear as sketched in Fig. 66. It is now ready for\nthe shaping of its exterior. A plane, a chisel, and a draw-knife are the\nonly tools necessary to bring the hull to the correct shape. The\ncardboard templates must be cut, one for each half-section, as shown in\nthe body plan, Fig. 67. These templates serve to show the proper outside\nshape of the hull. The block for the hull must be cut away until each\none of these templates fits properly into place. The various stages are\nindicated in Figs. 68 and 69.\n[Illustration: FIG. 68]\nThe interior of the board is gouged out with a gouging chisel, and if\nthe builder desires a uniform result he should make inside templates. In\ngouging out the interior of the hull the chisel or gouge should be\nhandled very carefully; otherwise it is liable to slip and spoil the\nentire hull.\n[Illustration: FIG. 69]\nThe next job is to cut and properly fit the raised portion or\nforecastle. A piece of wood 1-1/4 inches thick, 15 inches long, and\n6-1/4 inches wide must be prepared and laid in place on the hull. The\nshape of the hull is marked off with a pencil and the wood sawed along\nthis line. The inner portion is also cut out, thus making a V-shaped\npiece which must be glued and screwed in place, as shown in Fig. 70.\n[Illustration: FIG. 71]\n[Illustration: FIG. 70]\nThe oval air-vents shown in the drawing can be cut at this time. The\nhull is neatly finished by cutting in the sheer or curvature of the hull\nand sandpapering it all over. A cross-beam or support, _C_, Fig. 70, is\ncut and fitted as illustrated. This particular piece supports the\nfore-deck, and also carries the main-deck, as well as bracing the boat\ntogether. This piece should be 3/16 inch thick and cut from solid oak.\nThe decks can be made of a good quality of white pine. The builder\nshould select clean pieces, free from knots and blemishes. It only\nrequires to be cut to shape and then fixed to the hull with a few brads.\nThe edge should be cleaned up flush with the hull by the aid of a plane.\nThe opening for the cock-pit, shown in the drawing in Fig. 71, is to be\ncut in the deck. The coamings and seats are cut to the sizes indicated\nin the drawings. They are then glued and pinned together. When fitted to\nthe deck the result will be somewhat as shown in Fig. 71.\nThe fore-deck is prepared in a similar manner; but, since this is to be\nremovable, two battens must be fitted to the under side to keep it in\nplace. The openings for the hatchways can be cut and the hatch-covers\nmade by cutting another piece of wood 3/16 inch thick to form an edging.\nA cover piece to go over the small pieces, removed from cutting out the\nhatch opening, is shown at Fig. 72. A coping-saw will be found very\nuseful for this work. The covers are neatly rounded on the edge and\nnicely finished.\n[Illustration: FIG. 72]\n[Illustration: FIG. 73]\n[Illustration: FIG. 74]\n[Illustration: FIG. 76]\nFig. 73 will give the reader a very good idea of the appearance of the\nboat at this stage. It will be seen that the sketch shows the deck\nbroken away so as to render the cross-batten visible, which also shows\nthe fair-lead at _F_, Fig. 73. This is cut from two small pieces of\n3/16-inch stuff, glued and pinned in place. The forward deck is\ncompleted by the addition of cowl-ventilators, cut from hard wood and\nscrewed in place. The flag-mast is made from a short piece of 1/16-inch\nwire. The details of the mooring-cleats are shown in Fig. 74. They are\nfashioned by using a small screw-eye and soldering a short piece of\nbrass wire through the eye. An oblong metal plate is then cut and a\ncentral hole drilled. This plate is soldered to the shank of the\nscrew-eye and the cleat is complete. One of these devices is to be\nfitted to the fore-deck and two on the main-deck and stern.\n[Illustration: FIG. 75]\nThe rudder and steering gear will be considered next. Fig. 75 shows the\nstern of the boat with the rudder gear mounted in place. It will be\nnoted that the rudder-blade is merely a piece of sheet brass cut to\nshape and soldered into the rudder-post _M_, which is slit to\naccommodate it. The rudder-post is hung in two screw-eyes on the stern\nof the boat. A small wheel about 1 inch in diameter, with an edge filed\nin it, is soldered to the top of the rudder-post. A fine cord or string,\nwell stretched and oiled, is attached to the wheel and led through two\nscrew-eyes on the deck. From this it is led through an opening in the\ncoaming to a drum on the steering column, which is turned by another\nsmall wheel similar to that used on the rudder-post, but with a round\nedge. The steering column is merely a piece of 1/8-inch wire, held in\nplace by two small screw-eyes fixed in the coaming and with a tube-brush\nsoldered on to keep the wire in position. The drum is simply a hard-wood\nbushing driven tightly in place.\nThe power machinery for the _Nancy Lee_ must be considered at this time.\nThis is really one of the most interesting parts of the construction.\nThe general appearance of the power plant can be seen by referring to\nFig. 77, which is a view of the complete boiler and engine mounted\ntogether on the same base. The boiler is shown at _A_ and the\nsafety-valve and filler at _L_. The base or firebox _B_ protects the\nburner from stray drafts of air, and also supports the boiler.\nThe lamp or burner consists of a receptacle _C_ for containing the\ndenatured alcohol. The denatured alcohol is inserted through the\nfiller-tube _E_, which is kept closed with a cork. The upright tube _D_\nis fitted so that air can go into the receptacle containing the alcohol.\nThree burners are necessary to fire the boiler. These are fitted as\nshown in _F_, and they give sufficient heat to produce steam enough to\ndrive the cylinder _G_. The steam is conducted to the cylinder through\nthe short pipe _K_. The steam-cylinder has the usual piston and rod,\nwhich drives the circular crank _H_. This crank is mounted on a\ncrankshaft carried on the metal tube _M_. As will be noticed, the\ncylinder is of the simple oscillating type mounted on a standard, formed\nas part of the boiler casing, and stiffened by two angle-plates _L_.\nA heavy flywheel, _J_, is now fitted to the inside end of the\ncrankshaft. This wheel should be a lead casting, and as heavy as\npossible. A heavy flywheel contributes much to the operating efficiency\nof the engine. The propeller-shaft and crank are shown at _N_ in the\ninsert.\nThe boiler is made from a strong tin can about 1-3/4 inches in diameter\nand 4-1/2 inches long. It is cleaned inside and out, and all the seams\nare double-soldered. The lid is also soldered on the can. This little\nboiler, although not elaborately made, will be found capable of standing\nup under considerable steam-pressure, and so no fear need be had of\naccidents by explosion.\n[Illustration: FIG. 83]\n[Illustration: FIG. 78]\n[Illustration: FIG. 77]\n[Illustration: FIG. 79]\n[Illustration: FIG. 80]\n[Illustration: FIG. 81]\n[Illustration: FIG. 82]\nA little safety-valve and filler-plug suitable for use on the boiler\nare shown clearly in Fig. 78. A piece of sheet tin is cut out to the\nsize and shape illustrated in Fig. 79 at _A_. The piece is bent up at\nthe dotted lines and the seams are soldered. Two angle-plates, _B_, are\nthen cut and fitted and soldered in place. Next a piece of brass tube\nwith a 1/8-inch bore and 1 inch long is cut and soldered in place for\nthe bearing of the crankshaft. A lead flywheel 1-1/4 inches in diameter\nand 1/2 inch thick is then mounted firmly on a piece of straight steel\nwire 1-3/4 inches long, which acts as a shaft.\nThe shaft is made to run freely in the crankshaft bearing that was\npreviously soldered in place. The cylinder is shown in section in Fig.\n80. If the reader will refer back to the construction of the engine\ndescribed in Chapter 4 he will readily understand the operation and\nconstruction of this particular engine.\nA little crank must be cut from 1/16-inch brass, and soldered to the\ncrankshaft after fitting a wire crank-pin to the outer edge. This\ncrank-pin should be of such a size that the joint on the end of the\npiston-rod shown at _A_, Fig. 80, turns on it easily. The throw should\nbe only half the stroke of the engine, which is 3/8 of an inch.\nThe boiler is now fixed in place by bending the lugs _B_, Fig. 79, so\nthat they just support the boiler nicely. They are then soldered in\nplace. Next fit the short steam-pipe _K_ between the boiler and the\nsteam block on the cylinder. The builder should take care to keep the\nsteam-pipe well up to the top of the boiler.\nThe lamp should be built at this time. The container for the denatured\nalcohol is made from a well soldered tin box of suitable size. It can\nalso be made by cutting a sheet of tin to the size and shape shown in\nFig. 81. The corner joints are soldered and then a tin lid is soldered\nin place. The builder should not forget to make the filler-tube _E_ and\nair-tube _D_, as shown in Fig. 77, before soldering the top piece in\nplace. The burners should be made as high as the container, and these\nshould be made from little pieces of tin bent to shape and soldered on\nto a bottom pipe, as shown in Fig. 77. The builder should also remember\nto cut the holes through this pipe so that the alcohol can get into the\nburner-tubes, and also to solder the open end of the bottom or feed\ntube. Before the wicks are put into the lamps, the container should be\ntested by filling it with alcohol to see that it is perfectly tight at\nall joints. If it is not the container should be gone over again with\nsolder to assure its being leak-proof.\nBefore operating the engine with steam, it can be tested with a small\nbicycle pump through the opening for the safety-valve. The engine should\nturn over briskly at every stroke of the pump, providing it does not\ncome to rest at \"dead center.\" If it does come to rest at \"dead center,\"\nwhere no air can enter the piston, the crankshaft should be given a\nlittle twist and the engine will then start. Before steam is applied it\nwill be well to experiment until the engine runs with the air-pump.\nHaving made the engine run smoothly with air, steam can be generated in\nthe boiler. The wicks should not be placed too tightly in the burners.\nAfter they are in place the container may be filled with denatured\nalcohol, and the burners lighted and placed under the boiler. In a very\nfew minutes steam will be up. At the first indication of pressure in the\nboiler the engine should be given a twist with the fingers until it\nstarts and goes of its own accord. The constructor should remember to\nkeep his engine well lubricated.\nThe propeller-shaft is merely a piece of steel wire, perfectly straight\nand fitted with a crank _A_, Fig. 82. This crank is similar to the one\nfitted to the engine, but with a small slot cut out for the crank-pin to\nfit into. This is done so that, as the crank-pin on the engine turns\naround, it also turns a slotted crank on the propeller-shaft.\nA short piece of tube, _C_, is now fitted to a flat brass plate, _D_.\nThe plate is mounted at an angle to the tube, so that when it is in\nplace on the stern of the boat the propeller-shaft will be in line with\nthe crankshaft of the engine.\nA clearance hole is now drilled through the hull, so that the\npropeller-shaft can be put in place. Solder the tube to the plate, and\npunch four small holes in the plate, so that it can be screwed firmly\nto the hull. Solder a short piece of tube, as shown at _B_, Fig. 82, to\nkeep the propeller-shaft in position.\nThe propeller must now be made. This is easily done by cutting out a\ndisk of brass 1-1/2 inches in diameter, as shown in Fig. 83. The shaded\nportions of the brass disk are cut away. The blades are bent to shape,\ncare being taken to see that they are all alike. This done, the\npropeller is soldered to the propeller-shaft.\nThe only part of the job that remains is to screw the boiler in place\nunder the fore-deck of the boat. This done, the _Nancy Lee_ is ready for\nher trial. The fore-deck should be made removable by fitting it with\npins or screws with the heads cut off, so that the deck only needs\npushing into place. This little boat should be capable of attaining a\nspeed of from four to five miles an hour if it is made carefully and\naccording to the directions outlined in this Chapter.\nCHAPTER VII\nAN ELECTRICALLY DRIVEN LAKE FREIGHTER\nA PROTOTYPE of the model lake freighter described in this Chapter will\nprobably be familiar to many readers. It is a type of boat used on the\nGreat Lakes, and, owing to its peculiarity of design, it lends itself\nvery well to construction in model form.\nThe lines of the boat may be seen very clearly in Fig. 84.\nThe hull of the model freighter measures four feet over all, and the\nbeam at the water-line is 8 inches. The extreme draft will be in the\nneighborhood of 5 inches. This model, when completed, will be capable of\ncarrying considerable weight; in fact, it is able to accommodate\nthirty-five pounds in weight when used in fresh water. This will give\nthe builder an opportunity to install a very substantial power\nequipment with little regard for weight.\n[Illustration: FIG. 84]\n[Illustration: FIG. 85]\nThe hull is made according to the built-up principle, and the\nconstructor will have to cut his templates before attempting the shaping\nof the hull. Owing to the depth of the model, it will be necessary to\nuse about ten planks. The plank that is used to form the bottom of the\nboat is not gouged out. Every other plank is gouged out with a saw and\nchisel.\nThe bottom plank is shaped with a knife to conform to the lines of the\nboat. In building up the hull with the planks, they should first be\nsmeared with glue, and when put in place a few brass brads should be\ndriven in. As mentioned in an earlier part of this book, iron nails\nshould not be used in work of this nature, owing to the fact that they\nwill rust and cause trouble. The brass brads are placed about one inch\napart the entire length of the boards. The hull is finished with a plane\nand sandpaper, and after it has been brought to shape in this way and\nfinished, a coat of paint is applied. Black with dark red trimmings\nmakes a very good combination for a boat of this type.\nThe deck is made from a piece of 1/4-inch pine board. Seven hatches are\nadded to the deck. Six of these hatches can be made by merely gluing a\nsquare piece of 1/4-inch wood to the deck. The seventh hatch should be\nmade with a hole cut in the deck, so that access can be had to the power\nmotor.\nThe deck-house, wheel-house, and chart-house, as well as the bridge,\nshould be constructed of tin, which may be salvaged from clean tin\ncans. The bridge is provided with spray-cloths made from white adhesive\ntape, as outlined in Chapter 9. The port-holes in the deck-house and\nhull are made by little pieces of brass forced in place over a small\npiece of mica. The life-boats, which are carried on top of the\nengine-house, are whittled out of a solid piece of wood and painted\nwhite. Life-boats are always painted white, regardless of the color of\nthe boat upon which they are used. The life-boats are held by means of\nstring and small dummy pulleys to davits made of heavy stovepipe wire. A\nrub-streak made of a piece of 1/4-inch square pine is tacked to each\nside of the hull just below the sheer-line. The rub-streak should be\ntacked in place with nails such as those used on cigar-boxes.\nThe funnel measures 1 inch in diameter by 4 inches long. A small exhaust\nsteam pipe, which can be made from a piece of brass tubing, is mounted\ndirectly aft of the funnel. The forward deck fittings consist mainly of\na steering-boom, two bollards, two fair-heads, and four life-buoys\nmounted on the bridge. The main-deck is equipped with six bollards and\ntwo covered ventilators, each 1/2 inch in diameter. The foremast is\nproperly stayed in the deck, and should be fitted with rat-lines. The\nrat-lines can be made with black thread and finished with varnish, which\nwhen dry will tend to hold the threads in shape.\nThe rudder is cut from a piece of sheet brass to the shape shown, and\nfitted with a quadrant. The engine cabin can be made from cigar-box\nwood. The windows and doors can either be painted in place, or the\nwindows can be cut and backed up with sheet celluloid. A good substitute\nfor painted doors will be found in small pieces of tin painted a\ndifferent color from the cabin. The same procedure may be followed in\nfitting the windows and doors to the forward cabin.\nWe are now ready to consider the power plant. Owing to the large\ndisplacement of the boat, it will carry a fairly heavy storage battery.\nThe electric motor and storage battery are mounted in the manner shown\nin Fig. 85, which will also give the reader an idea of the appearance of\nthe finished model. As the drawing indicates, it will not be necessary\nto tilt the motor to any great degree in order to bring the propeller to\nthe proper depth. This is because of the depth of the boat. Instead of a\nstring or belt to connect the motor with the propeller, the shaft of the\nmotor is taken out and replaced by a longer steel rod that will serve\nboth as a motor-shaft and a propeller-shaft. The propeller-shaft extends\nfrom the motor through the stern-tube. The propeller used for this model\nis a three-blade affair, 3 inches in diameter. It must be of this size\nin order to propel a boat of these dimensions at a consistent speed.\nCare must be taken in mounting the motor in this way. If it is not\nmounted directly in line with the stern-tube the propeller-shaft will\nhave a tendency to bind. However, with a little care no trouble should\nbe experienced from this source. The storage battery used should be of\nthe four-volt forty-ampere hour variety. This boat will be capable of\ncarrying such a battery and this weight should just bring the craft down\nto her load water-line. The whole deck is made removable, so that the\nstorage battery can be taken in and out at times when it is necessary to\nrecharge it. A battery of this capacity, however, will drive a small\nmotor similar to the type used on the boat for some time.\nCHAPTER VIII\nAN ELECTRIC SUBMARINE-CHASER\nTHE submarine chaser design given in the drawings and described in the\ntext of this Chapter is a presentable little boat with pleasing lines\nand deck fittings. There is nothing difficult about its construction,\nand, considering the amount of work necessary to produce it, it is\nprobably one of the most pleasing boats described in the book. If made\ncorrectly it will look \"speedy\" and shipshape.\nThe general outline of the boat can be gathered from Figs. 86, 87, and\n88. Fig. 86 gives a side view of the craft; Fig. 87 shows the bow, while\nFig. 88 gives the deck-plan.\n[Illustration: FIG. 86]\n[Illustration: FIG. 87]\n[Illustration: FIG. 88]\nNotice first the construction of the hull. This is made according to the\nSharpie type, but the lines are changed to give the boat a more graceful\nappearance. This is done by changing the shape of the deck and the\nbottom pieces. Fig. 89 shows the various pieces necessary to construct\nthe hull. It will be seen that the forward portion of the bottom piece\nis narrower than the deck piece, and broadens out so that it is wider at\nthe stern than the deck piece. The deck piece has a maximum width of 5\ninches, while the bottom piece has a width of 4 inches at the forward\nsection. The deck measures 3-1/2 inches at the stern, while the bottom\npiece measures 4-1/2 inches at the stern. This produces a half-inch\ntaper on each side of the stern. A half-inch taper is also produced on\nthe bow portion.\n[Illustration: FIG. 90]\n[Illustration: FIG. 91]\n[Illustration: FIG. 89]\nThe hull of the boat can be made from 1/8-inch mahogany. If this is not\navailable, choose some other close-grained wood, free from knots and\nblemishes. Paper patterns are made to correspond with the general shape\nof the pieces that form the hull as given in Fig. 89. The pieces, after\nbeing marked, are cut to shape with a keyhole-saw. After this is done\ntheir edges should be trimmed neatly with a jack-plane.\nThe two sides pieces are now screwed to the bow piece by small brass\nscrews. After this is done the bottom piece is fastened to the side\npieces the entire length of the boat. Next the first cross-piece, as\nshown in Fig. 90, is screwed in place. This cross-piece should be 4-3/4\ninches in length, so that the width of the hull at this point is just 5\ninches. The next cross-piece should correspond to the width of the deck\npiece at the section of the hull where it is placed. The same holds true\nfor the third cross-piece. When the third cross-piece has been screwed\nin place, the stern piece is put in position.\nThe joints of the hull should then be smeared with either pitch or\nbath-tub enamel or a thick mixture of white lead may be used.\nAfter having made sure that the hull is perfectly water-tight the worker\ncan proceed to install the power equipment. This consists of a small\nbattery motor driven with two dry cells. The design and installation of\nsuch things as stern-tubes and propeller-shafts have been taken up in\ndetail in an earlier part of this book. The strut that holds the\npropeller-shaft is shown in Fig. 91. This consists merely of a brass\nbushing held in a bracket made of a strip of brass 1/2 inch wide. The\nbrass strip is wound around the bushing and soldered. It is held to the\nbottom of the hull by means of two 8-32 brass machine screws. These\nscrews should be tightened to prevent leakage. It would be inadvisable\nto use wood-screws for this purpose, owing to the fact that the bottom\npiece of the boat is thin.\n[Illustration: FIG. 93]\n[Illustration: FIG. 92]\nThe two dry batteries for the motor are held in two tin troughs, as\nillustrated in Fig. 92. These troughs are fastened to the side of the\nboat by means of small bolts. They will prevent the boat from shifting\nits cargo; in other words, they hold the batteries in place and thereby\nprevent the boat from listing.\nThe deck and deck fittings should now be furnished. The construction of\nthe forward cabin is shown in Fig. 93. The sides and back are formed\nwith cigar-box wood, while the curved front can best be made with a\npiece of tin. The top is also cut to shape from cigar-box wood, and\nshould overlap about 1/4 inch. The pilot-house is simplicity itself,\nbeing made of a piece of curved tin with three windows cut in it. Four\nlittle lugs cut in the tin are bent on the inside and each provided with\na hole. These lugs are used to tack the pilot-house to the deck. A small\nskylight is produced from a solid piece of wood and tacked in place as\nillustrated in the drawing.\nThe builder is cautioned not to destroy the appearance of his boat by\nmaking the mast too large. After the mast has been nicely sandpapered, a\nlittle wire frame is bent to shape and fastened to the top, as shown in\nFig. 87. The little wire railing that is placed in front of the mast is\nthen bent to shape, and this and the mast are put in their permanent\nposition. The mast can be held to the deck by boring a hole a little\nunder size and smearing the bottom of the mast with a little glue before\nit is forced in. Pieces of black thread are run from the top of the mast\nto the railing at the bottom, as shown. These threads are used to hoist\nsignal flags. Two little angle-pieces are placed on the forward deck,\none on each side of the pilot-house. These are for the harbor lights.\nOne should be painted green and one red.\nThis finishes the forward cabin. It should be placed in the center of\nthe deck and the position it occupies should be marked out with a\npencil. This portion of the deck should be carefully cut out with a\ncoping-saw. The cabin is then forced into the opening. The fit should be\nfairly tight, so that it will not be necessary to employ nails or glue,\nas this is the only way in which the interior of the hull is made\naccessible.\nTwo ventilators are placed just back of the forward cabin. Between the\nforward cabin and the cabin aft there is placed a rapid-fire gun. The\ndetails of this gun are given in Fig. 94. The barrel of the gun is made\nof a piece of brass rod. A hole is drilled through this rod with a small\ndrill and a piece of copper wire is inserted. A square piece of brass\nfor the breech is then drilled out to receive the barrel. One end of the\nbarrel is placed in this hole and held with a drop of solder. A drop of\nsolder should also be used on the copper wire that runs through the\nbarrel. The bearing and shield of the gun are made from thin sheet\nbrass, as illustrated. Three holes are drilled in the bearing bracket,\ntwo through which the wire passes and one through which the small nail\nis placed to hold the bearing to the wooden standard. The shield is\nforced over the barrel and held in place with a drop of solder. When the\nbarrel is mounted in the bearing, a drop of solder should be put in\nplace to prevent the barrel of the gun from tipping.\n[Illustration: FIG. 94]\nThe cabin which is placed aft on the boat, is of very simple\nconstruction. It is made up entirely of cigar-box wood tacked together,\nand the top should overlap 1/4 inch. The cabin is then tacked to the\ndeck of the boat. The mast should be only three-fourths as high as the\nforward mast, and a tiny hole is drilled near the top. Into this hole a\nsmall piece of soft wire is placed, and from this wire a thread runs to\nthe cabin. A small flag can then be placed on the thread, as illustrated\nin Fig. 86.\nSix port-holes are now bored in each side of the hull with a 1/2-inch\nbit. These can be backed up with mica or celluloid. Five smaller\nport-holes made with a 1/4-inch drill are then bored in each side of the\nforward cabin. Three are placed in the aft cabin.\nWith the exception of painting, the hull is now ready to be launched.\nBefore finally applying the paint the hull should be given a thorough\nrubbing with sandpaper. A battleship gray with maroon trimmings makes a\npleasing color combination for this boat.\nCHAPTER IX\nBOAT FITTINGS\nTHE model boat builder generally has some trouble in producing the\nnecessary fittings for his boats. It is practically impossible to buy\nsuch things in this country, and so it is necessary to make them.\nUsing a little care, it is possible to make presentable fittings by\nutilizing odds and ends found about the household and shop. In this\nChapter the author will describe the construction of the more important\nfittings necessary to model boats, such as stacks, searchlights,\nbollards, cowl-ventilators, davits, and binnacles.\nThe smokestack is probably one of the easiest things to produce. A very\nsuitable method of producing a smokestack is shown in Fig. 95. The stack\nitself is cut from a piece of thin brass tubing. It is also possible to\nuse a small tin can of the proper diameter. In both cases, of course,\npaint must be applied to improve the appearance of the brass or tin. If\nthe stack is painted either gray or white a red band near the top of the\nstack produces a good finish and makes it look more shipshape.\n[Illustration: FIG. 95]\n[Illustration: FIG. 97]\nThe method of anchoring the stack to the deck of the boat is shown very\nclearly. First a block of wood is cut about the same diameter as the\ninternal diameter of the stack. This block of wood is then forced up\ninto the stack. A small square base is then cut, and fastened to the\nblock on the inside of the stack with a wood-screw. It might be\nmentioned here that it is often necessary to drill a hole with a small\nhand drill before driving the screw in, to prevent splitting the wood.\nAfter the base piece is fastened to the stack, the base in turn is held\nto the deck of the boat by two small screws driven up from beneath. The\nguy-wires can then be fastened on. The guy-wires should be made of very\nfine wire, since heavy wire would be entirely out of proportion. The\nwire can be fastened on the stack by drilling a tiny hole through the\nstack. A knot is then tied in one end of the wire, and the opposite end\nthreaded through the hole. Small screw-eyes driven into the base piece\nare used to anchor the guy-wires.\nVentilators are a very important part of the boat. The model-builder\nwill encounter considerable trouble if he attempts to make his\ncowl-ventilator from metal, unless he is very experienced in drawing\ncopper out by hand. The writer has found a method of producing\ncowl-ventilators by the use of clay pipes. Clay pipes can be purchased\nfor a few cents each, and when cut down as shown in Fig. 96 they form\nvery suitable ventilators. The pipe can be cut as shown by the use of a\nfile. The ventilator is held to the deck of the boat by being forced\ninto a hole in the deck that is just a trifle under size. Of course, the\nforcing will have to be done carefully to prevent the stem from\ncracking. The inside of the ventilator should always be painted red, and\nthe outside should be the same color as the boat. Ventilators made in\nthis way absolutely defy detection and do much toward bettering the\ngeneral appearance of the craft upon which they are used.\n[Illustration: FIG. 98]\n[Illustration: FIG. 96]\nA simple searchlight, easily made by the model boat builder, is shown\nin Fig. 97. This is an electric light, and the batteries used to propel\nthe boat can be used for the light. First a small circular piece of wood\nis cut out, as shown at _A_, Fig. 97. The center of this is drilled out\nto accommodate a small flashlight bulb. A tiny brass screw is then\ndriven into the piece of wood, so that it will come in contact with the\ncenter of the base of the flashlight bulb. This little screw forms one\nof the electrical contacts, and one of the wires from the battery is\nattached to it.\nA little strip of brass is then cut as shown in _B_, Fig. 97, and\nprovided with three holes, one hole at each end and one in the middle.\nThe brass is bent into a semicircular shape, so that it will be just a\nlittle larger in diameter than the outside of the wooden piece in which\nthe flashlight bulb is mounted. This little piece is then fastened to a\nwooden post with a small brass pin, as shown in Fig. 97. Two more pins\nare used to hold the wooden piece to the searchlight proper. One of\nthese pins is driven through the wooden piece until it comes in contact\nwith the base of the flashlight bulb. This forms the other electrical\nconnection, and the second feed wire from the battery can be attached to\nthe little brass piece that holds the searchlight. Both the feed wires\nfrom the battery can come up through a hole in the deck close to the\nwooden post upon which the searchlight is mounted.\nBollards are very easily made. Reference to Fig. 98 will make this\nclear. First a little strip of brass is cut, and this is drilled as\nshown with two holes, one at each end and two smaller holes in the\ncenter. Two little circular pieces of wood are then cut, with a hole\nthrough the center. A brass screw passes through these and into the deck\nof the boat. The brass screw should not be driven in too far, since the\nbollards should be free to revolve. It is also possible to use brass\ntubing instead of wood if the proper size is in the model-builder's\nshop.\n[Illustration: A POWERFUL GASOLENE BLOW-TORCH\nFor a metre racing boat. Such a torch will deliver a steady, hot flame\nfor fifteen minutes]\nA word will be said here about finishing the deck of a model boat. It is\na very tedious job to cut separate planks to form the deck. In fact,\nthis job is quite beyond the ability, to say nothing of the patience, of\nthe average young model-builder. A very simple method of producing\nimitation planking is shown in Fig. 99. A sharp knife and a\nstraight-edge are the only tools for this work. The straight-edge is\nmerely used to guide the knife. The cuts should not be made too deep,\nand they should be made a uniform distance apart. When the deck is\nfinished in this manner and varnished over, a very pleasing effect is\nproduced. In fact, if the work is done carefully, the deck looks very\nmuch as if it were planked.\n[Illustration: JUST AFTER THE RACE\nA line-up of the entries in one of the power boat races held at Central\nPark, New York City. The author presented the cup to the owner of Elmara\nIII, the winning boat, which attained a speed of nearly thirty miles an\nhour]\n[Illustration: FIG. 99]\n[Illustration: FIG. 100]\n[Illustration: FIG. 104]\n[Illustration: FIG. 101]\nA small life-boat is shown in Fig. 100. This can easily be carved to\nshape from a small piece of soft white pine. The center is gouged out,\nand tiny little seats made of thin strips of wood are glued in place.\nTwo small screw-eyes are placed in the boat, for fastening it to the\ndavits. The davits are shown in Fig. 101, at _A_ and _B_. They are made\nby bending a piece of small brass rod, as shown. One end of the rod is\nhammered flat, and a hole is made in it with a very small drill. Holes\na little under size are drilled in the deck, and the davits are forced\ninto these. The method of suspending the life-boat from the davits is\nshown at _B_, Fig. 101. The little blocks of wood are glued on to a\nthread to represent pulleys, and they are, of course, only imitation or\ndummy pulleys.\n[Illustration: FIG. 102]\nThe method of producing port-holes is shown in Fig. 102. A hole is first\nbored through the wood with a bit of the proper size. The size of the\nport-holes depends entirely upon the size of the boat. A piece of brass\ntubing is then cut off with a hacksaw to form a brass bushing. The\noutside diameter of this tubing should be the same as the size of the\nbit used. For instance, if a 1/2-inch bit is used, brass tubing 1/2 inch\nin diameter should be purchased. Such tubing can be obtained from any\nhardware store. Celluloid, such as that used for windows in automobile\ncurtains, is glued to the inside of the port-holes. This makes a\nsplendid substitute for glass. It can be obtained at garages and\nautomobile supply stores for a few cents a square foot. The model boat\nbuilder can also use either mica or glass for this purpose, although\nthick glass looks somewhat out of place.\nA binnacle is shown in Fig. 103. This is made from a solid piece of wood\ncut with a semi-spherical top. The steering-wheel is made of a wheel\nfrom an old alarm clock. The teeth of the wheel should be filed off.\nTiny pieces of wire are then soldered in place on the wheel, as shown. A\npin driven through the center of the steering-wheel is used to fasten it\nto the binnacle. The binnacle itself can be held to the deck either by\nglue or by a small screw.\n[Illustration: FIG. 103]\nA torpedo-tube for use on model destroyers and battleships is shown in\nFig. 104. First two disks of wood are cut. Then a circular piece is\ncut, as shown. Two brass nails are then driven through this piece into\none of the disks. An upholstering tack is driven into the end of the\ncircular piece, as pictured. The method of attaching the torpedo-tube to\nthe deck is clearly illustrated in Fig. 104 and no further directions\nneed be given. If the model-builder has a small piece of brass tube on\nhand suitable for use in this case, it will make a much better appearing\ntube than the piece of wood illustrated.\nA wireless antenna is shown at Fig. 105. This is a fitting that will do\nmuch toward improving the appearance of any craft. Very fine copper wire\nis used for the a\u00ebrial. The little spreaders are cut to shape from wood,\nand a tiny hole is punched through them through which the wire is\nplaced. Black beads slipped on the wire serve very well as insulators.\nThe lead-in wire which drops to the wireless cabin is attached to the\na\u00ebrial by winding it around each one of the a\u00ebrial waves. The a\u00ebrial\nshould be suspended between the masts of the vessel. A few words should\nbe said about masts in general. If there is one way in which a\nmodel-builder can destroy the appearance of a model boat, it is by using\nbadly proportioned masts. The average boy seems inclined to use a mast\nof too great a diameter, which makes it out of proportion with the rest\nof the boat. It is better to have a mast too small rather than too\nlarge.\nThe method of producing railing is shown in Fig. 106. The same small\nbrass rod that was used for the davits can be used for the rail\nstanchions. One end of the stanchions is hammered flat and drilled out.\nThe stanchions are fastened to the deck by first drilling small holes\nand forcing them into it. Thread or very fine wire is used for the\nrailing. Fine wire is preferred owing to the fact that it will not break\nso easily under strain.\n[Illustration: FIG. 105]\n[Illustration: FIG. 106]\n[Illustration: FIG. 108]\n[Illustration: FIG. 107]\n[Illustration: FIG. 109]\n[Illustration: FIG. 110]\nFig. 107 shows a good method of producing stairs. It must be remembered\nthat stairs are often used in model-boat construction. First a strip of\ntin is bent as shown. Then two more strips, which act as side pieces,\nare cut. One of these strips is soldered to each side of the stairs.\nThen six stanchions, which can be made from heavy copper wire, are\nsoldered to the side pieces, as shown. The railing can be made from\ncopper wire or black thread.\nFig. 108 shows a small skylight placed on the deck. This is easily made\nfrom cigar-box-wood glued together. The holes in the top pieces for the\nwindows are cut with a very sharp knife. It will be necessary to use a\nlittle patience in this, to prevent the piece from splitting and to\nprevent cracks. A piece of celluloid is glued underneath the top pieces\nbefore they are finally glued in place.\nA small quick-firing deck-gun is shown in Fig. 109. This is a very\nsimple fitting and can be made with very little difficulty. The base of\nthe gun is formed by cutting a thread-spool in half. A piece of small\nbrass tubing is used to form the barrel. A little piece of sheet tin is\nlooped over the back of the gun to represent the breech. A tiny piece of\nwire is held to the side of the breech with a drop of solder, to\nrepresent a handle. The shield of the gun is cut from a piece of tin,\nas shown. A hole is made in the bottom of this, so that the nail that\npasses through the barrel of the gun will also pass through this hole\nand into the spool. The center of the spool should be plugged to hold\nthe nail. After the gun is painted gray or black it will appear very\nbusinesslike, considering the small amount of labor spent in producing\nit.\nAnchors are more or less difficult to make (Fig. 110), and unless the\nbuilder is endowed with a great amount of patience he will not be able\nto file them out of solid metal. A dummy anchor can be easily cut out of\nwood, however, and when painted black it will answer instead of a metal\none. The anchor shown at _A_ is a very simple type made out of a solid\npiece of wood. The one at _B_, however, is made out of two pieces of\nwood fastened together with a pin, as shown. The bottom piece of the\nanchor shown at _B_ should be rather thick to get the proper effect, and\nthe two points should be tapered nicely. The center of the bottom piece\nshould be hollowed out to accommodate the vertical piece.\nA common hatch is shown at Fig. 111. This can be made in the form of an\nopen box from cigar-box wood, and glued to the deck. It is not necessary\nto cut a hole in the deck for this purpose.\n[Illustration: FIG. 115]\n[Illustration: FIG. 116]\n[Illustration: FIG. 111]\n[Illustration: FIG. 113]\nA cargo-hoist for use on model freight-boats is shown in Fig. 112. This\nis a very simple piece of work and will need little description. Several\nstay-wires should be fastened to the main-mast and held to the deck with\nsmall screw-eyes. The boom should be made a trifle smaller in diameter\nthan the mast. The pulleys are dummy, like those on the life-boat. A\nlittle hook bent to shape from copper wire is placed on the end of the\nthread, as shown.\n[Illustration: FIG. 112]\n[Illustration: FIG. 114]\nFig. 113 shows a method of making a whistle and an engine exhaust. The\nengine exhaust is made of a piece of wood, and the furled top is\nproduced by an eyelet such as those used in shoes. The engine exhaust is\nalways placed immediately back of the last smokestack. The whistle is a\nsimple device made almost entirely of wood. The whistle-cord is of\nthread attached to the small piece of wire, as shown.\nFig. 114 shows the method of making spray-cloths for the top of the\npilot-house. Small brass brads are driven into the top of the\npilot-house, and white adhesive tape is placed on the brads, as\npictured. Advantage can be taken of the adhesive substance on the tape\nwhich holds it in place on the brads.\nA rudder is shown in Fig. 115. The rudder-post should be a piece of\nbrass rod so thick that it can be split with a hacksaw. The sheet brass\nthat forms the rudder proper is placed in this split and soldered. In\nthe case of an ornamental boat the rudder can be fixed as shown in Fig.\n115. It will be seen that it is quite impossible to keep the rudder in\nadjustment in this way.\nIf the rudder is to be kept in a certain adjustment a quadrant is\nnecessary. This is made by using a semicircular piece of heavy sheet\nbrass and filing little notches in it. The lever of the rudder rests in\nthese notches, and by this means the rudder can be held in any one\nposition, so that the boat will either turn in a circle or go straight.\nFig. 116 illustrates such an arrangement.\nCHAPTER X\nTHE DESIGN OF MODEL STEAM-ENGINES\nINSTEAD of describing the construction of several model engines of\ndifferent design, the author thinks it advisable to put the reader in\npossession of the fundamentals of model steam-engine design and\nconstruction. In this way the model engineer will be able to design and\nconstruct model steam-engines according to his own ideas and in\naccordance with the raw materials and miscellaneous parts he may find in\nhis workshop. Unless the young mechanic is in possession of a very well\nequipped workshop, it is quite impossible to construct a steam-engine\naccording to certain specifications. However, if he has in mind the\nfundamental principles of steam-engine design, he can go ahead and\ndesign his engine, for which he will have no trouble in machining or\nproducing the parts that enter into its construction. By this the\nauthor means that the workman can design his engine to meet the\nmaterials he has on hand.\nNotice Fig. 117. This is a cylinder into which is fitted a piston. If\nsteam is forced into the cylinder the piston will be forced to the\nopposite end of the cylinder. If some means is then provided so that the\nsteam can escape and the piston come back, another impulse can be given\nit by admitting more steam, and thus a continuous motion may be\nproduced. This is how the steam-engine works.\n[Illustration: FIG. 117]\nHaving learned how motion is imparted to the piston by the expansion of\nsteam under pressure, attention is directed to what is known as the \"D\"\nslide-valve. This slide-valve permits steam to enter the cylinder and to\nexhaust at proper intervals. See Fig. 118. Steam enters the steam-chest\nthrough the pipe _A_. The slide-valve is shown at _D_. When the\nslide-valve is in the position shown, steam enters the cylinder, and by\nthe time the cylinder has arrived in the position shown by the dotted\nline _C_, the slide-valve moves over, closing the passage _B_. The steam\nunder pressure forces the piston to the opposite end of the cylinder.\nWhen the piston reaches the opposite end of the cylinder, steam that has\nentered through the passage _F_ again forces the piston back to its\noriginal position. This is caused by the slide-valve shifting its\nposition, because of the impulse it received at the opposite end of the\ncylinder. Thus it will be seen that when the piston is at one end of the\ncylinder the opposite end is exhausting. By carefully studying Fig. 118\nthe action of the _D_ valve will be understood. The connecting-rod _E_\nis connected to the crankshaft and in this way the engine is caused to\nrevolve.\n[Illustration: FIG. 118]\nA cylinder similar to that shown in Fig. 118 is called a double-acting\ncylinder. This is because the steam acts on both sides of the piston.\nSingle-acting cylinders are cylinders in which the steam expands on only\none side of the piston. In the single-acting engines the _D_ valve is\nmodified.\nThe \"stroke\" of a steam-engine depends upon the length of the cylinder;\nreally, the stroke is the distance travelled by the piston. In model\nengines it ranges from 3/8 of an inch to 1-1/2 inches. The bore of a\ncylinder is its internal diameter. The bore is usually a trifle smaller\nthan the stroke. Thus it is common to have a stroke of 7/8 inch and a\ncylinder-bore of 3/4 inch.\nAt this juncture the author would caution the more inexperienced young\nmechanics not to build double-acting engines. The valve mechanism is\nsomewhat intricate and very difficult to regulate. The construction is\nalso much more complicated, and this also holds true of the designing.\nOn the other hand, single-acting engines, while not so powerful for a\ngiven size, will do very nicely in driving model boats, and will deliver\nsufficient power for all ordinary purposes.\n[Illustration: FIG. 119]\nYour attention is directed to Fig. 119. This shows a design for a model\nsingle-cylinder, single-acting steam-engine. The reader should carefully\nstudy each drawing before continuing to digest the following matter. The\ncylinder _L_ can be made from a piece of tubing. This can be either\nbrass or copper. Aluminum should not be used, owing to the fact that it\nis difficult to solder and difficult to work with. The piston is made so\nthat it will fit nicely into the cylinder and move up and down without\nbinding. It will be seen that a groove, _M_, is cut around the piston\nnear the top. String soaked in oil is placed in this groove. This is\ncalled packing, and the presence of this packing prevents steam leakage\nbetween the piston and the cylinder walls and thereby materially\nincreases the efficiency of the engine.\nIn this case the connecting-rod _R_ is made in a circular piece. It is\nattached to the piston by a pin, _F_. The connecting-rod must be free to\nrevolve upon this pin. The engine shown has a stroke of 7/8 inch.\nTherefore, the crank-pin _K_ on the crank-disk _N_ must be placed 1/2 of\n7/8 or 7/16 inch from the center of the disk _N_, so that when this disk\nmakes one revolution, the piston will move 7/8 inch in the cycle. Thus\nit will be seen that the distance of the crank-pin _K_ from the center\nof the crank disk _N_ will depend entirely upon the stroke of the\nengine. It may be well to mention here that the worker should always\nstart designing his engine by first determining the bore and stroke.\nEverything depends upon these two factors. It is also well to mention\nhere that the piston should never travel completely to the top of the\ncylinder--a small space must always be left for the steam to expand.\nOne eighth of an inch is plenty of space to leave.\nIt will be noticed that the valve mechanisms on the particular engine\nshown bear no resemblance to the _D_ valve previously described. The\nholes _G_ which are bored around the cylinder are the exhaust ports. It\nwill be seen that when the piston is at the end of its downward stroke\nit uncovers these exhaust ports and permits the steam to escape. The\nmomentum of the flywheel _A_ pushes the piston upward, closing these\nholes. As these holes are closed the valve _H_ uncovers the entrance _I_\nand permits steam to enter from the boiler through _J_. By the time the\npiston has reached the upward limit of its stroke a considerable steam\npressure has developed on top of the cylinder, and this again forces the\npiston downward. Thus the same cycle of movement is gone through\nrepeatedly.\nThe valve on this little engine is extremely simple. It consists of a\ncircular piece of brass drilled out, as shown. A hole (_I_ and _J_) is\ndrilled transversely through this. The little cylinder shown in the\ninsert at _O_ slides in the larger hole, and when it is at its upper\nlimit it cuts off the steam. At the proper intervals the valve is pulled\ndown by the eccentric _C_. It will be seen that the moving parts, i.e.,\nthe valve and the piston, must be properly timed. That is, the eccentric\n_C_ must be mounted on the crank-shaft _B_ so that the valve will close\nand open at proper intervals. When the engine is made, the eccentric can\nbe shifted about by means of a set-screw, _Q_, until the engine operates\nsatisfactorily. This set-screw is used to hold the eccentric to the\ncrank-shaft. The word eccentric merely means \"off center.\" Thus the\neccentric in this case is formed by a little disk of brass with the hole\ndrilled off center. The distances these holes are placed off center will\ndepend entirely upon the motion of the valve. It will be seen that the\nvalve is connected to the eccentric by means of the valve-rod _E_. The\nvalve-rod, in turn, is held to a circular strap which is placed around\nthe eccentric. A groove should be cut in the surface of the eccentric,\nso that this strap will not slip off. If the strap is not put on too\ntightly and the eccentric is free to revolve within it, the valve will\nbe forced up and down as the eccentric revolves.\nThe crank-shaft _B_ revolves in two bearings, _D D_. The flywheel is\nheld to the crank-shaft by means of a set-screw _S_.\nMost small engines with a bore under one inch will operate nicely on\nfrom 20 to 30 pounds of steam, and this pressure can easily be generated\nin the boiler that was described in the chapter on model-boat power\nplants.\nCHAPTER XI\nA MODEL FLOATING DRY-DOCK\nAS many of the readers probably know, a dry-dock is used in assisting\ndisabled vessels. Some dry-docks are permanent, while others are built\nso that they can be floated or towed to a disabled vessel that is not\nable to get to a land dry-dock. The land dry-dock operates as follows.\nIt is first filled with water, and the disabled boat is towed in by\ntugs. After the tugs leave, the gates are closed, and the water in the\ndry-dock is pumped out, leaving the boat high and dry. Large props are\nput in place to prevent the boat from tipping.\nThe dry-dock here described is a model that is towed to a disabled\nvessel. It is then sunk until it passes under the boat. The sinking is\nbrought about by filling the dry-dock with water. After it has sunk to\nthe proper depth it is passed under the boat to be repaired, the water\nis pumped out, and the dry-dock rises, lifting the disabled boat with\nit. Repairs can then be made very easily.\nThe model here described does not possess all the fittings and additions\nof the original. However, it is able to rise or sink as required,\ncarrying the machinery necessary to bring about these functions.\n[Illustration: FIG. 120]\n[Illustration: FIG. 121]\nA general view of the completed model is shown in Fig. 120. The first\npart to construct is the framework for the hull. Four pieces of wood\nwill be required for this, and they should be cut to the shape and size\nshown in Fig. 121. To make this it is best to cut the two side parts\nfirst, as indicated by the dotted lines. This done, the bottom piece can\nbe clamped on from behind by means of pieces of lath. These are for the\ntwo end pieces. The other two pieces are made in the same way, except\nthat they contain holes for the water to pass through, as shown at _B_.\nThe wood for these frames, or ribs, should be not less than 1/4 inch\nthick in order to accommodate the pieces used in the construction of the\nremainder of the hull.\nWhen the builder has made the four ribs, he should proceed to construct\nthe lower deck, which consists of a single piece of wood nicely planed\nand finished, measuring 14-1/2 inches long by 8 inches wide and 1/8 inch\nthick. This piece must be nailed to the bottom of each of the ribs, one\nat each end, and the other two containing the holes at equal distances\napart. Tiny nails, similar to those used on cigar-boxes, will be found\nvery suitable for this work. Some old cigar-boxes may be broken apart to\nobtain the nails for this purpose. Before nailing on the board it should\nbe marked out to present ordinary deck-boards. The reader is referred\nback to Chapter 9 which describes this process, using a straight-edge\nand knife.\nWhen this board is nailed in place, the next requirement will be two\npieces for the sides the bottom edges, of which must rest on the top of\nthe deck-board. These boards are the same length as the deck. They\nshould reach to the top of the ribs, and be fastened in the same way as\nthe bottom deck. It is good practice, when doing this, to place a little\nwhite lead on the bottom edge before finally driving the nails in place.\nThis will tend to produce a water-tight joint. This done, three pieces\nof wood 5/8 inch square must be screwed in place, flush with the bottom\nends of the ribs, to form a flat keel. They should be firmly fixed since\na lead keel is afterward screwed on the bottom of the boat. Attention\nshould now be directed to fitting the two middle decks. These are placed\n4 inches from the top and are 4 inches wide. In this space the engine\nand pumps are placed. Therefore, the top deck is made in the form of a\nlid, and the outside plate made to draw out. In this way the mechanism\nbelow the deck can be made very accessible.\nThe framework of the dry-dock is now completed, and the builder can\nproceed to fix on the side plates. These are made from sheet tin with a\nwidth of 14-1/2 inches. The length must be sufficient to reach from the\ntop of one side, around the bottom of the hull, to the top of the other\nside. Having cut the tin to the required size, one side is put in place\nwith small nails, spacing them an equal distance apart.\nBefore securing the opposite side, the builder must first arrange the\ninlet-valve. This particular member is constructed as follows. First,\nobtain an old gas-pipe union which measures about 5/8 inch in diameter\nand 3/4 inch long. With a hacksaw this is cut off in a sloping direction\nwith an angle to correspond with the slope in the bottom of the\ndry-dock. When this is done, a lid must be fitted to the top by means of\na long rod, as clearly shown in Fig. 122. On the under side of this lid\na small piece of sheet rubber should be glued, so that when the lid is\nscrewed down the valve will be made water-tight. The valve must now be\nsoldered to the inside of the hull. It is placed in such a position that\nit will rest just under the center of one of the upper decks when the\ncontrolling rod is upright.\n[Illustration: FIG. 122]\nThe top end of the rod must contain a thread for about 1 inch, and a\nround plate made to screw on. This plate should be about 3/4 inch in\ndiameter, and contain three small holes around the edge. These holes are\nused in fastening the plate to the deck. The top of the rod is fitted\nwith a small crank-handle, which is used in turning the rod in either\ndirection. In this way the valve can be either opened or closed. At the\nbottom of the rod a small swivel should be provided, as indicated in\nThe plate or sheet of tin on this side of the hull can now be\npermanently fixed in place. When this is done a light hammer should be\nused around the edges to turn the tin into the wood.\nWith the plates secured in place, the builder must next fix a flat wood\nkeel along the bottom of the dry-dock. This should be screwed to the\ninside keel, screws passing through the tin plate. A lead keel is then\nscrewed to the wooden keel, and when this is done the dry-dock can be\nlaunched. If the foregoing instructions have been carried out carefully\nthe dry-dock should ride lightly on the water.\nAs a trial the inlet-valve is now unscrewed and water is permitted to\nenter the hull. When the water rushes in, the hull will begin to sink.\nThe water should be allowed to enter until the hull sinks to within an\ninch of the lower or inside deck. The valve should then be closed. The\nexact position of the water should now be found, and a line drawn all\naround the hull, which can afterward be painted in.\nThe engine and boilers must now be constructed and placed on the\ndry-dock, so that the water that was permitted to enter may be pumped\nout. As a temporary arrangement, a thin rubber tubing is inserted\nthrough a hole in the lower deck and allowed to hang outside the\nwater-level. The siphon can then be formed by simply drawing the water\nup by suction with the lips. A continuous flow will result, emptying the\nhull within a short time.\n[Illustration: FIG. 123]\nAttention is now directed to the construction of the boiler and pumps.\nThe boiler, which is rectangular in shape, is made of thin sheet copper,\nand measures 4 inches long by 3 inches wide by 2 inches deep. A hole is\nmade in the top, and a brass or copper tube 6 inches long and about 3/4\ninch in diameter is soldered in position, as depicted in Fig. 123. This\ntube acts as a chimney on the dry-dock, but it is really used for\nfilling the boiler, and the top is supplied with a tightly fitting\ncork.\nThe ends of the boiler also act as supports, and they are made 4 inches\nlong. The bottom edge is turned up for about 1/4 inch to enable the\nboiler to be screwed firmly to the lower deck. The boiler occupies a\nposition at one end of the hull, and should fit easily in between decks.\nA small spirit-lamp is used to furnish heat, and no description need be\ngiven of this particular part of the equipment. Before the boiler is\nfirmly fixed in place a small hole should be made near the top at one\nend. The feed steam-pipe is inserted in this, and soldered in place.\nTwo small oscillating cylinders, similar to those made for the engine on\nthe _Nancy Lee_ (Chapter 6), should be made. They should not be more\nthan 3/4 inch in length, with a 3/8-inch bore. If the builder has any\nold model steam-engines in the shop, he may take the cylinders from them\ninstead of constructing new ones for the dry-dock.\nThe engine is set up as shown in Fig. 124. The first job is to make the\nframe or standards, and this is in one piece. Two pieces of brass (_A_),\nmeasuring 5-1/2 inches long by 1/2 inch wide and 1/16 inch in thickness,\nare cut. Next the builder should mark off 1-1/2 inches from either end,\nand carefully bend at right angles, after which holes are drilled to\naccommodate the crank-axle _B_. Two holes must also be made for screws\nto enable the machine to be screwed to the deck.\n[Illustration: FIG. 124]\n[Illustration: FIG. 125]\nThe flywheel should be 1-1/2 inches in diameter, while the bent crank\nhas a throw of 3/16 inch. The steam-cylinder is fixed on the outside of\none of the uprights, and the steam-pipe must, of course, be fitted from\nthe inside.\nThe pump-cylinder is composed of a small piece of brass tube 1 inch long\nand 3/8 inch in diameter. The plunger is 1/2 inch long, and the diameter\nis just sufficient to enable it to work freely up and down inside the\nbrass tube. One end is shaped as shown in Fig. 125. This contains a saw\ncut that enables the pump-rod to be placed between and connected with a\npin. The bottom end of the cylinder is now fitted with a brass disk in\nwhich a hole is made and a 3/32-inch tube soldered in place. The inside\nsurface of this piece of brass should be countersunk, and the piece is\nthen soldered into the end of the cylinder. Before the plunger is\ninserted a small lead shot is dropped in, which should be larger than\nthe hole at the bottom of the cylinder, thereby covering it. A hole is\ndrilled in at the side of the cylinder, and a small bent pipe fixed in\nit. At the top of this pipe a short piece of 3/8-inch brass tube is\nfixed in place, as indicated. This piece of tubing is closed at both\nends. The bottom end is treated like that of the pump-barrel and\nsupplied with a large shot. An outlet-pipe is soldered into the side of\nthe delivery-valve chamber and leads to the side of the hull.\nThe pump _E_ is fixed at the bottom midway between the engine uprights\nas indicated in Fig. 124. The suction-pipe passes through a hole and\ndown through the deck nearly to the bottom of the hull. After the\nengine and boiler are connected, a trial can be made. If the foregoing\ninstructions have been carried out, the engine will run at a good speed\nand a continuous flow of water will be pumped out of the hull. All parts\nof the engine and pump should be carefully oiled and water should be\npoured into the pump in order to prime it before its start.\nIt is understood that two complete boilers and pump units are made for\nthe model, and one is mounted on each side. If the builder desires to\nincrease the capacity of the pumps and install a more powerful boiler\nand engine, only one pump will be necessary. Otherwise the water will\nnot be pumped from the hull very rapidly.\nWhen the builder has finished the pump units, he should turn his\nattention to the remainder of the fittings. Two small cranes are made,\nand one is placed at each side of the hull. They are made of tin. The\ncab of each crane measures 2-1/2 inches high by 2 inches long by 1-3/4\ninches wide. A small roof is fitted on, and a piece of wood fitted to\nthe bottom to serve as a floor. The jib measures 6 inches long by 3/4\ninch at the base, and tapers to 1/2 inch. It has 1/4 inch turned down at\neach side, thus adding considerable strength. The jib is fitted to the\ncab by means of a wire passed through the sides, and two guy-ropes are\narranged as shown. A small piece is now cut out at the top, and a pulley\nwheel fixed in position by means of a pin passed through the sides.\n[Illustration: FIG. 126]\nThe winding-drum can be made of either tin or wood. The axle passes\nthrough both sides of the cab, the crank being attached to the outside.\nFig. 126 shows the completed crane, which is held to the deck by means\nof a small bolt and nut. A washer should be placed between the bottom of\nthe crane and the deck, to allow the crane to turn freely with little\nfriction.\nA hand-rail, made of fine brass wire, is placed around the deck.\nDummy port-holes are fixed to the sides of the dry-dock for the purpose\nof lighting up the interior of the engine-room. These are furnished from\ntop rings taken from gas-mantles. Anchor-chains are fixed at each end of\nthe dry-dock. The whole dry-dock is painted with two coats of gray paint\nand the water-line painted in bright red.\n[Illustration: FIG. 127]\nFig. 127 shows the dry-dock with a model boat in position.\nCHAPTER XII\nOPERATION OF FLASH STEAM POWER PLANTS FOR MODEL BOATS\nTHE flash steam method of propelling model power boats of the racing\ntype produces a far greater speed than would otherwise be possible.\nFlash steam plants are far more complicated than ordinary\nsteam-propelled power plants, and for this reason the author devotes a\nchapter to their description.\nA considerable equipment of tools and not a little mechanical ingenuity\nare required to produce and assemble a workable flash steam plant.\nHowever, such plants have gained great popularity in the past few years,\nand all of the hydroplane racing craft are propelled with such outfits.\nThese power plants are capable of delivering such a tremendous power\nthat speeds as high as thirty-five miles an hour have been reached by\nboats measuring 40 inches long.\nThe illustration, Fig. 128, shows a flash steam plant and its various\nparts. Each part and its function will be described in this Chapter in\ndetail. The gasolene tank _A_ is used to hold the fuel, which is fed to\nthe gasolene burner _C_. The gasolene burner operates on the principle\nof the ordinary gasolene torch. First the tank is filled about\nthree-quarters full with gasolene. An air-pressure is then produced in\nthe tank with a bicycle pump. The pipe leading from the gasolene-tank at\nthe top is coiled around the burner, and the free end of it is bent and\nprovided with a nipple, so that the gasolene vapor will be blown through\nthe center of the helix of the coil formed by the pipe bent around the\nburner. This is quite clearly shown in the drawing.\n[Illustration: FIG. 128]\nThe cylinder is merely a piece of stovepipe iron bent to shape and\nprovided with several air-holes at the burner end. To start the burner,\nthe vaporizing coils must first be heated in an auxiliary flame. The\nflame of an ordinary blow-torch is suitable for this purpose. After\nthe coils have become sufficiently hot the valve at the top of the\ngasolene-tank is opened, and this causes a stream of gasolene vapor to\nissue at the nipple. This produces a hot flame at the center of the\nvaporizing coils, and in this way the coils are kept hot. The purpose of\nheating these coils is further to vaporize the gasolene as it passes\nthrough them on the way to the burner. Once started, the action of the\nburner is entirely automatic. The vaporizing coils are made of Shelby\nsteel tubing with an internal diameter of 1/8 inch.\nIt will be seen that the flame from the gasolene-torch is blown through\nthe center of the boiler coils _B_. Thus, any water passing through\nthese boiler coils is instantly converted into steam. In other words,\nthe water \"flashes\" into steam. The heat of the blow-torch is so great\nthat most of the boiler coils are maintained at red heat even while the\nwater is passing through them.\nNotice the water-tank _G_. A little scoop, formed by a pipe of small\ndiameter, protrudes through the bottom of the boat, so that the forward\nmotion of the boat will cause water to rise in the tank _G_. An\noverflow is also provided, so that, should the water not be sucked out\nof the tank quickly enough, it will not flood the boat. The overflow\npipe hangs off the side of the boat.\nThe water pump _E_ sucks water from the tank, and pumps it through the\ncheck-valve _K_ (this valve permits water to pass in one direction only)\ninto the boiler coils. The boiler coils, being red-hot, cause the water\nto flash into steam the instant it reaches them. By the time the steam\nhas reached the opposite end of the boiler coils, it is no longer steam,\nbut a hot, dry gas at a terrific pressure. From the boiler coils the\nsteam passes into the steam-chest of the engine, and thence into the\ncylinder, where it expands, delivering its energy to the piston.\nIt will be seen that the water-pump _E_ is geared to the engine. Owing\nto this, it is necessary to start the water circulating through the\nboiler coils by the hand pump _F_. This hand pump forces water through\nthe boiler coils just as the power pump does. After the hand pump is\nstarted the engine is turned over a few times until it starts. The\nvalve _H_ is then closed, which cuts the starting pump _F_ entirely out\nof the system, because when the engine starts it also drives the water\npump _E_, and therefore the action becomes entirely automatic.\nThe relief-cock _L_ is placed in the system to be used if the engine\nstalls. By opening the relief-cock the pressure in the complete system\nis immediately relieved. At all other times the relief-cock is closed.\nA second pump, _I_, is also included in the system. This, like the\nwater-pump, is geared to the engine and driven by it. It is the duty of\nthis pump to convey oil from the lubricating tank _M_ into the steam\nfeed-pipe just before it enters the steam-chest. In this way the live\nsuperheated steam carries a certain amount of lubricating oil with it in\nthe cylinder.\nOwing to the high temperature of the superheated steam, it is impossible\nto use brass cylinders on the steam-engines employed with flash steam\nsystems. Steel seems to be the only cheap metal that is capable of\nwithstanding the attack of flash steam. Brass is out of the question,\nsince its surface will pit badly after it is in use a short time.\nThe boiler of a flash steam plant is covered with sheet iron so as to\nprevent drafts of air from deflecting the flame from the center of the\nboiler coils. The cover is provided with ventilators, so that the burner\nwill not be smothered. If enough oxygen does not enter the interior of\nthe boiler coils, poor combustion will result, and the gasolene flame\nwill not develop its maximum heat. Upon referring again to the diagram,\nit will be seen that the exhaust steam pipe from the engine discharges\ninto the stack of the boiler covering. This discharge greatly\nfacilitates the circulation of air through the boiler coils.\nAfter a flash steam plant has been started it will work automatically,\nproviding all the parts are in good running order. Flash steam plants,\nhowever, are difficult to get in the proper adjustment, and once\nadjusted they are easily disturbed by minor causes. Owing to the fact\nthat every square inch of surface in the flash coils is heating surface,\nthe amount of water supplied to the boiler must be exactly what is\nneeded. The heat must also be regulated so that the temperature of the\nsteam will just meet the engine's needs. Many times an increase in heat\ncauses the steam to reach such a temperature that it will burn up the\nlubricating oil before it reaches the cylinder of the engine. This is\nliable to cause trouble, because sticking is apt to occur.\nModel power boats with speeds as high as thirty-five miles an hour have\nbeen made in America. Such high-speed boats must be assembled with\ninfinite care, owing to the fact that the mechanism they carry is more\nor less erratic in its action, and unless it is well made results cannot\nbe expected.\n[Illustration: FIG. 129]\nThere are probably few sports more interesting than that of model\npower-boat racing. The Central Park Model Yacht Club of New York city is\none of the most progressive clubs in America, and its members not only\nhave a sail-boat division, but they also have a power-boat division. The\nmembers of the power-boat section have races regularly once a week, and\nthe most lively competition is shown. It is indeed amusing to watch\nthese little high-speed boats dash across the pond, their bows high in\nthe air and their little engines snorting frantically. Owing to the\ndifficulty of keeping these small racing boats in a straight line, they\nare tied to a wire or heavy cord and allowed to race around a pole\nanchored in the center of the pond, as illustrated in Fig. 129. The top\nof the pole should be provided with a ball-bearing arranged so that the\ncord to which the boat is fastened will not wind around the post. In\nthis way the boats are caused to travel in a circle, and as the cord to\nwhich they are fastened represents the radius of the circle, the\ncircumference can readily be found by multiplying the radius by 2,\nwhich will give the diameter. The diameter is then multiplied by 3.1416\nto obtain the circumference. If the boats were permitted to travel wild\nthey would run into the bank, a fatal procedure when they are running at\nhigh speed.\nSpeed boat hulls are usually of the hydroplane or sea-sled type. This\ntype of hull is extremely easy to make. Such a hull is shown in Fig.\n130. It will be seen that it has an aluminum bottom. The propeller and\npropeller strut will be noticed in this illustration.\n[Illustration: FIG. 130]\n[Illustration: FIG. 131]\n[Illustration: FIG. 132]\nThe drawing for the particular hull shown in Fig. 130 is given in Fig.\n131. First the two side pieces are cut out to the shape shown. In this\nparticular instance the over-all length of the sides is 39-1/3 inches.\nThis is called a meter boat, and is built with this length to conform\nwith the English racing rules. Next a bow piece is cut out, and this is\nproduced from solid wood. Only two materials are used in the\nconstruction of this hull, aluminum and mahogany. Square mahogany strips\nare cut out and fastened inside of the side pieces by means of shellac\nand 3/8-inch brass brads. The bottom of the hull is made of 22-gage\nsheet aluminum. This is fastened to the square mahogany strips, since\nthe sides of the boat are entirely too thin for this purpose. The method\nof fastening the strips of aluminum will be made evident by referring to\nFig. 132. The aluminum bottom does not run completely over the bow\npiece, but merely overlaps it sufficiently to be fastened by brass\nbrads, as illustrated in Fig. 135. The single step in the bottom of the\nboat is fastened by a mahogany strip, through which the stern-tube runs\nand the water-scoop. The back of the boat is made up of mahogany. A\nsmall aluminum hood is bent to shape, and this is fastened to the bow of\nthe boat and prevents the boat from shipping water.\nIn building a hull of this nature the mechanic should exercise care to\nsee that it is in perfect balance, and that the sides are finished and\nvarnished as smoothly as possible. This will cut down both air and water\nresistance. The position of the propeller strut and stern-tube will be\nseen by referring to the drawing of the hull in Fig. 131.\nThe propeller of a high-speed boat is of a high pitch and generally of\nthe two-blade type. It should be at least 3 inches in diameter and with\na pitch of about 10 inches. By this it is meant that the propeller\ntheoretically should advance 10 inches through the water for one\nrevolution. The rudder is generally fastened in one position, in case\nthe boat is not used on a string and pole. It will be found advisable,\nhowever, always to run the boat in this way, and in such cases the\nrudder can be entirely dispensed with.\n[Illustration: FIG. 133]\nThe boiler of a flash steam plant is extremely simple. Such a boiler is\nshown in Fig. 133. It consists merely of a coil of copper or Shelby\nsteel tubing with an internal diameter of 1/4 inch. The boiler coils\nshould be wound around a circular form of wood about 2-3/4 inches in\ndiameter. In the case of copper it will not be found very difficult to\ndo this, providing the copper is heated before being wound on the wooden\nform. If the copper is heated it is advisable to wind the wood with a\nlayer of sheet asbestos before the copper tube is wound on. It is almost\nnecessary to do this winding with a lathe, but if the mechanic does not\nhave access to such a tool he may have to find other means of doing it,\nor possibly he can take it to a local machine shop and have the work\ndone for a few cents. The boiler coil should be wound about 9 inches\nlong.\nA casing of Russian sheet iron is made to slip over the boiler, leaving\nsufficient space between. Ventilating holes or slots are cut in the\ncover to permit of a free circulation of air. The boiler covering is\nalso provided with a funnel through which the exhaust gases from the\nblow-lamp pass.\n[Illustration: FIG. 134]\n[Illustration: FIG. 135]\nThe blow-lamp used operates on the same principle as the ordinary\nblow-torch. The details of such a lamp are given in Fig. 134, and a\nfinished torch is shown in Fig. 135. Instead of making the valves\nnecessary for the blow-torch, it is advisable to purchase them, for they\nare very difficult to make accurately. The valve at the back of the\ntorch regulates the gasolene supply that passes through the nipple. The\nhole in the nipple should be about twenty thousandths of an inch. Owing\nto the fact that the copper coil wound about the burner is short, the\ntube can be filled with molten resin before it is bent. In this way the\ntube will not kink or lose its shape while being wound. After it is\nwound it is placed in the fire and the molten resin forced out with a\nbicycle-pump. Such a blow-torch produces a tremendous heat and throws a\nhot flame far up into the boiler coils.\nCHAPTER XIII\nSAILING YACHTS\nBEFORE attempting to construct model sailing yachts the young worker\nshould become thoroughly conversant with the different types of yachts\nand their fittings. In the following pages the author briefly outlines\nthe general science of yacht-making and sailing.\nSailing yachts are made in four principal types. There is the cutter\nrig, yawl rig, sloop rig, and the ketch rig. The cutter rig is shown in\nFig. 136. It consists of four sails so arranged that the top-sail may be\neither removed altogether or replaced by sails of smaller area. In all\nyachts it is necessary to haul the sails up into position by ropes known\nas halyards. The halyards must be led down to the deck. The\nmodel-builder, however, can dispense with much of the gear used on\nlarger boats.\nA sloop rig is illustrated in Fig. 137. By studying the drawing the\nworker will see that the sloop rig differs from the cutter rig only in\nthat she carries a single sail forward of her mast.\n[Illustration: FIG. 137]\n[Illustration: FIG. 136]\nThe yawl rig (See Fig. 138) is similar to a cutter rig, but has a small\nsail set up on another mast abaft the mainsail. The sheet is led aft to\na spar that projects beyond the counter. The mast upon which the smaller\nsail is set is known as the mizzenmast. In this rig it will be seen that\nthe main boom must be made considerably shorter than was the case in\nthe cutter rig. This is done so that it will not follow the mizzenmast\nwhen it swings from one position to another.\n[Illustration: FIG. 138]\n[Illustration: FIG. 139]\nThe ketch rig differs greatly from the yawl rig. The mizzenmast always\noccupies a position forward of the rudder-post. In the yawl the\nmizzenmast is always stepped aft of the rudder-post. This will be seen\nby referring to the drawings of the two boats. The ketch rig is\nillustrated in Fig. 139.\nThe prettiest rig of all is the schooner; but, owing to the fact that it\nis difficult to get them to go well to windward unless the hull is\nperfectly rigged, the author has decided not to deal with this type of\nboat. When the reader becomes proficient in building and sailing the\nsimpler types described in this book, he may turn his attention to the\nconstruction and sailing of more complicated types.\n_Model Yacht Parts_\nThe submerged portion of a yacht is, as in all other boats, termed the\nhull. The backbone of the hull is called the keelson. Attached to the\nkeelson is a piece of lead, which is put in place to give the boat\nstability and power to resist the heeling movement created by the\nwind-pressure upon the sails. This is known as the keel.\nYachts always have an opening in the deck giving access to the interior\nof the hull. These openings are known as hatchways. When sailing in\nrough weather the hatchway is closed by a hatch to prevent the yacht\nfrom shipping water.\nThe extreme forward end of a yacht hull is called the stern, while the\nportions forward and aft of the midships section are known as the fore\nand after-body respectively.\n[Illustration: A TWIN CYLINDER STEAM ENGINE FOR MODEL MARINE USE\nThis engine will drive a boat several feet long]\nIn all yachts a portion of the hull extends out over the water. These\nportions are known as overhangs. The overhang aft is sometimes called\nthe counter-stern. The sides of the hull that rise above the deck are\ncalled bulwarks, and the part of the bulwarks that cross the stern is\ncalled the taffrail. The taffrail is always pierced with holes to allow\nwater to run off the deck quickly, so that the additional weight will\nnot in any way affect the course of the boat. It is understood that\nyachts raise great quantities of water upon their decks when traveling\nin rough sea.\nThe bowsprit is passed through a ring at the top of the stern, and this\nring is termed the gammon iron. Its end is secured in a socket or\nbetween a pair of uprights called the bowsprit bits. These are fixed to\nthe deck. Metal bars are fixed a short distance above the deck to take\nrings attached to the sheets. This is done so that the sails may swing\nfreely from one side of the boat to the other. Metal eyes are screwed\ninto the sides to take the shrouds, and are called chain-plates. The eye\nin the stern is called the bobstay plate. In the stern-post are two eyes\ncalled gudgeons. The rudder is hooked to this by means of two hooks\ncalled pintles. The bar or lever that is fixed to the top of the\nrudder-post is called a tiller.\n[Illustration: A CUP-WINNING MODEL SAIL BOAT\nDesigned and constructed by the commodore of the Central Park Model\nYacht Club, New York, N. Y.]\nThe parts and fittings of a mast follow: the step, the head, the caps,\ncrosstrees, truck, topmast, boom, and gaff. The part of the gaff that\nrests on the mast is called the throat; the end of the gaff is called\nthe peak. The jib-boom is a term used only in connection with model\nyachts. In larger boats the jib-boom is an extension of the bowsprit.\nThe small boom that projects over the stern of a yawl is called the\nbumpkin. The spar is rather a general term applied to practically all\nwooden supports of sails. The spar of a lug-sail is called the yard. It\nis different from a boom or gaff, by reason of its lying against the\nmast instead of having one end butting on the mast. Anything belonging\nto the mainmast should be distinguished by the prefix main. Thus, there\nare the mainsail, the mainboom, main-topsail, etc.\n[Illustration: FIG. 140]\nA sail for a model cutter-rigged yacht is shown in Fig. 140. The\nbowsprit and masts are, when necessary, given support by ropes that are\nstretched tightly to some point where they can be conveniently anchored\nto the hull. The following are those largely used on model yachts:\ntopmast stay, bobstay, topmast shrouds, and forestay.\nThe sails are pulled up and fastened by ropes termed halyards. The\nhalyards are fastened to the upper portions of the sail, and they are\nnamed according to the sail to which they are attached. For instance,\nthere is the jib halyard and the foresail halyard. A mainsail carried by\na gaff has two halyards, the throat and peak. The movement of the sails\nis controlled by ropes, called sheets, which take their names from the\nsails they control. There is a mainsheet, a jibsheet, and a foresheet.\nThe reader should take note of this term and refrain from confusing it\nwith the sails.\n_Sailing Model Yachts_\nThe sailing of model yachts is a real art, and the author warns the\nreader that he cannot hope to become a proficient yachtsman by merely\ndigesting the information given in this book. His real knowledge must be\nearned by experience in handling a model yacht on the water. However,\nthere are few sports that will afford more pleasure than that of sailing\nmodel yachts. Being an outdoor sport it is very healthful.\nIn sailing a model yacht the sails are set, or \"trimmed,\" so that she\nwill continue to sail along the course previously decided upon by the\nyachtsman. She must do this in as speedy a manner as possible and with\nas little deviation from her original course as possible. The trim of\nthe sails will depend upon the wind. If the boat is to sail against the\nwind, that is termed \"beating to windward\"; with the wind is called\n\"scudding.\" With the wind sideways it is called \"reaching.\" If the boat\nis sailed with the wind blowing midway between one of the sides and the\nstern in such a way that it sweeps from one side of the stern across the\ndeck, this is called \"three-quarter sailing\" in a \"quartering\" wind. A\nmodel yacht will continue for a great distance on a reach or while\nscudding; but, on the other hand, it will not be possible for her to\nsail directly against the wind. If a yachtsman is to make headway\nagainst the wind, he must sail his boat as near dead against the wind as\nit will go.\nThe cutter type of yacht will move against a wind that is blowing at a\nvery small angle on her bowsprit. As soon as she reaches the limit of\nher course, the yachtsman turns her bow at a small angle so as to bring\nthe wind on the opposite side of the vessel, and in this way a second\ncourse is started. These courses are repeated in a zigzag fashion until\nthe yacht arrives at her destination. This zigzagging, or \"tacking,\" as\nit is called, is illustrated in Fig. 141. It will be seen that the yacht\nstarts at _B_, and makes 3 tacks before she arrives at her destination,\n_A_. Each time she touches the shore she is \"put about\" and set upon a\nnew course, or \"tack.\"\n[Illustration: FIG. 141]\nIt will be understood that tacking is slow work, and a greater distance\nmust be traveled than would be covered by a power-boat, which would be\nable to go in a straight line. However, with wind-propelled craft this\nis the only way in which progress can be made against the wind. The\nleft-hand side of a yacht viewed from the stern is called the port side,\nwhile the right-hand side is called the starboard side. Thus a yacht\nsailing with the wind blowing on her port side is on the port tack,\nwhile if the wind is blowing on the starboard side she is said to be on\nthe starboard tack. From this the reader will see that Fig. 142 shows an\nimpossible case.\n[Illustration: FIG. 142]\n[Illustration: FIG. 143]\n[Illustration: FIG. 144]\n[Illustration: FIG. 145]\nThe sails in front of the mast that are placed nearest the stern of the\nyacht act in such a manner as to turn the bows in the direction of the\narrow, as illustrated in Fig. 146, and the sail or sails abaft the mast\nturn the boat in the direction of the arrow _A_. The boat thus revolves\nupon the center of the mast much as a weathercock revolves upon its\npivot. If there is more than one mast, all the sails carried abaft the\nmainmast serve to turn the boat in the direction _A_. The work of\nsailing depends greatly upon the skill in balancing these two effects so\nthat the boat will progress in a straight line. To do this the sails are\nset in a greater or less angle in relation to the center line of the\nboat. The less the angle that a sail makes with the center line of the\nboat, the greater is its power to determine in which direction the boat\nwill steer. The more the yachtsman slackens out his jib and foresail, or\nthe smaller he makes these sails, the less their power will be to turn\nthe boat in the direction _B_. On the other hand, the larger they are\nand the more tightly they are pulled in, the greater will be their\npower. When the mainsail and all of the sails abaft the mainsail are\nslackened out and the smaller they are made, the less their power will\nbe to swing the boat in the direction _A_.\nThe influence of a sail upon the speed of a boat also increases with the\nangle that it makes with the center line of the hull. The more the\nyachtsman slackens out his sail, the more it will help the boat along.\nThe reader will see that these two conditions interfere with each other,\nand therefore the trimming of the sails becomes a compromise. It is good\nfor the young yachtsman to remember to sail his boat with the sails as\nslack as possible, as long as she keeps a good course. He should also\nremember not to overload her with sails, since the nearer to an upright\nposition she maintains the faster she will go.\nIt is not possible to depend entirely upon the trim of the sails to keep\na model in a given course. This is because the strength of the wind\nvaries so that the sails are in balance one moment and out of balance\nthe next. The sails abaft the mainmast overpower the sails before it\nwhen the wind increases. The result of this is that the bow of the boat\nwill be repeatedly turned in the direction _A_, Fig. 146.\n[Illustration: FIG. 146]\n[Illustration: FIG. 147]\n[Illustration: FIG. 148]\nSome form of automatic rudder is therefore generally used to overcome\nthis tendency of the yacht to \"luff\" in the wind. Fig. 147 shows the\ncourse of a yacht reaching from _A_ to _B_. The dotted lines show the\ncourse she should follow. The full line shows the effect of puffs of\nwind, which repeatedly take her out of her course. Many times she may\ncompletely turn around and make a similar course back to the\nstarting-point, as in Fig. 148. There is also the danger of her being\ntaken back when pointing directly against the wind--the wind will force\nher backward stern first for some distance, as illustrated in Fig. 149.\nShe will do this until she manages to get around on one tack or the\nother.\nThe dotted line _B_ illustrates the course in which she would be driven\nunder these conditions. It is not practical to sail a model yacht dead\nbefore the wind without an automatic rudder. With the use of an\nautomatic rudder the erratic movements shown in Fig. 148 can be entirely\novercome. The action of the rudder is such that every time the boat\nleans over to luff up into the wind, the weight of the rudder causes it\nto swing out, and thus prevents her from losing her course. As a\ndifferent type of rudder is required, according to the course in which\nthe yacht is sailing, the weight should be adjustable if the same rudder\nis used.\n[Illustration: FIG. 149]\n[Illustration: FIG. 150]\n[Illustration: FIG. 152]\nLet us consider scudding before the wind. For scudding the heaviest\nrudder should be used, or the weight on a loaded tiller should be in its\nposition of maximum power. All the sails abaft the foremast should be\nslackened out as far as they will go, which will bring the booms almost\nat right angles with the center line of the boat. If the craft is a\ncutter or yawl with a light weight, the yachtsman should rig the\nspinnaker. The head-sails may be left slack or can be tightened. Fig.\n150 shows the position of the booms when scudding with a schooner and\nyawl. The yawl is shown scudding goose winged. The cutter is illustrated\nwith the spinnaker set. The other craft is a two-mast lugger with\nbalanced lugs.\n[Illustration: FIG. 151]\nAttention is now directed to \"reaching.\" For this particular work the\nyachtsman should put on a medium rudder. When using a weighted tiller\nthe weight should be put in a midway position. The head-sails should be\npulled in fairly tight and the aft-sails made slack. The yachtsman,\nhowever, should not slacken them as for scudding. Fig. 151 shows a\nschooner reaching. The thick black lines represent the booms of the\nsails. If the wind is very light a spinnaker-jib may be set or a\njib-topsail in light or moderate breezes. In the case of a wind that\ncomes over the stern quarter, as indicated by the arrow _A_, the next\nheavier rudder, or its equivalent in weighted tiller, should be put in\noperation, and the sails slackened out a little more than before. The\nboat is then said to be free and sailing on the starboard tack. If the\nwind is coming in the direction _B_ the jib and foresail may require\nslackening and the aft sails pulled in more than when sailing with the\nwind in the direction _C_. A still lighter rudder can be used as the\ncourse gets near to beating windward, and the yacht is said to be\nclose-hauled on the starboard tack.\nIn beating to windward, if a rudder is used at all, it should be as\nlight as possible, just heavy enough to keep the boat steady. However,\nthis is just the condition of sailing when a boat can dispense with a\nrudder. It depends entirely upon the characteristics of the particular\nyacht being sailed, and for this the yachtsman must depend upon his own\nexperience. The jib-topsail should not be used in a case like this, and\nif the wind is fairly strong a smaller jib should be set than that used\nfor reaching. It is advisable to slacken the jib and foresail out and\npull the aft-sails in somewhat tightly. Fig. 152 shows a cutter beating\nto windward on a port tack. In this case she will have to pay out to\nstarboard a bit before her sails fill.\nIn sailing the weather must be watched very closely, and the amount of\nsail carried will depend entirely upon the weather conditions. A yacht\nshould never be overloaded with sail. If she has more than she can\ncomfortably carry she will heel over and drag her sails in the water.\nNot only this, but she will also drift to leeward when beating to\nwindward. When sailing a new boat, her best trim for various points of\nsailing and force of wind must be found by painstaking experiments. The\nboat should always be sailed with her sails as slack as she will take\nthem and keep in her course. In this way she will move faster than when\nthe sails are pulled in close.\nThe model yachtsman should always watch the wind and note whether it\nshifts its direction or alters its force. The boat is trimmed\naccordingly when the boat is put about. Easing or tightening the jib or\nmain-sheet slightly will make a very noticeable difference.\nBy taking down the top-sail or setting a jib-head top-sail in place of a\njack yard top-sail, the yacht will be caused to ride easier in puffs of\nwind. In case she does not point well to windward when beating, the\nyachtsman should try a smaller jib, or he can slacken the\nforesail-sheet. If she runs off regularly to leeward on one tack only,\nwhile keeping well to windward on the other, she has some defect in\nconstruction or a bent keel.\nCHAPTER XIV\nTWO-FOOT SAILING YACHT\nTHE model yacht described in this Chapter is the design of Mr. W. J.\nDaniels, of England, and was described by him in \"Junior Mechanics.\" Mr.\nDaniels is one of the best known and most successful English designers\nof model yachts, and the one here described can easily be constructed by\nthe average boy:\n          In order that the reader may realize the obstacles\n          to be surmounted in designing a model yacht that\n          will sail in a straight line to windward,\n          irrespective of the different pressure that the\n          wind may expend on the sails, it must be pointed\n          out that the boat is continuously altering the\n          shape of the submerged part of her hull:\n          therefore, unless the hull is so designed that\n          harmony is retained at every angle to which the\n          pressure of wind on the sails may heel it, the\n          model's path through the water will be, more or\n          less, an arc of a circle. Whether the boat sails\n          toward the wind, or, in other words, in a curve\n          the center of the circle of which is on the same\n          side of the boat as the wind, or in a curve the\n          center of the circle of which is on the opposite\n          or leeward side, will depend upon the formation of\n          As these notes are intended to first initiate the\n          reader into the subject of model yacht building\n          and construction, the design supplied is one in\n          which all things, as far as shape is concerned,\n          have been considered.\n          It is the endeavor of every designer to produce\n          the most powerful boat possible for a given\n          length--that is, one that can hold her sail up in\n          resistance to the wind-pressure best. Of course,\n          the reader will easily realize that breadth and\n          weight of keel will be the main features that will\n          enable the model to achieve this object; but, as\n          these two factors are those that tend to make a\n          design less slender, if pushed to extremes, the\n          designer has to compromise at a point when the\n          excess of beam and buoyancy are detrimental to the\n          speed lines of the hull.\n          But the question of design pure and simple is a\n          complex one, and we do not intend to weary the\n          reader just now with anything of that kind, so we\n          will now proceed to build the hull. In order that\n          we may correctly interpret the shape shown in the\n          design without being expert woodcarvers, we must\n          use our ingenuity and by mechanical means achieve\n          our object, at the same time saving ourselves a\n          large amount of labor, such as we should have to\n          expend if we made this boat from a solid block of\n          Now, as regards understanding the drawings: it is\n          essential to remember that a line which in one\n          view is a curve is always a straight line in the\n          other two views. Those lines which are drawn\n          parallel to the water-line are known as\n          water-lines, and it will be seen that the curves\n          shown on the deck plan represent the actual shapes\n          of the hull at the corresponding water-lines\n          above, below, and exactly on the load water-line.\n          In other words, if after the hull is made it were\n          sunk down to these various levels, the shapes of\n          the hole made in the surface of the water would be\n          as shown in the plan.\n          Therefore, instead of making our boat from a solid\n          block of wood, we will make our block up from\n          several layers, the thickness of each layer being\n          equal to the space between the water-lines; but\n          before gluing these layers together we will cut\n          them out to the exact shape that the boat will be\n          at their various positions.\n          It will not be necessary to have a separate piece\n          of wood for each layer, as some layers below the\n          actual water-line will be cut from the pieces of\n          wood that have been cut out from the layers above.\n          In this case, the boat being 24 inches long, the\n          top layer will be the same length and breadth as\n          the boat, and 1 inch in thickness.\n          Draw down the center of the board a straight\n          line, and other lines square to it, representing\n          the position of the cross-sections as shown in the\n          drawing. You have now to transfer the deck line to\n          this board, and this is done by marking the\n          breadth at the various sections and drawing a\n          curve through the spots, a thin strip of\n          straight-grained wood being used as a rule, the\n          latter being held down by such weights as are\n          available. For the purpose of laying off the\n          water-lines truly, lines spaced at 1-1/2 inches\n          are shown; the first, it will be noticed, is half\n          a section or 3/4 inch from the stem head.\n          The material required will be a board of pine\n          about 6 feet long, 8 inches wide, and 1 inch\n          finished thickness.\n          Nearly all wood-yards stock first-quality pine,\n          but it is in planks 3 inches thick. You can no\n          doubt pick up a short length about 4 feet long.\n          If so, take it to a sawmill and have two boards\n          1-1/4 inches thick cut and then machine-planed\n          down to a dead inch. Perhaps you can purchase a\n          board that is already cut, and is fully 1 inch\n          thick, to allow for planing.\n          Prepare one edge of the board straight with a\n          plane, seeing that it is square to the surface.\n          As a planing-machine always leaves a series of\n          ridges across the board, varying according to the\n          quality of the machine, it is necessary before\n          transferring the lines to the wood to just skim\n          the surface with a nicely sharpened plane, and set\n          so as to just skim the wood.\n[Illustration: FIG. 153]\n          The lengths required are: _A_, plank 24 inches\n          long; _B_, plank 24 inches; _C_, plank 18-1/2\n          The _D_ plank will be cut from the center of _B_,\n          but will have to be shifted two sections forward.\n          Having transferred the various shapes from the\n          drawing on to their respective layers, you saw out\n          each carefully with a bow or a keyhole-saw, care\n          being taken not to cut inside the lines. It is\n          better to cut full, and trim down to the lines\n          with a chisel or plane. A good deal of trouble can\n          be saved by the expenditure of a few cents for\n          having them machine-sawed, in which case ask the\n          sawyer to use his finest-toothed saw.\n          Having cut out layers _A_, _B_, _C_, and _D_,\n          fresh lines are marked, as shown by the dotted\n          lines in the plan. These indicate the shape of the\n          inside of each layer when the boat is carved out,\n          and save labor.\n          These may as well be sawed out now as carved out\n          later. It will also facilitate gluing up, as it\n          will allow the superfluous glue to be squeezed\n          out, and also decrease the breadth of the joint.\n          In order to get these various layers glued\n          together dead true to their positions as indicated\n          in the design, you must choose a section about\n          amidships, say section 11, and with a square draw\n          a line from that section, which is, of course,\n          still showing on the surface of the layer, down\n          the edge on either side, joining up with a line\n          across the opposite face. Also vertical lines at\n          each end of the midships line must be drawn on\n          the wood, great care being taken to get the\n          midships line on the under face of the layers dead\n          opposite each other.\n[Illustration: FIG. 154]\n[Illustration: FIG. 155]\n          If your outfit contains half a dozen carpenter's\n          hand screws, these can be used; but if not, it\n          will be necessary to purchase from a hardware\n          store eight seven-inch bolts and nuts 3/8 inch in\n          diameter, with one washer for each, and to make up\n          four clamps, as shown in Fig. 156.\n[Illustration: FIG. 156]\n          You will start by gluing layer _C_ to layer _D_,\n          blocks being placed between the surface of the\n          layers and the clamps to prevent bruising the\n          wood. These two are then glued to layer _B_, and\n          when this is thoroughly set they are glued to the\n          layer _A_. The best glue to use for this job is\n          marine glue, which does not dry too quickly, and\n          so gives plenty of time to see that the layers\n          have not shifted. In every case one clamp should\n          be placed at each extreme end of the shorter\n          layer, so as to insure the ends making contact,\n          the other two being placed equidistant.\n          While waiting for the glue to set, you can be\n          preparing the four layers (shown below _D_) for\n          the lead keel pattern. The lines must be cut out,\n          in this case, with a chisel, as it will be noticed\n          that the lower faces must be left wide enough to\n          receive the top face of the layer beneath it.\n          It will be noticed that the under face of each of\n          these layers extends beyond the top face aft, and\n          allowance must be made for this. On laying off the\n          lines on the fin layers, do not join up with a\n          point each end, but leave about 1/8 inch\n          thickness, as shown on the drawing.\n          These layers must be drilled through to take the\n          keel-bolts, which are made from two motorcycle\n          spokes, twelve-gage. These should be cut to a\n          length of 5-1/2 or 6 inches. Great care should be\n          taken to insure that the midship lines are exactly\n          vertical over each other when these layers are\n          Before gluing these four layers on to the hull\n          proper, they should be held in position by means\n          of the spokes, in which position they can be sawed\n          to shape for the keel pattern. First, with a small\n          plane or sharp chisel cut down roughly, then a\n          rasp and different grades of sandpaper are used,\n          working across the joints.\n          It will be realized that, if the pattern for the\n          keel were cut off dead on the line indicated on\n          the design, there would be a loss of wood through\n          the saw cut. In order to obviate this, another\n          line 3/16 inch below the proper lead line is\n          drawn, and the saw cut made between these two\n          lines. You will now plane down each face that is\n          left rough by the saw, straight and square to each\n          of these lines. On the top face of the pattern\n          for the lead, glue or tack a piece 3/16 inch thick\n          along the face, and cut down the edges flush.\n          You will by this means have made up for the amount\n          of wood carried away by the saw. You will no doubt\n          find a difficulty in holding the pieces of wood\n          for planing in the ordinary way, but it is simple\n          enough if you set the plane nicely, grip it in a\n          vise or bench screw upside down, and push the work\n          over the plane's face, instead of vice versa. But\n          be careful of your fingers!\n          Take the pieces left from the spokes when cutting\n          down to length, and put these in the holes in the\n          keel pattern. These are for cores, and if you take\n          your pattern to a foundry they will cast it for a\n          small amount, with the holes in it.\n          Shoot the top face of the lead in the manner\n          before described, and fit on. The hull is now\n          ready for carving out. Screw on your bench two\n          pieces of wood about 18 inches in length and 4\n          inches wide, so that they project over the edge of\n          the bench about 10 inches. These should be about\n          15 inches apart. Place your hull upside down on\n          them, and fix it by nailing upward into the top\n          layer. After cutting off the corners of the layers\n          roughly with a chisel you use a small plane set\n          fairly fine, and work all over the hull evenly,\n          taking care not to cut below any of the joints. A\n          small gouge will be required to clear the wood\n          from the region of the after fin, a round\n          rasp--sandpaper being wrapped around a small\n          stick--being used for smoothing down afterward.\n          Templates of the cross-sections should now be made\n          from thick white paper. This is done by pricking\n          through the design to transfer their shape onto\n          the paper. The cross-sections have on this account\n          been produced here actual size. If cross-lines\n          representing the water-lines are drawn, you will\n          have an excellent guide for fitting, as these\n          lines will, of course, come opposite each glued\n          Try your templates now and again as you work, and\n          do not try to finish one spot, but keep the whole\n          at an even stage, and you will see the hull\n          gradually grow into shape.\n          The topsides (which is the name given to that part\n          of the vessel's hull above the water-line) are\n          responsible for the boat's appearance when afloat,\n          and until the top sheer is cut off the boat looks\n          very disappointing. The cross-lines being still on\n          the upper layer, draw square lines from them down\n          the topsides and from the drawing mark the points\n          through which the sheer-line runs. The thickness\n          of the deck must be allowed for, and as this will\n          be just over 1/16 inch, the line must be drawn\n          this much below the finished sheer-line. The arch\n          of the transom must be marked, and the hull cut\n          down to the sheer. To avoid the risk of splitting,\n          a number of fine saw cuts are made down each\n          section line and two or three at the transom.\n          You now proceed to carve out the inside. Pad your\n          bench bearers and rest your hull upon them. A\n          curved wood gouge with a fairly flat edge is the\n          best tool. Get it nicely sharpened, and work all\n          over the inside of hull until it is about 3/16\n          inch thick, the top edge being left 3/8 inch wide.\n          Keep holding up to the light until it is showing a\n          blood-red color, and smooth down the gouge marks\n          with coarse sandpaper.\n          The hole for the stern-tube must now be drilled,\n          and the tube made and fitted. The hole should be\n          1/4 inch in diameter. First drill a smaller hole,\n          and then with a 1/4-inch rat-tail file slowly open\n          it out, at the same time rubbing a groove down the\n          stern-post. The stern-tube is made from a piece of\n          light-gage brass tube, it being cut away with a\n          piercing saw to leave a strip the length of the\n          stern-post. Drill three holes in the strip at\n          equal distance and large enough to take a 1/4 inch\n          brass screw, No. 0 size. Temporarily screw the\n          tube in position, and from a piece of thin brass\n          make a plate for the inside. An oval hole will\n          have to be made in the plate to enable it to seat\n          flat over the tube. Solder this while in position.\n          Then remove the whole, and replace, after\n          white-leading where wood touches brass.\n          The deck-beams, three in number and 1/4 inch\n          square in section, must now be fitted. The sheer\n          edge which we left 3/8 inch wide must be recessed\n          to receive the beams, the recess being made with a\n          Before gluing beams in, three coats of good\n          varnish must be applied to the inside of shell.\n          The deck should now be prepared and fitted. You\n          will require a piece of pine of ample length and\n          breadth, 1/8 inch in thickness, and after planing\n          finely and sand-papering, pieces of the same stuff\n          should be glued on the under face to reinforce it\n          where the bowsprit, keel-plate, hatch rim, and\n          mast will be fitted. Cut these pieces to shape\n          before gluing on.\n          Before doing the latter, apply a coat of clear\n          size to the upper face of the deck; this will\n          bring up the grain, so paper it down when dry.\n          This process should be repeated three times.\n          Three coats of varnish should be given to the\n          under side of the deck after the pieces have been\n          glued on, and when dry the deck can be fitted,\n          3/8-inch veneer pins being used for fixing on, and\n          care being taken to get it true to position. A\n          center line is drawn down the under side of the\n          deck, and marks made to correspond at the stern\n          and transom on the shell.\n          The planking lines on the deck can be drawn to\n          suit your fancy, India ink and a draftsman's\n          ruling pen being used to do it, afterward applying\n          two coats of carriage varnish.\n          To paint the hull, white lead and dryers, in the\n          proportion of 5 to 1 by weight respectively,\n          should be dissolved in turpentine, a few drops of\n          linseed oil being mixed to make it work freely.\n          Have this about the consistency of milk, and,\n          after straining, give the hull about eight coats,\n          one every twenty-four hours, rubbing each down\n          when dry with No. 00 sandpaper. Keep the joint\n          representing the load water-line always in sight\n          by penciling over after each coat of paint is dry.\n          When a sufficient body of paint has been applied,\n          the colors can be applied. Enamel is best for\n          this. Stick strips of gummed paper around the hull\n          at the water-line, and paint up to the edge. When\n          the paint is dry the paper can be soaked off, the\n          paper being again applied, but reversed for the\n          other color. If you can use a lining brush the\n          paper is not necessary for the second color.\n          While the painting is going on, spars, sails, and\n          fittings can be made. As the spars have to be\n          varnished, it is best to make them first. Pine\n          should be used, and after cutting strips of\n          suitable length and diameter, plane them square in\n          section. With the batten draw on the face the\n          amount of taper to be given, and plane down to\n          this line, still keeping the spar square in\n          section. This having been done, the corners are\n          planed off carefully until the spar is octagonal\n          in section, when it is easy to make it perfectly\n          round with sandpaper by rubbing with the paper\n          rolled around the stick. The diameter of our mast\n          is 1/2 inch parallel until the hoist of the fore\n          triangle is reached, tapering from there to 1/4\n          inch at the masthead or truck. The boom is 1/4\n          inch at the gooseneck, thickening to 3/8 inch\n          where the main-sheet is attached, down to 1/4\n          inch at the outboard end. The jib-boom is slightly\n          less than 1/4 inch parallel.\n          All spars should be treated with clear size and\n          fine sandpaper before varnishing. This will\n          prevent discoloring by the latter, and will also\n          allow the India ink markings to be made, which\n          latter will be a guide for the trimming of the\n          In order that any yacht, model or otherwise, may\n          be able to perform her best, it is essential that\n          she should have well setting sails. In fact, in a\n          model a badly setting sail will sometimes even be\n          enough to prevent her going to windward at all. By\n          well setting sails we mean sails that are\n          naturally flat and not made so by straining them\n          out on the spars. Light material, such as cambric\n          or light union silk, is best for this purpose, but\n          not a material that has any dressing in it.\n          This particular sail plan is very easy to mark\n          out. Lay your material out on a table or smooth\n          surface and pin it down with drawing-pins,\n          sufficiently stretching it so as to pull out any\n          creases. The length of the back edge of the\n          mainsail (which is called the leech) is measured\n          off 1-1/4 inches inside the edge of the cloth, and\n          a curve struck as illustrated. The other two sides\n          of the mainsail are then laid off and pencil lines\n          drawn. You will note that allowance must be made\n          for hemming the back edge of the mainsail. If your\n          sewing-machine has a hemmer, find out how wide a\n          hem it makes (the smaller the better), and make\n          allowance accordingly, twice the width of the hem\n          being necessary. Much depends upon the tension at\n          which the machine is set, so be careful that the\n          latter is sufficiently slack so that it does not\n          draw up the material.\n          The jib is marked out in the same manner, and, as\n          illustrated, the lines representing the positions\n          of the batten sleeves are drawn. The batten\n          sleeves are small pockets into which thin pieces\n          of cane (called battens) are inserted to help the\n          sail to set nicely. Unless the sail is a good cut\n          to begin with, however, the insertion of these\n          battens will never make it right. The sails should\n          now be cut out with a sharp penknife or scissors,\n          care being taken not to pull the cloth, and\n          especially not along the edges that run across the\n          threads. You then hem the backs and also the foot\n          of the jib. The batten sleeves (which should be of\n          white satin ribbon about 3/8 inch in width) should\n          now be sewn on by stitching down along the extreme\n          edge to the line drawn, and then down the other\n          edge, the ends being left open. A strip of narrow\n          tape is sewn across the foot of the jib-sail to\n          take the strain of the pull, the part of the jib\n          contained by the curve of the foot and the tape\n          being known as the bonnet of the jib.\n          To prevent the edges of the sails (other than\n          those hemmed) being stretched, you bind them with\n          good tape. The tape is first folded and creased\n          by rubbing over an edge. The end of the tape is\n          then turned in. Take a corner of the sail and\n          place it inside the fold of the tape, care being\n          taken to get the raw edge right up against the\n          crease. The needle of the machine should then be\n          lowered through it as near to the edge of the tape\n          as practicable, taking care that it goes through\n          both edges. Keeping a slight pull on the binding,\n          arrange the cloth in it without pulling the edge.\n          Put the foot of the machine down and sew it,\n          afterward raising the foot again and proceeding as\n          before right around the raw edges of the sail,\n          leaving the needle down each time the foot is\n          raised. Do not sew where a batten sleeve passes\n          under the binding, as you will require the former\n          left open to allow the batten to pass into the\n          fold of the binding. The rings for putting up the\n          luffs of the jib- and main-sail are made by\n          winding a piece of thin brass or German silver\n          wire around a steel rod (the spokes used in the\n          keel being suitable for the latter) and sawing\n          down to divide them. A small eyelet should be put\n          in each corner of the sails, and others spaced\n          evenly at about 2-1/2 inches apart along the boom\n          and about 5 inches apart along the mast, for\n          lacing on. An extra row of stitching may be run\n          down the outer edge of the binding to smooth it\n          The simpler the fittings of a model that is\n          required for practical sailing, the better. They\n          should be as light as practical. Aluminum is not\n          advisable for fittings when the boat is to be\n          sailed in salt water.\n[Illustration: FIG. 157]\n          The bowsprit fittings, which are known as the\n          gammon iron and heel plate (Figs. 157, 158), are\n          made by soldering pieces of brass tube (cut to\n          suitable size and shape) onto pieces of triangular\n          sheet brass, as illustrated. The horses can either\n          be of wire with the ends turned to suitable shape\n          and fitted with one screw, or they can have plates\n          for two screws, in which case the wire is either\n          threaded and screwed into the plate or\n          silver-soldered to it. Silver-soldering is done\n          with a blow-pipe. The flux used is borax made into\n          a thin paste with water. Silver-solder is bought\n          in small sheets, and a few cents' worth will go a\n          long way if used properly. Cut small pieces about\n          1/8 inch by 1/16 inch, and, after painting the\n          part to be soldered with your paste borax with a\n          very small brush, pick up the solder with the tip\n          of the brush and put it in position. It will then\n          run around the joint when the metal is raised to\n          sufficient heat.\n[Illustration: FIG. 158]\n          The hatch-rim is made by cutting a strip of thin\n          brass 1/4 inch in width, the length being the\n          circumference of the oval. The two ends are\n          brought together and silver-soldered. Cut out the\n          oval in a piece of very thin brass and fit in your\n          oval strip so that the flat is just in the center\n          of it. This can then be sweated around with an\n          ordinary soldering-iron, the flat being trimmed\n          down afterward with the shears to leave a flange\n          1/4 inch in width, the latter being drilled to\n          take 1/4 inch No. 0 round-head screws.\n[Illustration: FIG. 159]\n[Illustration: FIG. 160]\n[Illustration: FIG. 161]\n          The deck fitting for the mast, (Fig. 159) is made\n          in much the same way, a piece of tube being used\n          instead of cutting a strip of brass. To receive\n          the heel of the mast a fitting known as the\n          mast-step must be made and fitted. This, of\n          course, must be done before the deck is put on.\n          The step is made from two pieces of brass, each\n          about 1/32 inch in thickness, 1 inch long and 1/2\n          inch wide. One is hard-soldered on edge down the\n          center of the other to form something like a T\n          girder. A slot, as illustrated, is cut in the\n          upright piece with a ward file, and holes drilled\n          in the flat for screwing down on the inside of the\n          boat. A ferrule of brass tube is fitted to the\n          heel of the mast, a cut of suitable size being\n          made in it to receive the upright of the step. A\n          hole should be drilled through the heel of the\n          mast at right angles to the slot, and a wire\n          passed through and riveted, the latter being of\n          suitable thickness to be received by the slot in\n[Illustration: FIG. 164]\n[Illustration: FIG. 163]\n[Illustration: FIG. 162]\n          The rudder-blade (Fig. 162) is made from a piece\n          of sheet brass fitted to a tube, the latter being\n          an easy fit into the stern-tube already fitted.\n          The blade can be soldered onto the tube. The\n          pintle on which the rudder fits and swings is a\n          strip of brass, the width of the after fin, a wire\n          pin being hard-soldered in to fit up into the\n          The pintle (Fig. 163) should be fitted before the\n          painting is started.\n          In the steering gear, instead of a quadrant, as\n          the fitting on the rudder-head of the \"Braine\"\n          gear is called, you fit an ordinary tiller (Fig.\n          164) by bending a wire to suit your fancy and\n          soldering it on to a collar made from a piece of\n          tube that will just sleeve on the outside of the\n          rubber-tube, which latter is fixed by drilling a\n          hole right through it and the rudder head, and\n          fitting a tapered pin.\n[Illustration: FIG. 165]\n[Illustration: FIG. 166]\n          The steering-gear rack (Fig. 165) by which the\n          amount of helm is adjusted is made from a strip of\n          brass cut with lugs which are bent up at right\n          angles as illustrated. This need only be of thin\n          sheet metal, as the strain is very small.\n          For running before the wind, separate lines are\n          used, two in number, as illustrated, and the\n          amount of helm is governed by the distance away\n          from midships that the lead is moved. For\n          instance, if the lead is placed amidships, the\n          pull will simply keep the rudder dead straight,\n          whereas if placed on the deck edge it will allow\n          the maximum amount of angle.\n          Your bowsers can be made from pieces of toothbrush\n          handle or from brass or German-silver wire. Very\n          efficient bowsers can be made from aluminum tube\n          cut in sections about 3/16 inch long, with three\n          holes drilled in each piece around its periphery.\n          Plaited bobbin cotton should be used for the\n          cordage, as it does not curl up when wet.\n          If you decide to fit the Braine steering gear, a\n          spur or bumpkin, as it is termed, must be fitted\n          to take the rubber centering line.\nAPPENDIX\nBOYS' DICTIONARY OF MARINE TERMS\n        =Abaft.= Behind; toward the stern.\n        =Abeam.= At right angles to the side and in\n          horizontal plane.\n        =Aft.= Toward the stern.\n        =After-body.= Between amidships and stern.\n        =Aloft.= Overhead; on the yards or in the upper\n        =Amidships.= The middle part of a vessel.\n        =Anchor.= Instrument for holding vessels at rest\n          in the water. Made of iron.\n        =Athwart. Athwartships.= Across; from side to\n        =Ballast.= Material used to load the ship, for\n          stability or submerging purposes.\n        =Barge.= General name for vessels built for\n        =Bark.= Three-masted vessel, square-rigged on the\n          fore- and main-masts, and fore-and-aft rigged on\n          the mizzen.\n        =Barkentine.= Three-masted vessel, square-rigged\n          on the foremast and fore-and-aft on the main-and\n          mizzen-masts.\n        =Beam.= The widest part of a vessel.\n        =Bollards.= Posts of timber on sides of docks,\n          quays, etc., over which ropes are thrown for\n          hauling vessels alongside.\n        =Boom.= The lower spar for a fore-and-aft sail.\n        =Bow.= Sides of fore part of boat: the right hand\n          being the starboard bow, and the left hand the\n        =Bowsprit.= Pole projecting from stem forward, and\n          taking forestays and bobstays.\n        =Bridge-house.= House built near bridge.\n        =Brig.= Vessel with two masts, both square-rigged\n          but having a gaff mainsail.\n        =Buoy.= A floating object moored over a certain\n          spot; generally a warning of danger.\n        =Buoyancy.= The capacity for floating which a boat\n          possesses.\n        =Cabin.= Room for use of officers and passengers.\n        =Capstan.= Consists of a long drum revolving\n          vertically and used for pulling in heavy lines.\n          Sometimes used in connection with windlass to\n          hoist anchor by hand.\n          _Center of Gravity._ Center of weight.\n        =Coaming.= Raised planking around hatchway of\n          yacht to prevent water shipped in rough weather\n          from getting below decks.\n        =Cockpit.= Formerly an apartment under lower\n          gun-deck of warship, used as quarters for junior\n          officers, and during a battle devoted to the\n          surgeon and his assistants.\n        =Cockswain.= Person who steers a boat.\n        =Compass.= Instrument composed of one or more\n          magnetic needles attached to a circular card which\n          turns freely on the point of a steel cone or\n          floats on a liquid. The upper surface of the card\n          is divided into the 32 points of the compass. Used\n          to find direction.\n        =Craft.= Usually denotes small size vessel, but\n          may be applied to any kind.\n        =Crane.= Machine for hoisting and moving heavy\n          equipment and material.\n        =Cruiser.= Boat intended for extended voyages.\n          Used in connection with yachts, to distinguish\n          from racing models.\n        =Davit.= Light crane on side of ship for lowering\n          and lifting boats. Sometimes applied to projecting\n          beam over which anchor is hoisted.\n        =Displacement.= Weight of ship and all on board\n          when at sea. It is equal to the weight of the\n          water displaced.\n        =Dock.= An excavation of large area for reception\n          of vessels. Wet-dock for loading and unloading or\n          dry-dock for building and repairing vessels.\n        =Dock-yard.= A place where ships are built and\n          repaired.\n        =Funnel.= Large sheet-iron tube extending from the\n          uptake high above the deck, through which smoke\n          and gases pass.\n        =Galley.= The kitchen of a vessel.\n        =Gangway.= Sides of upper deck from main-mast to\n          mizzen-mast, or from the former to the break of a\n          poop or raised quarter-deck; also a passage for\n          entering or leaving vessel.\n        =Gross tonnage.= Entire cubical capacity of ship,\n          including every inclosed space and all room under\n          deck from stem to stern-post, if closed in and\n        =Gunwale, gunnel.= Upper part of sheer-strake,\n          where it comes in contact with upper deck\n          stringer.\n        =Headlights.= Lights carried at the masthead.\n        =Head of the bowsprit.= The forward end.\n        =Hull.= The entire structure of a vessel,\n          exclusive of equipment.\n        =Inboard.= Within the ship.\n        =Inner skin.= Planking or plating covering the\n          inside of frames.\n        =Jack.= Name given to various sails, ropes, etc.\n        =Jib.= Triangular sail carried on a stay reaching\n          from the foremast head or from topmast to the\n        =Keel.= Backbone of a vessel in wooden ships.\n          Composed of great lengths of timber connected to\n          each other by scarfs. In steel ships usually a set\n          of plates from stem to stern.\n        =Even keel, uneven keel.= Designates the manner in\n          which ship floats. If balanced evenly in a\n          fore-and-aft direction she is on even keel, if\n          depressed at head or stern she is on uneven keel.\n        =Keelson angle-bar.= Any angle-bar used in the\n          construction of a keelson.\n        =Lanyards.= Short lengths of rope used to tighten\n          up davit-guys, awnings, etc.\n        =Launching.= Sliding a boat into the water from\n          the building-berth.\n        =Lee side.= Opposite to the side on which the wind\n        =Lighter.= Large craft used to bring cargo\n          alongside or to lighten a grounded vessel.\n        =List.= When one side of a vessel lies deeper in\n          the water than the other; caused by shifting\n        =Log.= Apparatus used to determine speed of a\n        =Main-mast.= Principal mast of a ship; the second\n          mast counting from bow to stern.\n        =Marine engine.= Engine especially designed for\n          the propulsion of boats.\n        =Mast.= A long piece, or system of pieces, of\n          timber, placed nearly perpendicularly to the\n          keelson of a vessel to support the spars and gear\n          by which the sails are set. In modern practice,\n          steel masts are built by riveting rolled plates\n          together.\n        =Midships.= Middle part of a ship.\n        =Mizzen-mast.= Third mast on a vessel with three\n          or more masts.\n        =Mizzen-sails.= Sails carried on a mizzen-mast.\n        =Mushroom Ventilator.= Short cast-iron tube with\n          movable iron rod passing through the center. A\n          metal cup is fitted to the top of the rod, which\n          may be lifted to permit air to enter, or closed to\n          prevent water from entering. Generally fitted over\n        =Navigation Bridge.= Bridge used for taking\n          observations or handling the ship in difficult\n          situations.\n        =Outboard.= Outside the hull or beyond the\n        =Outlet cock.= Any cock used to free a receptacle\n        =Paddle-wheels.= Wheels fitted on each side of a\n          paddle steamer in connection with the\n          paddle-shaft, consisting of a cast-iron boss from\n          which wrought-iron arms radiate, strengthened by\n          rims and stays, and with a float attached to each\n        =Pawl.= Small catch to prevent moving object from\n          going beyond certain limit.\n        =Pile.= A piece of lumber or iron, together with\n          others, driven into the bed of a river for the\n          support of a pier, bridge, etc.\n        =Pilot Bridge.= Narrow thwartships platform,\n          extending from side to side above a steamer's\n          upper or bridge deck. Serves as a station for the\n          pilot or officer of the watch.\n        =Port.= Opening in ship's side, in bulwark, etc.\n        =Propeller-screw.= Propeller in which blades are\n          at an angle to the line of axis, similar to the\n          threads of a screw.\n        =Quarters.= Men's positions when called to their\n          duties, as during fire or boat drill; also living\n          accommodations.\n        =Quay.= Artificial landing-place.\n        =Raft.= A collection of boards fastened together\n          by ropes or chains, and capable of floating.\n        =Ram.= Massive projection under water at the bow\n          of a warship. The ship is also called a ram.\n        =Rat-line.= Three-stranded cord, of which the\n          ladder-like steps in lower rigging, topmast\n          rigging, etc., are formed.\n        =Rigging.= Entire equipment of a ship's masts,\n          spars, etc., with their standing and running\n        =Rudder.= A device for steering vessels. Hinged to\n          the outside of the hull, usually at the stern.\n        =Sail.= A device of canvas and rope fastened to\n          spars and rigging, and extended to catch the wind\n          and drive the vessel.\n        =Skiff.= Long, lightly built boat sometimes used\n          in rowing races.\n        =Sloop.= Vessel with one mast, having a jib-sail.\n        =Spar.= Any shaped piece of timber used as a mast,\n          bowsprit, yard, etc., or intended for such use.\n        =Stanchion.= A stationary upright support.\n        =Superstructure.= Any structure above top full\n        =Tack.= To change the direction of sailing due to\n        =Thwart.= Seats are called thwarts when they\n          extend from side to side of a boat, athwart when\n        =Tonnage.= Entire capacity or cubical contents of\n          a vessel. One ton estimated at 100 cubic English\n        =Trawler.= Fishing-vessel with ground-sweeping\n        =Trim.= Term indicating the state of a ship with\n          regard to ballast; position of a vessel in the\n          water with respect to horizontal.\n        =Turtle-back.= Top of wheel-house, forecastle,\n          etc., formed like a turtle's back.\n        =Upper Works.= Same as freeboard when a vessel is\n        =Uptake.= Part connecting smokebox to funnel.\n          Sometimes includes the smokebox.\n        =Ventilator.= Usually made of sheet iron in\n          tubular forms, and arranged to expel foul air and\n          permit the passage of fresh air to any part of a\n        =Vessel.= Craft requiring a licensed master.\n          (Boats do not).\n        =Water ballast.= Sea water let into double bottom\n          or ballast-tank.\n        =Water-Line.= (Light) Submerging line of vessel\n          without cargo.\n        =Water-Line.= (Load) Submerging line of vessel\n          with full cargo.\n        =Water-tight Compartment.= Compartment with\n          water-tight bulkhead at each end.\n        =Winch.= Machine used for loading or unloading\n          cargo. Some are hand driven and some electrically\n        =Windlass.= Special form of winch used to hoist\nTranscriber's Notes:\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\nPage 128, \"oppositite\" changed to \"opposite\" (the opposite end of)\nPage 131, N italicized to match rest of usage (center of the disk _N_)\nPage 132, D italicized to match rest of usage (to the _D_ valve\npreviously)\nPage 185, \"deterimental\" changed to \"detrimental\" (detrimental to the\nspeed)\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Boys' Book of Model Boats, by Raymond Francis Yates", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Boys' Book of Model Boats\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Bryan Ness, Hazel Batey and the Online\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n    ADENOIDS AND DISEASED TONSILS\n  THEIR EFFECT ON GENERAL INTELLIGENCE\n      MARGARET COBB ROGERS, Ph.D.\n         ARCHIVES OF PSYCHOLOGY\n       Edited by R. S. WOODWORTH\n  Columbia University Contributions to Philosophy and Psychology\n  AGENTS: G. E. STECHERT & CO.: London: (2 Star Yard Carey St., W. C.);\n  Paris (16, Rue de Conde)\nCONTENTS\n    Introduction\n      Previous Literature Concerning the Relation of Nose and\n      Throat Defects to Intelligence.\n      Method and Procedure.\n        1. A Statistical Study.\n        2. A Study of Improvement After Treatment.\n           Selection of Cases.\n      Discussion of the Results.\n        1. The Statistical Study.\n        2. The Study of Improvement after Operation.\n      Measurement of Improvement after a Second Interval of\n      Six Months.\n      Summary.\n      Conclusions.\nINTRODUCTION--PURPOSE\nDuring the last decade or two there has been a growing interest among\nphysicians in defects of the nose and throat. This interest has centered\nin part upon those two afflictions of childhood--adenoids and diseased\ntonsils,--or even tonsils that are merely enlarged. There is no doubt of\nthe physical handicap borne by a child who is possessed of them. As a\nseat of inflammation, a source of infection, a hindrance to proper\nbreathing,--in a multitude of ways they have seemed to deserve the\nverdict,--\"Have them out.\" Many physicians, to be sure, have cautioned\nagainst the wholesale removal of tonsils, saying that tonsils which are\nlarge in early childhood very commonly are absorbed at an early age.\nBut it is not my purpose to discuss the question of the efficacy of\nremoving adenoids and tonsils. The aim of this study is, rather, to\ndetermine experimentally whether or not there exists any causal relation\nbetween defect in this respect and lowering of intelligence level. One\nhears statements made both pro and con by physicians and laymen but\nthere has been little experimental proof. It would seem to be rather\nuseful for a physician to know in advance with how much probability of\ncorrectness he is speaking, when he advises a mother that the removal of\nadenoids and tonsils from the throat of her backward child will make him\n\"bright.\" The question in the present case, however, is broader than\nthat of relation between these afflictions and mental defect. We are\ninquiring not merely whether adenoids and tonsils are causes of sub\nnormality or dullness, but also whether they tend to lower the\nintelligence quotient in general however high it may be. Would the\nmentally normal child with adenoids and tonsils have been superior\nwithout them, and would the superior child have been still more\nsuperior? What is the relation between adenoids and tonsils, and\nintelligence?\nThe method employed in the present experiment would seem to give it\nvalue from the point of view of the clinical psychologist. With the\npresent emphasis upon exactitude in mental testing, investigators have\nbecome interested in problem of the constancy of the I.Q. Adenoids and\nabnormal tonsils have been suggested as possible factors affecting this\nconstancy. The results of the experiment should throw some light on the\nquestion.\nIt should be understood that this study is concerned with general\nintelligence, and not with the child's efficiency as a member of\nsociety. The latter question is much broader than the one we are\ninvestigating. It includes not only intelligence, but physical state,\nemotional make-up, volition: in short, the personality as a whole.\nSuccess in school work for example, depends upon all of these factors.\nFor that reason, the results to be reported here, cannot be interpreted\nas applying to this broader conception. We cannot say at the end whether\nor not the physical defects under consideration affect the child's\nsuccess as a member of society. We hope to be able, however, to\ndetermine their effect upon one element of that success, namely\nintelligence.\nIn presenting the results of this experiment, the writer is especially\nindebted to Professor R. S. Woodworth, under whose auspices the\ninvestigation was carried out, for his interest and advice; and to Dr.\nLeta S. Hollingworth for the suggestion of the problem, practical aid in\nobtaining subjects, and constant inspiration. She is indebted to the\nSchool of Education, Teachers' College, for the provision of operative\ntreatment for the subjects; to Mr. Mark and his officers at Public\nSchool 64; and to Superintendent O'Brien of the Manhattan Eye, Ear and\nThroat Hospital. It must be said that by their hearty and generous\ncooperation they have contributed in a large measure to whatever value\nthis study may possess.\nADENOIDS AND DISEASED TONSILS: THEIR EFFECT UPON GENERAL INTELLIGENCE\nCHAPTER I.\nPREVIOUS LITERATURE\nConcerning the Relation of Nose and Throat Defects to Intelligence\nThere are very few experimental studies of the relation between\nintelligence and the two defects considered here. There are a few\nstatistical studies, and among earlier writers especially many\nstatements of opinion on the matter. Characteristic of the latter is the\nfollowing extract from an article in the Boston Medical and Surgical\nJournal, March, 1886.[1]\n    [1]: F. Hooper, M. D., quoting from a paper by B. Frankel.\n\"... it is a fact that their intelligence may become weakened and their\ncharacters changed. They do not progress in their studies at school, are\ngenerally at the bottom of the class and remain in it longer than the\nprescribed time.... That the impairment of intellect and want of energy\nmanifested by these children is real, and not merely in the expression\nof countenance, is made evident by watching these same children after\nthe growths have been removed. To the gratification and astonishment of\nthe parents and teachers, the children hitherto sluggish and dull of\ncomprehension, now make rapid progress, and their comrades soon cease to\nmake a laughing stock of them.\"\nThe following quotation from an article by Irving Townsend, M. D., is in\nthe same vein:[2]\n    [2]: Adenoid Growths of the Naso-pharynx. Read before the\n    Homeopathic Medical Society of New York, February, 1895.\n\"Aprosexia is the rather imposing term applied to the imperfect or\narrested mental development attributed to this condition. This is\ndenied by some authors, who claim that the dullness of comprehension and\ninattention are only apparent, and due only to defective hearing. A\nstrong evidence of its reality lies in the fact that these children show\nmost marvelous intellectual development after the removal of the growth,\neven in cases where deafness is not markedly improved.\"\nA most enthusiastic denouncer of adenoids and abnormal tonsils is H.\nAddington Bruce. Concerning their direful effects upon the intelligence,\nand the magical results of their removal, he is continually\nreiterating:[3]\n    [3]: H. Addington Bruce, Psychology and Parenthood, 1916.\n\"Often a surprising development of both mental and physical power\nfollows the removal of adenoids. In one case reported by Professor\nSwift, a girl of fourteen grew three inches within six months after an\noperation for adenoids, and at the same time showed an improvement in\nher school work that contrasted strikingly with the dullness that\npreceded it. Another, three years younger, grew six inches in about five\nmonths, and from being a sad idler was transformed into an unexpectedly\nattractive and bright pupil. A boy of twelve, backward both mentally and\nphysically, likewise lost his dullness and laziness within an\nastonishingly short time after the impediment had been removed.\"\nAnd again:\n\"The boy or girl suffering from adenoids[4] is usually a mouth-breather\nbecause of the difficulty experienced in breathing through the nose. But\nmouth-breathing means difficult breathing, and this in turn means\ndeficient oxidation of the tissues, with a resultant lowering of vital\nactivities generally and of the activity of the brain in particular.\nAccordingly, the psychologist of today insists that every\nadenoid-afflicted child should be given prompt medical attention, with a\nview to correcting the vicious mouth-breathing habit, and thus aiding\nthe child to gain a fair start in the development of mental and physical\nhealth.\"\n    [4]: H. Addington Bruce in the Century Magazine, 1916--The\n    Mind of the Child.\nThe following extracts are quoted from Burgerstein's \"Handbuch der\nSchulhygiene\":\n\"Bresgen und Heymann machen endlich darauf aufmerksam, dass die Ursache\nder Kephalalgie haufig in der Behinderung der Nasenatmung zu suchen\nist, als Folgerscheinung von Verengerung der Nase bei ingen Baue des\nKnochengerustes, Knochenkaries und Geschwulsten, Schwelungen der\nScheimhaute, akuten Schnupfen, Verstofungen der Highmorsh\u00f6hle,\nVergrosserung der Mandeln u. s. w.\"...\n\"Viele Kinder erscheinen schwachbegabt, ohne os zu sein, da bei\ndenselben entweder nach behebung von Ohrenkrankheiten, nach Herstellung\nder freien _atmung oder Gebrauch einer entsprechenden Brille die\nscheinbare Geistesschwache schwindet_.\"[5]\n    [5]: The italics are mine.\nQuotations like these, and equally unsupported by experimental evidence,\nmight be multiplied indefinitely, especially if we look into the\nliterature of a dozen years ago. Since they can have little\nauthoritative value, I shall limit myself to two more specimens, one\ntaken from the Psychological Clinic, 1916.[6]\n    [6]: Psych. Clinic, 1916, 10, 45-48. Anna Johnson. The\n    Teacher in the Retarded School.\n\"But when these physical defects (poor eyesight, defective hearing,\nadenoids, bad tonsils, etc.) are corrected so that the mind can function\nwithout any outcry from the physical body, these children recuperate\nmentally and often make greater progress than the so-called normal\nchildren in the regular grades.\"\nThe second is a quotation from Jelliffe and White, \"Diseases of the\nNervous System.\" Lee and Ferbiger, 1917, p. 903.\n\"An important group (of mental defects) is due to adenoid vegetations in\nthe posterior pharynx. Under such conditions of ill health, development\nis impaired and does not proceed at a normal rate. With ... infected\ntonsils, which produce a constant toxemia, the child cannot be expected\nto proceed in his development with normal rapidity.\"\nIn the medical and psychological literature of the last few years, along\nwith the growth of general discussion into the various phases of the\noperation itself, we find a general disinclination to take on faith the\nmagic effect of adenectomy and tonsillectomy. This growth of critical\nspirit has shown itself in statistical investigations, and in studies of\npedagogical and mental improvement after operation.\nThe statistical studies of physical defects in the schools reveal almost\nuniversally a positive relationship between school retardation and\npossession of adenoids and diseased tonsils. One of these was conducted\nby Ayres for the Backward Children Investigation of the Russell Sage\nFoundation in New York City.[7] The investigators examined the school\nrecords of 20,000 children from fifteen schools in Manhattan. Eight\nthousand of these had been examined by school physicians. The records of\nthe physical examinations showed that 80 per cent of the children who\nwere normal for their grade had physical defects while only about 75 per\ncent of the retarded children were physically defective.\n    [7]: Psych. Clinic, 1909, 3, 71-77. The Effect of Physical\n    Defect on School Progress.\nThis astonishing result was found upon re tabulation of the data by\nages, to be due to the fact that for each defect there is a gradual\nfalling off in frequency from the age of six up to fifteen--eye-defect,\nonly, excepted. Since the retarded children in each grade will be the\nolder children in that grade, and since older children have fewer\ndefects, the retarded children will show a smaller proportion of defect.\nTo overcome this difficulty, Ayres used an age basis instead of a grade\nbasis in interpreting his results. Records of all the children at the\nages of 10, 12, 13, and 14 were re tabulated, a group of 3304 children,\nand rated as dull, normal or bright according to the grade in which they\nwere found. The results were worked out in percentages of a group, and\nare shown in the following tables:\n    Number of children examined    407      2588       309\nAverage number of grades completed by pupils having no physical defects,\ncompared with the number completed by those suffering from different\ndefects:\n        3304 Children, 10-14 years, grades 1-8\n    Children having no physical defects         4\u00b794\n    Children having enlarged glands             4\u00b720           14\u00b79\n    Children having defective vision            4\u00b794            0\n    Children having defective breathing         4\u00b758            7\u00b72\n    Children having defective teeth             4\u00b765            5\u00b79\n    _Children having hypertrophied tonsils_    _4\u00b750_          _8\u00b79_\nCornell reports several investigations in the Psychological Clinic,\nJanuary and May, 1908. Three of these, in which children were rated on\nthe basis of grades received in school work, are here combined to show\nthe grades of normal children, \"average\" children, generally defective\nchildren, those possessing adenoids and tonsils, and the deaf.\n    No. of cases  Normal  Average  Defective  and Tonsils  Adenoids  Deaf\n    Grade in language\n    Grade in Arith.\n    Grade in spelling\n    Grade in geography\n    Average of grades\nAn additional investigation of four classes in the same grammar grade of\nthe Claghorn School gives the following results:\nIn the same article, Dr. Cornell gives the results of another study of\nPhiladelphia schools, made in 1906. The study comprised a comparison of\nchildren exempt from examinations on account of high standing, with\nthose not exempt. The results follow:\n                          Exempt  Children    Non-exempt  Children\n                          Normal  Defective    Normal      Defective\nWhen the four classes of bright and dull children were examined again,\nand the different sorts of defects compared for the groups, enlarged\ntonsils, adenoids, deafness, and nasal catarrh, were found to occur much\nmore frequently among the two classes of duller children.\n    Nose and throat conditions,\n    Percentage of children,\nDuring the same year, another examination along the same lines was\nconducted in the William McKinley Primary School,[8] where a large\nnumber of dull children had been grouped in special classes.\n    [8]: Cornell, Psychological Clinic, 2, 1909.\nNone of these children were mentally defective, says Dr. Cornell, and\nonly a few were really backward. The proportion of physical defect was\nfound to be very large,--in 174 pupils, 188 physical defects (68\neye-strain, 40 nasal obstruction, 80 miscellaneous, 11 hypertrophied\ntonsils.) In a special class at the Wharton school, numbering 22\nchildren, 14 of the children suffered from adenoids, associated in 3\ncases with enlarged tonsils. Since no comparison is made with normal\nclasses, this survey cannot be regarded as conclusive.\nWallin, in his book, \"Mental Health of the School Child,\" discusses\nseveral other investigations of the relation of intelligence to physical\ndefect. Only those studies in which were included adenoids and tonsil\nconditions will be reviewed here. Those by Ayres and Cornell have been\ndescribed above.\nIn Elmira, New York, says Wallin, \"an investigation of repeaters in the\nsecond grade showed that 21 per cent of those who required three years\nand 40 per cent of those who required four years to complete the grade\nhad adenoids, as against only 19 per cent of those who required only two\nyears to do the grade.\"\nAnother study described by Dr. Wallin was made by Heilman in 1907 of\n1000 Camden repeaters. The correlation between pedagogical retardation\nand percentage of defect in each group was as follows:\n    Defects                       Retardation\nBurpitt[9] describes an investigation of 400 children, 200 male and 200\nfemale, considered by their teachers to be \"dull and backward, but not\nto fall within the meaning of feeble-mindedness as given in the Mental\nDeficiency Act of 1913.\" The children were examined for physical defects\nand other abnormal conditions. The author says that in 36 per cent of\nthe cases, the cause for backwardness was found to be \"inherent\ndullness.\" (The basis for judgment of inherent dullness is not given.)\nAdenoids and tonsillar tissue were found in 18\u00b775 per cent of the cases,\nand were \"more prevalent than among the children of the area as a\nwhole.\"\n    [9]: H. R. Burpitt. Relative Degrees of Dullness and\n    Backwardness in School Children and their Causation. Journal of\n    Mental Science, 1916.\nThe degree of retardation, based upon the number of school standards\nbelow normal, was ascertained for pupils who suffered from various\ndefects. The relative retardation was expressed by the fraction n/(A-5)\nwhere n = number of years retarded, and A = age. Eighteen per cent of\nthe children were so retarded that the fraction was greater than 3-9.\nThese were divided into two groups,--3-9 to 4-9 and 4-9 to 5-9. The\nresults are given in the following table:\n    Inherent dullness and one or more physical\n    Irregular  attendance  with  one  or  more\nTurning to what the author calls single causes,--present in 170 cases out\nThe term \"cause\" seems to be rather loosely used in this study. The\nauthor says concerning this,\n\"Dealing with physical defects first, although they amount in the\naggregate to 53 per cent (omitting defective speech, which is a\nsecondary condition), in 10 percent only do they represent the whole\ncause. This is made up of those cases where the defect is of such\nintensity as to produce retardation in otherwise ordinary children, and\nof other cases of less intensity, but sufficient to weigh down the\nbalance against those near the level of what we may call for convenience\nthe lower limit of normal intelligence.\" How he determines, without\nremoving a defect, what the child's intelligence would be without it he\ndoes not explain.\nThe following table compares the physical condition of two groups, one\ncomprised of children examined in the regular routine examinations\nduring the year 1912,--the other a group of retarded school children,\ngiven a special examination:--[10]\n    [10]: Transactions of the International Congress on School\n    Hygiene, 1913, The Physical Condition of Retarded School Children.\n    Average No. of defects per child     1\u00b71            2\u00b75\nIn an investigation of 3,587 exempt and 1,418 non-exempt children in the\nPhiladelphia schools,[11] Dr. Newmayer found the following percentages\nof defect:\n    [11]:  Ayres: \"Laggards in Our Schools.\" 1909.\n                           Exempt Children       Non-exempt Children\nIt is evident from the majority of these investigations that there is\nsome relationship between physical defects and pedagogical retardation.\nBut whether or not the relationship is a causal one, they do not\nindicate. Simple co-existence of two characteristics is not necessarily\nsignificant that one is cause of the other. Plainly, though, if the\nremoval of a physical defect is followed by improvement in the school\nprogress, it may be argued that the presence of the defect was a causal\nfactor in the previous retardation. The method in the few following\nstudies, which seems to be employed to a greater degree than formerly,\nconsists of measurement of such improvement.\nThe Journal of Psycho-Asthenics, March and June, 1918, contains a paper\non the \"Results obtained from the Removal of Tonsils and Adenoids in the\nFeeble-minded,\" by Wm. J. G. Dawson, M. D. The author starts out rather\ndiscouragingly by regarding his hypothesis as an axiom. He says,\n\"It is a well-known fact that hypertrophy of the tonsils and presence of\nadenoids may produce more or less dullness of the intellect in normal\nchildren. This is a result of the imperfect aeration of the blood which\nsupplies the brain, on account of obstruction to respiration. In the\nFeeble-minded, conditions are more or less similar.\"\nOne hundred and twelve cases in the Sonoma State Home, Eldridge,\nCalifornia, were operated on. Of these 6 are recorded as borderline, 39\nas morons, 50 as imbeciles, and 17 as idiots. Adenoids were always\nremoved when they were present. The results of the operation are as\nfollows:\n    Tonsillar tissue recurred in                       5\n    General physical health                           90 improved\n    Mental improvement from observation               27 improved\nThe inaccuracy of this investigation is evident. The mental improvement\nwas measured by \"observation,\" which is at best inexact, and susceptible\nto the influence of any expectation of improvement on the part of the\nobserver. The degree of improvement is not mentioned, nor is the time\ninterval allowed for the appearance of such improvement. There is no\ncontrol group, and consequently, no way of knowing whether the\nimprovement was due to the removal of the defect.\nA similar, though rather more careful study is reported by Dr. Charles\nJames Bloom in the New Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal for April,\n1917. Dr. Bloom's experiment consisted of eighteen months' observation\non the mental and physical state following the removal of adenoids and\ntonsils from one hundred and fourteen children. This number was later\nreduced to fifty-seven, because of the fact that a number failed to\nreturn. There was no selection, all the patients being taken as\nadmitted.\nThe patient's physical and mental state was recorded at the time of\nadmission. School reports were used as an index of intelligence. From\nthis time on the patients were examined, weighed and measured at monthly\nintervals.\nThe ages of the children ranged from four to fourteen years, inclusive.\nThirty-five per cent were under six years, and sixty-five per cent,\ntherefore, over six. Twenty-nine were boys, twenty-eight girls.\nOmitting a part of the study which though interesting has no bearing\nupon our problem, we turn to results in the way of mental status. There\nwere fifty-seven cases, ten of whom were under the school limit. Of the\nremaining forty-seven, seven sent in no report. In four, or ten percent\nof the forty remaining, there was no progress. In thirty-six, or ninety\nper cent, appreciable progress was reported. One of the four unimproved\ncases was syphilitic, the other, the author says was a moron.\nQuotation of the teachers' reports will be of interest.\n\"'Some improvement.' 'Better work than previous year.' 'More effort\ndisplayed.' 'Improved wonderfully.' 'Improvement first term, not so much\nsecond.' 'Before removal, not transferred; after removal transferred.'\n'Very much improved, both mentally and physically.' 'Has made progress.'\n'Remarkable improvement.' 'Not transferred before removal, but after.'\n'More attentive.' 'A very small but gradual improvement.' 'Am happy to\ntell you that he is studying more since tonsils and adenoids were\nremoved.' 'Greatly improved.' 'Attention better.' 'More concentration.'\"\nIn this experiment like the preceding, the judges are liable to the\neffect of expectation of improvement. Although the reports are more\nexplicit, they are still couched in general terms, and not\ncommensurable. Some reports refer to intelligence and some to\npedagogical standing. There is no control group.\nOn the basis of these results, the author concludes:\n\"Children exhibiting some alternatives in the normal histology of\ntonsils and adenoids, give marked evidences of mental impairment.\" This\nseems to be a rather sweeping statement in consideration of the number\nof intellectually superior children who suffer from adenoids and\ndiseased tonsils.\nAnother investigation was made by Dr. Cornell in the Philadelphia\nschools,[12] where seventy more or less retarded pupils in grades one to\nfour were operated on for adenoids. According to the teachers' reports--\n      30 per cent improved considerably.\n      40 per cent improved.\n      25 per cent did not improve.\n       1\u00b76 per cent deteriorated.\n       3\u00b70 per cent deteriorated considerably.\n    Of those who had two chances of promotion,\n       6\u00b73 per cent were promoted twice.\n      16\u00b70 per cent failed twice.\n      33\u00b73 per cent were promoted once.\n      33\u00b73 per cent failed once.\n    With one opportunity,\n      11\u00b70 per cent were promoted.\n      31\u00b77 per cent failed.\n    [12]: Wallin: \"Mental Health of the School Child.\" 1914.\n\"The promotion record was thus decidedly poor. It is possible, however,\nthat the time for promotion came before the orthogenic effects of the\noperations had become effective.\"\nThe same criticisms may be brought against this investigation as were\nmentioned in connection with the preceding ones. Teachers' estimates of\nimprovement, especially when such improvement is expected, and without\nmeans of measuring it objectively, are necessarily inaccurate. Again\nthere is no control group. Of even less value are the results of an\ninvestigation in New York City by Cronin, where, out of eighty-seven\ncases operated on for enlarged tonsils and adenoids, \"many advanced\nthree grades during the rest of the school year, and only three lost\ntime.\"\nAn interesting study is one that is described by John C. Simpson, M. D.,\nin the Journal of the American Medical Association, April 1, 1916.\nDr. Simpson's results are based on a study of 571 boys of Girard College\nwho had been operated on for adenoids and tonsils. Improvement was\nstudied along several different lines, among them scholastic ability.\nFor this part of the study, 45 were chosen alphabetically, 3 from each\nsection. The only selection was for boys who were operated on long\nenough after coming to school to give an idea of scholastic ability; and\nlong enough before the present study to permit a judgment as to their\nimprovement. Monthly averages were taken of each boy up to the time of\nthe operation and from then to the time of this study. They were based\non an average of 100 per cent. As a control group, there were chosen 45\nboys who had had no operation, and who lived and worked under the same\nconditions. They also were taken alphabetically, 3 from each section.\nThe general average of the operative cases at the first measurement was\n74\u00b704. Of these 25, or 55\u00b75 per cent gave an average increase in monthly\nstanding of 4\u00b745 after operation, while the remaining 20, or 44\u00b75 per\ncent suffered a decrease of 6\u00b709.\nThe average of the boys in the control group was 74\u00b721 and for the first\ngroup after operation 74\u00b706. \"It is interesting to note,\" says the\nauthor, \"that the standing of slightly more than half of those operated\non was improved, but when compared with those not operated on, no\ndifference is seen.\"\nIn a similar study of younger boys who had undergone the operation on\nentering college, and who had since had a year's study (again a group of\n45), the general average was 76\u00b761. Compared to 45 in the same classes\nnot operated on, who had an average of 74\u00b756, the operative group is\nvery slightly superior, 2\u00b705 points.\nAnother study of pedagogical improvement, and a valuable contribution,\nis that reported by A. H. MacPhail in Pedagogical Seminary for June,\n1920, entitled \"Adenoids and Tonsils; a Study showing how the Removal of\nEnlarged or Diseased Tonsils affects a Child's Work in School.\"\n\"The children studied were pupils in the Adams and Cranch Schools. Only\ncases were considered where there was a record of ten school months\nbefore the date of the operation, and where there was a record for at\nleast ten month after the operation. There were thirty-one cases in all.\n\"School records were looked up for the ten school months preceding\noperation, and for each school month subsequent--up to the date of\nleaving school, or in the case of children still in school, up to the\ndate of the study. There were thus longer school records for some than\nfor others.\n\"The history of each case was divided into periods of ten school months\neach. Eighteen cases had a record of twenty months after operation and\neleven cases of thirty months.\n\"Comparing the first period after the operation with the period before,\nit is found that only about one-third showed improvement, and a little\nover half were doing poorer work. By comparing an average of _all_ work\ndone subsequent to the operation with what was done before, it became\nevident that improvement in school work is not often observed until\nafter a year from the date of the operation.\"\nIn the cases that had records for twenty months, 16 show that better\nwork was done in the second period after the operation than in the\nperiod before.\n              Table showing where improvement begins.\n                          _Per Cent of cases showing improvement_\nThese cases were compared with a control group chosen at random. They\ncomprised a total of 100 children who had records for four consecutive\nschool years.\n  Table showing how time of improvement of \"operated cases\" compares with\n              improvement among children at random.\n         (operated upon)\n       Per cent of 100 children        42\n        at random\n        months (operated upon)\n         random\n         months (operated upon)\n         random\n\"... Immediately after operation, there seems to be a dropping off in\nthe quality of school work done,\" but thereafter a marked improvement\nwhile the random group shows a comparatively static percentage of\nimprovement from year to year. The conclusion of the author is:\n\"Here seems good reason to believe that the removal of diseased tonsils\nand adenoids is a factor in beneficially influencing the mental life of\nthe school child. Not only is the health impaired by failure to remove\nthese diseased parts but the mental life and activity of the child as\nwell.\"\nIt is conceivable that pedagogical retardation might exist without any\ndefect of intelligence. The physical effects of adenoids and tonsils\nmight produce a tendency to fatigue, an emotional instability and\nconsequent lack in attention, which would seriously influence the\nquality of school work, even though the child were of normal or superior\nintelligence. The relation of physical defects to intelligence has been\ninvestigated experimentally by a method which will be employed to some\nextent in the present investigation. In the two studies to which I refer\npsychological tests, rather than school standings were used as a basis\nfor judging the intelligence. In each the effects of treatment were\nmeasured, and in one, a control group makes possible a more accurate\ninterpretation of results.\nThe first of these investigations is described by Wallin.[13] It was \"an\nattempt to determine by controlled, objective, mental measures the\ninfluence of hygiene and operative dental treatment upon the\nintellectual efficiency and working capacity of a squad of twenty-seven\npublic school children in Marion School, Cleveland, Ohio (ten boys and\nseventeen girls), all of whom were handicapped to a considerable degree\nwith diseased dentures or gums, and an insanitary oral cavity.\" The\nexperiment extended over one year, from May, 1910, to May, 1911. The\ntreatment included corrective work upon the teeth and mouth, and also\ninstruction in oral hygiene, and follow-up work by an employed nurse.\nFive series of psychological tests were given at stated intervals during\nthe course of the experiment. They included tests of immediate recall,\nspontaneous and controlled association (opposites), adding, and\nattention-perception (cancellation). There were six sets of each test,\nnumbered from one to six, of equal difficulty, and given under uniform\nconditions. Tests 1 and 2 were given before the treatment began, and the\naverage was taken as the \"initial efficiency.\" The last four, or the\nlast two, were averaged to represent the pupils' \"terminal efficiency.\"\n    [13]: Wallin: \"Mental Health of the School Child.\" 1914.\nThe results show the following influence of dental treatment upon the\nworking efficiency of the pupils.\n1. The indices of improvement are about the same for boys and girls.\n2. Improvement was about the same for older and younger pupils.\n3. There were great individual differences in initial proficiency and in\nimprovement.\n4. Improvement in one test does not presuppose improvement in another.\n5. There is a decided gain in every test, \"and not only are the gains\ndecidedly more frequent than the losses but the largest gains are\ninvariably emphatically larger than the largest losses.\"\n6. The average gains in the tests were:\n    Memory, 19 per cent with 8 losses and 19 gains.\n    Spontaneous association, 42 per cent with 2 losses and 25 gains,\n    Addition, 35 per cent with 1 loss and 26 gains.\n    Controlled association, 29 per cent with 0 losses.\n    Perception-attention, 69 per cent with 0 losses.\n    Average gain for all tests, 57 per cent.\nUnfortunately, Wallin was unable to form a control group, so that it is\nimpossible to estimate accurately how much of this gain is due to the\ntreatment of the defect, and how much to other causes, such as growth,\netc. \"But,\" the writer adds, \"if we concede that one-half of the\ngain--and that is, I believe, a sufficiently liberal concession--is due\nto a number of extrinsic factors, such as familiarity, practice and\nincreased maturity, the gain solely attributable to the heightened\nmentation resulting from the physical improvement of the pupils would\nstill be very considerable. There is corroborative evidence to show that\nthere was a general improvement in the mental functioning of these\npupils. This evidence is supplied by the examination of the pedagogical\nrecord of scholarship, attendance and deportment. Most of the members of\nthis experiment squad were laggards, and repeaters, pedagogically\nretarded in their school work from one to four years, but during the\nexperiment year only one pupil failed of promotion, while six did\nthirty-eight weeks of work in twenty-four weeks, and one boy finished\ntwo years of work within the experimental year.\"\nThe second investigation was equally careful in its method. It was\npursued by the Rockefeller Foundation, under the direction of E. K.\nStrong, with the purpose of examining the \"Effects of Hookworm Disease\non the Mental and Physical Development of Children.\"\nThe children were divided into five groups and tested at intervals of\nthree and one-half months. The tests used were opposites, calculation,\nlogical memory, memory span, hand-writing, form-board, and Binet-Simon.\nAfter the first test-series was given, the five groups were divided into\nsub-groups on the basis of this initial performance, so that the\nimprovement was compared only for those sub-groups in which this was\nequal.\nThe improvement of Group A--uninfected children--proved to be greatest,\nand was taken as 100 per cent. On this basis, Group B--infected children\nnot treated--showed the least improvement,--only 34 per cent. Group\nC--children completely cured of infection--improved 60 per cent. Group\nD--severely infected children, treated but not completely\ncured--improved 38 per cent, and Group Du--an older sub-group of\nD--improved 9 per cent as much as the normal children, and much less\nthan the untreated younger children. Dr. Strong reaches the following\nconclusion:\n\"The figures show, then, that hookworm disease unmistakably affects\nmental development. Treatment alleviates this condition to some extent\nbut it does not, immediately, at least, permit the child to gain as he\nwould if he had not had the disease. And the figures apparently further\nshow that prolonged infection may produce prolonged effects upon\nmentality,--effects from which the individual may never recover.\"\nCHAPTER II.\nMETHOD AND PROCEDURE\nThe following investigation was carried on during the year and a half\nfrom October, 1919, to April, 1921. The subjects were pupils at Public\nSchool 64, Manhattan, or patients at the Manhattan Eye, Ear and Throat\nHospital. All were boys, between the ages of six and fourteen years. The\ntesting in the study of improvement was done by the investigator,\nassisted by three other examiners, all competent and experienced in the\ntechnique of giving psychological tests.\nA Statistical Study\nIn addition to the more lengthy experiment, a statistical study was\nmade, comparing the intelligence levels of two groups of children, the\none selected for the presence of tonsils, the other for freedom from\nthem. These two groups were obtained from a large group of 530 children\nwhose I.Q.'s were gained from the records of Public School 64, where, so\nfar as possible, all children are tested upon entering school. We had,\ntherefore, a group unselected for intelligence level.\nAll the children for whom we had I.Q.'s were examined by the school\nnurse or physician. On the basis of this examination the two groups were\nselected. The tonsil group consisted of those cases which in the opinion\nof the nurse or doctor, were pronounced enough to deserve treatment. The\nnormal group was composed of those who were not defective, or in whom\nthe defect was so slight as not to demand treatment. The two groups were\narranged each in a surface of distribution according to the I.Q.'s of\nthe members. The results of the distribution appear in Table I, and in\nFigs. I. and II.\nA Study of Improvement After Treatment\nThe method employed here is based on the hypothesis that if a physical\ndefect is the cause of retardation in mental or physical development,\nremoval of the cause will tend to lessen the retardation. In other\nwords, if a child's working efficiency is lowered by the effects of\nadenoids and bad tonsils, their removal should, unless such lowering be\npermanent, be followed after a reasonable time by an improvement. But\nimprovement in efficiency, following the removal of adenoids and tonsils\nproves nothing unless we shall compare it with the change in efficiency\nof a control group, whose members have not been operated on, and who\nthus still suffer from the effects of the growths.\nSelection of Cases\nThe selection of the children for the experiment was effected in the\nfollowing manner. The teachers at Public School 64 were asked to report\nany cases which had come to their notice, as being seriously afflicted\nwith adenoids and diseased tonsils. In this way a fairly large group was\nobtained. The parents of the children were visited with the purpose of\nobtaining permission for examination and operation at the Post Graduate\nHospital. It was fairly easy to obtain permission to have the children\nexamined. They were taken in groups of four or five to the clinic, the\nexperimenter attending in person every examination in order to learn\nfrom the doctors the degree of the defect. As a result of this method,\nwe discarded all those cases where there was any doubt as to the serious\nnature of the defect.\nFrom the large group examined, we were finally successful in securing\noperative treatment for 10 children. Discarding the cases where defect\nwas slight, there remained a number of children who, for one reason or\nanother, did not undergo operation. In some instances the parents\nrefused their permission, in some they failed to keep appointments, in\none or two there was sickness in the family, and in a number the\nhospital was overcrowded and could not receive the children. All members\nof this group were examined,--to the number of fifty-six, and from them\nthe control group was finally selected.\nSince we were unable to secure a large test group from Public School 64,\nthe experiment was continued at the Manhattan Eye, Ear and Throat\nHospital where opportunity was given for testing the children after they\nhad been admitted for operation. In order to be sure that in each case\nthe defect was sufficiently pronounced to render decisive the results of\nthe experiment, each child's card was examined. Only those children\nwere included who were undergoing operation for both adenoids and\ntonsils.\nIt may be here remarked that mental tests were given to these children\non the morning of operation, and in some cases only a short time before\nit. The possibility suggests itself, therefore, that the results of the\ntests may have been influenced by excitement or fright on the part of\nthe patients. Actually, however, this did not seem to be the case. The\nchildren were perfectly cheerful and showed no signs of nervousness. The\ntests were given in a waiting room with the door closed so that any\ndisturbing sights and sounds were eliminated. The possible lowering of\nthe performance by the causes mentioned would tend to exaggerate the\nimprovement shown by the retests, so that in the light of the results,\nit will be seen that they could have had little effect.\nThe test group, then, was composed of forty members; ten from Public\nschool 64, who received operation at the Post Graduate Hospital, and the\nremaining thirty from various schools throughout the city, patients at\nthe Manhattan Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital. The control group of forty\nwas selected as previously described, and the pairs were arranged so as\nto have the ages of the members of one pair as nearly as possible the\nsame.\nThe Tests\nSince the main interest of this investigation lies with intellectual\ndevelopment, two tests of intelligence were given: namely, Terman's\nrevision of the Binet test, and Healy's Picture Completion Test, number\nII. The starred Terman was always used, since it was necessary to\neconomize time.\nIt was expected that improvement in general health would probably follow\nthe removal of the defects. This physical gain should come to light in\nincreased height and weight. In every case, therefore, height and weight\nwere measured.\nIt is conceivable that adenoids and tonsils might have no effect upon\ngeneral intelligence, and yet might cause a noticeable pedagogical\nretardation, simply as a result of the child's physical handicap,\ntendency to fatigue and consequent defect in attention or sustained\neffort. In order to gain some measure of this physical factor, strength\nof grip and speed in tapping were found. An effort was made, also, to\nobtain teachers' estimates of the pedagogical rankings, but this was\nfor the most part unsuccessful, since in many cases teachers\nmisunderstood directions, and in others the tests were made too soon\nafter the opening of school for any such estimates to be possible.\nThe tests described above were given before the operation to each child\nin the test group, allowing as short an interval as possible between\ntest and operation. In the case of the Manhattan Hospital children, test\nand operation fell on the same day. In no case did the interval exceed\nten days. The members of the control group were tested, each one within\na week of his partner.[14]\n    [14]: In a few cases where the operation was postponed after\n    the test had been given, the child and his control were retested\n    just previous to the operation. Since both cases were retested,\n    practice effect is of no great importance.\nSix months after his first test, each child was retested, whenever\npossible. Since some children had dropped out of the groups for one\nreason or another, the final number in each group was twenty-eight. It\nwas necessary to rearrange the control cases somewhat in order to fill\nin spaces left vacant by those who were lost. In this rearrangement, the\neffort was made, 1. to pair cases whose ages were approximately the\nsame; 2. to pair cases whose first tests were dated fairly close\ntogether. Since all the children were tested and retested under\napproximately the same conditions, this rearrangement will probably not\ngreatly influence the results. The tests were always given in the same\norder.\nThe following table shows a list of the two groups, as originally\npaired, and as finally rearranged, with dates of tests and retests.\nDates of operation are given for the first group.\n          Test Case                    Original Control   Final Control\n       Test I    Op.    Test II       Test I    Test II  Test I   Test II\n  HG  2-10-20  2-11-20  moved      control removed\n  MR  2-26-20  3- 1-20  moved      control removed\n  IK  3-17-20  3-17-20  moved      control removed\n  RB  3- 8-20  3- 8-20  moved      control removed\n  DT  3- 8-20  3- 8-20  mastoid    control removed\n  AL  3- 9-20  3- 9-20  moved      control removed\n  JB  3-12-20  3-12-20  moved      control removed\nCHAPTER III.\nDISCUSSION OF THE RESULTS\nStatistical Study\nThe statistical study compared two groups of cases in respect to I.Q.\nThese groups were selected from one large group, on the basis of\npresence or absence of tonsillar defect. The tonsil group was composed\nof 236 cases, and the normal group, of 294. The distribution of the two\ngroups according to intelligence is set forth in Table I, and in Figs. I\nand II.\n              Tonsil Group         Normal Group\n    I.Q.     No. of  Per cent of  No. of  Per cent of\n              Cases     Cases      Cases     Cases\nFrom these it is evident that the two groups are practically equal in\nintelligence. The average I.Q. for the normal group is 95\u00b74, as compared\nwith 94\u00b79 for the tonsil group. The medians are equally close,--95\u00b76 in\nthe normal group and 95\u00b73 with the tonsil cases. The difference in\nvariability is negligible, Q being 8\u00b7705 and [Sigma] 14\u00b74 in the\ntonsil group, while in the normal Q is 8\u00b727 and [Sigma] 12\u00b72. The\ntwo cases with the lowest I.Q.'s were tonsil cases, but the three\nhighest I.Q.'s also belong in this group.\n    Fig. 1. Distribution of I.Q.'s. Number of cases.\n    Fig. 2. Distribution of I.Q.'s by percentage of total number of\n    cases in the group.\nIf the frequencies are expressed in terms of per cent of the total\nnumber of cases in the group, the two may be compared further. The\nfollowing details are noticeable.\n    I.Q.          Per cent of         Per Cent of\n                  Tonsil Group       Normal Group\nIn other words, in the percentage of cases below normal intelligence,\nthe tonsil group exceeds by 2\u00b74 per cent. The percentage of defective\ncases is also slightly greater in the tonsil group--the difference here\nbeing 2 per cent. The normal group has a negligible predominance of\nbright cases,--only two-tenths of one per cent difference, while with\nthe very superior cases, the tonsil group again exceeds,--by 1\u00b72 per\ncent. The per cent of the tonsil group which reaches or exceeds the\nmedian of the normal is 49 per cent.\nThese figures seem to indicate remarkable similarity between the two\ngroups considered. The two distributions are almost identical. While the\nslight predominance of cases below normal mentality in the tonsil group\nmay indicate a very feeble tendency toward coincidence of tonsillar\ndefect and mental dullness, it does not seem large enough to be at all\nsignificant. This is especially true when we consider that the tonsil\ngroup exceeds in superior children. If we allow the preceding contention\nof coincidence between dullness and tonsils, must we not argue here in\nthe same manner for a tendency toward coincidence of superiority and\ntonsils?\nThe chief source of error in this part of the study is the fact that the\nthroat examinations were not conducted by the same person throughout the\ninvestigation. For this reason there must have been some slight\ndisagreement as to what should constitute a reportable case. In the\nevent, then, of a positive relationship between tonsil defect and\nlowering of the intelligence quotient, placement of normal tonsils in\nthe \"tonsil\" group, and of diseased tonsils in the \"normal\" group would\nraise the first, and lower the second, thus tending to conceal the\ndifference between the two. On the other hand, the cases where\ndisagreement would occur would naturally be those of slighter defect, in\nwhich the intellectual retardation would be less likely to occur, so\nthat the result would probably be merely an increased height at the\noverlapping portion of the curves, with no change at the ends.\nIn any case, the two examiners had worked together previously, so that\neach must have been somewhat familiar with the opinions of the other.\nThey were aware, also, that pronounced tonsillar defect was what we were\nattempting to detect. However this may be, there must always be some\ndisagreement in diagnosis. When this is allowed for, the results of the\ninvestigation may be taken for what they are worth. Contrary to\nexpectation, there seems to be very little difference in intelligence\nbetween a group of children whose throats are normal, and one in whom\nthe tonsils are diseased or badly enlarged.\nSTUDY OF IMPROVEMENT AFTER OPERATION\nThe complete results of the tests and retests are collected in Table II,\nwhere each control case is listed immediately below its respective test\ncase, and where age, height, weight, grip, tapping rate, I.Q., and score\nin Healy Picture Completion are shown. From these data the more detailed\nobservations have been made. The improvement of each child in the\nvarious tests has been computed, and a comparison drawn between the two\ngroups. As we have previously stated, any improvement shown by the test\ngroup in excess of that of the control group, may be looked upon as\nsignificant.\nLet us consider first the improvement of the children in general health,\nas shown by height and weight. In Tables III and IV we have tabulated\nthe results, in such shape as to permit of comparison. An inspection of\nthese tables will establish the fact that after a six months' interval,\nthe test group shows, in respect to height and weight, a very slight\ngain over the control group. In weight, the average of the amounts by\nwhich the test group gains exceed the control group gains is 1\u00b737 lbs.,\nand in height, only \u00b716 inches. The medians of these amounts are 1\u00b72\nlbs. and \u00b72 inches respectively. Comparing the improvements for the two\ngroups, we find that in the case of the weights, the smallest gain (a\nloss of 1\u00b72 lbs.) occurs in the control group, while the largest gain\n(10\u00b77 lbs.) is in the test group.\n                     TABLE II. RESULTS OF TESTS\n  Blank spaces indicate where tests were omitted for one reason or another\n                 TABLE II. RESULTS (Continued)\n  Blank spaces indicate where tests were omitted for one reason or another\n       N    Tapping, 1/2 min.      I.Q.     Healy, Score\n  We have therefore:\n    28 pairs of I.Q.'s to be compared\n    21 pairs of weights\n    19 pairs of heights\n    16 pairs of grip measurements\n    20 pairs of tapping speeds\n    24 pairs of Healy Completion scores.\nAgain, in only five pairs does the gain of the control exceed that of\nthe test case, while in the remaining sixteen pairs the gains of the\ntest cases are greater than those of their respective controls. The\ngreatest loss of test as compared to control is 4\u00b72 lbs., while the\nlargest gain is 7\u00b79. It would seem then, that after a six months'\ninterval a child who has been operated on for adenoids and tonsils will\ntend to show a slightly greater increase in weight than a child who\ncontinues to suffer from the defects. The very small group renders this\nconclusion far from assured. Since it doubtless takes some little time\nto recover from the effects of the operation, and since there is\ncomparatively little gain in weight in a six months' interval, it would\nbe well to extend the experiment over another year. For the greater\nreliability of results, some degree of after-care should be given the\noperative cases, the control cases of course receiving the same\ntreatment. While this was impracticable in the present study, it\nhappened that three pairs of cases were members of a nutrition class,\nand therefore underwent some hygienic treatment. In one pair, (no. 11)\nthe test case lost \u00b73 of a pound, while the control gained \u00b79. The test\ncases of pairs 7 and 10 gained \u00b78 lb. and 2\u00b71 lbs. respectively, over\nand above their controls. However, these three cases alone are of little\nsignificance.\nA study of increase in height suffers even more than one of weight gains\nfrom the short interval which elapsed between measurements. Normally,\nthere is very little growth in six months. There are only nineteen pairs\nof cases in this portion of the study, a fact which renders it of even\nless value. However, results are offered for what they are worth. The\nsmallest increase in height (\u00b73 in.) is in the test group, while the\ngreatest growth (3\u00b75 in.) is also in the test group. There is, however,\na gain of 3\u00b73 inches in the control group as well as one of only \u00b74\ninches. There are seven pairs in which the test group growth is less\nthan that of the controls, one in which the two are equal, and in the\nremaining eleven the growth of the test cases exceeds that of the\ncontrols. The variability\n             Gain in weight, 6 months, 21 pairs\n      N[16]       Test Group (A)       Control Group (B)   Lbs.\n           Test 1  Test 2   Gain  Test 1 Test 2  Gain   A-B\n    [16]: Numbers refer to cases as listed on Table II.\nof the test group growth is greater than that of the control group. The\nthree nutrition pairs show the following records of growth,--in number\n7, the test case shows a growth of\u00b7.6 in. more than his control. Number\n10 is the pair in which the growth is equal. In number 11 the test case\nagain exceeds in growth by \u00b76 of an inch.\nMore reliable than height and weight considered separately, as an index\nof physical welfare, is weight in relation to height and age. Table V\nshows the improvement in this relationship for the two groups. The\nnumbers in columns 1, 2, 4 and 5 show the per cent under or over weight\nof the individual cases, in relation to their respective heights and\nages. The authority upon which the figures are based, is the table\npublished by the American Child Health Association, giving standard\nweights for height and age in boys.\nThere was an average loss of \u00b728 per cent in the weight-height-age\nrelationship for the test group, and of 2\u00b711 per cent for the control\ngroup. The average improvement of the test group in excess of the\ncontrol group is, then, 1\u00b783 per cent. The median improvement of test\ngroup over and above control is 4\u00b700 per cent. The test group is more\nvariable than the control in improvement. The greatest improvement, 8\nper cent, is found in both groups.\n                   Gain in Height--6 Months, 19 Pairs\n      N[16]         Test Group (A)         Control Group (B)      Inches\nThe greatest loss, 10 per cent, is in the control group. Eight cases\nshow a loss in comparison to their controls, and nine reveal a gain. On\nthe whole, there is some significance in the small net improvement\nmanifested by the test group. The average is 2\u00b702 P. E.'s, and the\nmedian 4\u00b740 P. E.'s.\nThe dynamometer results show no gain in strength of grip six months\nafter operation. Indeed the average of the gains of the operative cases\nis slightly less than the average gain of the controls. Comparing the\ntest group with the control, we find the average of the differences to\nbe -\u00b724. But the variability is so high (P. E. = \u00b1\u00b748) as to render this\nfigure unreliable. The greatest loss in strength of grip is found in the\ncontrol group, but the greatest gain is also in this group. Seven cases\nin the test group show a loss, as compared with only three control\ncases. In eight, or one-half of the sixteen cases, the control member of\na pair gained more than the test member. Considering the three pairs of\nnutrition cases, we find that in pair number 7 the test case loses 1\u00b75\nKg. when compared with the control; and in pair number 10, 6\u00b75 Kg.,\nwhile the test case in pair 11 gains 4 Kg. The conclusion from the data\nwould seem to be that, within the space of six months at any rate,\noperation for adenoids and tonsils brings about no increase in strength\nof grip.\n  Showing change in per cent over or underweight for height and age,\nIs there, after operation, an improvement in motor control and\nattention, and a lessening of fatiguability as these may be demonstrated\nin the tapping test? Table VI gives the number of taps in the first half\nminute of tapping for both groups before and after the six months\ninterval. The test group suffers an average loss of 2\u00b724 taps, and a\nmedian loss of 2. The average loss of the control group is 2\u00b733, and the\nmedian 2.\n                   Gain in Grip--6 Months--16 Pairs\n   N[16]     Test Group (A)          Control Group (B)\n         Test 1  Test 2   Gain     Test 1  Test 2   Gain    A-B\nThere is practically no change then in the tapping ability of either\ngroup. The high unreliability of the difference (P. E. = \u00b1 3\u00b710) is\nnoteworthy. It would seem that incidental causes have a much greater\neffect upon tapping ability than can be demonstrated as resulting from\nthe removal of adenoids and tonsils.\nUse of the tapping test as a measure of the decrease in tendency to\nfatigue similarly brings out no indication of any improvement in the\noperative group of cases. The measure of fatigue was taken as a ratio;\nnamely, the number of taps in the first, minus the number in the second\nhalf minute over the number of taps in the first half minute. Then, if\nthere is a greater number of taps in the second, the ratio will be\nminus, indicating that fatigue effect is so small as to be overcome by\npractice effect. This was a fact in only four cases. Since what we are\nmeasuring is improvement, the ratio for test 2 is subtracted from the\nratio for test 1 to find the gain in overcoming fatigue. Table VIII\nshows the average gain for group one to be -\u00b70196, and the median -\u00b7045.\nThat is, there is an average increase in fatiguability of \u00b70196 units\nand a median increase of \u00b7045 with a P. E. of \u00b1 \u00b702. This increase in\nfatiguability occurs also in the control group, average 0, and median\n\u00b703 with P. E. of \u00b1 \u00b703. The average gain of test group over control\ngroup is -\u00b702 and the median gain is -\u00b7015. Again variability is\nrelatively large, P. E. being 1\u00b704, so that the median and average gains\nare -\u00b750 P. E. and -\u00b738 P. E. respectively.\nWe may say, then, that the capacities brought out by the tapping test\nseem to undergo no improvement in six months after removal of adenoids\nand tonsils.\nThe main line of interest in the present experiment lay with the\nrelation of adenoid and tonsil defects to general intelligence. The\nresults of the two tests dealing more specifically with this side of the\nproblem are here set forth. Table IX shows the I.Q.'s. of the two groups\nbefore and after the six months' interval, together with changes plus or\nminus in I.Q., and a comparison of the separate pairs in respect to\nimprovement.\nWe find that the test group shows an average gain in I.Q. of 2\u00b725\npoints. The median gain is 2 points, the total range 18 points and P. E.\nof the average is \u00b1 \u00b799. The control group shows an average gain very\nslightly higher, 3\u00b725 points, the median gain being 3. The range in this\ncase is 32 points, but P. E. is only \u00b1 \u00b747. The average of the compared\ngains of separate pairs is -1\u00b7035. These numbers are so small as to be\ninsignificant. Actually, we may say that the operative group as a whole\nshowed no gain over the control group. If we examine individual cases we\nfind that the greatest loss in I.Q. was in the control group, (8 points)\nbut the greatest gain (24 points) also appears in this group. In the\ntest group 11 cases\n  Gain in number of taps in one-half minute, 21 pairs--right hand\n  N[16]     Test Group (A)        Control Group (B)\n        Test 1  Test 2   Gain    Test 1 Test 2   Gain    A-B\nlost in I.Q., as compared with 7 in the control group. Thirteen test\ncases lost in comparison with their respective controls. Two gained\nequally with their controls, and the remaining thirteen showed a larger\ngain. In regard to the three pairs taken from the nutrition class,\nnumber 7 gained 8 points and his control, 4. Number 10 lost a point and\nhis control lost 4, while number 11 lost 3 points with a gain of 1 point\nby his control. So that these cases, in spite of most favorable\nconditions, show no consistent gain in I.Q.\nThe results of the Healy tests are similar. There is a slightly higher\naverage gain in the control group. The test group contains eight cases\nwhich made a poorer score at the end of the interval, the control group\nsix. The range of gains is from -22 to +44, or 66 points, in the test\ngroup, while in the control group the gains range from -14 to +41\u00b75 or\n  Decrease in fatigue in tapping--Difference in rates of second half\n           minute over first half minute. Sixteen pairs\n     N[16]    Test Group (A)     Control Group (B)\n          Test 1 Test 2  Gain  Test 1 Test 2  Gain    A-B\npoints. Seventeen of the operative cases showed a smaller gain than\ntheir respective controls. The three pairs of cases from the nutrition\nclass show the following gains:--pair 7; the test case loses 22 points,\nthe control gains 23 points; pair 10, test case gains 18\u00b75, but control\ngains 38 points; pair 11, test case gains 14 points, and control gains\n25\u00b75 points. From this test then, we can find no general tendency for\ncases operated on to improve in intelligence in excess of improvement in\na control group which was not so treated.\nThis question presents itself:--is there any relationship between\nimprovement in physical well-being as revealed in weight, and\nimprovement in intelligence? If, as has been supposed, adenoids and\ndiseased tonsils cause mental retardation indirectly through physical\ndeprivation, it would seem as though greater improvement in intelligence\nafter operation should accompany greater improvement in weight, and\nsmaller intelligence gain should accompany slighter gain in weight. In\norder to determine whether this was true for our cases, improvement in\nI.Q. was correlated with gain in weight, for the test group. The order\nof merit method was used, and the formula [Rho] = 1 - ((6 [Sum] D_n) /( n(n\u00b2-1)))\nwhere f = 2 sin ([Pi]/6)[Rho]. The resulting value of r was -\u00b710 with\nunreliability of \u00b7226, calculated by the formula [Sigma]t.r - obt.r =\n(1\u00b705(1-r\u00b2)) / [sqrt]n. There is therefore no correlation between\nimprovement in intelligence and gain in weight.\n                 Improvement in I.Q., 28 Pairs\n    N[16]     Test Group (A)        Control Group (B)\n          Test 1  Test 2  Gain    Test 1  Test 2  Gain    A-B\n          Improvement in Performance of Healy Test, 24 Pairs\n    N[16]   Test Group (A)           Control Group (B)\n        Test 1  Test 2   Gain      Test 1  Test 2  Gain      A-B\nSimilarly, it might be thought that the children who had suffered from\nthe defects for a comparatively short time, might reveal greater\nimprovement in intelligence after six months than those who had been\nafflicted for a longer space of time. We had no way of knowing\ndefinitely how long the defects had been present in the cases studied.\nRoughly, though, we may say that in general the older boys have had\ndefective tonsils and adenoids for a longer time than the younger ones,\nand that the older the boy, the older the defect. On this basis, if\ncorrelation of youth with gain in I.Q. should give a larger positive\nvalue for r, we might be justified in saying that the younger boys, who\nhave been handicapped for a lesser period, show greater mental\nrecuperation than their older companions. Such a correlation was\nattempted in the test group, correlating age at the first test with gain\nin I.Q. The same methods and formulae were used as in the weight and\nintelligence comparison, the greatest gain in I.Q. being given first\nposition, and the lowest age. The resulting value for r was -\u00b724, with\nan unreliability of \u00b7186. The relationship would appear to be in the\nother direction but it is so small, with an unreliability measure so\nlarge as to be insignificant. Once more, then, we find in our results no\ncorrespondence between recency of defect and quick mental recovery.\n  Showing percentile ratings of the members of the two groups at the\n       beginning and end of the six months' interval\n         Weight     Height      Grip      Tapping\nTABLE XI (Continued)\nShowing percentile ratings of the two groups at the beginning and end of\nthe six months' interval\n    N[16]     I.Q.      Healy      Total    Possible  Average\nTable XI expresses the results of Table II, with the scores given in\npercentile values. In each test, the group was taken as composed of the\ntwo scores of every individual--the total number of scores in tests and\nretests, eliminating those scores where the other member of the pair was\nlacking, or where no retest was given. Thus case number 1 was just\nwithin the lowest 27% of the group in weight at the first weighing, but\nhad advanced to the 44 percentile at the second. In height he gained\nfrom the 25 percentile to the 40 percentile. His total gain in all tests\nis 30 percentile out of a possible 415, and the average gain is\u00b7.05. The\nreader may see by scanning the table that the gains in the test group\nare practically equaled by those in the control group. There seems to be\nno consistent relationship between a low score in the first test and a\nlarge gain. This is true even though the method of calculation tends to\nminimize gains at the high end of the group, and losses at the low end.\nIn table XII this may be seen more clearly in respect to I.Q. and the\nresults for all the tests taken together with the I.Q. weighted by being\ncounted twice. A large possible gain indicates that the score at the\nfirst testing was low, and vice versa. Considering I.Q. values, the\nlargest possible gain in the test group was 95 per cent of the group.\nThis occurred twice, in one case the actual gain being 7% of the group\nand in the other 2%. In the control group, the largest possible gain was\n97% of the group, but actually this case fell 1% of the group. If we\ncorrelate possible gain with actual gain for each group, using the\nwe get a coefficient of correlation \u00b736 in the test group, and \u00b719\n  Showing gains in percentile rating for I.Q., and for a total of all the\n           tests with I.Q. weighted by being counted twice.\n         1st     2d    possible   actual   possible   actual  Av. Gain\nin the control group. With the small number of cases involved the\nprobable error is too great to allow either of these measures as\nindicative of relationship. We may say, then, that there is no definite\ntendency for those of low I.Q. to improve in six months after operation\nto a greater degree than those of higher I.Q.\nFinally, in order to compare the results of the various tests, the\nmeasures of the gains of the test group in excess of the control were,\nfor each test, expressed in terms of P. E. The averages and medians of\nthese measures are collected in Table XIII. They show a very slight\ntendency toward gain in weight, height, and weight-height-age\nrelationship; neither improvement nor loss in grip, tapping\nfatigueability and I.Q., and a rather curious tendency to loss in the\nHealy scores. This latter is very probably not a true measure since\nperformance in the Healy Picture Completion test shows a rather high\nvariability, and the cases are so few as to make the influence of single\nvery high or low scores unduly great.\n  Showing improvement in various tests of operative group over and above\n     such improvement in control group. Expressed in Terms of P. E.\n          Weight Height Height-  Grip Tapping  Tapping I.Q.  Healy\nCHAPTER IV\nMEASUREMENT OF IMPROVEMENT AFTER A SECOND INTERVAL OF SIX MONTHS\nIn view of the fact that one of the experimenters[15] found improvement\nin school work when her study was extended to cover a second time\ninterval after operation, it was deemed advisable to similarly extend\nthe present investigation in order to determine whether our operated\ncases showed any improvement after twelve months. To this end, the\nfifty-six children composing the final groups of the first study, were\nsought after a second interval of about six months. Conditions made it\nimpossible to give all the retests exactly twelve months from the time\nof the operation. As a matter of fact, the period ranges from ten to\nseventeen months. An effort was made to keep the interval between tests\nequal for the two members of a given pair.\n    [15]: A. H. MacPhail, Adenoids and Tonsils: A study showing\n    how the Removal of Enlarged or Diseased Tonsils Affects a Child's\n    Work in School. Ped. Sem., June, 1920, pp. 188-194.\nThe same tests were given as in the first study. About half of the\ntesting was done by one of the former examiners, but she was obliged to\nturn the work over to another before it had been completed. The second\nexaminer was highly recommended, and had had training and practical\nexperience in the giving of tests. She was instructed in the methods\nwhich had been employed previously, so that conditions were as far as\npossible kept constant.\nThe results of the tests are collected in Table XIV. In the first column\nis given the length of the time interval for each case. It may be seen\nthat the final group was composed of forty-two children, forming\ntwenty-one pairs. There were fifteen pairs which received a second\nrating in weight; thirteen in height; thirteen in grip; fifteen in\ntapping, eleven in fatigue as shown by tapping, twenty-one in I.Q., and\neighteen in the Healy Test. These numbers while they are smaller than we\ncould wish, would seem to be great enough to indicate\n      Results of the Tests after an Interval of from 10 to 17 Months\nany very consistent tendency toward improvement. The question, whether\nor not the results are affected by the differences in time interval,\nwill be considered later.\nIn weight, the test group showed an average gain of 11\u00b7013 pounds, with\na median of 9\u00b71 (Table XV). The average gain of the control group was\n9\u00b7113 pounds and the median 6\u00b78. The gains in the test group are less\nvariable than those of the control. The average of the gains of the test\ngroup in excess of those of the control is 1\u00b79 pounds, and the median is\n2\u00b72 pounds; while the unreliability of the difference is \u00b1 1\u00b746 The\naverage, then, is only 1\u00b730 P. E. and the median 1\u00b751 P. E.\nIf we turn to Table III and compare the results there set forth with the\nresults at the end of the second period, we find the gains of the test\ngroup exceed those of the control in the following manner.\n             Weight, Second Retests, 15 Pairs\n    N[16]  Test Group (A)       Control Group (B)\n          Test 1 Test 3 Gain   Test 1 Test 3 Gain    A-B\n    Average of gains in test group in excess of control 1\u00b737     1\u00b79\nAfter a twelve months' interval, therefore, the actual average and\nmedian gains are slightly larger than after the first six months, but\nthe variability is very much greater. Therefore, when expressed in terms\nof P. E., the gains are smaller. One of the test group cases (No. 13)\nwho had gained 8 pounds after six months, gained 14 pounds in the second\nperiod of six months, making a total gain of 22 pounds. This gain is\nexceeded, however, by one in the control group (No. 12) who gained 3\u00b75\npounds in six months, and 25\u00b71 pounds more in the ensuing five months.\nThis is certainly an enormous gain for five months, under any\ncircumstances. Turning to Table XIV we find no corresponding gain in\nI.Q. for this child. Indeed there is a loss of five points.\nOther children in the test group who made large gains, were case 12,\nwith a gain of 18\u00b75 pounds after twelve months, compared with 4\u00b75 pounds\nafter six months; case 19, gain of 6\u00b73 pounds after first six months,\nand 18 pounds after 12 months; case 21, whose gain after the first\nperiod was 5\u00b78 pounds, but who gained 14\u00b78 pounds after twelve months.\nIn these cases the gain in the second period greatly exceeds that for\nthe first.\n                Height, Second Retests, 13 Pairs\n    N[16]     Test Group (A)          Control Group (B)\n         Test 1  Test 3   Gain     Test 1  Test 3   Gain    A-B\nIn weight, then, the mean gain of the test group over and above the\ncontrol continues to increase through the second period of six months.\nThe variability, however, increases enormously, which fact is due\npossibly to varying conditions which may enter in during the longer\nperiod to affect the health and thus lessen the gain of some of the\nchildren.\nIn order to determine whether the slight inequalities in interval length\nhave any considerable effect on the results, we have calculated the\nrelation between the length of interval and amount of improvement. The\ncoefficient of correlation by the method of rank differences is equal to\n\u00b703. The small number of cases renders the unreliability of correlation\nvery great, but we can at least say that there is no consistent\nrelationship between improvement and time interval, within the narrow\nlimits here set. We are probably justified in taking twelve months as\nthe interval, since such was the case in eight out of the fifteen test\ncases, while the greatest variation above this made was four months, and\nbelow it, one month.\nThe gains in height after twelve months are shown in Table XVI. The\naverage gain of test group in excess of control, is only \u00b708 inches, and\nthe median \u00b75 inches. Variability is about the same as at the end of six\nmonths, P. E. \u00b1 \u00b728. The average is only \u00b729 P. E., but the median is a\nlittle larger, 1\u00b779 P. E. If these measures are compared with the\nresults after the first period, we have:\n  Average of gains of test group in excess of control  \u00b716       \u00b708\n  Median of gains of test group in excess of control   \u00b72        \u00b75\nThere seems to be little gain in height after the first period. Test\ncases 1 and 11 each show a gain of 3\u00b77 inches after fifteen and twelve\nmonths respectively, compared with gains after six months of 1\u00b76, and\n1\u00b79 inches. But case 2 in the control group, makes still greater\ncomparative gain, +1\u00b78 inches after six months and 4\u00b76 inches after\nseventeen months. In this case there are almost six additional months\nfor the child to grow, which may account for the larger gain. Control\ncase 1, however, may be compared with his partner, mentioned above,\nsince the interval between tests was the same for both. This boy grew\n1\u00b74 inches in six months, and 3\u00b73 inches after 15 months. This is\npractically equal growth with test case 1. Control case 11 also shows\nrelatively great growth during 12 months, +3\u00b72 inches, whereas the\ngrowth in six months was only 1\u00b73 inches. Out of the test group, 7 cases\ngained more in the first period of six months, than in the second, while\nonly 6 gained more in the second than in the first. Of the control\ngroup, 7 cases made more than half of their total gain during the second\nsix months of the total twelve months' period. Since this is true, it\nseems likely that whatever increase in growth we find during the second\nhalf of the twelve months' interval, may be explained by incidental\ncauses, and that so far as actual gain in height is considered, there is\nno further effect from the operations, after six months.\nAs was mentioned in the previous chapter, height and weight are of less\nsignificance when considered alone, than when taken in relation to each\nother and to the age of the individual. The gain in this\nweight-height-age relationship following upon operation for adenoids and\ntonsils, will be considered in the same manner as were weight and height\ngains. We have, then:\n  Height-Weight Relationship, Second Retests, 13 Pairs Showing changes\n       in per cent over or underweight after 12 months' interval\n    N[16]        Test Group (A)           Control Group (B)\n            Test 1  Test 3  Change    Test 1  Test 2 Change  A-B\n  Average of gains of test group in excess of control  1\u00b783     3\u00b723\n  Median of gains of test group in excess of control   4\u00b700     6\nThe mean of the actual gains in the second period exceeds that of the\nfirst. Again the second group of results is more variable, decreasing\nthe reliability. There seems, however, to be a definite increase in the\nnet gain of the test group during a second six months' period. Some\nindividual cases may be cited. The greatest gain after six months is 8\nunits in the test case, matched by an equal gain of 8 units in the\ncontrol group. After twelve months, the test group shows one gain of 19\nunits, the highest gain in the control group being 13. Six cases in the\ntest group, and 13 in the control had lost at the end of six months, but\nafter twelve months, all but 2 of the test cases showed a gain, and all\nbut 5 of the controls. In 10 test cases out of the total 13, more than\nhalf of the gain occurred during the second six months. In the control\ngroup, six of the cases made more than half of their gain during the\nsecond six months, and the second interval gains of the other 7 cases\nexceeded the 50 per cent mark by so little that they may be accounted\nfor by chance.\nThese results seem to indicate a slight but actual increase in the net\ngain of the test group during the second six months of the experiment,\nand an accompanying growth in the variability of these gains.\nIt will be remembered that the results described in the previous chapter\nshow no gain in strength of grip as a result of operation. Comparison of\nthe 13 cases tested after the second interval, with the 16 cases at the\nend of the first, gives results as follows:\n    TABLE XVIII\n    Gain in Grip, Second Retest, 13 Pairs\n    Average of gains of test group in excess of control   -\u00b724  -1\u00b731\n    Median of gains of test group in excess of control   -1\u00b700  -1\u00b750\nThe greatest gain in the test group after twelve months is 5 Kg. (Case\n1). During the first six months this case lost 1 Kg. There are two gains\nof 5 Kg. in the control group. Of these two (cases 7 and 13) had gained\n1 Kg. during the first interval and another (case 2) 2 Kg. The greatest\nloss in the test group after the twelve months' period was 3 Kg., by\ncase 27, which had already lost this amount at the end of six months.\nThe greatest loss in the control group was suffered by case 11, a loss\nof 4 Kg., all in the second period. After the first period, 9 out of 16\ncases in the test group gained in strength of grip, and 13 in the\ncontrol group. After the second period, the test cases showing gain\nnumbered only 7 out of 13, while all of the control cases had gained\nexcept 2. Of the test group 8 cases in the second period either gained\nless than half of the amount they had improved in the first period, or\ndropped from the scores they had made at that time. The corresponding\nnumbers for the control group are 6 and 7.\nThere is evidently no improvement in strength of grip twelve months\nafter operation. The unreliability of the results is very great.\nHowever, there is certainly no tendency toward improvement. Why this\nshould be is a question. It may be that the change in examiners is\npartly responsible, for performance in this test is influenced to a\nsurprising extent by the manner in which it is presented.\n            Tapping--Second Retest, 15 Pairs\n    N[16]   Test Group (A)      Control Group (B)\n        Test 1  Test 3  Gain   Test 1  Test 3  Gain  A-B\nThere were 15 pairs of cases who performed the tapping test at the end\nof twelve months. Comparison with the 21 pairs after six months yields\nthe following results:\n  Average of gains of test group in excess of control  - \u00b709     9\u00b793\n  Median of gains of test group in excess of control    0       11\nThe gain in the second interval is greater for the tapping test than for\nany of the tests yet described. After the first six months there is no\ngain. At the end of ten months the average gain is 9\u00b793, and the median\n11 taps per half minute. After six months' interval, 11 of 21 test group\ncases had lost. At the end of twelve months, only 2 out of 15 had lost.\nThe control group, on the other hand, lost in 11 out of 21 cases after\nsix months, and in 6 out of 15 at the end of twelve months. All but one\nof the test group cases made more than half of their gain in the second\nperiod. Of the control group only 7 cases did this. The variability of\ngains after 12 months is about equal to the variability at the end of\nsix months.\nStrangely enough, decrease in fatigueability as described in the\nprevious chapter does not show itself after 12 months. In fact, the\nnegligible loss in ability noticeable after six months has increased\nafter a period of twelve months. In only 4 out of 11 test group cases,\nis the gain in the second period equal to that of the first, a similar\nresult to that found in the control group, where 5 out of the 11 cases\nmade half their total gain in the second interval. The results are\ncompared below.\n  Average of gains of test group in excess of control   -\u00b7020    - \u00b706\n  Median of gains of test group in excess of control    -\u00b7015    - \u00b709\n      Tapping for Fatigue, Second Retests, 11 Pairs\n    N[16]  Test Group (A)        Control Group (B)\n       Test 1  Test 3   Gain   Test 1  Test 3   Gain   A-B\nThe point of greatest interest in the present study is, as has been\nsaid, improvement in intelligence. Does operation for adenoids and\ntonsils result in improvement in intelligence, as measured by I.Q.? If\nsuch improvement does not manifest itself after six months, can it be\nfound after a second period of the same length? The latter question is\nanswered by observation of Table XXI and attention to the following\nfacts, gathered from the 21 pairs of cases who were given intelligence\ntests after the twelve months' interval.\n    Average of gains of test group in excess of control  -1\u00b7035 -3\u00b714\n    Median of gains of test group in excess of control   -1     -3\nThe result after twelve months remains the same as that after the six\nmonths' interval. A gain or loss of two or three points in I.Q. is\nnegligible, so that the mean gain of the test group in excess of the\ncontrol is practically zero at the end of each period. Variability\nincreases with the length of the interval. One case in the test group\n(case 4) gained nothing in six months, but showed a gain of 15 points\nafter 13 months. However, there is a control case to match this,--case\n15, who gained 1 point in the first six months and 20 points after 10\nmonths. Case 20 in the test group lost 4 points in the first six months,\nbut gained back these and 10 additional in the second period. But\ncontrol No. 1 gained 5 points in the second interval after having lost 4\nin the first.\nOn the other hand several cases lost in the second period, as compared\nwith the first. Test group case 7, for example, gained 8 points in the\nfirst six months, and lost 6 of them in the second. Case 3 in the same\ngroup lost 3 points in the first period, and failed to regain any of\nthem. Case 12 lost 3 points in six months and 9 more before the end of\n12 months. In the control group, case 23 gained 15 pounds in the first\nsix months and lost eight of them in the second. Summing up gains and\nlosses in the second period, for both groups:\n               I.Q., Second Retests, 21 Pairs\n   N[16]   Test Group (A)         Control Group (B)\n       Test 1  Test 3   Gain   Test 1  Test 3   Gain   A-B\n                Lost in 2nd   Gained in 2nd   No    Gained equally\n                  period         period     change   with gain in\nThe average gain of the test group was 3\u00b709 points after 12 months,\ncompared with 2\u00b725 after six. The control group, however, made an\naverage gain of 6\u00b724 after 12 months, the gain after six months being\n3\u00b729. These numbers are insignificant as gains, but they at least show\nno improvement in the test group which the control group does not reveal\nas well. On the basis of the results, we may say that there has been no\nimprovement in I.Q. as a result of operation, either after six months or\nafter twelve.\nThere remains to be considered only the result of the Healy Picture\nCompletion Test. We have scores in this test for 18 pairs of cases. When\nthese scores are compared with those in the former tests, the results\nstand as follows:\n    Average of gains of test group in excess of control -5\u00b785   -3\u00b736\n    Median of gains of test group in excess of control  -7\u00b775    1\nThe figures given above show no gain in the Healy test as a result of\noperation. Both after six months, and after twelve, we find that the\ntest group has gained no more than the control group. As before there\nare individual cases showing considerable gain in the second period, but\nthese are matched by control cases which reveal equal or even greater\ngains. In the test group, 5 cases lost in the second period in\ncomparison with the first, 18 gained, and 7 gained as much in the second\nperiod as in the first. The control group lost in the second period in 5\ncases, gained in 18, and gained as much as in the first period in 7\ncases. The two groups, then, are practically equal, both showing a gain\nin the second period, but this gain cannot be due to the operations,\nsince the control group did not undergo operation.\n               Healy A, Second Retests, 18 Pairs\n    N[16]  Test Group (A)        Control Group (B)\n       Test 1  Test 3   Gain   Test 1  Test 3   Gain   A-B\n             Weight in        Height in   Height-weight    Grip in\n    Gains     pounds           inches       percents         Kg.\n    Gains     Taps in        Tapping in\n              1/2 min.     fatigue ratios       I.Q.      Healy Score\nIn Table XXIII are collected the results discussed in the foregoing\nchapter. The mean results are expressed in terms of P. E. and as gross\nvalues, so that the various tests may be compared.\nCHAPTER V.\nSUMMARY.\nThe results obtained from the experiment may be summarized as follows:\n1. Six months after operation for adenoids and tonsils, there seems to\nbe a slight but not very reliable gain in weight as the result of the\noperation. After twelve months this has increased; indeed, it has very\nnearly doubled.\n2. Gain in height, resulting from operation, is so slight as to be\nunreliable. This gain does not increase during a second period of six\nmonths.\n3. The height-weight-age relationship is an excellent measure of the\nphysical well-being of the child. The figures expressing this\nrelationship show no very reliable gain in the first six months, but\nimprovement increases considerably during the second period.\n4. The test group shows no gain over the control group in strength of\ngrip. There seems on the other hand to be a slight loss; which does not\ndecrease in amount during the second period.\n5. Speed of tapping did not increase during the first period, any more\nfor the test group than for the control. During the second period,\nhowever, there is a marked improvement.\n6. Operation for adenoids and tonsils does not lessen fatigueability as\nshown by the tapping test. The probability is, however, that the test is\nat fault.\n7. No rise in I.Q., as a result of operation, makes itself evident after\nsix months or after twelve months.\n8. There is no improvement in the performance of the Healy test either\nafter six months or after twelve.\n9. In every test except grip and tapping, there is a marked increase in\nthe variability of the gains after the second period. This is possibly\ndue simply to the fact that the longer interval permits the\nintervention of more extraneous factors which may influence the scores\nin one direction or the other.\n10. A group of 236 children with diseased tonsils showed equal\ndistribution of I.Q. with a group of 294 children who were normal in\nthis respect.\nCONCLUSIONS\nThe article by MacPhail, which has been reviewed in a former chapter,\nshowed pretty conclusively that the removal of adenoids and tonsils was\nfollowed by improvement in school work. That such improvement was not\ndue to a rise in general intelligence can be concluded from the present\nexperiment. That efficiency in school work does not rest wholly upon\nintelligence has been demonstrated more than once. The tendency here\nnoted to improve in general physical tone may, perhaps, serve as a sign\nof the factor upon which such improvement depends. Improved health means\nbetter attention, better emotional response, greater resistance to\nfatigue, and probably increased efficiency.\nInteresting investigations of such improvement in efficiency might be\nmade by administering educational tests to groups similar to those of\nthe present study. The results of such an experiment would be\nexceedingly instructive, and would be more significant than conclusions\ndrawn from school marks. By this means also we might determine along\nwhat special line efficiency is most affected.\nSince there was no recuperation in intelligence resulting from operation\nfor adenoids and tonsils, it is reasonable to expect that there had been\nno retardation from which to recuperate. This supposition is borne out\nby results of the statistical study, wherein we found that a group of\nchildren suffering from diseased tonsils possessed equal intelligence\nwith a group which was free from such defect.\nWe can say to physicians, then, with fair amount of assurance, that\nremoval of adenoids and tonsils will probably not raise to any great\ndegree the intelligence level of the mentally defective child who is\nbrought to him. We can say to students of the constancy of the I.Q.,\nthat it is not greatly lowered by adenoids and diseased tonsils and we\nmay say to the clinical psychologist that these defects have no\ndemonstrable effect upon general intelligence, whatever effects they may\nhave on volitional and emotional normality,--the two elements which,\nalong with intelligence are necessary for the maintenance of the\nindividual as an instrument of social efficiency.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Adenoids and Diseased Tonsils"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\n[Illustration: \u201cJUST HOLD THAT POSE, SAILOR!\u201d BARKED THE STOCKY\nLIEUTENANT.]\n                        DON WINSLOW OF THE NAVY\n                Printed in the United States of America\n                      II OUT OF THE POISON FOG\n                     III HIGH EXPLOSIVE\n                       V STRUCK DOWN FROM BEHIND\n                      VI MURDER BELOW DECKS\n                    VIII THE SECOND ATTACK\n                     XII TIGERS OF THE SEA\n                    XIII WINGS OF DESTRUCTION\n                     XIV THE MYSTERIOUS CAPTIVE\n                     XVI DANGER AND A WOMAN\n                    XVII ORDERS FROM WASHINGTON\n                   XVIII THE DARK FIELD\n                     XIX A LUCKY ENCOUNTER\n                    XXII WET TRACKS IN THE FOG\n                   XXIII THE CHINESE CABINET\n                     XXV LOTUS\u2019 CONFESSION\n                    XXVI THE ROOM OF A THOUSAND TORMENTS\n                   XXVII WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT\n                  XXVIII PULLING DEATH\u2019S WHISKERS\n                    XXIX THE WRATH OF CHO-SAN\n                    XXXI THE SECRET CHAMBER\n                        DON WINSLOW OF THE NAVY\nOn the white sand of a jungle bordered cove, two men and a girl stood\ngazing seaward, their eyes shielded against the rising sun\u2019s first\nbeams. To judge by their torn, mudstained clothing, they had been\nmeeting hardship in large, tough chunks. Out here on the beach they\nwould soon face more of it, when the sun grew hot enough to broil a\nwhite man\u2019s skin.\nThe slim, dark-eyed girl had suffered less, apparently, than her two\ncompanions. Yet her stout whipcord breeches showed rough wear, and her\nface, under a mass of wind blown curls, bore traces of weariness and\njungle dirt. The society columnist who had described her coiffure at a\nWashington ball, six weeks ago, would have been startled to recognize\nMercedes Colby, daughter of a retired Navy Admiral.\nEven more sharply would that columnist have been astonished by the\nidentity of Miss Colby\u2019s present escorts. For United States Naval\nCommanders are not ordinarily found in beachcombers\u2019 rags, on the shore\nof a tropical island. And nothing in the book of Navy Regulations (which\ncovers everything) decrees that even a lieutenant must tackle the\nHaitian jungle barefooted, with half a shirt tucked into the remnant of\nonce-white trousers.\nThe truth was that ordinary duties had never been the lot of Don Winslow\nand his husky shadow Lieutenant \u201cRed\u201d Pennington since their appointment\nto the Naval Intelligence Service. In a few adventure-packed months they\nhad learned to take hardships as a daily ration, with danger for spice.\nHunger, exhaustion, blistered skin and bleeding feet, were small matters\ncompared with the importance of their present job\u2014the stamping out of a\nvast international crime ring, whose deliberate aim was to plunge the\nwhole world into war.\nTo combat this secret menace the United States Government had needed an\nofficer of rare courage and ability for its chief field operative, a man\nable to match wits with the world\u2019s greatest spymaster\u2014and win! He must\nbe highly skilled in all forms of combat, an expert with every type of\nweapon. He must be tireless, self-reliant, and prepared to give his life\nin the line of duty, without warning and without regret. With these\nqualities in mind, the Navy Department\u2019s final choice had fallen upon an\nalready distinguished young officer\u2014Commander Don Winslow.\nNot all of history\u2019s great adventurers have looked their parts; but Don\nWinslow in the ragged ruin of his uniform whites was still a man to draw\nattention. The lithe swing of his powerfully muscled body, from\nshoulders to lean hips\u2014the unconscious air of command which marks a\nNavy officer\u2014the clear, level gaze and the strong line of his jaw\u2014all\nstamped him as a superb product of American birth and training.\nRed Pennington, Don\u2019s inseparable companion, cut a far less heroic\nfigure. Except for gorilla-like strength evident beneath his fat, the\nyoung lieutenant would have resembled a chubby clown. Just now his\nnaturally tender skin was tortured by sunburn and insect bites to the\nconsistency of raw beef; yet its lumpy redness gave an irresistible\neffect of comic makeup. Fortunately Red\u2019s own sense of humor was\nunconquerable and almost as deep as his loyalty to Don Winslow. These\ntwo traits, plus real ability as an officer and fighting man, had won\nhim the coveted job of Don\u2019s most trusted assistant, and the envy of\nevery young naval officer who preferred adventure to routine.\nTime and again, both Don Winslow and Red had been marked for death by\nthe secret organization of Scorpia, whose war-making plots they had more\nthan once uncovered and wrecked. Their great hope was to capture or\ndestroy the crime ring\u2019s despotic master\u2014that evil, elusive genius who\ncalled himself merely \u201cThe Scorpion\u201d and sucked in through a thousand\nagents the war-poisoned wealth of nations. Wherever war, or the fear of\nit, created topheavy armaments the Scorpion\u2019s brood took their fat share\nof graft and hush money. War and murder were Scorpia\u2019s stock in trade,\nand to enlarge them its members\u2019 perverted souls were pledged.\nSo great had the Scorpion\u2019s secret power become when the United States\nGovernment first realized its danger, that only by a miracle could the\nthreat of war be lifted from our own and neighbor nations. In this\ncrisis Don Winslow was chosen to go out, like David against the giant\nGoliath, and end the Scorpion\u2019s menace.\nFlying over the Windward Passage, Don and Red finally spotted and bombed\nthe Scorpion\u2019s submarine which had been torpedoing United States war\nvessels. A short time later mysterious anti-aircraft fire brought their\nplane down in the coastal jungle of Haiti. Neither officer was hurt,\nhowever, and the gunners from the Scorpion submarine base found the\ntables suddenly turned when Don and Red surprised them and seized their\nhidden stronghold. In the fight one Scorpion agent was killed. The\nothers escaped, under cover of darkness.\nAmazement struck the two young officers when they discovered their close\nfriend and childhood playmate, Mercedes Colby, a prisoner in the enemy\u2019s\nunderground quarters. Mercedes had blundered upon the Scorpion base,\nafter being shipwrecked on the wild Haitian coast. With her had been\ntaken prisoner a Spanish-American, Yanos, two native fishermen, and an\nex-Navy seaman by the name of Jerry Ward.\nAt the present moment all but Mercedes, Don and Red were asleep in the\nimmense underground tank which the enemy had used as supply base and\nliving quarters. Knowing that the Commander had radioed for a gunboat to\npick them up, they took it for granted that their troubles were over.\nHowever, the three young persons now looking out to sea knew better than\nto take anything for granted where the evil power of Scorpia was\ninvolved. By this time the failure of his men to report would have\nwarned the Scorpion that his submarine base was captured. His\ncounterattack might be delayed, but it was certain to be deadly.\nWith real relief therefore the two officers and Mercedes recognized the\ntrim lines of the United States Gunboat _Gatoon_, just rounding a nearby\nheadland. As the converted yacht\u2019s bower anchor splashed down at the\ncove\u2019s mouth, her launch swung outboard from the davits, manned by a\nboatswain and two armed sailors. At the same time a two-seater flying\nboat roared in out of the dawn to land like a white gull in the offing.\n\u201cThat was quick answer to your radio call, Don!\u201d observed Red Pennington\nas the _Gatoon\u2019s_ launch drove swiftly shoreward. \u201cI didn\u2019t count on\ntheir raising this little jungle cove till noon. But, say! I sure hope\nCap\u2019n Riggs has got more than Java and sinkers for breakfast!\u201d\nDon Winslow nodded, watching the launch\u2019s bow touch lightly on the white\nbeach. It seemed that for a little while the three of them could\nexchange dangers and hardships for a well-earned rest aboard ship. The\nNavy boatswain who had just leaped ashore was a welcome symbol of\nAmerica\u2019s armed yet peace-loving might, ready at all times to protect\nits loyal citizens.\nAnswering the warrant officer\u2019s salute, Don indicated the anchored\nseaplane.\n\u201cWhose craft is that?\u201d he queried. \u201cIt\u2019s not a Navy boat!\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s Mr. Splendor\u2019s private plane, sir,\u201d answered the boatswain. \u201cA\nyoung fellow called Panama is piloting him. They spotted you at first\ncrack of dawn and led us in to this cove.\u201d\n\u201cThat sounds like Michael Splendor!\u201d exclaimed Mercedes Colby. \u201cHe\u2019s\nalways one jump ahead of everyone else in the Naval Intelligence. Except\nDon, of course. The man is a wonder....\u201d\nShe broke off in alarm, as the drone of an approaching airplane grew on\nthe morning air.\n\u201cThere\u2019s another plane!\u201d she cried, clutching at Commander Winslow\u2019s\narm. \u201cDon, do you think it could be a Scorpion scout, coming back to\ninvestigate?\u201d\n\u201cIt could be!\u201d the young officer decided swiftly. \u201cIn any case, this\nchanges our plans. Boatswain! Shove off at once in the launch with Miss\nColby. Get her safely aboard the gunboat and then come back. Lieutenant\nPennington and I will evacuate the other men from the underground base.\nHurry, Red!\u201d\nHe turned and raced up the beach, followed by the stocky junior officer.\nTwo minutes later he paused at the rim of a huge steel cylinder whose\nbulk appeared to be sunk deep in the earth. Thick jungle growth had\nsprawled across the great tank\u2019s top, hiding it completely from the\nbeach.\nOne hand on the hatchway leading to the cylinder\u2019s interior, Don Winslow\nwaited for his friend to catch up.\n\u201cWhat in thunder\u2019s all the hurry, Don?\u201d the red-headed lieutenant\ngasped, stumbling through the underbrush. \u201cEven if that is a Scorpion\nplane up there, it wouldn\u2019t dare attack the gunboat!\u201d\n\u201cMaybe not,\u201d replied Don Winslow, jerking open the hatch. \u201cBut I\nwouldn\u2019t be surprised if they tried dropping a bomb on this secret base,\nnow that we\u2019ve captured it. There\u2019s a lot of priceless equipment\nhere\u2014new gadgets of the Scorpion\u2019s own invention. He\u2019d rather destroy\nthat stuff than let us take it away. That\u2019s why I want to get every man\nout of here before it\u2019s too late!\u201d\nA narrow steel ladder led down into the cylinder. In the darkness, its\nslender rungs offered tricky footing, but the two Navy men made short\nwork of the descent. Thirty feet below the hatchway, they reached a\ndimly lighted landing, from which two doors opened.\n\u201cTake the berth deck, Red,\u201d Don directed curtly. \u201cGet Yanos and the two\nnative fishermen out of their hammocks and up the ladder. I\u2019ll bring\nJerry from the chartroom. If he\u2019s still unconscious I\u2019ll carry him\ntop-side.\u201d\n\u201cAye-aye, Skipper!\u201d muttered Red Pennington, pushing through the\nleft-hand door. \u201cIf you need any help, just sing out!\u201d\nA short corridor led Don Winslow to the cylinder\u2019s crowded chartroom,\nwhere the seaman, Jerry Ward, lay on a cot between two banks of\nelectrical apparatus. Don glanced with envious eyes at the array of\nsuper-sensitive instruments.\n\u201cIf only we had time to get some of this stuff aboard the gunboat!\u201d he\nmuttered. \u201cNo time to think about that now, though. That plane overhead\nmay lay an 'egg\u2019 on this place any minute!\u201d\nBending over the unconscious Jerry, he shook the man gently. There was\nno response. A head wound, received at the time of his capture, had left\nthe plucky fellow hanging between life and death.\nCarefully Don lifted the limp body in his arms and turned to the door.\nAs he did so, a muffled explosion shook the steel walls about him.\nBursting out onto the lower landing, Don Winslow collided with\nLieutenant Pennington.\n\u201cQuick, Red!\u201d he barked. \u201cTake Jerry on your back, and get up that\nladder. I\u2019ll lash his wrists together, so you\u2019ll have both hands free to\nclimb with. Where are Yanos and the others?\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019ve just gone up!\u201d Red answered, stooping to take Jerry\u2019s weight.\n\u201cAnd say! That _did_ sound like a bomb overhead, just now! We\u2019d better\nget out of here in a hurry!\u201d\n\u201cRight!\u201d grunted Don, pushing the other toward the ladder. \u201cYou take\nJerry up and get him down to the boat. I\u2019ve got a little job to do\nbefore I follow you; so don\u2019t wait.\u201d\n\u201cBut, Don!\u201d protested the red-haired officer. \u201cI can\u2019t leave you\nhere....\u201d\n\u201cOn your way, Lieutenant!\u201d snapped the young commander. \u201cObey orders and\nget that seaman down to the boat. Lively, now!\u201d\nTalking to himself in a bitter undertone, Red Pennington toiled up the\nladder with his heavy burden. He\u2019d obey those orders, all right, but Don\nhadn\u2019t forbidden him to return after seeing Jerry safely in the boat. If\nhis commanding officer was going to stick around where the bombs were\ndropping, a certain husky lieutenant meant to share the danger with him!\nMeantime, Don Winslow had returned to the chartroom, and was hastily\ndisconnecting the main electric cables leading to the Scorpion\u2019s weather\nmapping machine.\nThe invention was priceless, if it could be salvaged. Heavy as it was,\nDon thought he might be able to carry it up the ladder.\nAs he worked, with flashlight and screwdriver, wrench and pliers, two\nmore bomb explosions shook the underground base.\nLittle by little, a stifling, smoky odor filled the air of the\nchartroom. Tears filled Don\u2019s smarting eyes, inflamed by the acrid\nfumes. His breath came raspingly between dry coughs.\nReluctantly he dropped his tools and fumbled for the doorknob.\n\u201cThose were _gas_ bombs, not TNT!\u201d he mumbled thickly, as he stumbled\nfrom the room. \u201cSmoke\u2019s coming down the hatch. Got to get up where\nthere\u2019s some\u2014uh\u2014air to breathe!\u201d\nAs he groped toward the ladder a bulky form emerged from the smoke above\nhim.\n\u201cDon! Don, old man!\u201d came Red Pennington\u2019s choking cry.\n\u201cRight here, Red!\u201d coughed Don Winslow, clinging to the ladder\u2019s lower\nrungs. \u201cI\u2019m\u2014uh\u2014all right. Coming up now. But you shouldn\u2019t have come\nback!\u201d\n\u201cThank heaven, you\u2019re okay!\u201d the redhead replied. \u201cWant me to give you a\nhand?\u201d\n\u201cNo! I\u2019ll make it. Hustle, now, or the smoke is going to\u2014uh\u2014get us\nboth! Where\u2019re Mercedes and Jerry?\u201d\nPennington\u2019s answer was a coughing fit, which shook the steel ladder.\nJust below him, Don Winslow gripped the narrow rungs and gasped for\nbreath. After a moment the two men resumed their painful climb, fighting\nagainst a growing dizziness.\n\u201cMercedes\u2014Jerry\u2014on the beach!\u201d came Red\u2019s muffled words. \u201cSmoke too\nthick to see\u2014see the boat. Got to save breath now, and\u2014uh\u2014climb!\u201d\nOver the jungle cove rolled an unbroken cloud of billowing, greenish\nsmoke. It blotted out the white beach, spread out over the blue water,\nand crept slowly outward toward the anchored gunboat.\nFrom its murky edge came the roar of powerful engines. The seaplane\u2019s\nnose emerged from the poisonous smoke, slid swiftly over the waves, and\nrose like a great white gull into the clear upper air.\nAboard the gunboat, steam winches began weighing the two anchors, while\nofficers and seamen hurried to batten down hatches and close\nventilators. Slowly the craft\u2019s sharp bow swung seaward. Her twin\npropellors churned white water at her stern.\nNeither the launch nor its erstwhile occupants could be seen beneath\nthat greenish cloud of poison gas. In vain the seaplane\u2019s pilot circled\nthe big airship over the jungle\u2019s edge, looking for a break in the\nsmoke.\n\u201cFly lower, Panama!\u201d commanded the hard-jawed man in the after cockpit.\n\u201cIf that stuff thins, even for a moment, we may be able to spot\nsomebody. There\u2019s eleven souls down there, at death\u2019s door for all we\nknow.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s where we\u2019ll be, Mr. Splendor, if the gas hits us!\u201d replied the\npilot. \u201cBut here goes.... Look! The wind\u2019s made a rift in the cloud!\nThere\u2019s the launch, and a couple of men sprawled beside it!\u201d\n\u201cDrop landing gear!\u201d cried Splendor, as the plane\u2019s nose dipped\nearthward. \u201cLand in the cove and taxi right up onto the beach. We must\nget those poor fellows to the gunboat or die trying!\u201d\nWith a quick nod, Panama cut the throttle. An instant later the\nseaplane\u2019s pontoons touched the water in a flash of white spray.\nStraight into the thinning gas cloud the ship plunged, heading for the\nlevel beach.\nTo anxious watchers aboard the gunboat, it looked as if Michael Splendor\nand his plucky pilot had committed deliberate suicide. Unable to see the\nrift which Panama had spotted from the air, they waited in agonized\nsuspense for the plane\u2019s reappearance.\nSuddenly Captain Riggs raised a pointing arm.\n\u201cThere\u2019s the plane, now, but something\u2019s wrong, Lieutenant!\u201d he\nexclaimed, to the junior officer beside him. \u201cSee how low she rides in\nthe water! And what under the sun are those dark blotches on the forward\nfuselage?\u201d\nPeering through his binoculars, Lieutenant Darnley cried out in\namazement.\n\u201cThey\u2019re men, Captain!\u201d he reported. \u201cMr. Splendor is holding two of\nthem, and there\u2019s another in his cockpit. All three look to be\nunconscious, sir!\u201d\n\u201cLower the whaleboat!\u201d bellowed Riggs, leaning over the bridge\u2019s rail.\n\u201cStand by to take men off the seaplane. Darnley, tell the medical\nofficer to prepare berths in the sick bay. I\u2019m going in the boat\nmyself!\u201d\nMoments later the seaplane\u2019s crew gave up their helpless passengers to\nthe whaleboat. Michael Splendor, his eyes streaming with tears from the\npoison gas fumes, insisted on going back at once for another rescue\nattempt.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve still to find the main shore party, Captain!\u201d he explained\nbetween gasps for breath. \u201cThere\u2019s young Winslow and Pennington still to\nbe found, not to forget Admiral Colby\u2019s daughter. Every second will\ncount if we\u2019re to save their lives!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, Mr. Splendor!\u201d agreed Riggs, balancing in the whaleboat\u2019s\nsternsheets. \u201cWe\u2019ll follow you inshore, as soon as we get these poor\nfellows aboard. The smoke looks to be thinning now. Good luck!\u201d\nHis words were drowned out by the roar of the seaplane\u2019s motors. Like a\nhuge water bird she taxied around, heading back to the beach. At the\nsame moment, the boat\u2019s oarsmen gave way with short powerful strokes\nthat sped them toward the waiting ship.\nOnce alongside, the boat falls were made fast by expert hands, and the\nwhaleboat was lifted dripping from the water. Even before the gassed\nseamen were transferred to the sick bay, the ship was nosing shoreward\nto join in the next desperate attempt at rescuing Don Winslow and his\ngallant companions.\nMany hours later a westering sun cast its mellow rays through the\nportholes of the gunboat _Gatoon_, now a floating hospital anchored off\nthe coast of Haiti. In the vessel\u2019s sick bay, a white-coated medical\nofficer bent frowning over one of the ten occupied berths. So intently\nwas he watching the patient that he failed to hear the door open, or see\nthe approach of the big man in the wheelchair.\n\u201cI thought this is where I\u2019d find you, Doctor!\u201d exclaimed the latter,\nhis tone warm with a touch of Irish brogue. \u201cThey told me the seaman,\nJerry, is sinking fast!\u201d\nThe young doctor turned with a shake of his head.\n\u201cHe\u2019s in pretty bad shape, Mr. Splendor,\u201d he said wearily. \u201cThe others\nare coming around surprisingly well, though. Even the girl, Miss Colby.\nI expect Commander Winslow and Lieutenant Pennington will regain\nconsciousness this evening.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just fine, Doctor!\u201d exclaimed Splendor heartily. \u201cDo ye mind if\nI go along when next ye look in on \u2019em. Even with me crippled legs, I\npromise not to be in the way.\u201d\n\u201cCome along, of course, Mr. Splendor,\u201d smiled the medical officer,\nopening the door. \u201cIf you and your seaplane had been OUT of the way this\nmorning, none of these men would be alive now. You\u2019re pretty much of a\nhero on this ship, whether you know it or not!\u201d\n\u201cYou mean my pilot, Panama!\u201d growled the big man, rolling his chair\nalong the steel deck. \u201cIt was him who did the rescuing, while I sat\nhelpless in me cockpit.... Ah! So this is the cabin where ye put Don\nWinslow and his redheaded mate, eh?\u201d\nWith a nod, the doctor threw open the cabin door.\n\u201cThey seem to be still asleep, both of them,\u201d he murmured, glancing\nacross the narrow room. \u201cHere! I\u2019ll help you with that chair, if you\u2019d\nlike to come in.\u201d\nLow pitched as they were, the words registered on Don Winslow\u2019s\nslumbering senses. He stirred, opened his eyes, and struggled up on one\nelbow.\n\u201cMichael Splendor!\u201d he exclaimed huskily. \u201cI dreamed about you, and a\nseaplane, and a cloud of poison smoke and.... Say! Where are we, anyhow?\nAnd what am I doing in this cabin?\u201d\nRolling his chair swiftly to the side of the berth, Michael Splendor\nheld up a big hand.\n\u201cWhisht, and be quiet, young feller-me-lad!\u201d he rumbled. \u201cIt was no\ndream ye had about the poison smoke. Ye\u2019re still sick from it, so take\nit easy. Your mate, the redheaded lieutenant, is sleepin\u2019 in the next\nberth to ye.\u201d\n\u201cI am not, Don!\u201d croaked Red Pennington, trying to sit up. \u201cI was lying\nlow so as not to wake you! Oh-h-h! Golly! Does my head hurt!\u201d\n\u201cIt will be worse if you don\u2019t lie down, Pennington!\u201d snapped the\nmedical officer. \u201cIf you and Commander Winslow didn\u2019t have leather lungs\nand cast iron constitutions, we\u2019d be sewing you up in canvas right now,\nfor a sea burial. You two got the biggest dose of smoke!\u201d\n\u201cBut Mercedes\u2014I mean, Miss Colby\u2014she must have been gassed too!\u201d cried\nDon Winslow, from the other berth. \u201cIs she coming out of it yet, Doctor?\nTell me the truth....\u201d\n\u201cHush, lad!\u201d soothed Splendor, pushing the young officer back onto his\npillow. \u201cMiss Colby\u2019s out of danger, so don\u2019t excite yourself. We got\nYanos and the two fishermen in time, too, along with the launch\u2019s crew.\nYe\u2019ll hear all the details tomorrow, when you\u2019re feelin\u2019 stronger. The\ndoctor and I will be leavin\u2019 ye now.\u201d\n\u201cBut\u2014the underground base!\u201d muttered Don weakly, pressing a hand to his\naching eyes. \u201cAbout that apparatus, and the automatic weather map\u2014Tell\nme, Splendor....\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll talk about that another time,\u201d said the man in the wheel chair.\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing to worry about, except the strength ye\u2019re wastin\u2019 this\nminute, Commander. So pipe down and give your thoughts a rest till ye\u2019re\ncalled on deck. The same goes for you, Pennington, d\u2019ye hear?\u201d\n\u201cAye-aye, sir!\u201d came the redhead\u2019s mumbled response, as the cabin door\nclosed softly behind the visitors.\nDawn had just broken the following day when Don Winslow sat up on the\nedge of his berth. There was a light of determination in his eye, and a\nfighting set to his unshaven jaw.\nHe was going to get up, shave and dress before the ship\u2019s doctor had a\nchance to forbid him. He was tired of lying in a berth. Most of all, he\nwas anxious to see for himself if Mercedes and the others were really\ngetting over the effects of the poison gas.\nThere were some difficulties to be met, of course. In the first place,\nhis head was still woozy, and the deck heaved up and down as if in heavy\nweather. In the second place, someone had taken away his torn and muddy\nuniform. If he could get to the locker in the corner, though, he might\nfind something to put on.\nGroping his way along the bulkhead, Don reached the locker and jerked\nopen the door. There, as he had hoped, hung an officer\u2019s spare uniform,\nalong with a dress sword, weapon belt and other equipment. A drawer\nbeneath contained underwear, shaving kit, and towels.\nThe set-up was complete, including a hot water tap in another corner of\nthe cabin. If only Red didn\u2019t wake up, or the doctor come in before he\nwas dressed....\nFifteen minutes later Don was buttoning up his borrowed tunic, when a\nsudden yell and a thump spun him around in alarm.\n\u201cSufferin\u2019 sea serpents!\u201d gurgled the voice of Red Pennington.\nMore muffled groans, grunts and howls for help issued from the tangle of\nbedclothes under Red\u2019s berth. Don came to the rescue, laughing so hard\nthat he almost lost his footing.\n\u201cBoy! You sure hit the deck in a hurry!\u201d he chuckled, unwinding a sheet\nfrom around his stocky friend\u2019s neck. \u201cWhat were you dreaming about,\nanyway, to make you yell like that?\u201d\n\u201cA-argh! Umph!\u201d groaned Red, feeling of his chafed neck. \u201cIt\u2019s no\nlaughing matter, if you want to know it! I dreamed the Scorpion\u2019s men\nwere hanging me to the yardarm, and you came along just in time to cut\nme down. What if it _was_ only a sheet instead of a rope? That dream was\nreal enough!\u201d\n\u201cIt probably was,\u201d agreed Don Winslow, his grin fading. \u201cI had\nnightmares aplenty myself. It must be the effects of that poison wearing\noff. You\u2019ll feel better if you get up and shave, Red. Unfortunately, I\nhave on the only uniform in the cabin....\u201d\n\u201cUnfortunately is right,\u2014if you refer to the fit!\u201d cut in the fat\nlieutenant sourly as he got to his feet. \u201cThat tunic you\u2019ve got on was\nbuilt for a man of ample girth. Like me, for instance! And as for the\npants\u2014Whee-ew! Don\u2019t let the wind catch \u2019em unfurled, when you go\ntopside, Commander! That\u2019s all I say!\u201d\n\u201cAnd it\u2019ll be enough, too, Lieutenant. At least until I get my own\nclothes back!\u201d retorted Don, moving over to the open porthole. \u201cAnyhow,\nthis suit covers me better than\u2014Whoa, there! Careful, sailor! Those\nknees of yours are going to buckle right under you!\u201d\nCatching Red\u2019s arm, Don Winslow steadied him just in time.\n\u201cWhere were you going to walk to, shipmate?\u201d he asked.\nPennington\u2019s reply was shaky, despite his plucky grin.\n\u201cAcross to that chair and then collapse!\u201d he answered. \u201cBoy, oh,\nboy\u2014this room\u2019s going around! I\u2019m weak as a baby. Hope it\u2019ll pass off\nbefore Doc orders me back to bed.\u201d\n\u201cHope so, Red!\u201d replied Don, easing his friend into the chair. \u201cWe\u2019ll\njust sit here and talk for a few minutes. You know, I wish Headquarters\nhadn\u2019t ordered us to destroy the Scorpion\u2019s base, here. I hate to blow\nup all the machinery there that\u2019s too heavy to move. If only I had\nanother month to study those new inventions!\u201d\n\u201cOkay, Commander!\u201d chuckled Red Pennington. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you dig up the\nwhole underground base and take it along as a souvenir? That\u2019d be just\nas reasonable as\u2014Say, listen, Skipper! You ought to be more than\nsatisfied with what you\u2019ve done already. Wasn\u2019t it you that found the\nScorpion\u2019s base, to begin with? And who else but Don Winslow discovered\nhow our ships were destroyed, here in the Windward Passage? It was you,\nmore than anybody else, who pulled the last trick of sinking the\nScorpion\u2019s submarine. What more do you want, to be happy?\u201d\nDon Winslow turned to gaze out of the porthole at the sunlit waves of\nthe cove. Beyond stretched the white sand beach, now swarming with\nsailors in dungarees.\nThe _Gatoon\u2019s_ launch and two whaleboats were pulled up at the edge of\nthe water. Don guessed that they were getting ready to blow up the great\nsteel cylinder buried at the jungle\u2019s edge. In a few hours, at most, the\ngunboat would be weighing anchor, bound for the safety of civilized\nports.\nWhich was all as it should be; and yet....\n\u201cIf the truth has to be told, Red,\u201d the young commander said softly,\n\u201cI\u2019ll never be satisfied until I nab the biggest prize of all\u2014the\nScorpion himself. Anything less than wiping out that menace to world\npeace, falls short of victory. You know how deeply I feel about that!\u201d\n\u201cI do; and you\u2019re not alone in that feeling!\u201d responded Pennington\nearnestly. \u201cBut remember, Skipper, the capture of the Scorpion is nearer\ntoday than it was six months ago. Through _your_ efforts his secret\norganization is now on the defensive\u2014almost on the run. I may not be a\nprophet or anything like that, but I\u2019ll bet my life that within six\nmonths\u2019 time you\u2019ll have the Scorpion across the table from you\u2014a\nprisoner!\u201d\nFor a long moment Don Winslow gazed straight into his friend\u2019s eager\nface. Red\u2019s praise, his confidence, his enthusiasm, were all\nexaggerated, perhaps. All the same they meant a lot just at this time.\nThe young commander\u2019s chest expanded with a sigh of unspoken gratitude\nto this loyal friend and shipmate.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure a grand tonic, Red, old man!\u201d he smiled. \u201cI hope your\nprediction comes true, to the letter. But we\u2019ve got to do something more\nthan just hope and wish, you know!\u201d\n\u201cI do know, Don!\u201d replied the chubby officer soberly. \u201cAnd I\u2019ve been\ndoing a lot of thinking in the last few hours. There\u2019s an idea that came\nto me last night. Maybe you\u2019ll say it\u2019s all crazy, but....\u201d\n\u201cCrazy ideas are sometimes the best, after all, Red,\u201d Don encouraged, as\nPennington hesitated. \u201cLet\u2019s have it, anyhow. We can\u2019t afford to\noverlook any bets in this man\u2019s game, so shoot!\u201d\nRed Pennington wriggled uneasily in his chair.\n\u201cWell\u2014all right. You asked for it, so don\u2019t laugh!\u201d he blurted finally.\n\u201cIt\u2019s just this: you know enough right now to pass yourself off as one\nof the Scorpion\u2019s agents. You actually did it, for a short while, the\ntime we barged in on Shilling and the Shark,\u2014remember? Why couldn\u2019t you\ndo it again, and make it stick?\u201d\nDon Winslow took a turn up and down the cabin\u2019s narrow space, frowning\nas he chewed mentally on Red\u2019s suggestion. Bringing up before his\nfriend\u2019s chair, he shook his head smilingly.\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t do, shipmate,\u201d he stated. \u201cIn the first place, we\u2019d have to\ncapture some member of Scorpia who looked enough like me to make my\ndisguise and substitution possible. Next, I\u2019d have to find a way to open\nthat man\u2019s mind out flat, and memorize everything he knew. It\u2019s all very\nwell to dream about, but you know yourself such breaks only come once in\na lifetime.\u201d\n\u201cUnless you make \u2019em, Skipper!\u201d returned the stocky lieutenant, pushing\nhimself up to his feet. \u201cFor instance, you could get yourself kicked out\nof the Navy\u2014dishonorably discharged\u2014stripped of your\ncommission\u2014disgraced publicly before your shipmates. Suppose you did\nthat, and were determined to get revenge on the Navy for breaking you.\nJust where, then, would you be most likely to turn for help? Answer me,\nDon!\u201d\nFor ten seconds the young commander stood gaping in stark amazement at\nthe wildness of Red Pennington\u2019s scheme. Slowly his expression changed\nto a boyish grin.\n\u201cI get you now, Red!\u201d he said admiringly. \u201cFor sheer, crazy daring, your\nidea takes the cake. It\u2019s fantastic, goofy, impossible, and yet\u2014the\nmore I think about it the more it grows on me, sailor! We\u2019ll talk it\nover with Michael Splendor in any case, and see....\u201d\nWith a sudden leap, Don Winslow cleared the space to the cabin door and\nyanked it violently open. A crouched figure outside dodged back, ducking\naround a corner. The officer sprang after him, only to trip and go\nsprawling in the \u201ccabin country\u201d just outside.\nRuefully he got to his feet and re-entered the door, closing it after\nhim.\n\u201cLooks as if that poison gas left my legs kind of wobbly, too!\u201d he\ngrumbled, seating himself on his berth. \u201cI almost caught Mr. Snooper at\nthat. But, Red! You see what this means? _There\u2019s at least one Scorpion\nspy aboard this vessel!_ He probably got an earful of our conversation,\ntoo, and....\u201d\n\u201cBOO-OOM! BR-ROM-BOOM!\u201d\nThe heavy explosions came from somewhere inshore. Red Pennington leaped\nfrom his chair to join Don Winslow at the cabin\u2019s porthole. They were in\ntime to see a huge mushroom of earth and water rise high over the jungle\nat the edge of the little cove.\nCloser to the ship, and traveling nearer at appalling speed, rose a low\nwall of water\u2014a miniature tidal wave created by the blast. As it struck\nthe _Gatoon\u2019s_ port bow, the decks tilted crazily, like those of a toy\nboat. After the wave had passed there came a dull roar of water rushing\ninto a vast crater in the cove\u2019s white beach.\n\u201cThe underground base!\u201d breathed Red, clinging weakly to the porthole.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve blown it up, Don, along with all that machinery the Scorpion\u2019s\nagents left behind!\u201d\nStepping back, Don Winslow stared at his friend aghast.\n\u201cNot everything\u2014not ALL the machinery, I hope, Red!\u201d he groaned. \u201cMan\nalive! The Scorpion\u2019s weather mapping machine alone was a priceless\ninvention. If they\u2019ve blown that up\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThey didn\u2019t, Commander, so put your mind at rest!\u201d interrupted the rich\nbrogue of Michael Splendor from the doorway. \u201cI hope you\u2019ll forgive me\nfor wheelin\u2019 in on ye unexpected, gentlemen. What with the explosions\nand the pitchin\u2019 of the ship in that tidal wave, 'tis no wonder ye\ndidn\u2019t hear me knock!\u201d\nDon Winslow turned to grip the crippled man\u2019s big hand.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll forgive you, Mr. Splendor,\u201d he smiled, \u201cprovided you tell us\nwhat\u2019s been happening ashore since yesterday. By the looks of the gang\non the beach, a little while ago, there was a lot of work going on\u2014more\nthan just laying a dynamite charge.\u201d\n\u201cThere was indeed!\u201d nodded Splendor. \u201cCaptain Riggs\u2019 lads have been\nworkin\u2019 the whole night tryin\u2019 to salvage the machines of the Scorpion\u2019s\ninvention. They\u2019ve got most of them aboard ship now, includin\u2019 your\nprecious weather map. What they blew up just now was little more than an\nempty shell. I came in especially to tell ye that, and to bring ye this\nbundle before the doctor comes in to bother ye.\u201d\nWith a broad wink, the big man produced a large package from under the\nblanket which covered his crippled legs. Ripping off the paper wrapping,\nhe disclosed a pair of officer\u2019s uniforms.\n\u201cI had to guess at the sizes when I borrowed them, lads,\u201d he chuckled,\n\u201cbut they should fit better than what ye\u2019re wearin\u2019 at present. Look\nunder the after part of me wheel chair for another bundle of shirts,\nshoes, and whatnot. Ye see, I thought if the doctor saw ye both dressed\nand about the decks he\u2019d not have the heart to order ye back to bed. I\nknow how hard it is for an active man to be kept on his back when\nthere\u2019s work to do!\u201d\nDon Winslow took the package of clothing in wordless gratitude. Somehow,\nthis middle aged cripple\u2019s thoughtfulness touched him more deeply than\nhe could express.\nLieutenant Pennington\u2019s pleasure, however, was quite outspoken.\n\u201cYou\u2019re a lifesaver, Mr. Splendor!\u201d he cried, seizing the bundle out of\nDon\u2019s hands. \u201cI\u2019d have died of shame if I\u2019d had to finish this voyage in\na bathrobe and pajamas. I feel a hundred per cent better already. Just\nwait till I get these on....\u201d\n\u201cWhat news of Miss Colby, and the seaman Jerry?\u201d asked Don, as Red\nretreated behind the locker door. \u201cThat is, if it\u2019s not too early for\nthe doctor\u2019s report.\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019re both on the mend,\u201d replied Splendor, his blue eyes twinkling.\n\u201cEspecially the young lady. Her cabin door was open as I came by, and I\nheard her askin\u2019 the medical officer when you would be well enough to\ntake her for a stroll on deck! But that isn\u2019t all the news I have to\ntell ye, Commander. Lieutenant Darnley brought back a bundle of papers\nfrom the chartroom of the underground base. Unless my old eyes deceive\nme, there\u2019s one item among them the Scorpion would prefer we didn\u2019t know\nabout.\u201d\nDon, seated on the edge of his berth, leaned forward tensely, his eyes\nalight.\n\u201cGreat work, Mr. Splendor!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cRed Pennington and I went\nthrough those papers in a hurry without finding a thing of interest.\nWhat was it you picked out?\u201d\n\u201cA mere bit of paper tucked away in a small notebook,\u201d answered the\ncripple, fumbling in a pocket of his loose coat. \u201c'Tis no wonder ye\noverlooked it; but with me nose for smellin\u2019 out secret codes, I was\nsuspicious of the thing immediately. Now, then\u2014here it is! An\ninnocent-looking message, is it not? But with the code key right there\nin the notebook, it becomes something else entirely.\u201d\nRed Pennington, now dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers which fitted\nhim surprisingly well, edged up to the wheel chair. His eyes were fairly\npopping with curiosity and excitement.\n\u201cG-golly!\u201d he said huskily. \u201cTo think we both had this note in our\nhands, and never suspected anything queer! Mind if I look over your\nshoulder, Don?\u201d\n\u201cRead it aloud, Lieutenant!\u201d urged Michael Splendor, glancing up with a\nnod.\nRed Pennington bent closer.\n\u201c'Proceed with original contract,\u2019\u201d he read, \u201c'for delivery October or\nnot later than the first of the year. We will expect San Francisco order\non schedule as this Empire contact is highly important. Our telegraph\noperator advises that many messages suggest Cho-San as the ideal sales\nname for our delightful produce which suggests China Seas and that\ncatchy name brings orders.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cSay, Don!\u201d the red-haired lieutenant commented. \u201cIf that\u2019s in code,\nit\u2019s a loo-loo! Sounds just like an ordinary business letter, or\nsomething!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, so it does!\u201d chuckled Michael Splendor. \u201cBut there\u2019s the\ncatch. Ye note that the message is typed in five word lines. Very well,\ntake this pencil and cross out all but the first word in the first line,\nthe second word in the second line, and so on through the fifth. At the\nsixth line begin again with the first word. When ye\u2019ve finished, read me\nwhat ye have left.\u201d\nWith a low whistle of comprehension, Don Winslow took the pencil and,\nstepping over to the cabin\u2019s desk, swiftly made the indicated changes. A\nfew seconds later, he read off slowly the words which remained:\n\u201c'Proceed\u2014October\u2014first\u2014San\nFrancisco\u2014Empire\u2014contact\u2014Operator\u2014Cho-San\u2014for\u2014China\nSeas\u2014orders.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll be keelhauled!\u201d blurted Red Pennington. \u201cThat\u2019s a Scorpion\nmessage, all right. It sounds plain enough, too, except for the word\n'Empire\u2019 and 'Cho-San.\u2019 Do they make any sense to you, Mr. Splendor?\u201d\nThe man in the wheel chair did not reply. While Don had been decoding\nthe message, the cripple had moved his rubber tired vehicle over to the\nporthole. He was now gazing out at the sunlit shore line, with an\nexpression of grim thoughtfulness.\nFollowing the man\u2019s look, Don gave a start of amazement.\n\u201cWhy, the shore seems to be moving!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cI didn\u2019t realize the\nship was under way, did you, Red? We were both so interested in this\ncode message. Where are we bound, Mr. Splendor?\u201d\nWith a quick movement, the big man whirled his chair about, and faced\nthe two young officers. His broad, lined face had the look of a person\njust waking from a heavy sleep.\n\u201cExcuse me, gentlemen!\u201d he said apologetically. \u201cI\u2019m afraid me mind was\nfar away when ye spoke. The name 'Cho-San\u2019 recalled things I\u2019d like to\nforget, if this broken body of mine would let me. But this is no time to\ntalk of me own troubles! Ye asked where we were bound, did ye not?\u201d\nAt Don\u2019s silent nod, Michael Splendor\u2019s mood underwent another swift\nchange. His strikingly blue eyes lighted with their irresistible smile.\n\u201cWe\u2019re steerin\u2019 for Port-au-Prince,\u201d he stated. \u201c'Tis meself persuaded\nCaptain Riggs to put us ashore there for a few days, while we\u2019re waitin\u2019\nfresh orders from Washington. I\u2019ve a big, cool, country residence of me\nown near the city, where ye and Miss Colby will be more than welcome to\nstay and recover ye\u2019re full health. Don\u2019t refuse, now, and disappoint an\nold shut-in who has little to live for except his friends!\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry!\u201d laughed Don Winslow, exchanging glances with Red. \u201cWe\u2019ve\nheard plenty about your famous country house, Mr. Splendor, and we\u2019re\nnot refusing! It\u2019s more like a palace than an ordinary dwelling, I\nunderstand.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s fine, Commander,\u201d said Splendor, wheeling himself around toward\nthe door. \u201cAnd now, if ye\u2019ll just hand me that code letter from the\ndesk, I\u2019ll be shovin\u2019 off.\u201d\nRed Pennington stepped over to the desk, only to stand staring in blank\nsurprise.\n\u201cThe paper\u2014are you sure you left it here, Don?\u201d he asked, stooping to\nsearch the deck beneath. \u201cI\u2019d swear you didn\u2019t pick it up again!\u201d\nWith a puzzled exclamation, Don Winslow joined him in a hunt for the\nmissing letter.\nEvery scrap of paper on the desk was examined; every inch of the desk\u2019s\ninterior was covered. Don\u2019s own pockets were turned inside out.\nFrowning, Don turned to Michael Splendor, who had been watching them in\nsilence.\n\u201cIt seems to have vanished!\u201d he declared helplessly. \u201cThat letter just\nisn\u2019t here; and yet, there\u2019s no place it could have gone....\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t be too sure, Commander!\u201d said the cripple, calmly pointing to the\nhalf-open door. \u201cIt _could_ have gone that way, with no more trouble\nthan a sneak thief would take to lift it. There were several minutes, ye\nmind, when none of us was watching that side of the cabin. 'Tis me own\nfault, for I should have been on guard. Not even a Government vessel is\nsafe from Scorpion spies!\u201d\n                        STRUCK DOWN FROM BEHIND\nLike a picture ship on a blue enameled sea, the gunboat _Gatoon_ steamed\nquietly on her way. Not even a ground swell disturbed the level of her\nwhite decks, or raised an extra dash of spray from her cutwater.\nYet storm and violence, in human form, were already aboard her. Within\nthe vessel\u2019s narrow confines, loyal officers and citizens of a great\nnation were pitted against the unknown agents of a fiendish power. Each\nside now stood on its guard, ready for the battle to open; but when or\nwhere the first blow would be struck, only the Scorpion himself could\ntell.\nThe strain of waiting was hardest, of course, upon Don and his friends,\nwho at this moment were gathered under an awning on the _Gatoon\u2019s_ after\ndeck. They knew that one or more of Scorpia\u2019s agents were on board,\ndisguised no doubt as members of the gunboat\u2019s enlisted crew.\nThey were aware that the enemy would stop at nothing\u2014not even at\ndestroying the ship with every living soul\u2014if that could be\naccomplished. Yet they were helpless to do a thing until trouble showed\nitself in visible form.\nDon Winslow, standing by the after rail, had just finished telling about\nthe spy he had almost caught listening at his cabin door. That incident\nfitted perfectly with the theft of Michael Splendor\u2019s decoded letter.\nUnfortunately, the brief glimpse Don had had of the skulker was not\nenough to identify him.\n\u201cAll I saw,\u201d he admitted, in response to Captain Riggs\u2019 query, \u201cwas a\nman\u2019s white clad arm and shoulder disappearing around the corner of the\nbulkhead. It didn\u2019t look like a seaman\u2019s blouse!\u201d\n\u201cYou mean, it might have been an officer\u2019s, Don?\u201d cried Mercedes Colby,\nleaning forward in her deck chair.\n\u201cOr a petty officer\u2019s or even a cabin steward\u2019s,\u201d responded the young\ncommander. \u201cThat really isn\u2019t much to go on in naming a suspect, you\nsee.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sure, Winslow,\u201d said Captain Riggs stiffly, \u201cthat every\ncommissioned officer here aboard is above suspicion. As for the enlisted\npersonnel, of course, I can\u2019t be sure. There were some replacements made\nin the crew before we shoved off from Guantanamo, and a spy might have\ncome aboard with them. About the only thing we can do is to check their\nenlistment records.\u201d\n\u201cThe very idea I was about to suggest!\u201d agreed Michael Splendor.\n\u201cSuppose you and Commander Winslow look through the papers now, Captain,\nand let us know what you find. Meantime, Lieutenant Pennington and I\nwill try to entertain Miss Colby. We\u2019ll meet again at mess, this\nevening, if nothing happens before then.\u201d\nWhen Don and the captain had gone below, the man in the wheel chair\nturned his keen blue eyes on the two young people beside him.\n\u201cSometimes, me friends,\u201d he said earnestly, \u201cI have a hunch that some\ngreat thing is going to happen. And happen it does, despite every\ncircumstance against it. In this case me hunch is that the Scorpion\u2019s\npower will be broken, and himself a prisoner, six months from this very\nday!\u201d\nA low whistle from Red Pennington greeted Splendor\u2019s statement.\n\u201cBut those were almost my own words to Don this morning!\u201d the stocky\nlieutenant exclaimed. \u201cThanks to Don Winslow, we\u2019ve matched every move\nthe enemy has made with a better one. The Scorpion must be desperate,\nright now. And desperation usually goes before a flop, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\u201cVery often, it does,\u201d replied Michael Splendor cautiously. \u201cBut I\u2019m\nafraid the Scorpion is more angry than desperate at this moment, for all\nthe damage we have done him. 'Tis rather because of that code letter,\nand the opening it gives us, that I\u2019m so hopeful of success. As you\nrecall, it tells us there is to be a meeting of Scorpia members in San\nFrancisco, with Cho-San himself in charge!\u201d\n\u201cAnd who,\u201d asked Mercedes Colby, as Splendor paused, \u201cis this person you\ncall Cho-San?\u201d\nOnce more a look of gloomy absorption had spread across the crippled\nman\u2019s features. His eyes, gazing outboard upon the sunlit Caribbean, had\nthe look of a sleepwalker\u2019s.\n\u201cCho-San,\u201d he murmured, \u201cis a chosen member of the inner circle of\nScorpia. It was he and his evil master, the Scorpion, who made me the\ncripple I am today. 'Twas their devilish torture, in the chamber of\nhorrors they call the Dragon Room....\u201d\nA shudder gripped the big, helpless body of Michael Splendor, cutting\noff his strange speech. When it had passed, he sighed and blinked\nrapidly, like a man awaking from a nightmare.\n\u201cWhat was I speaking about? Ah, yes, I remember!\u201d he said in a stronger\nvoice. \u201cCho-San is the Scorpion agent in charge of all war-provoking\noperations from San Francisco to Singapore. Any meeting which he calls\namong Scorpia\u2019s members is of the utmost importance. It means a fresh\nattempt to stir up war among civilized nations, so that, from the\nwreckage of human lives and fortunes, the Scorpion may pick more\nbloodstained wealth and power. The Naval Intelligence knows all that,\nbut we need legal evidence before we can trap the archcriminal.\u201d\n\u201cI see what you mean now, sir!\u201d put in Red excitedly. \u201cYou\u2019re hoping\nthat Don Winslow may be able to horn in on that secret meeting in some\nway. If he could do that, he\u2019d get the evidence you need!\u201d\nAt Splendor\u2019s nod of assent, Mercedes Colby caught her breath sharply.\n\u201cBut wouldn\u2019t such an attempt be horribly dangerous?\u201d she protested.\n\u201cJust supposing they caught Don eavesdropping, or present in\ndisguise\u2014what chance would he have of getting out alive?\u201d\n\u201cVery little, I am afraid,\u201d replied the man in the wheel chair. \u201cBut\nremember, my dear, the United States Navy is a fighting service, where\nmen and officers expect to risk their lives in the cause of peace. Look!\nHere comes Captain Riggs, and he seems to be in a hurry. Perhaps he has\nnews....\u201d\nThe captain took the short ladder to the yacht\u2019s poop deck in two leaps.\nHis expression showed both worry and anger.\n\u201cLieutenant Pennington!\u201d he clipped out harshly. \u201cI\u2019m afraid you\u2019re\nneeded below, in my cabin. Commander Winslow....\u201d\nHe paused, biting his lip as if at a loss for further speech.\n\u201cGo on, sir!\u201d prompted Red in a strained voice. \u201cWhat\u2019s happened to Don?\nHas he been taken sick?\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s been attacked!\u201d blurted Riggs. \u201cStruck down from behind and then\nchloroformed. The doctor is with him now.\u201d\nRed waited for no more. Forgotten were gassed lungs and wobbly knees as\nhe plunged down the ladder and dived into the cabin country, several\njumps ahead of Riggs himself.\nMoments later Splendor and Mercedes Colby joined the anxious little\ngroup. Don Winslow was sitting up in the Captain\u2019s swivel chair, looking\ndecidedly \u201cgreen around the gills.\u201d The ship\u2019s doctor was binding a\ncompress about his head; and, despite the draft through open door and\nskylight, the whole cabin smelled of chloroform.\n\u201cI guess you people will have to tell me what happened,\u201d the young\ncommander was mumbling. \u201cOne minute I was looking through a pile of\nenlistment records\u2014and the next, I was lying on the deck under the\ntable, and feeling sick as a pup! What fell on me, anyhow, Doc?\u201d\n\u201cA piece of lead pipe, to judge by the swelling,\u201d growled the medical\nofficer. \u201cSomeone wanted to put you to sleep in a hurry, and keep you\nthat way. He used chloroform after slugging you.\u201d\n\u201cYou sure came out of it in a hurry, though, Don!\u201d laughed Red\nPennington, rather shakily. \u201cI\u2019d no sooner picked you up off the deck\nthan you up and socked me in the eye!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m still slug-nutty; so you\u2019d better watch out, Mercedes!\u201d grinned\nDon, taking the glass of water the girl handed him. \u201cBut, seriously, I\u2019d\nlike to know who downed me, and why. Have you any idea, Captain Riggs?\u201d\n\u201cYes, Commander,\u201d answered the officer gloomily. \u201cI believe it was a\nbrutal attempt at murder by some one of the enlisted personnel. I shall\ndo my best to hunt the scoundrel down before we reach port. Meantime, I\ncan only blame myself for leaving you alone. If I had not returned when\nI did....\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t take it that way, Captain!\u201d protested Don Winslow, earnestly.\n\u201cYou weren\u2019t to blame. And as for the notion of a murder\nattempt\u2014wouldn\u2019t a killer have used something surer than a blackjack\nand chloroform? Those things are a thief\u2019s weapons.\u201d\n\u201cExactly, Commander!\u201d spoke the deep voice of Michael Splendor. \u201cYe\u2019ve\nnamed the means and the motive all in the same breath. A theft it was,\nto be sure; and if ye\u2019ll just glance about the place, ye\u2019ll see quick\nenough what the rascal stole.\u201d\nA startled silence fell upon the other five persons in the cabin. It was\nbroken when Don, struggling up from his chair, cried sharply:\n\u201cThe enlistment records! They\u2019re gone, the whole stack of them!\u201d\nOne mystery had been solved, but it had given rise to a more sinister\nproblem. Michael Splendor was the one who pointed this out, as Don\nWinslow and his friends sat that evening at the officers\u2019 mess.\nHow, he asked, could the thief have known Don was making a search of the\nenlistment records?\nThere were various answers offered on the spur of the moment. Mercedes\nColby suggested that Don and the captain had been overheard talking\nabout it on their way to the cabin; but that point was quickly settled.\nNeither man had mentioned it before reaching Riggs\u2019 cabin.\nRed\u2019s answer was that the thief had happened to see Don through the open\ndoor, as he sat at the captain\u2019s table. This sounded reasonable, until\nMichael Splendor told them he had tried looking through the door. From\noutside the cabin, he stated, neither table nor record file could be\nseen.\n\u201cThe conclusion is, me friends,\u201d he said with a troubled frown, \u201cthat\nthe man who struck down Commander Winslow knew in advance what he was\ngoing to do, and why. He had time to plan the job, and wait for his\nchance to catch his victim alone. _He knew the_ _very moment we decided\nto search those records for a clue!_\u201d\nIn the shocked silence which followed Splendor\u2019s words, Riggs pushed\nback his chair. The captain\u2019s face had the look of a man just charged\nwith murder.\n\u201cIn other words, you accuse me, Mr. Splendor!\u201d he said hoarsely, rising\nto his feet. \u201cBy George, sir! If you were not a cripple, I would....\u201d\n\u201cPlease, Captain Riggs!\u201d the voice of Michael Splendor rang sharp as a\ntrumpet call. \u201cI am accusing no one of us\u2014least of all yourself. Now,\nlook me in the eye and smile, me friend; for in faith I would sooner\naccuse meself than anyone in this cabin!\u201d\nSlowly the color came back into Captain Riggs\u2019 cheeks. Sinking back into\nhis chair at the head of the table, he did his best to smile, though it\nwas a hard attempt.\n\u201cI believe you, Mr. Splendor!\u201d he said huskily. \u201cBut the way you put the\nevidence gave me an ugly start, sir. It seemed to point to me alone as\nthe attacker, or at least as the one person whose whereabouts were\nunaccounted for at the time of the attack on Winslow.\u201d\n\u201cIndeed it did, Captain,\u201d admitted the man in the wheel chair,\napologetically, \u201cand sorry I am for not choosing me words more\ncarefully! I was just tryin\u2019 to show all of ye how closely we are being\nspied upon. I meself could have sworn that no one was in earshot of our\nparty this afternoon. Yet our every speech was heard and noted by the\nenemy. Our future plans must be told in whispers behind locked doors, I\nfancy.\u201d\nThroughout the rest of the meal there was a lively argument about\ndictaphones and other means of eavesdropping which the spy might have\nused. It all proved highly amusing to the Scorpion spy, who was\nlistening in on every word, by the aid of a clever electrical \u201cear.\u201d\nSmall and easily concealed as a man\u2019s wrist watch, the device was a\npowerful amplifier of ordinary sounds. These were transmitted over\nthreadlike wires to an earphone, palmed in the spy\u2019s hand.\nTurned toward a ship\u2019s ventilator or porthole, or toward a party\nconversing on deck, the mechanical \u201cear\u201d could pick up even whispered\nspeech without the slightest difficulty.\nBut while this comparatively harmless eavesdropping was in progress, a\nfar more sinister drama was being enacted below decks. It was the old,\nold game of death, which has been played since life began upon the\nearth, and the first killer stalked his unsuspecting prey.\nDeep in the bowels of the ship, amid the click and whir of oiled\nmachinery, Chief Petty Officer Ahern began his evening watch. He was a\nman of about thirty years, with a well-muscled body, and keen, blue\nIrish eyes. In six years he had risen from Fireman Second Class to Chief\nMachinist\u2019s Mate.\nAt the moment, Ahern was the only man in the engine room of the\n_Gatoon_. Lieutenant Allen, the Engineer Officer, was in his own\nstateroom, cleaning up for the evening meal. The other Machinist\u2019s Mates\nwere off watch. The nearest members of the \u201cblack gang\u201d were sweating in\nthe boiler room, forward.\nAhern was whistling an old Irish ditty as he moved about, checking the\nsmoothly running machinery. Thought of danger was the farthest thing\nfrom his mind as he paused to glance up at the stars shining through the\nfiddley hatch above his head.\nAll at once his body stiffened as if in agony. His hands clawed at his\nthroat. Mouth open and eyes popping from their sockets, he reeled\nbackward in a grotesque dance of death.\nAs he fell, struggling, to the iron deck, a man in ordinary seaman\u2019s\nuniform dodged past him toward the main steam line. There was a quick\nsharp hammering; a hiss of escaping steam. Then the seaman reappeared,\nhis features covered by a white handkerchief.\nBriefly he stooped over Ahern\u2019s limp body, fumbling at the swollen,\npurple neck. The next moment, swift as a startled rat, he slipped out of\nsight behind a bulkhead.\nFive minutes later, Lieutenant Allen came on deck for a breath of air\nbefore going to mess. Glancing toward the fiddley hatch, he noticed a\nwisp of steamy vapor rising from it. In alarm he sprang forward to look\nbelow. The heavy reek of hot engine oil met his nostrils as he bent over\nthe hatch. The hum and clink of smoothly moving metal rose with it to\nreassure him. Only the steamy mist between decks, and a slowing of the\nengine\u2019s rhythmic beat spelled danger to the officer.\nTurning to the engine room ladder, Lieutenant Allen made the lower deck\nin record time. Through a mist of steam, he made out the body of the\nChief Machinist\u2019s Mate. Pausing beside it only long enough to read the\nsigns of death, he pressed on as far as he dared toward the broken steam\nline.\nUp on the _Gatoon\u2019s_ bridge, Lieutenant Darnley caught the engine room\u2019s\nurgent signal. Picking up the speaking tube, he barked a short\nacknowledgement.\n\u201cAllen speaking,\u201d came the terse reply. \u201cInform Captain Riggs of attempt\nto sabotage the ship\u2019s engines. Chief Machinist\u2019s Mate Ahern is dead at\nhis post. Must stop engines and pull boiler fires at once.\u201d\nThe meal was just over in the officers\u2019 mess. With a low exclamation Don\nWinslow jumped up and stepped to the nearest porthole.\n\u201cIf I\u2019m not mistaken, Captain,\u201d he said, turning to face the others,\n\u201cthis ship is losing way. The engines, ... hear that, sir? The vibration\nhas stopped completely!\u201d\nCaptain Riggs sprang to his feet, scowling.\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, Commander!\u201d he cried. \u201cWe\u2019ll be losing steerage way in a\nfew moments. I\u2019ll ring the bridge and find out....\u201d\nA heavy knocking on the cabin door interrupted. Opening it, the captain\nfaced a breathless yeoman, whose message of disaster fairly tumbled from\nhis lips.\n\u201cTrouble with the main steam line, sir!\u201d the enlisted man reported. \u201cAnd\nthe Chief Machinist\u2019s Mate has met with an accident, too. Lieutenant\nAllen requests your presence at once in the engine room!\u201d\nShoulder to shoulder with Captain Riggs, Don Winslow made for the engine\nroom ladder. In their wake hurried the medical officer and Lieutenant\nRed Pennington. Mercedes, at Michael Splendor\u2019s insistence, stayed\nbehind in the cabin.\nNot one of them believed that the \u201caccidents\u201d reported by the yeoman\nwere at all accidental. With Scorpion spies aboard trouble could be\nexpected from any quarter. Unfortunately, there was no guessing in\nadvance where disaster would break out; or treachery, for that matter.\nEven as the _Gatoon\u2019s_ afterguard was bending over Ahern\u2019s twisted\ncorpse in the engine room, a shadowy form slipped into the radio shack,\nabaft the galley. In the faint glow of a shaded bulb, the man\u2019s face was\na mere blur. Only his hands showed in dark outline, as they fingered a\npair of invisible dials.\nAbruptly the fellow sat down, his right hand now concealed beneath the\ntable. A faint, almost inaudible clicking began spelling out in\nInternational Morse Code: \u201cSCP\u2014SCP\u2014Acknowledge\u2014SPC\u2014SPC....\u201d\nAlmost immediately came the reply\u2014a hoarse, murmuring voice from outer\nspace: \u201c_Go ahead SC-3 with your report._\u201d\nAgain the faint ticking filled the tiny room.\n\u201cOrders carried out,\u201d it spelled rapidly. \u201cEngines disabled for the next\ntwenty-four hours. CS-3.\u201d\nThere was silence for a full minute. Then the voice in the radiophone\nbreathed harshly: \u201cThe master is pleased. Stand by at midnight for\nfurther instructions. That is all.\u201d\nBelow decks the _Gatoon\u2019s_ medical officer rose, white-faced, from his\nexamination of the Chief Machinist\u2019s Mate.\n\u201cThis man is dead, though the body is still quite warm!\u201d he stated. \u201cI\nshould say he had been strangled by a noose of thin wire, which became\nembedded in the flesh. Somebody removed the thing before we got here.\u201d\nLieutenant Allen, catching the captain\u2019s glance of query, shook his\nhead.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t touch Ahern, except to turn him over, sir,\u201d he declared. \u201cAnd\nthere was no one else in the engine room when I arrived. Strange way to\nkill a man, with a wire noose!\u201d\n\u201cThe French call it '_La Garrote_,\u2019\u201d observed Don Winslow, stooping to\npick a peculiar metal object from a dark corner of the deck. \u201cIf I\u2019m not\nmistaken, this thing is it! Looks as if the killer dropped it in his\nhurry to get away.\u201d\nAt his words the others turned to stare in fascinated horror. The death\ninstrument was a loop of extremely thin but tough steel wire, threaded\nthrough a small metal hand grip. A sharp pull on the latter tightened\nand locked the strangling noose in the same motion.\n\u201cSee!\u201d remarked the young Intelligence Officer. \u201cA man could hide this\nweapon in his closed hand, or slip it into a watch pocket. It\u2019s deadlier\nthan a knife in the back. Look here, Captain! No need to let the crew\nknow just how Ahern was killed, is there? A thing like this could\ndemoralize a ship\u2019s company in no time!\u201d\nThe grizzled ship\u2019s master met Don\u2019s look in thoughtful silence.\n\u201cI understand, Commander,\u201d he said at last. \u201cKnowing what _we_ do, every\nenlisted man aboard would be suspecting his mates\u2014afraid to turn his\nback for a second, for fear of feeling his wind shut off! You\u2019re right\nabout keeping it quiet. We\u2019ll put poor Ahern in the bos\u2019n\u2019s locker, and\ntake the key away. Then the engine crew can get busy at that broken\nsteam line.... How long before we can get under way again, Lieutenant?\u201d\nLieutenant Allen shook his head.\n\u201cIf it were only the steam line, I\u2019d say four or five hours, sir,\u201d he\nreplied dubiously. \u201cBut I saw what looked like emery dust near the main\nshaft bearings. If any of that stuff\u2019s been used we might not make port\nfor a week, if then. All depends on what we find in the next hour, sir!\u201d\n\u201cAnd on how close a watch we keep after that, Captain!\u201d put in Don\nWinslow. \u201cI\u2019d suggest an armed guard be stationed at every vital part of\nthis ship. Lieutenant Pennington and I will help you keep watch topside,\nsir.\u201d\nTossing a wink over his shoulder to Red, he turned to the ladder leading\non deck.\nSometime after midnight the two young officers stood shoulder to\nshoulder in the shadow of a port lifeboat, the wind blowing their\nwhispered words out to sea.\n\u201cGot your automatic handy, Red?\u201d Don asked casually, resting an arm on\nthe ship\u2019s rail. \u201cWe\u2019re part of that guard I mentioned to Captain Riggs,\nyou know. The difference is that we\u2019re not stationed anywhere in\nparticular.\u201d\n\u201cI cleaned and loaded my gun before mess gear blew this evening,\u201d young\nPennington answered. \u201cBut, say! Do you really think there\u2019ll be another\nattempt to put the _Gatoon_ out of commission?\u201d\n\u201cI do,\u201d Don replied, \u201cthough mere sabotage wouldn\u2019t be the Scorpion\u2019s\nreal object. He doesn\u2019t go in for small-time stuff. He\u2019d like to sink us\nall without a trace, and if I didn\u2019t know that we\u2019d destroyed his pirate\nsubmarine....\u201d\n\u201cBut maybe he\u2019s got another we don\u2019t know about!\u201d cut in Red excitedly.\n\u201cWith her engines crippled, this old cutter\u2019d be an easy mark for a\ntorpedo. Or for any armed yacht the Scorpion might have handy. Say, Don,\nI\u2019ll bet that\u2019s the answer!\u201d\n\u201cKeep your shirt on, Red!\u201d Don Winslow laughed softly. \u201cYour theory\nsounds okay, if you say it fast, but don\u2019t let it scare you off on a\nwrong tack. I\u2019d stake my commission, on there _not_ being another enemy\nsubmarine in these waters; and as for an armed yacht attacking us\u2014well,\nthe _Gatoon\u2019s_ guns outrange any but a destroyer\u2019s. No! There\u2019s some\nworse danger afloat, and it\u2019s up to us....\u201d\nDon\u2019s words trailed off into silence. Stepping deeper into the\nlifeboat\u2019s shadow, his form was suddenly blotted out.\n\u201cRed!\u201d came his low call, above the slosh of waves against the ship\u2019s\nside.\nAt once, the stocky lieutenant moved in the direction of Don\u2019s voice.\nFeeling his way along the lifeboat\u2019s keel, he felt his arm grasped\nfirmly. An instant later an end of light cordage was pressed into his\nhand.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the second I\u2019ve located,\u201d Don Winslow whispered in his friend\u2019s\near. \u201cMy hand happened to find the first one by accident. What do you\nmake of it?\u201d\n\u201cWhy\u2014it\u2019s a boat lashing, Don!\u201d muttered Red, wonderingly. \u201cThat means\nthe tarpaulin\u2019s loose, and a stiff breeze would lift it.... Huh! You\ndon\u2019t suppose that\u2019s where the killer\u2019s hiding himself\u2014right in this\nboat above our heads?\u201d\n\u201cHe may have hidden _anything_!\u201d Don answered briefly. \u201cHere, let me\nstand on your shoulders and take a look!\u201d\nAs Red braced himself, Don went up, catlike, to grip the lifeboat\u2019s\ngunwhale. Fishing in a pocket, he produced a small flashlight. It\u2019s\nbeam, thrust under the canvas boat cover, lighted up the whole cavelike\nspace beneath.\nRed, crouched in the darkness below, felt Don\u2019s weight suddenly leave\nhis shoulders. Glancing up, he saw his friend\u2019s dim form disappearing\ninside the boat.\nMoments passed, with only a faint whisper of movement from inside the\ncovered lifeboat. Red Pennington waited nervously at his post, alert for\nthe slightest sound of approaching footsteps. If the spy had hidden\nsomething of value, the fellow might be coming back for it at any time!\nRed\u2019s reasoning was better than his hearing, as a matter of fact. When\nhe did hear the faint step behind him, it was too late to turn. Jerking\nhis head to one side, the stocky lieutenant just saved himself.\nA numbing blow descended on his shoulder. With a grunt, Red whirled, his\nfist coming up in a wicked hook which contacted flesh and bone. The\nunseen assailant\u2019s gasp of pain came a second before Red\u2019s whoop: \u201cI\u2019ve\ngot him, Don! Come\u2014ugh!\u201d\nThe thug\u2019s elbow jammed into Red\u2019s midriff, and loosened a perfectly\ngood hammer lock. The lieutenant gagged, lost his grip and his footing\ntogether, as the enemy tripped him with a jiu-jitsu trick.\nAt that second, Don Winslow\u2019s lithe form dropped from above.\nOnly darkness and the snakelike agility of the Scorpion spy prevented\nhis capture then and there. The man leaped over Red\u2019s body, barely\navoiding Don\u2019s rush, and jumped for the rail beyond the lifeboat.\nRed, scrambling to his feet, lunged for the boat\u2019s forward end. Without\nwarning there came a heavy splash from overside. Don\u2019s shout, \u201cMan\noverboard!\u201d followed instantly.\n\u201cG-great guns, Don!\u201d Red gulped, bringing up against the rail. \u201cI\nthought he\u2019d knocked _you_ overside! What happened, anyway?\u201d\n\u201cHe jumped!\u201d clipped Don Winslow as other voices on deck and bridge took\nup the cry of \u201c_Man overboard!_\u201d \u201cListen, Red! You hustle aft and get a\nplace in the first boat that\u2019s lowered. Don\u2019t tell \u2019em the whole\nstory\u2014only that someone attacked you and jumped overboard when you\nfought back. Lively now, before anybody sees us together!\u201d\nBadly mystified, Red Pennington trotted aft to the group gathering\naround Number Three lifeboat. He had a hundred questions to ask,\nstarting with: Why was Don staying behind? On the other hand, orders\nwere orders, and questions would keep until Don chose to answer them.\nSixty seconds from the moment Don shouted warning, Number Three lifeboat\nwas swinging, fully manned, from her davits. On the dark water below,\ntwo life preservers, with patent flares attached, floated along the\n_Gatoon\u2019s_ portside. The ship, with engines dead, rolled gently in the\ntrough of a gentle ground swell.\nFor a rescue at night, no better conditions could be asked. The trouble\nwas that, from the moment Red Pennington\u2019s attacker had hit the water,\nthere had been no sign of him. No second splash or cry for help had been\nheard.\nWas the fellow a suicide\u2014deliberately drowning in preference to being\ncaught? Or had he just gone down, unable to swim?\nOne guess was as good as another. Except that the man was a Scorpion\nagent, Don Winslow would have given the fellow up for lost. As it was,\nhe suspected a trick.\nThinking back, he recalled that the spy had not hit the water all\nsprawled out like a man who had lost his balance. There had been only\nthe single, clean _plunk_ of an expert dive.\nBut where, in mid-ocean, could the man have swum? To a waiting boat,\nsomewhere out of sight in the darkness?\nThere was one more alternative. As the idea flashed across Don\u2019s brain,\nhe whirled and ran to the starboard rail. After sweeping the ship\u2019s side\nin one quick glance, he turned again and darted back to the after deck.\nHalted at the taffrail, the young officer leaned far over, his eyes\nsquinting to pierce the darkness under the gunboat\u2019s stern. After a\nmoment, he straightened up with a satisfied nod, and strode back to the\nportside.\nA little group of ship\u2019s officers stood beside Mercedes and Michael\nSplendor near the davits, just as Don approached. All of them caught the\nyoung commander\u2019s quiet words.\n\u201cSend your boat around under the stern, Captain Riggs,\u201d Don Winslow\nmurmured. \u201cOur man is there, clinging to the rudder post. If we go\nsoftly, we can all get back to the taffrail in time to see the fun!\u201d\nFor an instant Riggs stared in unbelief, then turned to snap an order at\nthe men below. As the oars resumed their steady stroke alongside, Don\nled his friends aft on tiptoe. He knew the questions they wanted to ask;\nbut there was no time now for talk.\nA few feet from the taffrail, Don signaled the two ship\u2019s officers to\nstand by. He himself stooped with one hand on the line of the taffrail\nlog.\nThe wait was not long. As the lifeboat started to round the stern, the\nstout line under Don\u2019s fingers jerked taut. By its motion he knew that\nhis man was climbing, hand over hand.\nOnly a trained athlete could have performed such a feat, for the line\nwas barely thick enough to hold a man\u2019s weight. The climber\u2019s hands must\nhave been cut raw after the first half dozen grips, but he came doggedly\non. At the last moment before his head appeared, Don drew back in a\nwrestler\u2019s crouch.\nA lunge, a harsh oath, a brief, desperate struggle, and it was over. The\nunknown, who had attacked Red Pennington and then plunged into the sea,\nnow stood on deck, panting in the grip of three strong men.\n\u201cSo what?\u201d he demanded insolently. \u201cNow ya got me, wot ya gonna do with\nme? I ain\u2019t done nothin\u2019 wrong. A guy up an\u2019 slugs me in the dark, an\u2019 I\nfall overboard, an\u2019 now ya grab me. So what!\u201d\nDon\u2019s flashlight, turned on the man\u2019s face showed a pair of small, ratty\neyes set in animallike features. The fellow was desperate, and trying to\ncover it up with a line of bluff.\n\u201cLooks as if we\u2019d caught our murderer, all right!\u201d gritted Captain\nRiggs, after a shrewd glance. \u201cThis seaman is one of the replacements we\ntook on in Guantanamo. Shall I throw him in the brig now, Commander, or\ndo you wish to question him first?\u201d\nDon Winslow snapped out his light.\n\u201cThe questioning had better wait, Captain,\u201d he replied quickly. \u201cI\u2019ve\njust discovered something that may be of vital importance to us and\nevery honest sailor aboard. Suppose we all talk it over in your cabin,\nas soon as this spy is safely under lock and key!\u201d\nOn his way to the captain\u2019s quarters, Don Winslow stopped by Number\nThree davits and waited until the lifeboat had been swung inboard with\nits crew. As Red Pennington stepped to the deck, the young commander\nseized his arm and led him back into the shadows amidships. A few quick\nwords covered the rat-faced seaman\u2019s capture.\n\u201cAnd now we\u2019ll see what his game was, Red,\u201d Don whispered, moving over\nto the port rail. \u201cGive me a boost up into that boat with the unlashed\ncover and stand by for trouble. But don\u2019t let anybody slug you from\nbehind this time!\u201d\n\u201cI won\u2019t, don\u2019t kid yourself!\u201d muttered the stocky lieutenant, stooping\nto take Don\u2019s weight. \u201cBut, say! You must have found something up there\nthe first time, or you wouldn\u2019t be so anxious to look again. Can\u2019t you\nwait long enough to tell a man...?\u201d\nBut Don was already over the gunwhale and inside the boat. This time\nseveral minutes passed before his head and shoulders appeared from under\nthe tarpaulin.\n\u201cTake these, Red!\u201d he said softly, passing down a loose packet of\npapers. \u201cAnd put them out of sight. I\u2019m coming down now.\u201d\nSwinging light to the deck, he drew his pocket gun and led the way back\naft.\n\u201cWha-what the dickens?\u201d muttered Red Pennington in a hoarse whisper, as\nhe shoved the papers under his waistband.\n\u201cEnlistment records\u2014the missing ones!\u201d hissed Don, glancing along the\nshadowy decks. \u201cThey were just part of what I found in the boat. If\nanybody tries to take them away from you between here and the captain\u2019s\nquarters....\u201d\nWHAM! BANG!\nA tongue of flame had lanced out from behind the darkened galley. In the\nsame split second had come Don\u2019s answering shot. Without pausing the\nyoung commander leaped straight toward the source of attack.\nRed, pounding at Don\u2019s heels, tugged out his pistol.\n\u201cI\u2019ll take the starboard side!\u201d he yelped as Don darted to port.\nIt seemed that the enemy, whoever he was, must be trapped, or he would\nhave to break away in full view and get shot.\nYet it was Red Pennington whom Don bumped into, just abaft the galley.\n\u201cG-gosh! I nearly shot you, Don!\u201d gulped the stout lieutenant. \u201cWhere\u2019n\nthunder did that bird go, anyway? I was sure you were he, till I got a\nsecond look!\u201d\nFor answer Don seized the knob of the galley door. It flew open to\nreveal a dimly lighted interior, fragrant with the smell of brewing\ncoffee. Backed up in a corner stood Johnson, the colored cook,\nbrandishing a razor-sharp meat axe.\n\u201cStay right wheah yo\u2019 are, befo\u2019 ah scattahs you\u2019 brains!\u201d wailed the\nterrified man.\nDon stepped calmly across the threshold.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right, Johnson,\u201d he said, sweeping the galley with a quick\nlook. \u201cSomebody shot at us just now, and we thought he might have ducked\nin here. Of course, you didn\u2019t see anybody?\u201d\nJohnson\u2019s meat cleaver hit the deck with a loud clang.\n\u201cLawsy-me, C\u2019mandah!\u201d he quavered. \u201cAh sho\u2019 thought you-all was de\nkillah. Yassah! But ah raickon he was de one dat scooted by de po\u2019thole,\nright aftah de shot! Ah jes\u2019 happened ter look out....\u201d\n\u201cWhich way did he go?\u201d Don snapped, turning back to the doorway.\n\u201cHe was haided aft, C\u2019mandah,\u201d answered the colored man. \u201cAh jes\u2019 seen\nsomethin\u2019 white scootin\u2019 past!\u201d\n\u201cCome on, Red!\u201d said Don, stepping out on deck. \u201cWe\u2019ll try the radio\nshack. It\u2019s part of this same superstructure, and our last bet. Hope you\nkept an eye on it, while I was in the galley!\u201d\n\u201cI did,\u201d answered Red. \u201cThe only door is on this side, too. Got your\nflashlight ready? The place looks pitch dark!\u201d\nBy this time, shouts and the sound of running feet were closing in from\nall sides. The twin pistol shots had roused the whole ship\u2019s company.\nAnd now, quite unintentionally, Red Pennington made a grandstand play.\nThinking only to save Don from the killer\u2019s bullets, he slammed open the\nradio shack door and charged through, head down, like a football tackle.\nThere followed a yell and the thud of heavy bodies striking the deck. An\ninstant later half a dozen men headed by Don Winslow piled into the\nnarrow compartment.\nNo shots greeted their rush, though for a moment there was plenty of\nconfusion. With some difficulty, Red Pennington was pulled off from the\nkicking body of his victim, who turned out to be the _Gatoon\u2019s_ radio\noperator. The man was breathless, battered, and evidently furious\nbeneath his show of respect for gold braid.\nHe gave his name as A. Corba, Electrician First Class, and he told a\nreasonably straight story. He had been sitting half asleep in his chair,\nhe said, listening in to the radio conversations between other ships in\nthe Caribbean.\nSuddenly he\u2019d heard two pistol shots, and the sound of men running. He\nwas still wondering what it was all about, when the door burst open and\ntwo hundred pounds of fighting man landed on him. Naturally he\u2019d tried\nto fight back, but his attacker, who turned out to be Lieutenant\nPennington, had him licked from the start.\nDon Winslow heard the story through, without a change of expression.\n\u201cWhy,\u201d he asked, \u201cdid you have the deadlights screwed over the\nportholes. Is that customary aboard this craft?\u201d\n\u201cCaptain Riggs\u2019 orders, sir,\u201d replied the radio operator instantly.\n\u201cThat is, we were all warned to let no lights show our position to any\npassing boat.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s right, Commander!\u201d spoke up the _Gatoon\u2019s_ captain, from the\ndoorway. \u201cI did give that order; and it strikes me that this man\u2019s\naccount holds water. Whoever shot at you must have gotten away, at least\nfor the time being. What puzzles me is the reason for such an attack.\u201d\n\u201cSuppose we talk that over in your quarters, sir,\u201d Don suggested, moving\ntoward the door. \u201cIf I\u2019m not mistaken, we\u2019re due for more surprises\nbefore the night is over!\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s brief account of the two attacks on Red and himself did\nlittle to clear up the mystery which hung like a dark cloud over the\n_Gatoon\u2019s_ after guard. Both assaults appeared to have the same object,\nhowever\u2014to get back the stolen enlistment records which Don had found\nhidden in the lifeboat. For some reason the enemy was afraid to have\nthose records examined.\n\u201cThat\u2019s how I\u2019ve figured it out,\u201d Don told the little company gathered\nin the captain\u2019s cabin, \u201ceither the records of Scorpion agents among the\ncrew are missing, or they\u2019ve been forged. In any case, a careful check\nshould tell the story.\u201d\nSpreading out the rumpled enlistment papers on the captain\u2019s table, he\ncommenced a swift search, while Riggs and Red Pennington looked over his\nshoulders. All at once he picked up one of the documents and smoothed it\nout. The name on the outside read: \u201cAnton Corba,\u201d with the rating noted\nas \u201cRadioman, First Class.\u201d\n\u201cBut why pick that one, Commander?\u201d asked Captain Riggs sharply. \u201cWhat\nreason have you to suspect....\u201d\n\u201cLook, Captain!\u201d Don Winslow interrupted. \u201cThe signatures on this record\nshow signs of tracing. Forgery, all right, but a mighty clumsy job. Just\nstudy it for a minute and give me your opinion.\u201d\nHanding the paper to Riggs, he whispered rapidly in the officer\u2019s ear:\n\u201cI have a hunch we are being overheard now. Corba or some other spy may\nbe the eavesdropper. I\u2019m sending Pennington out to check up. Meantime we\nmust all keep talking naturally, so the fellow will not suspect.\u201d\nWith a nod of understanding, Riggs moved over to Michael Splendor\u2019s\nchair.\n\u201cI see what you mean, Commander,\u201d he said loudly. \u201cAt least one of these\nsignatures looks smeary, but I\u2019m no handwriting expert. Tell me what you\nthink of it, Mr. Splendor. As chief of the Haitian Naval Intelligence,\nyou should know about such things.\u201d\nStooping quickly, he whispered Don Winslow\u2019s plan to the cripple. At the\nsame instant Don was muttering advice in Red\u2019s ear.\n\u201cTake off your shoes,\u201d he told the wide-eyed lieutenant. \u201cSneak up\ntopside and try to locate anyone who may be eavesdropping. If you don\u2019t\nspot anyone, come back in five minutes. Here\u2019s my flashlight. Shove off\nnow, and good luck! We\u2019ll carry on the show down here till you report or\nsignal us.\u201d\nAs Red silently closed the cabin door behind him, he heard Michael\nSplendor\u2019s voice within, taking up the mock discussion. The \u201cshow\u201d as\nDon called it, would be quite convincing to any eavesdropper.\nAnd if Don was right in his guess, the spy should be easy to surprise at\nhis work. At that hour of night, no enlisted man would have any\nlegitimate business hanging around the cabin ventilators.\nSilent as a shadow, for all his bulk, Red Pennington emerged onto the\nstarlit deck. Slipping aft, he rounded the cabin skylight and probed the\nshadows under the port rail.\nNo glimpse of a furtive lurker rewarded him, however. With a grunt of\ndisappointment, he padded forward, heading for the midship\u2019s\nsuperstructure.\n\u201cI\u2019ll just take a look inside the radio shack,\u201d he muttered under his\nbreath. \u201cDon seems to think that guy Corba\u2019s enlistment was\nforged\u2014which means he may be the guy who shot at us, too. He\u2019s got a\nfishy mug, anyway, and his story was a little too slick when we jumped\nhim a few minutes ago!\u201d\nThe door of the radio shack was on the port side. Therefore, as an extra\nprecaution, Red circled the superstructure to starboard, halting at the\ncorner of the galley.\nThe space between the deck house and the rail was empty, yet something\nabout it looked queer. For a moment Red stood blinking in puzzlement,\ntrying to make out what was wrong. All at once it came to him.\nThe radio shack door was open at least two inches; yet no light shone\nthrough onto the white deck.\nSince Navy men do not go about leaving doors ajar, this suggested one of\ntwo things: either Corba had left in a desperate hurry, or he was still\ninside, _with the lights out_! Red Pennington intended to find out\nwhich.\nWith the utmost caution, he crept past the galley, noting that the door\nbeyond him did not sway with the gentle roll of the ship. That meant it\nwas propped open deliberately. But _why_?\nJust as his hand was reaching for the knob, the door swung shut. Red\nfroze in his tracks, his mind racing. Whoever had closed that two-inch\nopening could not have seen him. The door itself had hid his approach.\nThe thing proved simply that the radio shack was occupied.\nBefore Red could plan his next move, a faint, metallic ticking caught\nhis ear. Pressing his ear close to the shack\u2019s steel wall, he made out\nthe familiar chatter of a wireless key, sending in International Morse\nCode.\n\u201c\u2014REPORTING\u2014EMERGENCY\u2014ABOARD\u2014GATOON\u201d Red silently spelled out the\nmessage. \u201cAGENT SC-21 SEIZED. WINSLOW AND PENNINGTON HAVE DISCOVERED\nFORGED ENLISTMENT PAPERS IN LIFEBOAT WE PREPARED FOR OUR GETAWAY. THIS\nWILL LEAD ANY MOMENT TO MY ARREST AND THAT OF AGENT SC-17. PLEASE ADVISE\nNEXT MOVE. SC-3.\u201d\nWhile listening, Red Pennington had slipped Don\u2019s flashlight from his\npocket. As the message ended, he wrenched open the door and shot the\nbright beam into the radio shack. It\u2019s spotlight steadied on the tense\nfigure of Corba, seated beside the room\u2019s small tool bench.\n\u201cJust hold that pose, sailor!\u201d gritted the stocky lieutenant. \u201cNo\u2014keep\nyour left hand under the bench! Don\u2019t move a muscle\u2014\u2014\u201d\nWhipping out his pocket gun, Red slammed two shots at the steel decking,\nclose to Corba\u2019s feet. Instantly the white-faced radioman froze in his\nchair, his pose still as a statue\u2019s.\n\u201cThat\u2019s better!\u201d clipped the lieutenant, as shouts and the stamp of feet\nsounded from the cabin country. \u201cIn just a moment you\u2019re going to tell\nyour story over again; and it had better be the right one this time. Do\nyou get me, _Agent SC-3_?\u201d\nWarned by Red\u2019s sharp call, Don Winslow halted the captain and\nLieutenant Darnley outside the radio shack. Stepping inside alone, he\nsnapped on the lights.\n\u201cGreat work, Red!\u201d he approved, when the red-haired lieutenant briefly\noutlined what had happened. \u201cWe\u2019ve caught our eavesdropper this time,\nHe broke off as a harsh whisper rose, seemingly from beneath the\nworkbench.\n\u201cAGENT SC-3 AND SC-17, ATTENTION!\u201d the weird voice rasped. \u201cYOU ARE\nINSTRUCTED TO LEAVE THE SHIP AT ONCE, USING LIFEBELTS. SEAPLANE WILL\nPICK YOU UP AT DAWN. SC-21 WILL PAY PENALTY FOR HIS FAILURE WHEN WE BOMB\nGATOON FROM THE AIR. THAT IS ALL!\u201d\nA gasp from the unhappy Corba gave Don Winslow the cue for his next\nplay. Ignoring the startled questions of Captain Riggs and Lieutenant\nAllen, he faced the radio operator.\n\u201cAll right, Corba!\u201d he said tightly. \u201cThat message shows you just where\nyou get off. Like SC-21, you\u2019re going to pay the penalty for failure,\nwhen and if bombs start dropping on this vessel! Is your loyalty to\nScorpia strong enough to stand up under that?\u201d\nHollow-eyed with fear, the Scorpion spy shook his head.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve named it, Commander!\u201d he said hoarsely. \u201cThe Scorpion don\u2019t have\nmuch mercy for them that are fools enough to get caught. But what\ngood\u2019ll it do, sir, if I tell you what I know? We\u2019re all bound for Davy\nJones\u2019 locker, now!\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s laugh rang as hard as the slap of bullets on steel armor\nplate.\n\u201cWe _were_, maybe, but we\u2019re taking a new tack, sailor!\u201d he barked. \u201cNow\nwe know what your murderous pals are up to, we can outthink and outfight\nthem too. The only man aboard who\u2019s bound for Davy Jones is\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\u201cCaptain!\u201d cried a breathless voice on deck. \u201cThe prisoner, Durkin\u2014the\nman you put in the brig, sir\u2014he\u2019s dead! Hanged himself, with a loop of\nwire he\u2019d made fast to a steampipe. We found this note, written on an\nold envelope. Here it is, sir!\u201d\nAfter a startled pause, Captain Riggs stepped inside to hold a crumpled\nenvelope under the light.\n\u201cWhat do you make of this, Commander?\u201d he growled. \u201cThings are happening\na bit too fast for me to keep my bearings tonight, this note, for\ninstance! It says: 'I queered your engines and killed the Chief\nMachinist\u2019s Mate. When the Scorpion strikes, you\u2019ll think I did Ahern a\nfavor. _Signed_, Durkin.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cAnd so exit Scorpion Agent SC-21!\u201d observed Don Winslow harshly. \u201cHe\nkilled himself rather than go down later with the ship. That leaves one\nenemy agent still unidentified. Who is he, Corba?\u201d\n\u201cSeaman Second Class, by the name of Mink,\u201d replied the radioman\nsullenly. \u201cHe\u2019s just a tough gorilla we brought aboard for strong arm\nwork. As it turned out, we didn\u2019t have to use him.\u201d\n\u201cWhich means _you_ were the bird who shot at us tonight from the corner\nof the galley!\u201d put in Red Pennington. \u201cYou sure hated to let us get a\nlook at those forged enlistment records, didn\u2019t you, Mr. A. Corba?\u201d\nWith a snort of anger, Captain Riggs turned to the door.\n\u201cThe whole business smells like plain mutiny to me!\u201d he declared. \u201cWhile\nyou\u2019re questioning this man, Commander, I\u2019m going to hunt up Seaman\nSecond Class Mink, and throw him in irons! Join me in my quarters,\ngentlemen, when you\u2019re ready to compare notes.\u201d\nThe questioning of Anton Corba, Electrician First Class, took less than\ntwenty minutes; but it laid bare the whole Scorpion plot to destroy the\ngunboat.\nCorba and the other two spies had come aboard at Guantanamo. The Navy\nmen whose places they took, had been kidnapped by other Scorpion agents,\nand held until the gunboat sailed.\n\u201cThe rest was easy, sir,\u201d the prisoner stated, with a nervous glance at\nRed Pennington\u2019s gun. \u201cI rigged up a special sending key and an extra\nshort-wave receiver with the help of stuff I\u2019d smuggled aboard. I kept\nin touch with the Scorpia headquarters by tunin\u2019 into a new wave length\nthey gave me each day. And I listened in to any talk aboard ship with\nthis electric 'ear\u2019 which they say the Scorpion himself invented. Here\nit is, if you want to look at it.\u201d\nSlipping a hand inside his blouse, Corba produced the tiny amplifier and\nearphone. Don Winslow took it from him, with a smile.\n\u201cClever!\u201d he nodded, noting the hairlike wires and fine workmanship. \u201cI\nsuspected something like this, Red, when I sent you up on deck to look\naround. With his door ajar, Sparks here could get every whisper coming\nup the cabin ventilators.... Well, Corba, if that\u2019s your name, I guess\nthat explains how you knew we were going to search the enlistment\nrecords. The minute I was alone in the Captain\u2019s quarters, you just\nslipped in and bopped me on the head, eh?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir!\u201d gulped the radio operator, squirming unhappily on his chair.\n\u201cYou see, I had to, sir. I mean, I was afraid you\u2019d....\u201d\n\u201cStow it!\u201d rapped Don, his tone suddenly hard. \u201cGet down to brass tacks,\nand give us the rest of this program for sinking a Navy vessel on the\nhigh seas. Putting the engines out of commission was only a starter, of\ncourse. Let\u2019s hear what comes next.\u201d\nCorba\u2019s black eyes slid away from the impact of Don\u2019s steely gaze.\n\u201cWhy\u2014why, there ain\u2019t no 'next,\u2019 sir,\u201d he answered, nervously. \u201cNot\nuntil daylight, when a couple of fast bombin\u2019 planes dive outa the sky\nand drop about a ton of high explosive down your fiddley hatch. What\nhappens then don\u2019t need no imagination to figure out, sir! And no man\naboard can do a thing to prevent it.\u201d\n\u201cHorse feathers!\u201d burst out Red Pennington. \u201cWe\u2019ve got anti-aircraft\nguns, mounted fore and aft, that can blow half a dozen fast bombers\nclean out of the ozone. What\u2019re you trying to do, punk? Throw a scare\ninto us?\u201d\nDrawn-faced, the radio operator shook his head. For a second, he seemed\nabout to reply, but instead merely licked his lips and looked away.\nDon Winslow sensed that the man was half-crazy with terror, every time\nhe thought or spoke of the coming air attack. And for that fear there\ncould be only one good reason.\n\u201cYou might as well tell it straight, Corba!\u201d he told the fidgeting\nprisoner. \u201cGo on and admit that the ship\u2019s guns have been damaged, as\nwell as the engines! Unable to fight or run, this ship will be just a\nhelpless target\u2014or so you believe. Is that it?\u201d\nThe radioman\u2019s jaw dropped. He nodded weakly.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see how you guessed it, sir,\u201d he whimpered; \u201cMink fixed every\ngun two nights ago. He used an explosive metal plug that\u2019ll make the gun\nblow up the first time it\u2019s fired. I\u2019d have told you before, only there\nain\u2019t a thing you can do to fix \u2019em, sir. We\u2019re gonna be sunk, with all\nhands, and that\u2019s all there is to it!\u201d\n\u201cGreat jumpin\u2019 catfish!\u201d gurgled Red Pennington. \u201cI never thought once\nabout the guns being jimmied too! What can we do now, Don?\u201d\n\u201cFirst put this man in the brig with his gorilla shipmate!\u201d clipped out\nthe young commander. \u201cAfter that, we\u2019re going to move a lot farther and\nfaster than the Scorpion expects. You stay by the radio until I send up\na regular guard, Red. And, Corba! March yourself straight through that\ndoor and forward to the brig. Lively now! My gun will be right at your\nback the whole way!\u201d\nBack in the radio shack, after seeing the lock turned on both Scorpion\nspies, Don Winslow sat down to compose a code radiogram to Navy\nIntelligence Headquarters at Washington. A trusted boatswain\u2019s mate\narmed with rifle and bayonet stood outside to guard against\ninterruptions.\nThe message, as Red Pennington translated it aloud, read: \u201cGATOON\nSABOTAGED. STOP. NOW DRIFTING OFF THE COAST OF HAITI WITH GUNS AND\nENGINES DISABLED. STOP. EXPECT ATTACK BY ENEMY BOMBERS AT DAYLIGHT.\nSTOP. SEND FAST ATTACK PLANES TO OUR ASSISTANCE AT ONCE. STOP. OUR\nPOSITION IS....\u201d\n\u201cHere\u2019s what I make it, Winslow!\u201d interrupted Captain Riggs entering the\nroom with sextant in one hand and a sheet of penciled figures in the\nother. \u201cGood thing it\u2019s a clear night, for 'shooting\u2019 the stars. By my\nreckoning, we\u2019re just ten miles off the coast, and ninety more from\nPort-au-Prince.\u201d\n\u201cThank you, Captain!\u201d said Don, glancing at the other\u2019s notes. \u201cShall I\nsign your name now to this radio message? If we send it at once, those\nNavy planes will have barely time to get here before the fun starts!\u201d\n\u201cSign it yourself, Commander,\u201d replied Riggs quickly. \u201cYour name will\ncarry twice the weight of mine with Washington. But, blow me under if I\nlike this idea of lying here useless till help comes! Isn\u2019t there any\ntrick we can work out to defend ourselves with?\u201d\n\u201cI think there is, Captain,\u201d answered Don Winslow, rising from his\nchair. \u201cI\u2019d like to talk it over first, though, with Michael Splendor.\nSuppose we join him, below, while Pennington is sending this radio I\u2019ve\njust coded. Red\u2019s an expert operator, so there won\u2019t be any mistakes!\u201d\nBelow, in the captain\u2019s quarters. Lieutenant Darnley had just finished\noutlining the situation to Splendor and Mercedes Colby. The girl was\ntaking the latest news of sabotage and sudden death with cool courage,\nas became the daughter of a Navy Admiral. Even the likelihood of being\nbombed and sunk by a Scorpion airship failed to terrify her.\n\u201cNow that I know the worst, I\u2019m not scared at all,\u201d she smiled pluckily.\n\u201cIt was _not_ knowing what fiendish thing the Scorpion was planning,\nthat was the hardest to bear. There are lots of worse deaths than\ndrowning. And anyhow, I can\u2019t believe it will come to that!\u201d\n\u201cNeither can I!\u201d put in Michael Splendor, quietly. \u201cWith Don Winslow on\ndeck, our chances of making port are better than the enemy\u2019s. He\u2019ll find\na way to fight back, never fear! Besides, there\u2019s me own seaplane we\ntook aboard last night. She has two machine guns and\u2014\u2014\u201d\nWithout knocking, Captain Riggs flung open the door and entered, with\nDon Winslow at his heels.\n\u201cI have a few plans to talk over with you, sir!\u201d the latter announced,\nhalting before the cripple\u2019s wheel chair. \u201cLieutenant Darnley has told\nyou the latest trouble, I suppose\u2014about our anti-aircraft guns being\njimmied?\u201d\n\u201cHe has that!\u201d replied Splendor. \u201cAnd I knew you\u2019d have a plan to\novercome that difficulty, Commander. 'Tis honored I am that ye wish to\ndiscuss it with a useless old man like me!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been called 'the brains of the Haitian Intelligence Service,\u2019\u201d\nDon retorted. \u201cAnd if brains are useless, it\u2019s news to me! Joking aside,\nsir, there are three good reasons against our being bombed and sunk at\ndaylight. I\u2019ll name them over, and see if you agree with me. Perhaps\nCaptain Riggs and Lieutenant Darnley may have some valuable suggestions\nto make, too.\u201d\n\u201cGo ahead. Commander!\u201d nodded the crippled man, as the others grouped\nthemselves closer about Don. \u201cI had a couple of schemes in me own mind,\nbut three sounds better yet!\u201d\nIn short, rapid sentences, Don Winslow outlined the hopes of the\n_Gatoon\u2019s_ company.\nFirst was the message now being radioed by Red Pennington to Captain\nHolding of the Naval Intelligence in Washington. A squadron of light\nbombing planes would be taking off within an hour to come to the\n_Gatoon\u2019s_ rescue.\nWhether or not they would arrive in time was another question, of\ncourse. The distance of the nearest fighting ships, the weather they\nmight meet on the way, and various other difficulties made the answer\nuncertain. Less than three hours now remained before daybreak and the\nScorpion\u2019s attack.\nPursuit type planes, Don explained, could have made the distance\nquicker, but could not carry enough gas for a round trip.\nDon\u2019s second plan was for Panama and an expert machine gunner to take\nSplendor\u2019s armed seaplane up at crack of dawn to watch for enemy\naircraft, and fight them off. Even if hopelessly outnumbered, the pilot\nand his gunner could delay an attack upon the _Gatoon_.\n\u201cAnd that,\u201d boomed Michael Splendor, his eyes gleaming eagerly, \u201cis the\nvery job I picked for meself! I\u2019ll need no legs to use a machine gun, ye\nsee. I\u2019ve already talked it over with my pilot. The lad is anxious to\ntry his luck in a real air fight, whatever the odds. And now, Commander,\nlet\u2019s have your third scheme. I\u2019ve no doubt it includes yourself, and\nthat redheaded lieutenant. If so, it will be the most dangerous job of\nall, and the most difficult, too.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not so sure of that, sir,\u201d Don protested. \u201cIn fact it\u2019s as simple\nas jumping overboard with a life preserver on. That\u2019s what the\nScorpion\u2019s gang expect their two spies to do; so what\u2019s to keep Red and\nme from taking their places?\u201d\n\u201cAnd then what, Don?\u201d asked Mercedes Colby in a strained tone. \u201cI\nsuppose you think a Scorpion pilot will pick you up without asking\nquestions or bothering to recognize you? More likely he\u2019ll turn his\nmachine gun on you and leave you for the fishes. Oh, Don, don\u2019t try\nanything so desperately foolish!\u201d\nIt was Michael Splendor whose reasoning finally calmed the girl\u2019s worst\nfears for Don and Red. It was a known rule of \u201cScorpia,\u201d he pointed out,\nthat only agents who had to work in close contact should know each\nother, even by sight. Therefore, dressed in seamen\u2019s uniforms, the two\nyoung officers would run little risk of discovery until they actually\nboarded the pickup plane.\nAfter that, things would begin to happen fast, with probably fatal\nresults to someone!\n\u201cYou see, Mercedes,\u201d Don added, \u201cwe\u2019ve simply got to capture that enemy\nship! It\u2019s bound to be armed with one or more machine guns. In any case,\nit would double our chances of beating off enemy bombers until our own\nsquadron shows up. And, by the way\u2014we\u2019ve got just two hours now to\nsunrise. We\u2019d better get started without any more delay!\u201d\nReturning on deck, the officers found Red Pennington just signing off a\ncode conversation with Captain Holding in Washington. The Intelligence\nOfficer had been routed out of bed and was personally directing the\ndespatch of fighting planes to the _Gatoon\u2019s_ rescue. It seemed\ndoubtful, however, that the squadron could arrive in less than three\nhours.\n\u201cWe can only hope,\u201d Captain Riggs remarked, anxiously, \u201cthat something\nwill delay the enemy\u2019s arrival, too. The best I can do aboard is to\nmuster the crew on deck with loaded rifles. If the bombers try diving at\nus, our bullets _might_ take effect.\u201d\nAfter a brief discussion, it was decided to take Don and Red in one of\nthe lifeboats, about half a mile to leeward of the _Gatoon_, and there\ndrop them overside. The water was fairly warm off the coast of Haiti.\nThe only real danger they would face, while drifting about on the black,\nmile-deep water, would be from sharks.\nThe question of uniforms was quickly settled, by new outfits drawn from\nthe ship\u2019s \u201cslop-chest.\u201d Don was to impersonate Corba, with the red and\nwhite rating badge on his blouse sleeve placing him as a Radioman, First\nClass. Red, being husky and heavily built, would take the part of the\n\u201cgorilla\u201d seaman, Mink.\nThe change of clothing was quickly made; but first, both young officers\nstrapped on pistol holsters under their blouses. The weapons themselves,\nfully loaded, were sealed in watertight oiled silk. Life belts, clumsy\nbut buoyant, made their outfit complete.\nJust before they took their places in the ready lifeboat, Lieutenant\nAllen came hurrying from the engine room to report a piece of good luck.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve repaired the steam line, sir,\u201d he said, approaching Captain\nRiggs, \u201cand we had an easier job of cleaning out that emery dust from\nthe machinery than I had expected. We\u2019ll be ready to get under way in\nhalf an hour.\u201d\n\u201cSplendid! Great work, Lieutenant!\u201d cried the _Gatoon\u2019s_ skipper. \u201cThat\ngives us an extra chance in case we are bombed. A ship steaming in\nzigzag is a harder target to hit. We\u2019ll just drift until daylight; but\nsee that you have full steam up by then!\u201d\n\u201c_Before then_, if you don\u2019t mind, Captain!\u201d put in Michael Splendor,\nrolling his wheel chair up to the rail. \u201cThe steam winch will be needed\nto lower yon seaplane overside. 'Tis a heavy weight to handle by\nmanpower alone.\u201d\nCaptain Riggs muttered a brief consent, and turned to grip the hands of\nthe two departing officers. Quickly, Mercedes, Splendor, and the\n_Gatoon\u2019s_ afterguard followed suit. There were no formal good-bys; but\nthe words spoken were packed with meaning:\u2014\n\u201cGood luck, Don! So long, Red!\u201d\n\u201cSee you later, Commander!\u201d\nExpertly manned, the lifeboats touched the water with scarcely a sound.\nThe boat falls were quickly released; strong arms pushed the little\ncraft clear of the _Gatoon\u2019s_ looming side. Above, the dim blur of faces\nat the ship\u2019s rail faded from sight.\n\u201cOut ... oars!\u201d\nThe coxswain\u2019s low spoken order came from the lifeboat\u2019s stern sheets.\nIt was answered by the soft thudding of oars into rowlocks. Don and Red,\nin their seamen\u2019s uniforms, each gripped one of the long ash blades,\n\u201cfeathered\u201d it by a drop of their wrists, and held it poised above the\nblack water.\n\u201cAltogether.... Give way!\u201d\nAt the coxswain\u2019s word, six tough muscled bodies tensed; six oar blades\nhit the water at the same precise instant. The little craft leaped\nforward like a startled fish.\nSteering only by the light wind astern, it covered the half mile to\nleeward of the _Gatoon_ in about five minutes. As there was no moon the\nship could not be seen. Only the starshine, reflected from the ocean\u2019s\nheaving surface, showed where water ended and air began.\nTo a landsman, it would have given a queer sensation; adrift in a small\nboat at night, with nothing to see but starshine above or below; to know\nthat a mile beneath that black water lay the hills and valleys of the\nocean\u2019s bottom; to think that, in just a minute, one would be _in_ that\nwater up to one\u2019s neck, with the lifeboat pulling away, out of sight and\nsound!\nEven the seasoned sailors in the boat with Don and Red must have had\nsome such thoughts, though Navy discipline kept them from saying\nanything. When the two young officers stood up in their life belts,\nready to bail out, the coxswain alone spoke up.\n\u201cIs there anything else, Commander?\u201d he asked huskily. \u201cSure you don\u2019t\nwant us to stand by for a while after you and the lieutenant go\noverboard?\u201d\n\u201cOf course not, Coxswain!\u201d replied Don with a quiet laugh. \u201cThis isn\u2019t a\nsea burial. It\u2019s just a job Lieutenant Pennington and I have to do.\nYou\u2019ll probably be in more danger aboard the _Gatoon_ than we will be\nhere. Steady, now! We\u2019re going over the bow.\u201d\n\u201cAye-aye, sir!\u201d answered the petty officer, with a catch in his voice.\n\u201cAnd here\u2019s wishin\u2019 you and the Lieutenant good luck!\u201d\nThe lifeboat pitched and swung off as two heavy splashes sounded over\nher bow.\n\u201cGood luck to you, Coxs\u2019n!\u201d sputtered Red Pennington from the water.\n\u201cSheer off now and head for the ship! They\u2019re showing a signal light to\ngive you your bearings.\u201d\nWhen the last faint splash of oars faded out, Don Winslow spoke.\n\u201cFeel lonesome, Red?\u201d\nA gasping breath from the darkness gave evidence of Red\u2019s position, even\nbefore he answered.\n\u201cG-gee, Don!\u201d he stuttered. \u201cI wondered for a minute if you\u2019d drifted\nout of hearing. Sound off again, Skipper, so I can paddle closer! I\u2019d\ncertainly hate to float around here in the darkness and know I was all\nalone.... Say, where are you, anyhow?\u201d\n\u201cHere!\u201d answered Don, shortly.\n\u201cHuh? Where? I thought you were over _there_!\u201d burbled Red Pennington\nbetween frantic splashings. \u201cAre you swimmin\u2019 circles around me,\nSkipper, or is it the darkness? Dawggone....\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s your life preserver, Red!\u201d Don chuckled. \u201cDon\u2019t try to swim fast\nin that thing, or you\u2019ll just spin round and round. Paddle over here\nslowly, and I\u2019ll pass you an end of marline I brought along to lash us\ntogether.\u201d\nThere was some more splashing, and a final grunt of relief as Red found\nDon\u2019s hand holding the length of tarred cord. For a while neither of\nthem spoke. The feeling of being suspended in wet, black space rather\ndampened the wish to talk.\nAn hour passed in gloomy, uncomfortable silence, before the first hint\nof daylight showed across the tossing wave tops. Little by little the\nnight sky paled, making the water look all the blacker by contrast.\nThen, a mile to windward, the two officers made out the ship they had\nleft\u2014a faint, gray shadow breaking a wave-notched horizon.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve drifted quite a distance, shipmate,\u201d Don observed, gazing toward\nthe _Gatoon_. \u201cToo far for anybody on board to sight us! I suppose\nthey\u2019re wondering whether or not the sharks have gotten us by now.\u201d\n\u201cWhat _I\u2019m_ wondering is whether that Scorpion seaplane is going to spot\nus or not,\u201d responded Red Pennington. \u201cAnd something else just occurred\nto me\u2014Will the pilot have orders to pick us up before or _after_ they\ntry the bomb the _Gatoon_? We didn\u2019t think to ask Corba that one, did\nwe?\u201d\n\u201cHe might not have known, anyhow,\u201d Don shrugged. \u201cQuit thinking up so\nmany different kinds of hard luck, Red, and tell me how your appetite\nis. I\u2019ve got some chocolate and a couple of sea biscuits stowed away in\na waterproof envelope. There\u2019s no telling whether we\u2019ll eat breakfast\ntoday....\u201d\n\u201cOr be eaten _for_ breakfast!\u201d Red cut in with a yell. \u201cLook! Isn\u2019t that\na shark?\u201d\nOne glance at the black, triangular fin slicing through the water was\nenough. It was a shark of the man-eating variety.\n\u201cGet out your gun, Red!\u201d barked Don Winslow, reaching for his own\nweapon. \u201cHold it ready, but don\u2019t use it until the last possible moment.\nThe smell of blood\u2014even shark\u2019s blood\u2014will drive the other sharks\nmad!\u201d\nBiting his lips, the stocky lieutenant ripped the waterproof silk from\nhis Navy Colt\u2019s revolver. Though he could have led a landing party in\nthe face of machine gun fire, without a qualm of fear, the idea of\nbecoming shark meat while still alive was hard for Red Pennington to get\nused to.\n\u201cHere\u2019s hopin\u2019 there aren\u2019t any other sharks around!\u201d he gulped. \u201cIf I\ndon\u2019t see any in the next two minutes, I\u2019m gonna shoot this one so full\nof holes....\u201d\n\u201cHold it!\u201d Don Winslow rapped out. \u201cI see another fin\u2014no, it\u2019s three\nmore! And more coming, off there to port. Great guns, Red! We\u2019re right\nin the middle of a school of them!\u201d\nCalmly, he took a squint at the chambers of his revolver making sure\nthey were all loaded.\n\u201cYou see now, Red, why I wouldn\u2019t take automatic pistols,\u201d he said.\n\u201cThose things jam up after a little exposure to salt water. These\nrevolvers can take it.\u201d\n\u201cYeah!\u201d responded Red bitterly. \u201cBut what good\u2019s all that goin\u2019 to do us\nif they come too fast for us to shoot? HEY! LOOK OUT! HE\u2019S COMING FOR\nYOU, DON!\u201d\nTwenty feet to starboard, a huge fin was driving straight toward them.\nIn another second the killer shark would roll over for the bite, Don\nknew.\nInstead of firing, however, he brought both arms down flat on the water,\nwith a tremendous splash. At the same time, he yelled like a trapped\nhyena.\nWith a quick swirl, the shark changed his course; but even so, it was a\nclose call. So close that the killer\u2019s mighty tail slapped against Don\u2019s\nlegs with numbing force.\n\u201cWha-what\u2019s the big idea?\u201d gurgled Red, twisting his neck to watch the\nshark\u2019s departure. \u201cYou had time to shoot him, Skipper!\u201d\n\u201cBut not time to stop him!\u201d replied Don. \u201cAnyhow, we don\u2019t want any\nblood in the water as near to us as that. I guess our best bet is to\nserve these sharks a breakfast, but keep them as far away as possible.\nLike this!\u201d\nSnapping up his Colt, Don Winslow fired at a circling fin, about forty\nyards distant. There followed the brief flurry of a wounded shark. Then,\nwithout warning, the ocean round about was lashed to a froth. Great\nbodies whirled and plunged in a circle of bloodstained water. From all\nsides, the sharp, triangular fins of the other sharks came streaking\ntoward the center of disturbance.\n\u201cAnd _that_,\u201d gritted Don Winslow, \u201cis the way they\u2019d be bearing down on\nus, if I\u2019d shot that first would-be man-eater, instead of scaring him!\nHow\u2019d you like to be in the middle of that ring-around-the-rosie, Red?\u201d\n\u201cG-golly, no!\u201d shivered the junior officer. \u201cI\u2019ve heard that sharks were\ncannibals; but I never thought they were such fast feeders. Look, Don!\nThey\u2019ve finished that one already. Eaten him alive!\u201d\n\u201cIn which case we\u2019d better give them some more breakfast bacon,\u201d agreed\nthe young commander. \u201cGo ahead and shoot, sailor! It\u2019s your turn.\u201d\n\u201cUh-uh, Don! It\u2019s your turn all the time,\u201d the redhead responded. \u201cAs a\nmarksman, I\u2019ll never be in your class, and we\u2019ve got to save our\nbullets. That way, we might keep those sea tigers busy eating themselves\nuntil the plane shows up.\u201d\nCarefully Don picked his next target and fired. This time his bullet\nmerely clipped through the shark\u2019s back fin, but the wound was enough\nfor its blood maddened fellows. A second savage feast churned the\nwater\u2019s surface, fifty yards away.\nOne by one Don\u2019s precious cartridges were expended, until only half a\ndozen were left. The dawn light had grown stronger now, and Red,\nglancing toward the distant _Gatoon_, detected movement aboard her.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve spotted us aboard ship!\u201d he cried. \u201cThey\u2019re lowering a boat!\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s revolver cracked again.\n\u201cThey\u2019ll get here just about in time,\u201d he commented. \u201cThat is, provided\nI don\u2019t miss any shots. Every shark in ten square miles must have\nsmelled this party and joined it. A number of them have been looking us\nover, too.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve noticed that, Skipper, don\u2019t worry!\u201d Red Pennington exclaimed.\n\u201cIt\u2019s too bad the Scorpion plane didn\u2019t get here sooner, but.... Say! Am\nI hearing things, or is that a plane\u2019s motor, over to the east?\u201d\nAbove the splashing rose the snarl of an airplane motor warming up. The\nsound rose in pitch, then faded abruptly.\n\u201cThat\u2019s Splendor and his pilot taking off!\u201d remarked Don, his eye on the\ncircling man-eaters. \u201cThey\u2019ll climb to ten thousand to start their watch\nfor the bombers. Right now, I envy them!\u201d\nFor a long, listening moment, there was no sound but the lapping of\nwaves and the occasional splash of a feeding shark. Very gradually the\ndrone of an approaching plane grew louder.\n\u201cIt\u2019s not Splendor\u2019s motor,\u201d Don decided at last. \u201cBesides, it\u2019s flying\ntoo low and straight to be on patrol. It\u2019s the Scorpion seaplane, all\nright, and headed straight for us!\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be here before the boat from the _Gatoon_!\u201d cried Red Pennington.\n\u201cProbably the pilot thinks the boat is after a couple of spies. If he\ndoes, he\u2019ll beat \u2019em to it and pick us up! Where is he, though, Don?\nThat motor\u2019s getting close, but there\u2019s no plane in sight!\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s because he\u2019s flying low, right in the 'eye of the sun,\u2019 as they\nsay,\u201d replied the other, whipping up his gun for another shot.\nThe bullet missed, just as the target dived under. Another slug from\nDon\u2019s nearly exhausted supply furnished more living \u201cbreakfast\u201d for the\nravenous sea tigers. Two sharks swirled dangerously close to the two\nofficers in the turmoil.\n\u201cBetter start splashing and keep it up, Red!\u201d Don Winslow advised.\n\u201cThose finny devils are getting more curious about us every second. If\nwe can keep them off just a few more minutes....\u201d\nCR-RASH! SLAP! SWISH!\nThe school of sharks scattered in all directions, as a seaplane\u2019s\npontoons smashed down into the water close by.\n\u201cAhoy, you two!\u201d cried a voice almost over the swimmers\u2019 heads. \u201cClimb\naboard, and make it snappy! Those sharks will be back in a minute.\u201d\nLooking up, Don and Red saw that a few strokes would bring them within\nreach of the plane\u2019s starboard pontoon. So skillfully had the pilot\nmaneuvered his craft in the choppy waves that he was now drifting past\nalmost within arm\u2019s reach. The man\u2019s head and arms were just visible\nthrough the cabin door which he had slid back.\nDon gripped the pontoon\u2019s wet surface, heaved himself up, and reached an\narm down to Red Pennington. His revolver was back in its shoulder\nholster, but the bulge of it was plain, he knew, under his wet blouse.\n\u201cThose sharks nearly got us at that!\u201d he observed, imitating Corba\u2019s\nwhining tones. \u201cWe\u2019ve been shootin\u2019 at \u2019em since daylight, but they was\ngettin\u2019 uglier every second. An\u2019 then that boat put off from the\n_Gatoon_. Between it and the sharks, we wouldn\u2019t have lasted five\nminutes longer!\u201d\n\u201cI know all that, sailor!\u201d snapped the pilot, glancing back at the\napproaching lifeboat. \u201cStow the gab and climb up here, so I can take\noff. They\u2019ve got rifles in that boat!\u201d\nMuttering under his breath, the fake Corba clambered into the cabin,\nwith his dripping companion at his heels. As they did so, the seaplane\u2019s\nmotor burst into full-throated sound. Gracefully the ship circled,\nstraightened out over the slapping wave tops, and took off into the\nwind.\n\u201cYou, Mink!\u201d called the pilot above the motor\u2019s steady roar. \u201cThey tell\nme you\u2019re good with a machine gun. If you want some practice, move over\nand man that turret piece!\u201d\n\u201cOkay!\u201d replied Red Pennington, taking the role of the gorilla seaman.\n\u201cBut wot\u2019s the idea now? We ain\u2019t gonna attack the _Gatoon_ all by\nourselves, are we?\u201d\nThe seaplane listed steeply in a sharp bank. As it swung back toward the\ndrifting yacht, the pilot laughed harshly.\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to put a few holes in that lifeboat, just for the fun of\nit!\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll give \u2019em a burst from the wing guns, and you finish\nthe job as we leave \u2019em astern.\u201d\n\u201cThis job,\u201d cut in Don Winslow\u2019s voice, \u201cis already finished, pilot!\nEase over and give me those controls, or take a bullet through your\nribs!\u201d\nThe Scorpion pilot stiffened under the hard pressure of Don\u2019s gun\nmuzzle. His lips drew back in an animal snarl.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not Corba!\u201d he grated, as the young Navy Commander pulled back\non the joystick. \u201cAnd this other guy isn\u2019t Mink. What\u2019s the game,\nanyway?\u201d\nRed Pennington\u2019s revolver prodded gently between the man\u2019s shoulder\nblades, as Don banked the seaplane for a fast climb.\n\u201cJust a couple of Navy lads taking over for Uncle Sam,\u201d the grinning\nlieutenant answered. \u201cYour precious pals, Mink and Corba are locked up\nin the _Gatoon\u2019s_ brig. That\u2019s where we\u2019re going to put you, if we\u2019re\nlucky in the coming dogfight.\u201d\nThe Scorpion pilot sat chewing his lips in silence, while Red tied his\nwrists behind him. Mixed anger and admiration showed on the man\u2019s darkly\nhandsome face.\n\u201cIf you mean you\u2019re going to shoot it out with our bombers, you\u2019re a\ncouple of suicidal nuts!\u201d he exclaimed finally. \u201cThey\u2019ll outnumber you\nthree to one, and they all mount one-pounder guns, firing through a\nhollow prop shaft. Who do you guys think you are, to buck odds like\nthat?\u201d\nDon pushed the sturdy ship to its steepest possible climb.\n\u201cSee that other plane, right above us?\u201d he asked. \u201cIt\u2019s ours, and it\u2019s\narmed like this one, with guns fore and aft. The odds won\u2019t be too bad\nfor us, when your three ships show up. And if they don\u2019t get here pretty\nquick they\u2019ll run into some more of the United States Navy. There\u2019s a\nsquadron of fast attack bombers due here in half an hour.\u201d\n\u201cWhich is going to be just half an hour too late!\u201d remarked Red\nPennington in a strained voice. \u201cHere come the Scorpion bombers right on\nour tail! And\u2014\u201d\n\u201cSC-25, acknowledge!\u201d blared a voice from the seaplane\u2019s radio. \u201cAhoy,\nCount Borg! Explain presence of second seaplane. Also, why _Gatoon_ has\nsteam up. Is anything wrong?\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s response was instantaneous. In a flash he realized that\nthe question he\u2019d heard came from the leading bomber. His hand darted to\na switch just below the plane\u2019s radio dials.\n\u201cBorg speaking!\u201d he said, in excellent imitation of his captive\u2019s voice.\n\u201cSecond seaplane is okay. _Gatoon_ appears defenseless except for rifles\non deck. Come ahead!\u201d\nStill climbing, Don Winslow\u2019s captured seaplane was already above the\nScorpion ships. They were, he saw, closing up on a course that would\nbring them directly over the _Gatoon_ at about three thousand feet. Not\nfearing the gunboat\u2019s crippled anti-aircraft, they were going to dive\nbomb\u2014from a height that would insure direct hits!\nA plan of attack grew swiftly in the young commander\u2019s mind. It would\nrequire perfect timing, and if it failed....\nBut this was not the moment to think of failure. Circling back Don\nheaded for the first enemy ship just as it commenced its deadly bombing\ndive.\nThe seaplane\u2019s air speed mounted. Under full throttle it plunged to\nintercept the Scorpion bomber.\nJust as a crash seemed certain, twin streams of fire ripped from Don\u2019s\nforward guns. In the same split second he zoomed, bringing the second\nand third Scorpion planes briefly in front of his sights.\nOn, up and over in a complete loop he flew the snarling little ship. As\nyet he was unable to see the effect of his surprise attack. Had he\ncrippled one or more of the enemy, or had his bullets missed their vital\nspots?\nDon\u2019s answers came all in a bunch, as he leveled out, less than three\nthousand feet above the sea. Directly below him a heavy concussion\nrocked the air. White water geysered upward alongside the _Gatoon_.\nThe first enemy plane had pancaked, and had been blown to bits by its\nown bomb load. But the others?\nA row of bullet holes appeared suddenly in Don\u2019s left wing surface,\ncreeping toward the cabin. As Don zoomed, a dial on his instrument board\nsmashed to bits.\nThe machine gun in the plane\u2019s after turret fired two short bursts,\nfollowed by Red Pennington\u2019s shout.\n\u201cTwo of \u2019em, diving at us from port and starboard!\u201d yelped the\nlieutenant. \u201cThey\u2019ve got us bracketed\u2014\u201d\nThe sudden jerk of his safety belt cut off Red\u2019s speech, as Don threw\nhis ship into a barrel roll. It was a desperate attempt to dodge the\ndeadly cross-fire of the two enemy planes until he could bring his own\nguns to bear.\nBut now another ship had joined the dogfight. Michael Splendor\u2019s open\nseaplane, diving from ten thousand feet, unleashed a stream of bullets\nat the enemy.\nComing out of his roll at barely a hundred feet, Don climbed his ship in\na furious effort to get back in the fight. But already the Scorpion\npilots had had enough. One after another, they fluttered down like\nwounded birds, their wings and fuselages pierced in a hundred places.\nBoth managed to take the water safely, though they began to sink a\nmoment later. Their crews plunged overboard, swimming toward the\n_Gatoon_.\nImmediately a boat was lowered by the yacht. Glancing down Don Winslow\ncut his throttle.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll land on the other side of the _Gatoon_, Red, and taxi in under\nthe stern. Splendor will moor his plane near the bow until they hoist it\naboard, and....\u201d\n\u201cWait, Don!\u201d Red Pennington cried sharply. \u201cSplendor\u2019s waggling his\nwings to signal us. He\u2019s trying to tell us something.\u201d\nDon Winslow, banking in a slow turn squinted out over the sunlit ocean.\nAgainst the horizon, just over the tail of the other seaplane appeared a\nV-shaped group of dots.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the Navy squadron we radioed for!\u201d the young commander chuckled.\n\u201cI\u2019d forgotten all about them, Red! And, say\u2014will those boys be peeved\nat having missed the fight!\u201d\nHe was still grinning at the thought when he set the captured seaplane\ndown on the bumpy water, in a cloud of spray. His expression changed,\nhowever, as the craft developed a sharp list to port, which grew steeper\nevery second.\n\u201cHey, Skipper!\u201d cried Red Pennington, in alarm. \u201cThose bullets must have\nmade a sieve of our left pontoon. The wing\u2019s goin\u2019 to 'catch a crab\u2019!\u201d\nAs he spoke, the left wing tip caught a wave and went under. The whole\nplane shuddered, swung about and lost the remainder of its speed.\nAnother wave slapped loudly against the listing fuselage.\nDon Winslow unsnapped his safety belt and faced around.\n\u201cWater\u2019ll be coming through those holes under our feet in a moment,\u201d he\nsaid tersely. \u201cWe\u2019d better unlash our prisoner and get him out of here,\nquick!\u201d\n\u201cAye-aye, Skipper!\u201d gulped Red, bending over the Scorpion pilot. \u201cI made\nhim fast on the deck here, seeing there were only two safety belts,\nand\u2014great guns, Don! He\u2019s wounded! Bleeding from the head! Help me....\u201d\nWhipping a seaman\u2019s knife from under his blouse, Don quickly cut the\nlashings which held the unconscious man. Turning, he slid open the metal\ndoor of the cabin.\n\u201cYou go through, Red, and wait for me to pass him out,\u201d the young\ncommander said. \u201cThe fellow\u2019s still breathing. Put on your life belt\nfirst, and make it snappy. This crate\u2019s going to end over in a minute!\u201d\nRed obeyed instantly. Without waiting even to fasten the life belt, he\nplunged through the open door into the water. There, clinging to the\nfuselage, he waited for the pilot\u2019s body to be passed out.\nIt came, suddenly heaved through the wave washed opening, _with Don\u2019s\nlife belt lashed in place_!\nStartled, Red Pennington lost his grip, and drifted free. A second\nglance at the white face bobbing above the cork belt made the man\u2019s\nidentity certain. It was the pilot, all right. But why didn\u2019t Don come?\nBefore Red could more than shout his friend\u2019s name, the seaplane listed\nmore sharply than ever, forcing the cabin door under water. Don Winslow\nwas trapped inside. He could still dive down through the doorway and\nswim clear, Red thought, but the air in the cabin now wouldn\u2019t last for\nlong.\n\u201cDon\u2019s hurt, or caught in there!\u201d Red groaned, stroking back to the\nhalf-submerged fuselage. \u201cIf he weren\u2019t he\u2019d be out by now. There\u2019s just\none way to get him, and if that fails, we\u2019ll both go down together!\u201d\nSlipping out of his unfastened life belt, he dived under the plane\u2019s\nwave-battered fuselage, groping for the door. A moment later he found\nit.\nThe cabin was dark, half full of water, and almost upside down. It took\na few seconds for Red to get his bearings. As his eyes got accustomed to\nthe dim light, he made out the pale blur of Don Winslow\u2019s face.\nThe young commander was clinging weakly to a seat, his eyes closed. As\nRed Pennington reached him, he stirred and mumbled vaguely, but did not\nrelease his grip on the seat. A bloody gash on his temple explained his\nhalf-conscious condition.\n\u201cMust have struck his head, just before the plane turned over!\u201d the\nstout lieutenant groaned. \u201cCome on, Don, old man! Leggo that seat, and\nlemme take you out. Leggo, I say! This plane is sinkin\u2019 lower every\nminute!\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s fingers were locked as if in a death grip. By main force\nRed pried them loose and dragged his friend down toward the submerged\ndoor.\n\u201cIf only he doesn\u2019t breathe in a couple lungfuls of water!\u201d the worried\nlieutenant muttered, \u201cbut I\u2019ve got to take that chance.\u201d\nThe shock of cold water closing over his head seemed to rouse Don\u2019s\nfighting instincts. Halfway through the doorway, he clutched at the jamb\nand got a grip. Red, also under water, struggled until he thought his\nlungs would burst.\nJust in time, Don\u2019s muscles relaxed. With his last strength Red\nPennington dragged him free and up to the surface. Then, all at once,\nstrong hands were hauling the two half-drowned officers into a boat.\nThe next thing Don Winslow knew, he was back in his own berth aboard the\n_Gatoon_, with Michael Splendor, Red, and the ship\u2019s doctor crowding the\nlittle stateroom. His head still ached from the wallop he\u2019d got inside\nthe plane\u2019s cabin, but the bandage which the doctor had just applied\nfelt cool and comfortable.\n\u201cSay, Doc,\u201d he grinned, trying to sit up, \u201cwho was it that beaned me\nthis time?\u201d\n                         THE MYSTERIOUS CAPTIVE\nIt was the medical officer who actually spilled the story of Red\u2019s\nheroic act, in dragging Don from the sinking seaplane. The stocky\nlieutenant himself would never have let the real facts be known. He\nhated to be made a hero. As it was, he could only shake his head and\nscowl while the ship\u2019s doctor heaped praises upon him.\nThe doctor didn\u2019t leave anything out. He had been in the boat which put\noff to the seaplane from the _Gatoon_, and he\u2019d seen about all there was\nto see.\nHe described how Red had thrown off his life belt and dived under the\nsinking plane. He told how helpless the boat\u2019s crew felt, when they got\nthere and found neither Red nor Don.\nTwo of the sailors had kicked off their shoes, ready to dive in after\nthe missing officers, when suddenly the lieutenant\u2019s red head broke\nsurface. He was gasping for breath, and the commander was completely out\nwhen they were pulled aboard.\nIn the excitement, said the medical officer, the Scorpion pilot,\nfloating unconscious in his life belt, was almost forgotten. Now,\neverybody aboard ship was saying that Lieutenant Pennington rated a gold\nmedal, and....\n\u201cRed, you old porpoise!\u201d broke in Don Winslow, sitting bolt upright.\n\u201cGive me your flipper, and stop making faces like a seasick 'boot\u2019! I\u2019ll\nget square with you some day by saying _your_ life\u2014don\u2019t worry!\u201d\nRed met his commander\u2019s handclasp with a crushing grip, his\nembarrassment suddenly gone. He knew that Don would never try to thank\nhim outright, or praise him in words for an act of simple loyalty. Their\nfriendship went too deep for that sort of thing.\n\u201cAnd now, Doc,\u201d said Don, \u201cI\u2019m going to jump into a uniform and go out\non deck. I see we\u2019re under way again; and I want to talk with Captain\nRiggs about safeguarding the ship between here and Port-au-Prince.\nProbably there\u2019ll be no second attack, but it\u2019s better to be prepared.\u201d\nThe medical officer protested. He said Don had suffered a slight\nconcussion, along with a scalp wound. He warned that moving about could\nbring on a fever. But he might as well have talked to the ship\u2019s\nmainmast.\nDon was hurrying into his clothes even before the doctor had finished\nspeaking. He was feeling better every minute, he declared, and he wasn\u2019t\ngoing to stay below for a mere bump on the head!\nAs he spoke there came a knock on the door. It was Lieutenant Darnley\nwith a queer piece of news. The prisoner Corba had been asking urgently\nfor Commander Winslow and he refused to say why. Lieutenant Darnley\nthought that if the commander were well enough....\n\u201cI\u2019ll be with you in two shakes, Lieutenant,\u201d Don assured the _Gatoon\u2019s_\nexecutive officer. \u201cThat lad Corba knows a lot more than he has told us\nyet. If he\u2019s ready to spill something interesting, I\u2019ll be glad to\nlisten.\u201d\nThere were only two roomy cells in the _Gatoon\u2019s_ brig. With the rescued\ncrews of the Scorpion airplanes, they were crowded to capacity. Corba\nand Mink shared their cell with the pilot of the seaplane who had\nrecovered consciousness.\nDon, standing before the cell door with Red and the other two officers,\nnoted the pilot\u2019s makeshift head bandage.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to tend that man\u2019s wound right away, Doctor!\u201d the young\ncommander said sharply. \u201cHe\u2019s an enemy, in the service of a criminal\nchief, but he\u2019s a human being all the same.... Master-at-arms! Bring\nthat prisoner along with Corba, now!\u201d\nA moment later, both prisoners were led out, handcuffed. The doctor took\nthe wounded man under guard to the sick bay while Don moved off out of\nearshot with the shifty-eyed Corba.\nRed, glancing down the forecastle, caught the look of amazed interest on\nDon Winslow\u2019s face.\n\u201cThat guy Corba must be giving him some potent dope!\u201d he remarked in an\nundertone. \u201cI\u2019d give a lot to know what he\u2019s saying!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, Pennington,\u201d Lieutenant Darnley agreed. \u201cCommander\nWinslow isn\u2019t excited easily, I\u2019ve noticed, but he\u2019s sure getting that\nway now. Looks as if Corba was shooting the works!\u201d\nDon Winslow\u2019s air of mystery, as he returned with Corba, did nothing to\nallay Red\u2019s curiosity. Even when the Scorpion agent had been returned to\nhis cell, and Lieutenant Darnley had answered a call to the _Gatoon\u2019s_\nbridge, the young commander refused to answer questions.\n\u201cCome along to the sick bay,\u201d he told the red-haired lieutenant. \u201cWe\u2019ll\nsee how sawbones is progressing with his latest patient.\u201d\nWhen the two officers entered that portion of the _Gatoon\u2019s_ sick bay\nwhich served as an operating room, the handcuffed pilot was sitting in a\nchair under a strong electric light. A portion of his scalp had been\nshaved, and the medical officer was sterilizing the raw furrow left by a\nglancing bullet. One of the slugs which had pierced the seaplane\u2019s cabin\nhad nearly snuffed out the Scorpion flyer\u2019s life.\nIt was the first chance either Don or Red had had to examine their\ncaptive\u2019s features. Strangely enough, they were not those of a criminal.\nIf it had not been for the man\u2019s wildly staring eyes and look of pained\nbewilderment, they would have been almost handsome.\nThere was something hauntingly familiar, too, about the man\u2019s face and\nbuild. Studying them, Red decided he had seen the fellow\u2014or his\ndouble\u2014somewhere, and not so long ago!\nIf Don Winslow had the same notion, he didn\u2019t mention it. He waited\nuntil the doctor had finished work. Only when the armed boatswain\u2019s mate\nstepped forward to take the prisoner back, Don stopped him.\n\u201cLeave the patient here, and give me the key to his handcuffs!\u201d he told\nthe surprised guard. \u201cI\u2019ll be responsible for him. You may return to\nyour post outside the brig.\u201d\nWith a puzzled \u201cAye-aye, sir!\u201d the guard departed. Don closed the door\nand turned to the prisoner.\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d he asked bluntly, looking the man square in the eye.\n\u201cAndr\u00e9, Count Borg,\u201d the fellow replied mechanically. \u201cI am a licensed\npilot and a native of Listonia....\u201d\n\u201cSnap out of it, man!\u201d barked Don Winslow, stepping closer. \u201cDo you know\nwhat you\u2019ve got on your wrists? Take a good look!\u201d\nDazedly Borg\u2019s eyes dropped to the steel handcuffs, as if seeing them\nfor the first time. With a harsh cry he leaped to his feet, his lips\ndrawn back in a snarl of fury.\n\u201cWhat does this mean?\u201d he shouted, wrenching at the clanking chain. \u201cYou\ndare to handcuff me like a common criminal? What right have you to\nconfine me?\u201d\n\u201cSit down!\u201d thundered Don Winslow, forcing the man back into his chair.\n\u201cYou are under arrest, Count Borg, in connection with a plot to destroy\nthe United States Navy gunboat _Gatoon_. Following the orders of your\ncriminal chief, the Scorpion, you picked up two men in life belts\u2014\u201d\n\u201cBut, Don!\u201d burst in Red Pennington. \u201cThe guy knows all that. Why not\nget down to brass tacks and make him tell something worth while\u2014for\ninstance, where the Scorpion has his headquarters?\u201d\nA wild laugh from the prisoner interrupted at this point. Pounding his\nmanacled hands against his knees, the man who called himself Count Borg\nrocked back and forth in hysterical mirth.\n\u201cMad! Mad!\u201d he choked. \u201cWe are all mad and locked up in the crazyhouse!\nOne talks about scorpions and life belts; another raves about brass\ntacks! But nobody tells me how I got here, and I\u2014I cannot remember....\u201d\nWith a groan the fellow raised his hands to his temples. Shifting from\nclear, unaccented English, he began muttering to himself in some harsh,\nforeign tongue.\nThe medical officer reached for a hypodermic needle, but Don Winslow\nseized his arm.\n\u201cGet him a glass of cold water, Doc,\u201d the young commander advised. \u201cThis\nman isn\u2019t crazy. He just thinks he\u2019s nuts, because....\u201d\nPulling the doctor over to the sink, Don whispered rapidly in the\nother\u2019s ear. Their conference lasted two or three minutes, long enough\nto get the goat of Lieutenant Red Pennington, who was about fed up on\nbeing a mystified onlooker.\nWhen the doctor returned with the water, his manner was briskly\nprofessional.\n\u201cTell me, Count Borg,\u201d he said, \u201cjust what is the last thing you\nremember doing, before you woke up in the brig half an hour ago? If\nthere has been some mistake in your identity your answer will clear the\nmatter up.\u201d\nThe wild look on the prisoner\u2019s face was now gone. In its place was a\npuzzled frown, and his whole manner had quieted.\n\u201cThere certainly _has_ been a mistake, gentlemen,\u201d he replied. \u201cBut to\nanswer your question\u2014the last thing I recall is walking up Cherry\nStreet toward Brooklyn Bridge, about half past one last night. I\nremember hearing stealthy footsteps behind me, coming closer. After\nthat, everything is a blank!\u201d\nThere was a queer silence following Borg\u2019s words. Finally, the medical\nofficer broke it after meeting Don\u2019s glance.\n\u201cAnd what,\u201d he asked in a strained voice, \u201cwould you say the date was\nyesterday? I mean, the day of the month and the year?\u201d\n\u201cWhy\u2014er,\u201d responded the prisoner slowly, \u201cApril fourteenth, nineteen\nthirty-three. Am I right?\u201d\n\u201cWrong, by seven years, my friend!\u201d Don returned, stooping to unlock the\nhandcuffs. \u201cYour memory has done another blackout, Count Borg! The first\none was when a thug knocked you out on Cherry Street, New York, in\nnineteen thirty-three. The last one happened this morning when you were\nwounded in the head by a machine gun bullet. Since you\u2019ve evidently\nforgotten your whole life between those dates, there\u2019s no reason for\ntreating you now as a dangerous criminal.\u201d\n\u201cListen, Skipper!\u201d pleaded Lieutenant Pennington, seizing Don Winslow\u2019s\narm. \u201cMaybe this guy, Count Borg, isn\u2019t nuts; but _I\u2019m_ gonna be if you\nkeep on doin\u2019 and sayin\u2019 things that don\u2019t make sense! First you get an\nearful of hot dope from Corba, and start actin\u2019 mysterious. Then you get\nchummy with a dangerous enemy agent. He raves and hollers like a maniac;\nso you decide he isn\u2019t crazy but only thinks he is. Now you unlock his\nhandcuffs, and tell him what happened to him back in nineteen\nthirty-three just as if you\u2019d seen it. Have a heart, Skipper! My\nanchor\u2019s draggin\u2019 and I\u2019m goin\u2019 aground fast. If you won\u2019t tell me....\u201d\n\u201cBelay, sailor!\u201d laughed Don. \u201cYou\u2019ll get the whole yarn in due time.\nRight now, suppose you go hunt up Michael Splendor and Captain Riggs.\nSay I\u2019ll meet you all in the captain\u2019s quarters about fifteen minutes\nfrom now to talk over something of the highest importance. Tell Mercedes\nto come along, too.\u201d\nNodding glumly, Red Pennington moved to the door.\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell \u2019em,\u201d he replied. \u201cBut you\u2019d better break it to them a lot\neasier than you\u2019ve done to me. I\u2019m driftin\u2019 onto an uncharted coast, and\nmy compass has gone sour on me!\u201d\nThe moment Red had gone, Don Winslow turned to Count Borg.\n\u201cThere\u2019s no time now to explain everything, Count,\u201d he said tersely.\n\u201cYou must simply take my word for the moment, and believe that we mean\nto help you out of your present strange predicament. The facts are\nbriefly these:\n\u201cIn the past seven years you have been associated with a criminal\norganization which threatens the peace of many countries. This morning,\nyou were piloting a plane which was captured with two others, during an\nattempt to destroy a United States Navy gunboat. You are now aboard that\nsame gunboat under arrest for conspiracy.\u201d\n\u201cBut I remember nothing of that!\u201d protested Count Borg, with a look of\nkeen distress. \u201cIf what you say is true, I must have lost my reason, as\nwell as my memory, during those years which are now a blank. I am not\nnaturally a criminal. You must believe that, Commander\u2014er\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWinslow,\u201d nodded Don. \u201cI am inclined to believe you, Count, and to test\nyour good faith, I shall ask you to help, so far as you can, in tracking\ndown your former criminal associates. Are you willing to co-operate with\nthe Navy in this fight before your case comes to trial?\u201d\n\u201cOf course, Commander Winslow!\u201d exclaimed Borg, rising to grasp Don\u2019s\nhand. \u201cI\u2019ll be grateful for any chance to undo the damage of those\ncriminal years, when I was not myself! But, tell me, what on earth can I\ndo to help, without a memory?\u201d\n\u201cFirst,\u201d answered Don Winslow with an enigmatic smile, \u201cyou can shave\noff your moustache!\u201d\nIn the meantime a curious and impatient group awaited Don Winslow\u2019s\nappearance in Captain Riggs\u2019 cabin. To while away the minutes, Mercedes\nand Red discussed the recent air battle, and the disappointment of the\nNavy fliers in arriving too late for the scrap.\n\u201cThey did accomplish one thing, though,\u201d put in Captain Riggs. \u201cThat big\nbomber they call a flying fortress brought us a couple of new parts for\nour anti-aircraft guns. The gunner and his mates are mounting them now,\nso we\u2019ll not be helpless against another attack between here and\nPort-au-Prince. Not that the Scorpion is likely to strike again so\nsoon!\u201d\n\u201cI quite agree with ye, Captain!\u201d said Michael Splendor. \u201cWe\u2019ll be in\nport by nightfall, and from there 'tis but a short run by motorcar to my\nvilla in the hills. Our friends can rest safely there and enjoy\nthemselves, until orders come from Washington.... By the way, did you\nsay the pilot of that seaplane was called Count Borg?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s what the guy called himself, Mr. Splendor,\u201d replied Red,\ndisgustedly. \u201cDon seemed to believe him, but I\u2019d think twice before\ntakin\u2019 the word of a nut like that. He sure was raving!\u201d\n\u201cWas he, now?\u201d murmured the cripple with a sly wink. \u201cIndeed,\nLieutenant, I should say a man with a bullet dent in his skull might be\nexcused for a bit of ravin\u2019. However, if the man is Count Borg, I can\ntell you something about him. He is one of the aces in Scorpia\u2019s evil\norganization\u2014a man of great resource and daring and very useful to his\nchief. I have never seen him, personally, but while I was a captive of\nCho-San and his fiendish master, I heard Borg\u2019s name mentioned\nfrequently.\u201d\n\u201cIf he\u2019s one of their 'key\u2019 men,\u201d put in Mercedes, \u201chis capture is going\nto put a crimp into the Scorpion\u2019s style, isn\u2019t it, Mr. Splendor?\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ve already put quite a crimp into the Scorpion\u2019s style, bad 'cess to\nhim!\u201d snorted the man in the wheel chair. \u201cIn the last thirty-six hours,\nwe have seized some of his most valuable inventions, blown up his\nsubmarine base, arrested three of his agents aboard this ship, foiled\nhis plans to destroy the _Gatoon_, shot down three of his fast bombing\nplanes, and captured five members of their crews alive. That does not\nmean, however, that we have crippled his power for evil! Men and\nmachines can be replaced, for Scorpia\u2019s wealth is immense. No, me\nfriends! We have struck no vital blow as yet; but I\u2019m thinkin\u2019, perhaps,\nthrough this Count Borg.... Ah, Commander! I was wonderin\u2019 when ye would\njoin us and tell us what ye\u2019ve found out.\u201d\nTurning about, he motioned the newcomer to the empty chair beside that\nof Captain Riggs. Red Pennington got up and closed the skylight.\nMercedes moved to the other end of the cabin locker beside Michael\nSplendor.\n\u201cYou\u2019re pale, Don!\u201d the girl said anxiously, as the tall young officer\ntook his seat. \u201cAre you sure you feel able to be up, with your wounded\nhead? And your eyes are _queer_! As if you were looking at me for the\nfirst time in your life!\u201d\n\u201cI am!\u201d\nThe voice which spoke those two words was Don\u2019s; yet there was a strange\nnote in it, which shocked everyone in the cabin to attention.\n\u201cYou see,\u201d it continued hollowly, \u201cI am not Don Winslow!\u201d\n\u201cOH!\u201d\nMercedes\u2019 shriek cut the horrified silence like a knife. All at once she\nwas beside the young man, gazing fixedly into his eyes, as if to read\nthe brain behind them. While the others watched her, fascinated, she\nstepped slowly back.\n\u201cNo! No!\u201d she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. \u201cYou are not\nDon. Oh! What right have you....\u201d\n\u201cSkipper!\u201d pleaded Red Pennington, laying a hand on his friend\u2019s\nshoulder. \u201cCome on back to your berth! I was afraid that would get you\nfeverish.... Captain Riggs, help me take him\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWAIT, GENTLEMEN!\u201d cried the young officer rising suddenly to his feet.\n\u201cI am sorry to distress you, but I have been simply obeying orders.\nCommander Winslow is standing there in the doorway!\u201d\nInstinctively all eyes followed his pointing finger, only to stare in\nstark unbelief.\nThere _could not_ be two Don Winslows. Yet there in the doorway stood\nthe young officer\u2019s double, complete in every detail. Even the paleness\nand the white bandage about the temple were reproduced in each figure.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a trick!\u201d cried Captain Riggs hoarsely. \u201cThe Scorpion has\nhypnotized us\u2014or tried to! But there\u2019s one way to break any spell!\u201d\nTugging a blunt nosed pistol from his pocket, the _Gatoon\u2019s_ master\nwould have fired at the man in the doorway, had not Michael Splendor\ndriven his wheel chair between them.\n\u201cStop it, Riggs!\u201d bellowed the gray-haired cripple. \u201cIf ye value your\nown life, not to mention Commander Winslow\u2019s, lower that weapon, sir!\nMiss Colby is right! The gentleman at the table is a stranger; but the\nman here beside me is Don Winslow himself, may heaven preserve him!\u201d\nImpulsively, both Mercedes and Red had to feel of the real Don\u2019s hands\nand features to make sure he was not a dream figure, as Riggs still\nseemed to think. After that, Red stepped across to the man by the table.\n\u201cI know you now, mister!\u201d he grinned sheepishly. \u201cYou\u2019re the one the\ndoctor was working on in the sick bay. The man who said he was a count!\nYou had a moustache on then.\u201d\n\u201cCount Borg is my real title, Lieutenant,\u201d smiled the other. \u201cCommander\nWinslow wished me to impersonate him, in order to test out our strange\nlikeness. It seems that even our voices are much the same in pitch and\ntimbre. You see, if I can impersonate _him_ so successfully as to fool\nhis closest friends, he should be able just as easily to trick those who\nknow _me_!\u201d\n\u201cIt was Corba who put me wise to that resemblance,\u201d Don told the\nastonished group after Borg had left. \u201cThat radioman is a born traitor,\nand he\u2019s figuring every possible way to cross up his old pals in hope of\ngetting in right with us. He suggested that I might use my likeness to\nCount Borg as a means of spying on Scorpia\u2019s activities. It certainly\nlooks like a hot idea; but I\u2019d want your opinion of it, Mr. Splendor,\nbefore going farther with any plans.\u201d\n\u201cIt will take a bit of study, I can see that,\u201d replied the veteran\nIntelligence man. \u201cBut first of all, Commander, why ye think Count Borg\nis not planning a clever trap for ye? He\u2019s too bright a man to be a\ncommon double-crosser like Corba. Mind ye, he has been one of the\nScorpion\u2019s most trusted agents. Considerin\u2019 that, it strikes me he fell\nin with your impersonation scheme a bit too quickly. It\u2019s not like him\nto play traitor to his chief.\u201d\n\u201cWhich is the very reason I believe he will be loyal to our cause now!\u201d\nretorted Don, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. \u201cYou see, Mr. Splendor,\nour man has been a victim of _amnesia_. The bullet wound he received\nthis morning restored his memory of everything that happened until the\nnight of April fourteenth, nineteen thirty-three. At that time his skull\nwas fractured by a thug\u2019s blackjack. Of the seven years between then and\nnow he has not the slightest recollection.\u201d\n\u201cAmazin\u2019, if true!\u201d muttered the cripple, meeting Don\u2019s level look. \u201cAre\nye sure, Commander, that this _is_ amnesia, and not another clever piece\nof actin\u2019? Count Borg is no ordinary man, remember. He\u2019d be quite\ncapable of plannin\u2019 a trick like that from the moment he found himself\naboard ship!\u201d\n\u201cHe couldn\u2019t fake amnesia well enough to fool an expert,\u201d Don pointed\nout. \u201cOur medical officer happens to have made a special study of brain\ndisorders, and he says this is a genuine case. Doc thinks that Borg\u2019s\nfirst injury changed his whole character. Recalling little except his\nname, the man became an obedient tool of Scorpia. He remembered no other\nfriends, no other life; and his naturally keen brain was completely at\nthe service of his criminal master. Now, of course, he is horrified at\nthe idea of having been one of that crowd. He wants to make up in some\nway for the damage he has done as a Scorpion agent.\u201d\n\u201cBut what luck it would be, Don,\u201d put in Mercedes, \u201cif Count Borg\n_should_ start to remember his life as one of Scorpia\u2019s aces! He might\ngive us enough information to clean up the entire organization in one\nswoop. Of course that sort of luck is too good to be real!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid it is, my dear,\u201d said Splendor. \u201cHowever, I think we have a\nchance of getting most, if not all, of the evidence we need, thanks to\nthis resemblance between Don Winslow and his captive. Do ye recall the\ncode message we discovered at the submarine base\u2014the one which Corba\nlater stole from your stateroom, Commander? Well, I had the\nmaster-at-arms search all five of our new prisoners before ye were on\ndeck this mornin\u2019. And every last one of them had the same code message\ntucked away in his clothing! Ye see what that means?\u201d\n\u201cHmmm! It looks as if the Scorpion were calling all his forces together\nat San Francisco for some big job, if you ask me,\u201d Don answered soberly.\n\u201cThat would be the very thing to get in on\u2014a general conference of\nScorpia\u2019s operatives. If I got out of it alive, we\u2019d have enough\nevidence to hamstring the organization\u2019s power for years to come!\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s all very well, gentlemen,\u201d growled Captain Riggs, picking up his\nhat, \u201cbut I believe you\u2019re going to find some pretty big difficulties in\nthe way. Unless Borg recovers his memory and gives you the Scorpia\npasswords, not to mention a lot of other information, I fear your\ndisguise won\u2019t get you very far, Commander. You\u2019ll excuse me if I leave\nyou now to take my watch on deck!\u201d\nWith a brusque nod the _Gatoon\u2019s_ master closed the cabin door behind\nhim. Mercedes looked across at Don, her eyes dark with anxiety.\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid Captain Riggs is right about that,\u201d she said. \u201cOh, Don, I\nhope you\u2019ll not attempt anything so risky as to pass yourself off for\nthe count! There are a thousand details on which your ignorance would\ntrip you!\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s a way out of that difficulty, Skipper,\u201d spoke up Red\nPennington. \u201cSuppose we give out a story that Borg has escaped. Actually\nof course, he\u2019ll stay in plain sight dressed in your uniform. You\u2019ll be\nthe one who disappears and shows up in San Francisco as Count Borg.\nYou\u2019ll pretend that your memory is partly blacked out by your head wound\nand that will account for any slips you make, like forgetting people and\npasswords that Borg used to know.\u201d\n\u201cGreat stuff, sailor!\u201d cried Don Winslow, leaping up to pound Red\nenthusiastically on the back. \u201cThat story will have enough truth in it\nto convince the most suspicious Scorpion operatives. What do you think\nof it, Mr. Splendor?\u201d\nThe man in the wheel chair wagged his gray head.\n\u201c'Tis a clever plan\u2014very clever indeed,\u201d he admitted. \u201cAs a matter of\nfact, I can think of only one person in Scorpia\u2019s ranks whom it would\nnot fool. When I was stationed in San Francisco it was reported that a\ncertain beautiful young girl was in love with Count Borg....\u201d\n\u201cA woman!\u201d cried Mercedes Colby. \u201cThat tears it, Don! Remember, I was\nthe only one of us who knew that Count Borg was not you? A woman\u2019s\ninstinct will tell her the truth, in spite of the most perfect disguise.\nIf you meet this girl, as you surely will, she\u2019ll know you\u2019re not her\nlover. By the way, what is her name, Mr. Splendor?\u201d\n\u201cThey call her the Lotus,\u201d chuckled the gray-haired cripple. \u201cSome say\nthat she is part Chinese, others that she is of pure white blood,\nbrought up by Chinese who kidnapped her in infancy. All agree that she\nis very lovely and _very_ clever having been trained by Cho-San\nhimself.\u201d\n\u201cThen she is all the more dangerous!\u201d Mercedes protested. \u201cPlease, Don!\nGive up this wild notion of putting yourself into Scorpia\u2019s power, for\nthat is just what you would be doing! You might be able to disguise your\nidentity from men, but never from a woman in love!\u201d\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d suggested Red Pennington, \u201cthis gal Lotus isn\u2019t in love with\nCount Borg any more. A lot of things have happened since you were\nstationed in 'Frisco, Mr. Splendor. And a dame like that _could_ change\nher mind, you know.\u201d\n\u201cSure, 'tis entirely possible, Lieutenant,\u201d the older man agreed. \u201cI\u2019ll\nthink over the whole proposition between now and the time we drop anchor\nin Port-au-Prince. On the way to my villa in the mountains we can talk\nagain, me friends. Will that suit you?\u201d\n\u201cIt ought to, Mr. Splendor!\u201d smiled Mercedes rising from her chair. \u201cIn\nthe meantime, Don and Red are going to rest undisturbed, if I have to\nstand guard at the door. After swimming all night and fighting all\nmorning, they\u2019ve got to get some sleep!\u201d\nWith sleepy grins, the two young officers steered obediently for their\nstateroom. Tumbling into their berths, clothes and all, they knew\nnothing more until the cabin steward called them for mess that evening.\nThe ship had already dropped anchor in the harbor of Port-au-Prince, and\nDon and his friends were eager to go ashore at the first possible\nmoment. After a hastily eaten meal, they shook hands with the _Gatoon\u2019s_\nofficers, and stepped into the gunboat\u2019s launch.\nAt the dock Splendor\u2019s pilot, Panama, met them with a powerful car. For\nten minutes they dodged and twisted through the city\u2019s quaint old\nstreets, then struck into a fine, smooth road leading toward the hills.\n\u201cAh, me friends,\u201d sighed Michael Splendor, as the big twelve cylinder\ncar picked up speed, \u201c'tis great to be gettin\u2019 home again after the last\nfew days of excitement! I\u2019m well along in years now, and risks are not\nso thrilling as they used to be. I\u2019d rather be sittin\u2019 by me own\nfireplace in peace and comfort.\u201d\nPanama\u2019s amused chuckle drifted back from the front seat.\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t act that way, sir, when you were slamming bullets into those\ntwo Scorpion bombers!\u201d he observed. \u201cAnd when some of their slugs ripped\ninto us, it just made you all the happier\u2014to judge by what I heard!\u201d\n\u201cWhisht, lad!\u201d growled the veteran, scowling ferociously. \u201c'Twas naught\nbut the Irish blood of me enjoyin\u2019 the scrap. A true son of Erin always\nhowls when he fights; but me brain was tellin\u2019 me all the while that war\nis a horrible business, even when you\u2019re fightin\u2019 to stop it. And that\nreminds me, Commander! I\u2019ve made certain arrangements to further your\nscheme for impersonatin\u2019 Count Borg!\u201d\n                         ORDERS FROM WASHINGTON\n\u201cYou mean,\u201d asked Mercedes, as the little party sat sipping their after\ndinner coffee on Splendor\u2019s wide veranda, \u201cthat you actually approve of\nDon\u2019s risky plan? To me it seems like taking a hundred-to-one chance.\nThere are so many traps he might walk into whichever way he turns!\u201d\n\u201cAye, there\u2019s no denyin\u2019 the dangers,\u201d Michael Splendor agreed solemnly.\n\u201cBut there are ways of lessening them, I think. Take that treacherous\nradioman, for instance, he is only too anxious to talk, and he knows a\ngreat deal that will be useful to Don Winslow. The other captives have\nnot been persuaded to loosen up.\u201d\n\u201cThen you\u2019ve interviewed them all?\u201d queried Red Pennington, in surprise.\n\u201cGee, you must have been busy while Don and I were pounding our ears\nthis afternoon! But how\u2019re we gonna get hold of Corba again? I heard\nCaptain Riggs sayin\u2019 that he was shovin\u2019 off again in the morning.\u201d\n\u201cAnd so he is,\u201d said Splendor. \u201cBut tonight, some time durin\u2019 the wee,\nsmall hours, another closed car will be comin\u2019 out here from\nPort-au-Prince. Inside of it will be Corba and our new friend, Count\nBorg, under guard, of course. We\u2019ll have a talk with them tomorrow,\nprovidin\u2019 Headquarters okays Commander Winslow\u2019s scheme. We should be\nhearin\u2019 any minute from the phone call I put through to Washington.\u201d\nAs he spoke, there came the faint ringing of a telephone bell, somewhere\nin the villa\u2019s spacious interior. A moment later a soft-footed native\nservant approached Michael Splendor\u2019s chair.\n\u201c_C\u2019est pour, M\u2019sieu\u2019_ Don Winslow!\u201d the man murmured in soft Haitian\nspeech.\n\u201cThere\u2019s your call. Commander!\u201d the young officer\u2019s host interpreted. \u201cI\nput it through to Captain Holding in your name. Tell him the whole\nscheme as ye worked it out, and add that I\u2019m helpin\u2019 ye with the\ndetails. Here\u2019s hopin\u2019 ye persuade him!\u201d\nWith a sober nod Don followed the servant through the wide doorway into\nthe house. When he had gone, Mercedes turned to Splendor with a troubled\nfrown.\n\u201cHow do you know,\u201d she said, \u201cthat this telephone conversation won\u2019t be\noverheard? There is such a thing as wire tapping, you know. And couldn\u2019t\na radiophone message be intercepted by anyone who turned in to the right\nwave length? If the Scorpion\u2019s agents should get wind of Don\u2019s plan, it\nwould be worse than useless to go ahead!\u201d\n\u201cYour reasoning is excellent, my dear,\u201d the man in the wheel chair\nanswered. \u201cI believe, however, that the chance of our friend\u2019s words\nbeing overheard is less than if he and Captain Holding were sitting in\nthe same room. Commander Winslow is sitting this minute in a\nsoundproofed booth. The wire is connected with me own private radio\nroom, where it is hooked up with a powerful radio beam transmitter. If\nan airplane with its radio tuned just right should blunder into that\nbeam between here and Washington, the pilot might do a bit of\neavesdroppin\u2019. But the chance is one in a billion, I fancy!\u201d\nReassured, Mercedes sank back in her chair.\n\u201cI guess it\u2019s foolish for me to worry about such things,\u201d she admitted.\n\u201cYou seem to have thought of every detail in advance, Mr. Splendor. I\ndon\u2019t see any armed guards patrolling about, but I suppose we\u2019re safer\nhere in your wild Haitian hills than we were on the high seas, aboard\nthe _Gatoon_!\u201d\nEnthusiastically Red Pennington took up the same theme. He had seen\nenough of Michael Splendor\u2019s shrewd planning to believe the veteran\ncapable of handling any situation, on land or sea or in the air.\nThat private beam radio was the last word in preparedness, the chubby\nlieutenant stated. As for guards about the premises, what good would\nthey be, he asked, if they simply strutted back and forth in plain sight\nlike any cop on a beat?\nStarting from there, he became really talkative. He praised his host\u2019s\nmagnificent grounds and living quarters, and especially his kitchen\nstaff. In the meal they had just eaten all Red\u2019s dreams of earthly\nhappiness had come true, he declared. With a cook like that, he didn\u2019t\nsee how Michael Splendor could bear to miss a single meal at home!\n\u201cSure, I\u2019ve other duties than stuffin\u2019 me face, Lieutenant!\u201d retorted\nthe older man with a laugh. \u201cI admit that I do meself well, though, back\nhere in the hills, and 'tis a grand place to rest up after a long trip.\nI hope ye and the Commander and Admiral Colby\u2019s daughter will enjoy your\nstay with me; be it long or short!\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid,\u201d spoke Don Winslow from the doorway, \u201cthat it\u2019s going to be\nshort, so far as I am concerned, Mr. Splendor! I\u2019ve just finished\ntalking with Captain Holding at the Navy Intelligence Office. He\u2019s\nordered me to leave at once, by plane, for San Francisco!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2014you mean, Don, he\u2019s approved your taking the place of Count Borg?\u201d\ngasped Mercedes, starting up from her chair.\n\u201cSure, Skipper, I knew he\u2019d do that!\u201d Red Pennington chimed in. \u201cBut\nwhat did he say about me? If you\u2019re bound for 'Frisco, I\u2019m going right\nalong with you, y\u2019know. You can\u2019t scuttle a shipmate in mid-voyage!\u201d\nThere followed a lively argument, with Red and Mercedes trying to beat\ndown the protests of Don and the crippled Intelligence chief. The latter\npointed out, quite logically, that two disguises would be more than\ntwice as dangerous as one. Besides there was no real need, they said,\nfor Red to risk his life as a bodyguard for the pretended Count Borg. If\nDon _should_ be discovered in that disguise, a whole platoon of fighting\nmen couldn\u2019t save his life.\nIn the end, however, Red won his point. It was agreed that he should\naccompany the pseudo Count as his valet, at least as far as the Empire\nHotel in San Francisco. After they registered there, of course, anything\nmight happen.\nAt present, the main task for all four friends lay in getting the two\nyoung officers started on their long flight to the West coast. Captain\nHolding had urged haste, yet there were many things to be done.\nAmong these was the job of pumping the Scorpion radioman, Corba, for\nevery scrap of information about the real Count Borg. Michael Splendor\nvolunteered to do the pumping, so that Don and Red might rest up for the\nhard trip ahead.\nMeanwhile, it was decided Panama would be overhauling Splendor\u2019s big,\nnew cabin plane for a nonstop flight. The following night it would be\nready, in its hangar behind the villa, for the supposed Count Borg to\n\u201csteal.\u201d When that was done and the \u201cescaping prisoner\u201d was well on his\nway, the alarm would be spread. No mention, of course, would be made of\nLieutenant Red Pennington\u2019s disappearance at the very same time!\nWith Don and Red taking turns at the cabin plane\u2019s controls, they should\narrive at San Francisco fresh enough for whatever adventures lay in\nstore for them. The plane would be abandoned outside the city. An hour\nor two later, \u201cCount Borg\u201d would register at the Empire Hotel, with his\nvalet, \u201cPenny,\u201d and the dangerous game would begin.\nTwo evenings later a heavy fog blanketed the San Francisco waterfront,\nhiding its smelly wharves and damp alleys under a dreary pall. A distant\nfoghorn sounded dismally above the lap-lap of harbor water against\nwooden piles. Vaguely the blended roar of a mighty city drifted seaward\nthrough the murk and mist. It was a night for secrecy; for furtive\nbusiness which could not bear the light of day.\nIn the winding alleys of old Chinatown brooded a heavy silence, spiced\nwith queer oriental odors. It flowed between the buildings like a deep,\nmysterious river. It reached thick tentacles up a steeply sloping street\nto close around a huge stone house.\nA high stone wall, clammy with the fog, surrounded the lightless\nedifice. Within there seemed to be neither sound nor life nor movement.\nYet a sharp-eyed passer-by might have noticed a tiny thread of light\npeeping through the drawn curtain of a second floor window.\nAt least the light was there, although blurred and scarcely visible in\nthe close-pressing fog.\nOne thing no curious passerby could have guessed\u2014the luxurious richness\nof the room behind that drawn curtain. Soft shaded lights spread their\nglow over satin wall hangings, deep piled oriental rugs, and beautiful\ncostly furniture. The air was heavy with incense, sweet but oppressive.\nAt a table a young woman sat gazing at her reflection in a large mirror.\nClad in a loose, flowing gown of silk, her figure was almost girlish.\nHer face beneath its oriental coiffure had a fresh, flowerlike beauty\nwhich deepened as she turned and spoke.\n\u201cSuzette!\u201d she murmured plaintively. \u201cDo you think I am as lovely\ntonight as I was three months ago?\u201d\nA trimly uniformed maid appeared from an alcove beyond the dressing\ntable. Her bright eyes took in the dark-haired girl in one swift,\napproving glance.\n\u201cBut yes, Mademoiselle! You are even more beautiful tonight!\u201d she\nanswered. \u201cIt is that little touch of _tristesse_ which make you so, I\nthink. Is it because you are impatient to see Count Borg again after\nthree long months? Ah, Mademoiselle Lotus! You cannot fool the little\nFrench maid, Suzette!\u201d\nWith a laugh, the girl called Lotus shrugged her pretty shoulders.\n\u201cAfter all, Suzette,\u201d she retorted, \u201cthe Count is much more charming\nthan the desperadoes, white and yellow, which surround us here....\u201d\n\u201cSh-h-h! Please, Mademoiselle!\u201d the maid whispered sharply. \u201cPlease do\nnot talk that way in this house. It is not safe! To be sure, we _think_\nthe others have all gone out for the night, but all the same, there are\nthings even Mademoiselle must not say!\u201d\n\u201cOh, bother!\u201d cried the younger woman, springing up with small fists\nclenched in anger. \u201cI know what you mean, Suzette! And I am tired of\nmeasuring all my words to suit the great Cho-San. I am sick of looking\nout for eavesdroppers and spies\u2014yes, _spies_\u2014who run to him with\nreports of all I say or do! Let me tell you this, my little maid, if I\never find _you_ have been bearing tales about me, it will not be well\nfor you!\u201d\nStamping her slippered foot, Lotus turned to the window and savagely\nflung up the lower sash. Through the parted curtains she leaned out,\ndrawing in deep breaths of the foggy night air.\n\u201cBut, Mademoiselle!\u201d cried the little French maid in a tone of keen\ndistress. \u201cSuzette have nevair bear the tales to anyone. You do her a\nwrong to think she would\u2014w\u2019at you call\u2014double cross Mademoiselle. She\nonly warn you that Cho-San, he is jealous w\u2019en you speak of Count Borg!\u201d\n\u201cJealous, is he?\u201d spat the girl, whipping around to face her maid. \u201cBut\nI don\u2019t love Cho-San! I\u2014I think I am too young to be in love with\nanybody. I like Count Borg, because he is young and handsome, and\u2014well,\nhe\u2019s _different_. Cho-San is a great man. He is older and stronger and\nhe has the ear of the Master. But sometimes Cho-San forgets that he and\nLotus are not of the same race!\u201d\nGently, yet with determination, Suzette took her mistress\u2019 hand and led\nher back to the chair.\n\u201cMademoiselle excites herself too much!\u201d she murmured, picking up a\nbrush and running it through the girl\u2019s shiny, dark hair. \u201cSuzette, she\nknow w\u2019at is the reason. You are wonder if Count Andr\u00e9 Borg have make\ngood his escape from Haiti. Evair since Monsieur Michael Splendor\nbroadcast the stealing of his big cabin plane, the friends of Count Borg\nhave wonder if he will dare to fly straight here.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019ll try, anyway, Suzette,\u201d cried the girl. \u201cHe knows that Cho-San has\ncalled a general meeting for day after tomorrow night. Andr\u00e9 will be\nthere unless something terrible happens to him between here and Haiti.\nOh, it seems like years since I saw him last!\u201d\n\u201cAnd now it may be only hours till you see him again,\u201d murmured the\nlittle maid. \u201cOh, I know how you feel, Mademoiselle! But now we must\nhurry, so you will not be late at the appointment downtown which Cho-San\nhas made for you tonight. I heard him tell you it was important.\u201d\nWhile Lotus was worrying over the whereabouts of Count Borg, the Count\u2019s\ndouble was speeding through the night sky less than a hundred miles east\nof San Francisco.\nAlready Don Winslow was training himself mentally for the part he was to\nplay. In talking with Red Pennington who occupied the co-pilot\u2019s place\nin the big cabin plane, he tried to imitate the very tone and accent of\nCount Borg\u2019s speech.\nRed, on the other hand, was training himself for the part of Penny, the\nCount\u2019s valet-to-be. Only for brief periods during the trip had he\ndropped the pose of a manservant, for he knew that his part must be\nplayed to perfection from the moment they met the first Scorpion agent.\n\u201cDo you know the place we are supposed to land, sir?\u201d he queried in his\nmost respectful tone. \u201cEven if one is acquainted with the city\u2019s\noutskirts, it won\u2019t be easy to find an unlighted field at night.\u201d\n\u201cThat will all be taken care of, Penny,\u201d replied the pseudo Count Borg.\n\u201cAccording to the last code message we got from Haiti at least one man\nwill be there to meet us with a fast car. Undoubtedly he will light a\ncouple of ground flares as soon as he hears our motor overhead. Anyhow,\njudging by the highway lights ahead, we\u2019re almost over the spot which\nSplendor described.\u201d\n\u201cBut supposing, sir,\u201d objected \u201cPenny,\u201d \u201cthat one of the Scorpion\nstations picked up Mr. Splendor\u2019s broadcast and was able to decode it!\nIn that case perhaps the man who is waiting for us will be a Scorpion\nagent backed by an armed gang. If they _should_ suspect anything wrong\nthey wouldn\u2019t hesitate to rub us out and ask questions later\u2014not that\ngang!\u201d\nThe idea was startling enough as \u201cPenny\u201d expressed it. But \u201cCount Borg\u201d\nshowed no trace of nervousness.\n\u201cOf course anything is possible with that gang, as you call them,\u201d he\nagreed; \u201cbut Navy secret codes aren\u2019t easily broken down, even by\nexperts. Besides I\u2019ve got a feeling our number isn\u2019t up yet\u2014look, Red!\nThere are the ground flares being lighted now! Over to starboard, and\nabout two miles north. We\u2019ll come down just between them, and upwind!\u201d\nThe rough field lighted by the flares turned out to be a sandy patch\nbetween two highways and far from any lighted house. This much Don\nWinslow guessed as he set his wheels down with a gentle bump. When he\nhad braked to a stop beyond the flares, both of them were suddenly\nblacked out, leaving earth and sky pitch dark.\n\u201cThat\u2019s so no chance-passing motor cop will see lights and start to\ninvestigate, I guess,\u201d remarked Red Pennington, sliding back the plane\u2019s\nsliding door. \u201cWe wouldn\u2019t want our arrival noted on the San Francisco\nPolice Blotter, would we, Don?\u201d\n\u201cHardly!\u201d smiled the young commander, switching off the cabin light.\n\u201cOut with you, now, shipmate! There\u2019s a car headed this way across the\nfield. Keep your hand on your automatic until we know who it is. If it\nshould be a Scorpion reception party, we won\u2019t go down without a\nbattle!\u201d\nThe lightless car skidded to a dusty standstill ten feet from the plane.\nThen only its head lamps flashed on, and into their blinding radiance\nstepped a well-built man in civilian clothes. Keeping both hands in\nsight, he faced the darkened plane and spoke.\n\u201cCommander Winslow, you and the Lieutenant may trust me without risk,\u201d\nhe said quietly. \u201cI am Hammond, from the San Francisco Office, and here\nare my identification papers. This car is at your service along with\nanything else you wish to ask for.\u201d\nAs Red was about to step out of the shadows, Don elbowed him back. It\nwas still possible that a Scorpion machine gun was trained over the\ncar\u2019s rear door, ready to fire at the sound of his voice.\nHe must make sure, without showing himself. Shielding his mouth with a\ncupped hand, he threw his voice along the plane\u2019s fuselage.\n\u201cNever mind the papers, Hammond,\u201d he responded. \u201cA few words will do to\nshow you have been in communication with our friends.\u201d\nThe car\u2019s spotlight showed Hammond\u2019s smile.\n\u201cWise precaution, sir!\u201d he approved. \u201cHow\u2019s this for a set of\npasswords:\u2014Captain Holding\u2014beam radiophone\u2014Count\nBorg\u2014Haiti\u2014'Penny\u2019\u2014Michael Splendor? Or do you want more?\u201d\nPocketing his pistol, Don Winslow moved out into the glow of the car\u2019s\nlights.\n\u201cThanks, Hammond!\u201d he said simply, gripping the other\u2019s hand. \u201cYour\ncoming for us is going to simplify a lot of things. Come on, Red\u2014I\nmean, Penny! Michael Splendor\u2019s last message told us to leave the plane\nright here.\u201d\nAs the car cut back into the highway leading to the city, Hammond leaned\nforward to speak to the driver.\n\u201cDrive slowly when you get inside the city\u2019s limits, Martin,\u201d he said.\n\u201cSwing around past Cho-San\u2019s place before you pull up at the office.\u201d\nLeaning back against the cushions, he addressed the two young\nIntelligence officers.\n\u201cWe got the whole story by beam radiophone,\u201d he explained. \u201cThat\u2019s how\nwe were able not only to meet you gentlemen, but also to make certain\nother preparations as well; such as an electric needle for giving you a\nscar, like the little one Count Borg has just below his cheek bone. You\ncan only see that mark by a bright light, but it\u2019s one of the things his\nScorpia friends are going to look for.\u201d\n\u201cI know about that, Hammond,\u201d Don Winslow answered. \u201cBorg himself called\nmy attention to it yesterday. There\u2019s the matter of his clothes, too.\nBorg has always been a slick dresser, and he is supposed to have escaped\nwith a wad of Splendor\u2019s cash. That means his Scorpia pals will expect\nhim to show up dressed like a fashion plate.\u201d\n\u201cThey will,\u201d nodded Hammond. \u201cSplendor broadcast the story of 'Count\nBorg\u2019s\u2019 escape with his plane and his dough. There\u2019s no doubt the\nScorpion and his agents know about that. They\u2019ll expect you to show up\nat the meeting two nights from now, if not sooner. They\u2019ll find out\nabout the plane having landed. Splendor\u2019s flying here tomorrow with Miss\nColby on Captain Holding\u2019s orders. He\u2019ll pretend he\u2019s just trailing his\nstolen plane....\u201d\n\u201cZ-ZZZ-ZZZZ! PR-R-R-RRH!\u201d\nA sudden loud snore from Red Pennington drowned out Hammond\u2019s voice. The\nchunky lieutenant had done his full share of the piloting since leaving\nHaiti, and was letting weary Nature have her way now.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll let him sleep,\u201d chuckled Don, \u201cuntil we get to your office,\nHammond. We can discuss everything then.\u201d\nRed\u2019s slumber, however, was due to be rudely interrupted. After skirting\nthe edges of San Francisco\u2019s old Chinatown, the car turned up a steep\nhill at the top of which stood the great stone-walled house of Cho-San.\n\u201cI wanted to show you this place just in passing, Commander,\u201d Hammond\nwas saying. \u201cCho-San lives here like an Oriental prince, yet his only\nvisible income is from his curio shop down the hill. We know he\u2019s a big\nshot in the criminal organization of Scorpia, but we can\u2019t pin it on\nhim. That job will be up to you, if you live to finish it! Cho-San\u2019s\nthugs will stop at nothing\u2014\u201d\nBANG!\nAt the loud report, the car lurched sidewise, swayed another twenty\nyards, and stopped. Red Pennington awoke with a yell. Guns out, the\nthree men in the back seat peered through the bulletproof windows.\nThey were just opposite the dark stone edifice, which was the only\nbuilding within a hundred yards. Could a single shot from behind those\nmisty walls have ripped through one of the rear tires?\nIt was Don Winslow who answered the question in all their minds.\n\u201cJust an accidental blowout, I think,\u201d he stated, putting away his\nautomatic. \u201cThere\u2019s not enough light to fire a shot with any accuracy.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, sir!\u201d muttered Hammond, following Don through the door.\n\u201cI guess I\u2019m jittery just because it happened right across from\nCho-San\u2019s stone fort. Probably just an accident\u2014\u201d\n\u201cIs that the fort you mean?\u201d gulped Red, with one foot still on the\nrunning board. \u201cGee! If they\u2019ve got machine guns trained on us, isn\u2019t it\nkinda foolish to stick around?\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean a fort in that sense, Lieutenant!\u201d said Hammond.\n\u201cCho-San\u2019s rock pile here _looks_ like a fort, especially in the dark.\nIf there\u2019s any machine guns inside, they won\u2019t be aimed at us now....\nBut, say! What\u2019s that car pulling in ahead of us?\u201d\nA long, low hung, black car had boiled up the hill behind them, only to\nstop ten paces beyond with a squeal of gripping tires. The two young\nofficers, with Hammond and Martin, stiffened instinctively, hands\nwhipping to their pistols. For all they knew this might be a gang car,\nfilled with Scorpion killers.\nA door opened, and a man in uniform cap jumped out. Swiftly he moved to\nthe rear door, opened it, and stood back waiting. From the dark interior\nappeared a young woman in a white evening wrap, her dark hair lighted by\nthe flash of jewels. With a murmured word, she turned away from the car,\nwalking quickly toward the house of Cho-San.\nThe four men watching her relaxed.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the girl they call the Lotus!\u201d whispered Hammond in Don\nWinslow\u2019s ear. \u201cShe\u2019s the one you\u2019ll have to look out for especially,\nCommander. Look! What\u2019s she up to, now?\u201d\nWith a low cry of pain, the girl had stumbled. Now she stood swaying, as\nif about to fall.\n\u201cShe\u2019s turned her ankle! I\u2019m going to help her, Hammond,\u201d muttered Don.\n\u201cYou all stay here.\u201d\nThe other car, Don noted, was just driving away. Reaching the girl\u2019s\nside, he caught her arm firmly, taking the weight off her injured foot.\n\u201cI saw you trip,\u201d he said, imitating Count Borg\u2019s smoother tone. \u201cWhat\nluck that I was just across the street!\u201d\n\u201cAndr\u00e9! Andr\u00e9!\u201d gasped Lotus, leaning heavily against him. \u201cIs it really\nyou? But yes! Your voice\u2014your touch on my arm! I know them, though your\nface is queer in this light!\u201d\n\u201cOf course, little Lotus bud!\u201d laughed Don, slipping an arm about her\nshoulders. \u201cYou miss the moustache I had to shave off. But your ankle\nmust be paining you a lot. Let me help you as far as the house!\u201d\n\u201cTo the house, Andr\u00e9!\u201d cried the girl. \u201cYou mean you\u2019re not coming\ninside? Didn\u2019t you come here to see me?\u201d\n\u201cPlease\u2014not so loud!\u201d warned the pseudo Count. \u201cI can\u2019t stop longer\nwithout making the men with me suspicious. It was just the accident of a\nblowout that made them stop here at all. I\u2019ll explain everything when I\nsee you next\u2014say tomorrow night, at the Empire?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s a long time to wait, Andr\u00e9, when I haven\u2019t seen you for so\nlong!\u201d sighed Lotus, with a hint of disappointment. \u201cI guess you know\nbest, though. Suppose you meet me in the dining room, at that same\nlittle table in the corner\u2014remember?\u201d\n\u201cAt seven o\u2019clock,\u201d agreed Don, as the girl turned with one gloved hand\non the gate latch. \u201cAnd I\u2019m awfully glad your ankle isn\u2019t really\ninjured! Good night!\u201d\nReturning across the street, he found that Hammond\u2019s chauffeur had about\nfinished putting on the spare wheel. Hammond beckoned both officers into\nthe car and closed the door after him. A moment later the motor started.\n\u201cTell us about it, Commander,\u201d the office man urged, as they turned in\nto a more brightly lighted section of the city. \u201cYou think the Lotus\nreally took you for Count Borg? If she didn\u2019t, it\u2019s going to make things\npretty difficult.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t think you need to worry, Hammond,\u201d Don replied. \u201cRemember, the\nlight was very dim, so she couldn\u2019t have noticed small details. Of\ncourse, I had to explain the loss of my moustache.... By the way, I\u2019ve\ngot a dinner date with her for tomorrow evening at the Empire!\u201d\n\u201cThat ought to give us enough time to get fixed up and coached for our\nparts,\u201d Red Pennington commented. \u201cGee, Don! What a lucky break! Our\ntire blowin\u2019 out, and Lotus showin\u2019 up at the same time! It all happened\nso naturally, not even the Scorpion himself could suspect anything\nqueer.\u201d\n\u201cUnless,\u201d said Don thoughtfully, \u201cthe guard inside Cho-San\u2019s iron gate\nsmelled something phony. You see, Lotus _wanted_ to believe I was Borg,\nbut that other guy may have been leery.\u201d\n\u201cA guard, huh?\u201d snorted Hammond. \u201cI don\u2019t like that, Commander! As you\nsay, he just _might_ have smelled a mouse. Those Scorpion agents are\nsuspecting each other half the time, and.... Hmmmm! You were close\nenough to see him plainly?\u201d\n\u201cOnly the glow of his cigarette tip,\u201d answered Don. \u201cBut why worry over\nthat? Looks as if we\u2019d arrived at your office already; and I\u2019m hungry\nenough to eat the letters off a stone monument!\u201d\n\u201cAnd those letters are sunk in, too!\u201d laughed the Intelligence man,\nreaching for the door handle. \u201cWell, Commander, there\u2019s a hot meal\nwaiting for you right upstairs. I ordered it brought in, because you\u2019re\nnot visiting any restaurant until your make-up is absolutely perfect.\u201d\nIt was well past ten o\u2019clock that morning before Don and Red were roused\nfrom a four-hour nap in the local Intelligence Office. After breakfast,\nthey were fitted out with clothes quickly tailored to fit, in\npreparation for their new roles. Then, for several more hours they were\ndrilled, each man in his part, so as to make the disguise as perfect as\npossible.\nDon Winslow had already memorized all the real Count Borg could teach\nhim. Now, working from photographs, and from a mass of information\ncollected by the office, other Intelligence operatives expertly polished\nhis likeness to the captured Scorpion aviator.\nPoor Red was made to study much harder for his role of valet, since he\nhad to start from scratch. At the end of six hours\u2019 unremitting work, he\nwas pronounced a \u201cpassable fake\u201d and sent out to take rooms for his\nmaster at the Hotel Empire.\nSomewhat later Don Winslow joined him. True to the dressy habits of\nCount Andr\u00e9 Borg, he had to change from the natty homespun business suit\nhe was wearing into formal \u201csoup-and-fish.\u201d\nWhile he was adjusting his black bow tie, there came a rap on the door.\nRed Pennington, now transformed into the valet \u201cPenny,\u201d opened it with a\nflourish.\n\u201cPlease step inside, sir!\u201d Don heard him say. \u201cI believe you are\nexpected.\u201d\n\u201cExcellent, Pennington! Excellent!\u201d came Hammond\u2019s approving chuckle.\n\u201cYou\u2019re getting more stiffnecked and manservantish every minute. Shut\nthat door, now, and let\u2019s have a few final words.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir! Very good, sir!\u201d chanted Red, looking down his rather stubby\nnose. \u201cBut may I take your hat and coat first, sir?\u201d\nGrinning broadly, Hammond spun a chair away from the wall and sat down\non it.\n\u201cThe Lieutenant\u2019s eaten his part like an old actor!\u201d he remarked. \u201cBut\nhow about you, Commander? Do you feel able to deceive the bright eyes of\nthe fair Scorpion spy who\u2019ll be sitting across the table from you in\nabout ten minutes? They say a woman\u2019s instinct is foolproof. Of course,\nthat may be all nonsense, but I\u2019ve seen some queer things happen in this\nIntelligence game.\u201d\nDon finished buttoning his vest, and let Penny adjust his Tuxedo jacket.\n\u201cNo, Hammond,\u201d he smiled, \u201cI don\u2019t feel nervous about meeting Lotus\u2019\ninspection. That\u2019s queer, too, because it is probably the toughest test\nI\u2019ll have to pass. I\u2019ve got a funny hunch about that young woman!\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you mean\u2014hunch?\u201d growled Hammond, with a piercing look. \u201cYou\nhaven\u2019t had time to learn anything new about her. Listen, Commander!\nJust because the kid is as attractive as they make \u2019em, you musn\u2019t go\noff the deep end. Keep your head, man, and remember the lovelier she\nlooks the more dangerous she\u2019s bound to be!\u201d\nDon\u2019s hearty laugh wiped some of the worry from Hammond\u2019s gloomy face.\n\u201cI\u2019m certainly not going to fall in love with her, if that\u2019s what you\nmean!\u201d he promised. \u201cBut seriously, I _have_ a hunch that if she found\nout who I really am, she would be sport enough to give me a break. My\nmasquerade would be finished, but not necessarily my life. Understand?\u201d\nHammond got up from his chair, frowning.\n\u201cI understand, but I don\u2019t agree,\u201d he said heavily. \u201cThe minute you come\nwithin speaking distance of a Scorpion spy in that disguise, your life\u2019s\nin danger. The second you\u2019re discovered, it\u2019ll probably be curtains\nwhether pretty little Lotus or some squint-eyed thug puts out your\nlight. Well, I won\u2019t be keeping you any longer. Luck, Commander! And for\nthe luvva Mike, _watch your step_!\u201d\nRed\u2019s good-by warning was similar to Hammond\u2019s, but even more heartfelt.\nHis right hand still half paralyzed by the husky \u201cPenny\u2019s\u201d grip, Don\nWinslow walked quickly to the hotel elevator.\nSomewhat to his surprise, the operator greeted him respectfully as\n\u201cCount Borg\u201d showing that the real count was well known to the Empire\nstaff. Don decided that he would indeed have to \u201cwatch his step\u201d!\nLotus, he recalled, had mentioned a certain table in a corner of the\ndining room, where she had met the real count on past occasions. If she\nshould not be there waiting for him, Don would be in a fix. He could not\npick the wrong table to wait for _her_, without making her suspicious.\nAs he hesitated just outside the dining room, the headwaiter spotted him\nand came forward quickly.\n\u201cAh, Count Borg! It is good to have you with us again after so long an\nabsence!\u201d the man murmured with his most unctuous smile. \u201cIs it perhaps\nthat you are expecting Mademoiselle Lotus this evening? If so, your\ntable in the corner is reserved for you.\u201d\nWith a low bow, the headwaiter led the way to a softly lighted alcove,\nsomewhat apart from the main dining room. It held one small table\nsuitable for two persons. The service included a single candle set in a\nbeautifully ornamented silver candlestick.\nBarely had the headwaiter pulled out Don\u2019s chair, when his alert eye\ncaught a movement across the larger room.\n\u201c_Eh, voil\u00e0, M\u2019sieu le Comte!_\u201d he exclaimed delightedly. \u201cHere is the\nso charming Mademoiselle already! You will not have to wait.\u201d\nHurrying away, he was back in a moment, followed by a dainty figure\ndressed in clinging white satin. Lotus had made herself particularly\ncharming this evening, Don told himself. The pure simplicity of her low\ncut gown, made her seem even younger than her actual twenty years.\nSlipping the expensive evening wrap from her shoulders, she flicked it\ncarelessly across the headwaiter\u2019s arm.\n\u201cCome back in a few minutes, Maurice!\u201d she said, as the man bowed\nhimself away.\nTurning to Don, she gave him a long, serious look. Her eyes, Don\nthought, were like great wells of darkness. As the seconds ticked past,\nand she did not speak, he felt a tiny shiver of doubt. Was it possible,\nhe wondered, that the girl had already pierced his masquerade?\nAll at once she came closer, with a low musical laugh.\n\u201cAlways mysterious, aren\u2019t you, Andr\u00e9?\u201d she said, taking both his hands.\n\u201cEvery time I meet you here, it is the same! You stand looking at me so\nsilent and grave, until I feel like a silly little girl. But in the end\nI always succeed in making you laugh and be silly with me, don\u2019t I,\nAndr\u00e9?\u201d\nWith some difficulty Don held his serious pose. Lotus\u2019 teasing laughter\nand girlish sweetness were harder to resist than he had expected.\n\u201cSit down, child!\u201d he said soberly, as he moved to pull out her chair.\n\u201cA strange thing has happened since I last saw you. You _say_ I am the\nsame Andr\u00e9. But it is hardly the truth!\u201d\nAs he sat down across the table he saw that the girl\u2019s cheeks had gone\nwhite as her dress. Her eyes, wide with sudden alarm, seemed about to\noverflow with tears.\n\u201cI\u2014I don\u2019t understand you!\u201d she whispered faintly.\nFor an instant, Don found it hard to go on. This child opposite him\nmight be a Scorpion spy, even one of the cleverest, but tonight she was\nsimply a girl in love. A very young girl, who had clearly laid her heart\nat the feet of her hero, Count Andr\u00e9 Borg. And Don, the pseudo Andr\u00e9,\nwas going to hurt her feelings cruelly.\nIt was a tough job, the young commander told himself, but it had to be\ndone. In the United States Navy\u2019s war against the warmakers, sometimes\nthe innocent had to suffer.\nBending forward, Don pushed away the sleek, dark hair just above his\ntemple, to show the neatly taped head wound.\n\u201cThat happened during the attack on the Navy gunboat, five days ago,\u201d he\nsaid grimly. \u201cA machine gun bullet ripped through my seaplane and\ngrooved my skull. It was Don Winslow himself who pulled me out of the\nwater, after the plane cracked up\u2014or so they tell me. I woke up in the\nbrig some hours later, too dazed to know if I was afloat or ashore.\nGradually my mind cleared. _But my memory has been skipping cogs ever\nsince!_\u201d\nSlowly the look of fright left Lotus\u2019 face. Two large tears trickled\ndown each side of her pretty nose, but her lips smiled tenderly.\n\u201cMy poor Andr\u00e9!\u201d she cried, softly. \u201cIt must make you feel queer\u2014as if\nyou were someone else\u2014to have your memory 'skip cogs\u2019! But that is\ncertain to cure itself! After all your brain is not like the gears of a\ncar that have to be thrown away when they are broken. You remember _me_!\nVery soon you will recall everything. In the meantime, let Lotus be your\nmemory, dear Andr\u00e9!\u201d\nAs Don Winslow gazed into her eager, pleading little face, he felt like\nkicking himself. Only the fact that duty came before sentiment kept him\nfrom blurting out the whole true story, then and there.\n\u201cVery well, child!\u201d he said, glancing down at his newly manicured\nfingernails. \u201cI certainly hope you are right about my mind clearing up\nin time; but right now I am finding this loss of memory pretty awkward.\nFor instance, who is that large, Oriental person coming toward us? He\nlooks as if he knew me, all right, but I can\u2019t name him, for the life of\nme!\u201d\n\u201cCho-San!\u201d came Lotus\u2019 gasp. \u201cWhy, Andr\u00e9! You don\u2019t even remember ... my\nguardian? The greatest power in all Scorpia, next to the master? Oh,\nthis is terrible! You must _pretend_ to remember Cho-San, whatever else\nyou\u2019ve forgotten, Andr\u00e9!\u201d\nWith a cool shrug of his shoulders, the pseudo count returned to a study\nof his manicured fingers. He\u2019d understood from Hammond that there was\nlittle love lost between dashing Andr\u00e9 Borg and the saturnine Chinese,\nCho-San. If that were true, a pose of insulting indifference would be\nthe safest.\nIn any case, it seemed to be working now. As Don continued to ignore his\npresence, the big Oriental stood glowering beside the table. Like a huge\nfrog, he seemed to swell with silent rage. Suddenly he beckoned the\nanxiously hovering headwaiter.\n\u201cAnother chair, Maurice!\u201d he growled in a heavy bass. \u201cMademoiselle\nLotus seems to be in the company of an idiot. I shall stay to protect\nher, in case he becomes a worse nuisance. Bring me a chair, quickly!\u201d\nAs Maurice hurried to obey, Lotus half arose, her hands clasping and\nunclasping in distress.\n\u201cPlease, Cho-San!\u201d she choked. \u201cBe patient with Andr\u00e9\u2014Count Borg, I\nmean! Five days ago he received a wound on the head, while carrying out\nyour orders. Since then his mind has not been the same....\u201d\n\u201cEvidently not!\u201d grated the Chinese, seating himself in the chair\nMaurice had brought. \u201cNo man in his right mind deliberately insults\nCho-San, though your Andr\u00e9 has come very near to doing so in times past.\nWell, Borg, have you lost your tongue as well as your reason? You had it\nat three o\u2019clock this morning when you made this appointment with my\nward.\u201d\n\u201cSo your watchman overheard and told you about that, Cho-San!\u201d drawled\nthe pretended Borg, as Maurice glided away. \u201cI thought he would, but I\u2019m\nsurprised you were interested enough to follow Lotus and me here. Er\u2014by\nthe way, it\u2019s quite true about that head wound I got. My memory has\nblanked out. It\u2019s only now and then I recall something that\u2019s happened\nin the past few years. Of course, I know you and Lotus, here; but how\nand why and where you came into my life I haven\u2019t the faintest idea!\nAwful nuisance, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\nFor sixty long seconds, Cho-San stared at \u201cCount Borg\u2019s\u201d handsome,\nrather bored features. His sloe-black eyes were so wickedly penetrating\nthat Don was glad his disguise didn\u2019t depend on paint or false hair.\nEven the tiny scar below his eye was genuine. For the rest, Don hoped\nthat he had copied Count Borg\u2019s own voice and manner successfully.\nAt last Cho-San\u2019s big body relaxed its angry tenseness. When he spoke,\nhis voice had taken on a smoother inflection.\n\u201cI would give a great deal to know just _what_ has changed about you, my\ndear Count,\u201d he remarked. \u201cIt may be your mind\u2014in another sense of the\nword\u2014for certainly you have never dared to insult me publicly before.\nYour alleged loss of memory is all poppy-cock, of course. It may take\ntime to discover what your new game is, but I shall do it. Meantime, you\nwill take my orders as before, if you know what is good for you!\u201d\nDon Winslow permitted a lazy smile to grow at the corners of his mouth.\n\u201cOh\u2014ah\u2014of course, Cho-San!\u201d he murmured, covering a yawn. \u201cAnd really,\nit doesn\u2019t make much difference whether you believe my memory\u2019s gone or\nnot, so long as _I_ know it has. But let\u2019s stop talking about orders and\ninsults and call Maurice back. Lotus will be much more interested in a\nlobster a la Newburg I am certain.\u201d\nCho-San agreed with a surly grunt, and the three orders were taken.\nDuring the meal \u201cCount Borg\u201d told the story he had rehearsed about his\ncapture and subsequent escape from Haiti in Michael Splendor\u2019s plane. He\nmade it brief but convincing, even naming the spot where he had\nabandoned the plane sixteen hours before.\nAs he talked he was aware that both the girl and her grim-faced guardian\nwere studying him closely. What thoughts were passing through their\nminds, he scarcely dared to guess. Certainly Cho-San\u2019s moonlike\npokerface betrayed even less than his grunted comments. Lotus, for some\nreason, appeared too upset for speech.\nDon was glad when the uncomfortable meal was over, and Cho-San made the\nfirst motion to leave.\n\u201cI am sorry to interrupt your evening _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_, my dear Count\nBorg,\u201d the Oriental said with oily sarcasm, \u201cbut your presence is\nrequired at the comrades\u2019 headquarters. Immediately, do you understand?\u201d\nWith an indifferent smile, Don moved to pick up Lotus\u2019 evening wrap.\n\u201cI told you my memory, not my understanding, had done a blackout,\nCho-San,\u201d he drawled. \u201cLead the way, old dear, and I\u2019ll follow. Only\nfirst, I\u2019ll send upstairs for my medicine.... Er\u2014Maurice! Will you\nphone up for my valet to bring it down now with my hat and topcoat?\u201d\n\u201cMedicine! Valet!\u201d snarled the big Chinese, glaring furiously at Don.\n\u201cWhat new stall is this, Borg? I tell you, I\u2019m in no mood for trifling\ntonight! A man in your youth and health needing medicine\u2014bah! And who\nis this manservant you\u2019ve picked up? Haven\u2019t I warned you....\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s my wound, you know,\u201d cut in the pseudo count. \u201cEver since that\nbullet nicked me, I\u2019ve had the most frightful headaches. Actually blind\nme at times! So this morning I asked a druggist chap for something, and\nhe prescribed....\u201d\n\u201cTo the devil with your druggist\u2014and with you, too, Borg!\u201d spat the\nScorpion leader. \u201cYou may think you\u2019re funny, but I do not. Lotus! Bring\nthis fool out to the door in three minutes, or it will be the worse for\nyou both. I\u2019ll wait for you just that long!\u201d\nTurning on his heel, the bulky Oriental stalked out of the alcove.\nFollowing slowly with Lotus, Don saw Cho-San halt and stare at the\nfigure of \u201cPenny\u201d who had just appeared in the lobby. Evidently Red had\nmade record time for a valet, after getting the head-waiter\u2019s phone\ncall.\nWith a murmured excuse to Lotus, Don stepped forward to meet his\nmanservant at a point just out of earshot.\n\u201cListen, Red!\u201d he whispered, taking the small bottle Pennington had\nbrought. \u201cI\u2019m going for a ride with Cho-San and the Lotus in about two\nminutes. Follow us in another car, but watch your step. That\u2019s all for\nnow!\u201d\nSlipping into his topcoat, he sauntered back to the girl.\n\u201cCome, little Lotus!\u201d he said banteringly. \u201cWe musn\u2019t keep your guardian\nwaiting. It\u2019s bad for the jolly old dragon\u2019s disposition. By the way,\nwhere are the comrades\u2019 headquarters he spoke of. I suppose I must have\nbeen there countless times, but it\u2019s all foggy in my head now.\u201d\nSudden fear showed again in the look Lotus gave him.\n\u201cI\u2014I wonder, Andr\u00e9,\u201d she said in a strained tone, \u201cif Cho-San may not\nbe partly right about the change in you. It doesn\u2019t seem possible you\ncould have forgotten so many things! I wonder if you are not just\nplaying a part, for some strange purpose of your own!\u201d\nThere was no time for Don to think up a reply, as they were already\npassing through the outer door. Just across the sidewalk the huge figure\nof Cho-San bulked beside a waiting car.\nOnce inside the limousine, Don found himself in no mood for further\nself-explanations. More and more it was being impressed upon him that\nthe job he had undertaken was beset with risks. So far he had been able\nto dodge open failure; but this fact failed to set his mind at ease.\nCho-San, and now Lotus herself, had made it plain that they suspected\nsomething wrong with him other than a loss of memory. They seemed to\ntake it for granted that he was really Count Andr\u00e9 Borg, yet they\naccused him of playing a part!\nDon would have given his right hand now to know just what suspicions\nwere seething in the minds of his two companions.\nAnother question popped up to startle him, as the big car rolled through\nSan Francisco\u2019s older, dimly lighted section.\n_Did the real Count Borg know the Chinese language?_\nAs if in answer to his thought, Cho-San spoke suddenly in rapid,\nsing-song syllables.\n\u201c_Kia hing\u2014po pay-ow ni shi lee ting!_\u201d\nDon\u2019s scalp prickled as if a gun had been leveled at his head. Was this\nthe showdown he asked himself?\n\u201c_So-lay-ow!_\u201d came the chanted response from the driver\u2019s seat.\nDon\u2019s lungs deflated in a sigh of relief. The Chinese syllables were not\nmeant for him. He had the feeling of having stepped over another deadly\ntrap.\n\u201cSo Don Winslow is still in Haiti?\u201d rumbled the Scorpion leader\u2019s next\nwords. \u201cDid you learn, my dear Count, anything about his further plans\nwhile you were there? For instance, does he intend to return shortly to\nthe United States?\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t hear a thing about his intentions, Cho-San,\u201d replied Don\nindifferently. \u201cI fancy, though, that he\u2019ll be in the plane Michael\nSplendor is flying here today. Splendor\u2019s a bit sore, you know, about my\nstealing his big cabin job. He broadcast the news that he was flying\nhere on a hunch that I\u2019d head for 'Frisco. Maybe his pilot will be this\nWinslow chap.\u201d\n\u201cUmmmm, I wonder!\u201d mumbled the Oriental. \u201cThey say he looks enough like\nyou, Borg, to be your twin. In a certain situation you might even\nimpersonate him. Suppose, for instance, that Winslow should disappear\nwithout his friends being the wiser\u2014just what would prevent your taking\nhis place in the interests of Scorpia?\u201d\nDon\u2019s answer was a laugh that he tried to make natural.\n\u201cWhy, my dear Cho-San,\u201d he retorted, \u201cthe interests of Scorpia would\nprevent my doing that to take the words out of your mouth! I admit I\nlook like Winslow, but his voice, his walk, and everything else about\nhim is different; so don\u2019t talk nonsense!\u201d\n\u201cCho-San _never_ talks nonsense, you fool!\u201d hissed the Chinese. \u201cYou\nwill do well to remember that your life depends on your usefulness to\nScorpia, and to me\u2014its mouthpiece! If you don\u2019t, the next time a bullet\nstrikes your skull it may be better aimed!\u201d\nThe big car twisted and turned through the narrow streets, boring deeper\ninto the dark heart of old Chinatown. Don Winslow, seated between\nCho-San and Lotus, felt his sense of danger rising.\nAt any moment now, the Chinese chauffeur would pull up at an unfamiliar\nbuilding. Then, flanked by two Scorpion spies, the pretended Count Borg\nwould enter the underworld of Scorpia.\nWhat further tests would he have to pass Don could not guess. He knew\nonly that if he failed his life would pay the forfeit!\nTensely he told himself that he must not fail. For the honor of the\nUnited States Navy, for the sake of his friends, and of all who prefer\npeace to war\u2019s mass murder, _he must not fail_!\nGlancing at Cho-San, he saw that the Scorpion leader was studying a\nsmall pocket mirror, cupped in one of his huge hands. The mirror was\nheld so as to reflect everything that could be seen through the car\u2019s\nrear window.\nSuddenly with an angry snort, the big Chinese bent forward.\n\u201c_Yi kow pu hau-tung sai-kai!_\u201d he cried sharply.\n\u201c_Ta hau_,\u201d came the driver\u2019s answering sing-song, \u201c_kia hing_.\u201d\nWith a jerk the car speeded up, throwing the passengers back against the\ncushions. Don felt Lotus\u2019 small, cool hand close down on his finger.\n\u201cIt\u2019s that car following us, Andr\u00e9,\u201d she explained. \u201cCho-San has just\ntold Ko Loo, the chauffeur, to speed up and lose it.\u201d\nDon twisted to look through the rear window at the criss-crossing\ntraffic of an intersection. With a short laugh he turned back.\n\u201cCho-San knows best,\u201d he remarked lightly. \u201cI couldn\u2019t tell if one of\nthose pairs of lights back there were following us. It looks to me as if\nthey all are. But what\u2019s the difference?\u201d\n\u201cNone, my dear Borg,\u201d rumbled Cho-San, \u201cconsidering that Ko Loo has\nnever yet failed to put an enemy off the trail. As a matter of fact, two\nsets of lights are following us at this moment. The trailer is being\ntrailed by one of our own cars. He will have an unpleasant surprise, in\naddition to losing track of us!\u201d\nSharp anxiety shot through Don\u2019s mind. \u201cAn unpleasant surprise\u201d might\nmean anything from a car accident to murder. And Red Pennington was the\ntrailer who was going to get it!\nHowever, there was nothing in the world that Don could do to warn his\nfriend. By this time both cars were out of sight. Ko Loo skidded the big\nlimousine around two more dim corners at twenty miles an hour, and\npulled up abruptly in front of a dark warehouse.\n\u201c_Ki-wo-pu teh shwoh!_\u201d sang out Cho-San\u2019s commanding bass.\n\u201c_Ta chang!_\u201d came the answer, as Ko Loo sprang out to obey the order.\nIn the foggy night the chauffeur\u2019s voice had a curious, muffled sound.\nAlmost immediately he returned, and the car rolled silently forward into\na black, cavelike opening. As it stopped, Lotus again squeezed Don\u2019s\nhand.\n\u201cLast time, we came another way\u2014remember, Andr\u00e9?\u201d she whispered. \u201cWe\nare now in the garage next to Cho-San\u2019s curio shop. Of course it doesn\u2019t\nlook like a garage from the outside with the doors closed....\u201d\n\u201c_Yi ko pu hau!_ I shall not need you any more, Ko Loo,\u201d interrupted\nCho-San harshly. \u201cGet out; Lotus. I\u2019ll follow you, Count Borg. Since\nyour mind is admittedly sick, I would rather not turn my back on you,\neven here in my own quarters!\u201d\n\u201cTit for tat, and insult for insult!\u201d smiled Don, as a brilliant light\nfilled the room from concealed electric lamps. \u201cYou can\u2019t make me angry\ntonight, though, Cho-San. Not even by breaking up my evening\u2019s date with\nyour ward! So far, your little game of hide-and-seek is most\nfascinating. Even as a boy, I remember....\u201d\n\u201cQuite so!\u201d hissed the Chinese furiously. \u201cThere is nothing wrong with\nyour memory, Borg! And I can promise that you will have cause to\nremember _this_ night if you live to be a hundred\u2014which is not likely.\nUmmm-hummm! Not likely at all! Now, Lotus, if you will lead the way,\nplease.\u201d\n\u201cWhich\u2014which way do you wish to take, Cho-San?\u201d asked the girl in a\nfrightened voice. \u201cThe one through the shop?\u201d\n\u201cUmmmm, yes. That will do,\u201d rumbled the Oriental. \u201cIt will be new, I\nthink, to Count Borg.\u201d\n\u201cRight-o!\u201d agreed Don airily. \u201cI don\u2019t remember any secret passage\nthrough your shop.\u201d\n\u201cYou made the last trip to the comrades\u2019 quarters by way of Cho-San\u2019s\nhouse, Andr\u00e9,\u201d Lotus murmured, taking Don\u2019s hand. \u201cFollow me closely\nnow, and don\u2019t put out your hand to touch the walls!\u201d\nAs she spoke a panel slid noiselessly open in the side of the room.\nCho-San raised his hand to the light switch. Glancing back Don noted\nwith surprise that the big rolling doors of the garage were now shut,\nthough no sound had betrayed their closing.\nDarkness descended like a blow as he turned his head. Don could not hear\nCho-San\u2019s footsteps, though he guessed that the Chinese was moving\ntoward him. Lotus\u2019 gentle grasp on his hand was the only thing that\nseemed real in that Stygian blackness. Like a blind man he followed her\nlead.\nMeantime, several blocks away, Red Pennington perched anxiously on the\nseat of a skidding taxi. The driver he had picked up outside the Empire\nHotel was good at this game of trailing a car on the dodge, but Ko Loo\nhad been giving him the works.\nBoth the driver and his fare realized this at the same moment.\n\u201cIt\u2019s this blasted fog, sir!\u201d the former complained, straightening out\nafter a turn on two wheels. \u201cI can\u2019t get close enough to see if that car\nahead\u2019s the same one we\u2019re after. Not without rammin\u2019 his rear bumper!\nSeems to me that guy cut in from behind us while we was dodgin\u2019\ncross-traffic a mile back!\u201d\n\u201cI got the same idea, so you must be right,\u201d groaned Red, peering\nthrough the misted glass. \u201cLook! That car\u2019s stopping\u2014pulling over to\nthe curb. Suppose you pull in ahead of it. I just saw something\nelse....\u201d\n\u201cYeah? Well, all right!\u201d grunted the driver, jamming on his brakes.\n\u201cThat car we just passed ain\u2019t the one we was chasin\u2019 first, so what\u2019s\nthe diff? The meter reads ten miles an\u2019 a quarter!\u201d\n\u201cTake that and keep the change, brother!\u201d replied Red, shoving a bill\nwith two figures on it into the taxi driver\u2019s hand. \u201cI\u2019m getting out\nhere. Stick around for a few minutes, in case I need you!\u201d\nNot waiting for the man\u2019s thanks, he dodged across the misty street.\nSome two hundred feet back, the glare of the taxi\u2019s headlights had\nbriefly picked out a gilt sign on a darkened shop front. The words Red\nhad glimpsed were: \u201cCHO-SAN\u2019S _Antiques and Curios_.\u201d\nNow, whipping a small flashlight from his pocket, he read the sign\nagain, from the distance of a few feet. The shop, whose window was\ncurtained, seemed neither large nor pretentious. On either side were\nwarehouses closed by high, sliding doors. The blank, uninteresting walls\nwere in need of paint and spotted with torn bill posters.\n\u201cSome dump!\u201d Red Pennington muttered to himself. \u201cWell, I had to take a\nlook at what was under that sign, even if it didn\u2019t do me a whale of a\nlot of good! We lost Don\u2019s car so far back that there\u2019s no use guessing\nwhere it\u2014Huh! THAT\u2019S something I didn\u2019t see before!\u201d\nThe flashlight beam, pointing downward, had picked out the marks of wet\ntire treads crossing the sidewalk at his feet The tracks disappeared\nunder the big rolling doors of the warehouse to the left of Cho-San\u2019s\nshop.\nSometime in the past hour, perhaps in the last few minutes, a car had\ngone in there!\nAs Red stood there pondering, he heard a motor start up behind him. At\nthe moment, however, it did not seem important. The real problem was to\nfind proof that the car which had made those wet tracks was the one he\u2019d\nbeen trying to follow.\nBending down, he scrutinized the tread marks by the light of his small\npocket torch. The sidewalk all about them was covered with tiny droplets\nof moisture, he noticed. But the marks themselves were barely starting\nto mist over.\nActing on a sudden idea, Red threw his light on one of his own\nfootprints made on the fog-wet sidewalk a few seconds before. Already,\nhe saw, two or three droplets had formed on the darker spot where his\nheel had pressed.\nThe conclusion was plain. A big car, with new, expensive tires had\nentered the warehouse doors _less than five minutes ago_!\nAs Red Pennington straightened up, he made his decision. He would take\nthe taxi back to the nearest public telephone, call Hammond at the\noffice, report what he had found, and then stick around on watch until\nrelieved by a trained detective. Longer watching might attract\nattention, considering that he had come out minus hat or topcoat.\nA few quick steps took him across the street to the car which was\nwaiting at the curb.\n\u201cOkay, brother!\u201d he said, jerking open the rear door and ducking inside.\n\u201cBack to the nearest phone booth, and make it snappy! There\u2019s another\nten spot in it for you if\u2014Say! What tha ding-dong.... _This isn\u2019t my\ntaxi!\u201d_\nAt the end of fifty steps in a darkness so thick that it could almost be\nfelt, Lotus pressed Don\u2019s hand, signaling a halt. As she did so, there\nsounded the soft whir of hidden machinery.\n\u201cWe arrive at the gateway of a secret world, my dear Count!\u201d boomed\nCho-San\u2019s bass voice from somewhere behind them.\nThe man\u2019s voice echoed strangely as if thrown back by the arches of the\nunseen tunnel. For all his effort at self-control, Don Winslow felt a\nshiver of apprehension creep up his spine at the eerie sound of it.\n\u201cI\u2019ve never had a fancy for this underground stuff, Cho-San,\u201d he\nanswered, forcing a laugh. \u201cIt\u2019s not in an airman\u2019s line, you know. Give\nme the freedom of the sky, every time, and you can have your underground\nratholes!\u201d\n\u201cHush, Andr\u00e9!\u201d cried Lotus softly, clinging to his arm. \u201cScorpia must\noperate not only in the air, not only on sea and land, but _underneath_\nthem as well. You know that as well as anybody. See, now! The panel is\nopening, and we step through into Cho-San\u2019s shop, where you have been\nmany times.\u201d\nAs they emerged into the dimly lighted curio shop, the soft whir of\nmachinery ended with a click.\nGlancing over his shoulder, Don saw the big Chinese standing behind him\nagainst a blank wall. There was no sign of the opening through which the\nthree of them had just passed.\n\u201cNeat, very neat indeed, Cho-San!\u201d murmured the pseudo count. \u201cBut, tell\nme, which way do we go from here to the comrades\u2019 quarters? My\nrecollection is still a bit vague, although this room does seem\nfamiliar....\u201d\n\u201cThe cabinet!\u201d broke in the Scorpion leader shortly. \u201cThat way is the\nquickest. And I am tired of hearing about your infernal memory, Borg!\nOpen the cabinet, Lotus!\u201d\nObediently the girl crossed to a huge cabinet of ebony wood, and twisted\none of its curiously carved dragons\u2019 heads. With scarcely a sound the\ndoor swung wide, leaving an opening the size of a full grown man. How\nfar back the space extended Don could not see from where he stood.\n\u201cStep in, Lotus, and show your Andr\u00e9 the way!\u201d sneered Cho-San. \u201cYou\nact, Count Borg, as if it were a trap. Don\u2019t worry, I am following you\nboth inside!\u201d\nThe Chinese suited his action to the word, closing the cabinet door\nafter him. Again Don caught the smooth, scarcely audible hum of oiled\nmachinery somewhere near by.\n\u201cMore darkness!\u201d he sighed after a number of seconds had ticked by in\nsilence. \u201cReally, Cho-San, a nice bright electric bulb here would cheer\nthings up! By the way, I thought we were going somewhere in a hurry.\nThis jolly old cabinet....\u201d\n\u201cSilence, fool!\u201d gritted the Oriental. \u201cYou are no longer in the cabinet\nyou entered a moment ago. That ancient work of art is now standing as\nyou saw it, far above us. Only its floor is missing, for that is now\nbeneath our feet!\u201d\n\u201cAnd here we are almost at the entrance to the comrades\u2019 quarters!\u201d\ncried Lotus, as the elevator floor quivered briefly. \u201cNow I shall press\nanother invisible button, and you shall see that I am right, Andr\u00e9.\nThere will be plenty of light where we are going.\u201d\nOnce more a panel slid aside to show a narrow, dimly lighted corridor.\nThis one seemed to be dug out of bedrock, with rough corners projecting.\nSlipping into it, the girl disappeared around a jagged corner.\n\u201cShe\u2019ll get hurt dodging around those rocks!\u201d Don exclaimed. \u201cWhere\u2019s\nshe gone, anyway? Why didn\u2019t you stop her, Cho-San?\u201d\n\u201cBecause she is in no danger\u2014as yet!\u201d purred the big Chinese. \u201cThe\nlittle Lotus has been brought up in these subterranean passages and\nrooms. She knows her way where you, my dear count, would lose yours a\nhundred times over. Just now she has gone to turn up more lights so that\nyou can see to follow.\u201d\nAs he spoke, the rough passage was flooded with sudden brilliance, far\ngreater than necessary, Don thought. As he stepped away from the\nelevator toward Lotus\u2019 waiting figure, Cho-San himself volunteered the\nexplanation.\n\u201cThere are machine guns covering every turn on this passage, Borg,\u201d he\nchortled evilly. \u201cYou cannot see them, so you must take my word. Under\nthese brilliant lights they could mow down any police forces which might\nbe unlucky enough to come this far into Scorpia\u2019s underworld, or anyone\ntrying to escape from it. A very comforting thought, don\u2019t you agree?\u201d\nDon\u2019s only answer was a shrug of his smoothly tailored shoulders. The\nnext moment he was at Lotus\u2019 side picking his way over the tunnel\u2019s\nuneven floor.\nAround the second turn the girl halted, and reaching up, inserted her\nfingers behind an angle of the damp stone. As if by magic a door-sized\nsection of the rock wall moved back, disclosing a furnished apartment.\nDon stepped through the opening, closely followed by Cho-San. At the\nsoft click of a falling latch, he did not even bother to turn. The wall\nthrough which they had just passed would show no sign of a doorway, he\nwas certain.\nFor the first time since leaving the car in the garage, the Chinese now\nseemed to drop his air of ugly suspicion. His moonlike face was almost\nsmiling as he turned to face Don.\n\u201cI will leave you, my friend, for a short while,\u201d his deep voice\nintoned. \u201cThe little Lotus will remain to entertain you, so that the\ntime will not pass too heavily. If there is anything more you may desire\nbefore I return, simply touch that bell by the table.\u201d\nWith a parting nod his huge figure vanished behind a tall, carved\nscreen. Don Winslow stood gazing at it thoughtfully for a long moment,\nthen turned to his small companion.\n\u201cWell, little Lotus,\u201d he began, \u201cI hope your memory never starts playing\ntricks on you like mine. This room, for instance\u2014\u201d\nA strange expression in the girl\u2019s dark eyes stopped him short.\nFollowing her look and gesture he stepped quickly to the inlaid teakwood\ntable.\nThe thing looked innocent enough. It\u2019s decorated top bore nothing but a\nvase and a small lacquered tray. One glance underneath, however,\nexplained Lotus\u2019 silent warning.\nFastened to the underside of the table top was a compact little\ndictaphone, no doubt being used at this moment by a Scorpion\neavesdropper!\nBack at the spot where he had first stood, Don picked up the\nconversation.\n\u201cThis apartment _does_ seem vaguely familiar,\u201d he continued. \u201cIt\u2019s like\nsomething I dreamed about long ago. Perhaps if you showed me the other\nrooms it might all come back to me. Shall we try it?\u201d\nIt was the cue for which the girl had been waiting. With an eager nod\nshe led the way toward a curtained archway.\n\u201cWhy, certainly, Andr\u00e9!\u201d she answered. \u201cThere\u2019s no harm in looking\naround. These are the comrades\u2019 quarters, or at least one section of\nthem, and of course you have been here before. Beyond this hall is a\nsmall dining room, and a sort of butler\u2019s pantry. The sleeping quarters\nare on another level entirely....\u201d\nAs the heavy curtains fell back into place, Don found himself in a tiny\nhallway, lighted by a dim overhead lamp. He was about to proceed when\nthe girl\u2019s quick grasp on his arm halted him in his tracks.\n\u201cWe can talk now,\u201d she whispered, \u201cbut we must be brief. _I know who you\nare, Don Winslow!_\u201d\nThe shock of those words paralyzed Don\u2019s wits for the space of five\nheartbeats. Backing off, he reached for the small but deadly automatic\npistol concealed under his left armpit. An instant later he dropped his\nhands.\n\u201cI am at your mercy, it appears!\u201d he said with a twisted smile.\nThe girl shook her dark head. Gliding closer she lifted her eyes to\nstare straight into his.\n\u201cIt is Cho-San, not Lotus, whom you have cause to fear,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\nbelieves you are working against Scorpia for your own interests, but he\ndoes not know the truth. I shall not tell him, Don Winslow, provided you\nhave done no harm to Count Andr\u00e9 Borg!\u201d\nDon thought that over carefully. He read the meaning behind her words,\nand knew Lotus was in love with the dashing Andr\u00e9. Besides she must be\naware that Borg\u2019s advertised escape was a mere blind. Why, then, did she\nnot take revenge, for herself and her friends, by showing up the pseudo\ncount without delay?\nPuzzled, he put a question of his own.\n\u201cIf I tell you that Count Borg is safe and well, except for a head wound\nlike mine, how can you trust my word? A man in danger of his life is apt\nto say anything which will save it. How do you know I won\u2019t lie to you,\nMiss Lotus?\u201d\n\u201cYou will not lie, for the simple reason that I am ready to believe your\nword,\u201d the girl answered confidently. \u201cThat way, I put myself at _your_\nmercy. I trust myself to your honor, which you would rather die than\nbetray. Is it not so, Don Winslow of the Navy?\u201d\nWith a silent laugh Don threw up his hands.\n\u201cYou win, Miss Lotus!\u201d he admitted. \u201cThe truth is that Count Andr\u00e9 Borg\nis well and will come to no harm, in spite of any past crimes he may\nhave committed. It is a long story, but ...\u201d\n\u201cStop!\u201d cried Lotus, fiercely gripping the young officer\u2019s jacket front.\n\u201cYou say he is well, yet he will not be punished! Do you mean his _mind_\nhas been injured? That wound on his head ... No! No! I would rather have\nAndr\u00e9 dead than insane! Tell me! Tell me the whole truth, or I _will_\ncall Cho-San!\u201d\nQuickly Don gave her an outline of Count Borg\u2019s strange situation, from\nthe moment when he came to his senses in the _Gatoon\u2019s_ sick bay.\n\u201cYou see, Miss Lotus,\u201d the young commander explained, \u201cyour friend is a\nlot saner now than he was during the seven years he served Scorpia. It\nis fortunate for him that he doesn\u2019t recall anything of that time. To\nhim, April, nineteen thirty-three, seems only last week!\u201d\nThe girl\u2019s eyes had filled with tears that suddenly overflowed. Her\nsmall mouth quivered like a lost child\u2019s.\n\u201cThen\u2014then he isn\u2019t my Andr\u00e9 any more!\u201d she sobbed softly. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t\nremember that he ever knew me. Now I have nothing left to live for\u2014not\neven one true friend!\u201d\nA drooping, discouraged little figure, Lotus stumbled back to the closed\ncurtains. As she raised a hand to part them, Don Winslow called her\nback.\n\u201cYou are wrong,\u201d he said huskily as the girl turned. \u201cCount Borg needs\nfriends right now. He needs you, Lotus! One of these days he will be\nreleased. If he has no friend to whom it matters, _he\u2019s_ going to feel\nlife and liberty aren\u2019t worth much, isn\u2019t he? Answer me that!\u201d\nSlowly Lotus\u2019 small chin lifted. Her shoulders lost their discouraged\ndroop.\n\u201cThank you, Don Winslow!\u201d she whispered. \u201cAndr\u00e9 was like that, too,\nsaying things to give me courage when all seemed hopeless. You resemble\neach other in more things than voice and appearance. That is why I\ncouldn\u2019t ever betray you to Cho-San! But come! It is dangerous to talk\nhere longer. We must return to the living room, in case Cho-San comes\nlooking for us.\u201d\nDon realized that she was right. Without a word he followed back through\nthe curtained archway, ready once more to play the part of Count Borg.\nAs it turned out, they were barely in time.\nLotus had just seated herself when the little French maid, Suzette,\nappeared silently.\n\u201cA telephone message for Mademoiselle!\u201d the girl announced. \u201cCho-San\nrequests that you take it from the apartment of Doctor Skell.\u201d\nWith a warning glance at Don, Lotus rose to her feet. \u201cYou will excuse\nme, Andr\u00e9?\u201d she asked. \u201cIt seems that our evening together is doomed to\nbe broken up ... Suzette! Are you not glad to see Count Borg after his\nthree months\u2019 absence?\u201d\nThe maid bobbed a quaint little foreign courtesy.\n\u201cI am ver\u2019 glad to see you again, Monsieur!\u201d she smiled, as Lotus left\nthe room. \u201cDid Mademoiselle have time to show you through the new\napartment beyond this one? It has been made over since you were last\nhere.\u201d\nThe wink which accompanied the last statement set Don\u2019s thoughts racing.\nSuzette\u2019s hint was plain enough. She wanted an excuse to lead him out of\nthe room. But why? Did she have something to say that was not meant for\nthe hidden dictaphone?\n\u201cMade over, hmmm?\u201d Don drawled, picking up the cue where she dropped it.\n\u201cNo, Mademoiselle didn\u2019t show me that. Might as well kill time while\nshe\u2019s gone by taking a look.\u201d\nRising, he followed the little maid through the same archway where Lotus\nhad taken him. As the heavy curtains fell back in place, he was not\nsurprised to find Suzette at his elbow. Standing on tiptoe, the French\nmaid whispered swiftly in his ear.\n\u201cI also,\u201d he caught the softly breathed words, \u201cknow who you are,\nCommander!\u201d\nThe shock to Don\u2019s nerves was less, this time; but before he had time to\nrecover, Suzette pulled his ear down once more.\n\u201cWe must be brief, M\u2019sieur,\u201d she murmured, \u201cbut I will tell you that\nw\u2019ich even Mademoiselle Lotus do not know. I am operative of the French\nSecret Service, working to discover the Scorpion\u2019s so evil plans. I\nlisten w\u2019en you talk with Mademoiselle behind this curtain. Of course I\nhave hear of the so famous Don Winslow, so I tell myself: 'Suzette, you\nare one lucky woman! Perhaps you can help the Commander to trap the\nenemy tonight!\u2019\u201d\nIn silent admiration, Don offered the plucky girl his hand. How long she\nhad been risking her life surrounded day and night by Scorpion agents,\nhe could only guess. Both her cleverness and her courage, he knew, must\nbe extraordinary to get away with such a feat.\n\u201cYou mean we can find a way to trap them at the big meeting tonight?\u201d he\nwhispered breathlessly. \u201cThat\u2019s even a bigger stunt than I\u2019d hoped to\npull off! I came here to get evidence against the big shots, but if we\ncan deal Scorpia a crippling blow at the same time....\u201d\n\u201c_Oui!_ That is my thought!\u201d cut in the French woman swiftly. \u201cBut there\nis not now time to tell you my plan. Instead I must warn you. Something\nhave happen to make Cho-San suspect you are not Andr\u00e9 Borg!\u201d\n\u201cThat cuts it!\u201d groaned Don. \u201cI must have been pulling a whole string of\nboners. First Lotus, then you, and now Cho-San gets wise to me....\u201d\n\u201cNo! No! It is not that, M\u2019sieur!\u201d whispered the little maid. \u201cYou have\nnot pull the boner, and Cho-San is not sure. You see he have just got\nthe news that Michael Splendor and Commander Winslow have arrived by\nplane. The Scorpion spy who saw them at the airport say Don Winslow have\na wound on the head jus\u2019 like yours. That start Cho-San wondering w\u2019ich\nis the real Don Winslow and w\u2019ich is Count Andr\u00e9 Borg.\u201d\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d smiled Don grimly, \u201cCho-San sent you in to size me up and\nreport which of the two _you_ think I am! Well, so long as he isn\u2019t\nsure, I stand a chance to get away with it. I\u2019ll have to be more than\never on my guard now, that\u2019s all.\u201d\n\u201c_Mais oui!_\u201d Suzette said loudly, pushing aside the curtains. \u201cAnd now,\nMonsieur, that you have seen the made over apartment, is there anything\nelse you desire? Perhaps some music from the radio, while you await\nMademoiselle Lotus?\u201d\nBefore Don could reply, Cho-San himself appeared from behind the tall\nscreen. A wave of his long fingered hand disposed of the maid. As she\nglided from the room, the big Chinese turned slowly to face the young\nIntelligence officer.\n\u201cI have news for you. Count Borg,\u201d he announced in an ominous tone. \u201cThe\nman who is your double in voice and features has just arrived at the\nairport. My agent who saw him reported that the wound on his head is\nidentical with yours. But that is not all. It seems that even the tiny\nscar beneath Count Borg\u2019s cheekbone has reproduced itself on the face of\nDon Winslow!\u201d\nFor a long moment Don\u2019s gray eyes returned the Oriental\u2019s snakelike\ngaze. Above all things, he told himself, he must not show nervousness.\nInstead, he managed an incredulous laugh.\n\u201cNow, really, Cho-San,\u201d he bantered. \u201cYou can\u2019t expect me to swallow a\nwhopper like that! Either you\u2019re pulling my leg, or your agent had one\nglass too many under his belt when he looked at Winslow. The Commander\nwouldn\u2019t have any reason to copy my facial misfortunes, you know!\u201d\n\u201cI do not know!\u201d snarled Cho-San, giving way to one of his sudden rages.\n\u201cI have found Commander Winslow unbelievably clever on many occasions.\nIf I thought he could lower his stiff pride to impersonate a fool, I\nshould suspect that _your_ scars were faked!\u201d\n\u201cAnd that the real Count Borg is now a traitor wearing the uniform of a\nUnited States Navy Commander?\u201d crowed Don, sinking limply onto the\nnearest couch. \u201cOh-h-n, ha-ha-ha! I never thought to see you so\nconfused, Cho-San! Why, supposing Winslow were\u2014ha, ha\u2014such an idiot as\nto shoot himself in the head, he couldn\u2019t fake this scar under my eye,\ntoo. You can see for yourself, Cho-San. It isn\u2019t painted!\u201d\nLurching to his feet, Don thrust his face close to that of the glowering\nChinese. The effect was everything that he desired. On the instant,\nCho-San\u2019s suspicion was swept away by the sheer violence of his wrath.\n\u201cSilence, you laughing hyena!\u201d thundered the Scorpion leader. \u201cPerhaps\nif your silly face _were_ painted it would sicken me less! As it is, I\nshall use it to serve the purposes of Scorpia, in a way suggested by Don\nWinslow himself. Within the next twenty-four hours that young officer\nwill disappear. At the same time you, Andr\u00e9 Borg, will take his place\nand carry out certain orders. With Winslow safely in our hands, we shall\nproceed to spread dismay in the ranks of the Navy Intelligence!\u201d\nThe harsh brutality in Cho-San\u2019s voice did more than anything to\nreassure Don. The Chinese had evidently made up his mind that Count Borg\nnow stood before him, and had turned his explosive energy to another\nproblem. From now on Don\u2019s best play was obviously to agree.\nAs he was about to reply, a concealed buzzer sounded loudly in the room.\nCho-San turned with a muttered exclamation, and hurried out by way of\nthe carved screen.\nPuzzled and impatient, Don Winslow paced up and down the large,\nluxuriously furnished room. He liked to plan his moves in advance.\nInstead, ever since he had met Lotus in the dining room of the Empire,\nhe had been facing one unexpected situation after another, in\nbewildering succession.\nWhether Suzette, the French Secret Service operative, had any definite\nplans he could not tell. As for Lotus, he wanted another talk with her\nout of range from any concealed dictaphone.\nA soft _click_ of a latch behind caused him to whirl. There stood the\ngirl herself, laughing, her back against the innocent-looking panel\nthrough which she must have entered.\n\u201cExcuse me, please!\u201d she cried, coming swiftly toward him. \u201cBut your\nexpression was so funny\u2014as if I had stuck a pin into you. These hidden\npanels and underground corridors make you nervous, don\u2019t they,\nCommander?\u201d\nAt Don\u2019s warning, \u201cSh-h-h!\u201d Lotus shook her head.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right, if we speak very low,\u201d she reassured him. \u201cI\ndisconnected the dictaphone at the other end. Besides, there\u2019s no one\ntrying to listen now. Cho-San has other fish to fry just at this\nmoment.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Don asked quickly. \u201cA moment before you came in a buzzer\nsounded and he acted as if it were a fire alarm!\u201d\n\u201cIt was a sort of alarm,\u201d the girl replied, seating herself in one of\nthe deep arm chairs. \u201cDr. Skell got a telephone message from the garage.\nIt seems that two of our city agents caught someone snooping about the\nplace, and wanted to know what to do with him. Not that it matters much,\nbut Cho-San will probably want to look him over.\u201d\nIt mattered a great deal to Red Pennington, however, that he had let\nhimself be caught by such a simple trick. As he sat now in the back of a\nstrange car, under the muzzle of a thug\u2019s pistol he understood only too\nwell what had happened.\nHis captors, doubtless in the employ of Scorpia, had simply threatened\nor bribed his own taxi driver to clear out. The two cars looked much\nalike in the dark, and Red had been too unsuspecting to notice the\ndifference, until a gun poked him in the face. As he sat there fuming at\nhis own stupidity, the second plug-ugly came back from across the\nstreet.\n\u201cI phoned de house an\u2019 asked wot ta do wid him,\u201d the fellow reported.\n\u201cDe guy I talked to said ta leave him in de garage tied up, and turn off\nde lights.\u201d \u201cOkay!\u201d grunted the second mobster. \u201cI guess the big shots\nwanna give him the once-over. If he\u2019s one of them Navy Intelligence\nducks they\u2019ll prob\u2019ly bump him off, or burn him in their Chinese torture\nroom. Anyhow, it ain\u2019t none of our business.... Come on, you punk! Git\nout an\u2019 put your hands behind you!\u201d\nThe last words were addressed to Red, and emphasized by a wicked jab of\nthe pistol barrel that raised a welt along the young officer\u2019s jaw.\nPretending to be frightened speechless. Red obeyed, but his brain was\nworking at top speed to figure out a break.\nAt the first touch of the gangster\u2019s rope, Red\u2019s crossed wrists flew\napart. Sweeping up, his hands caught his enemy by the head. With a\npowerful forward heave he hurled the thug\u2019s body over his shoulder, then\nwhirled to grapple the second man.\nA pistol barked, its bullet grazing Red\u2019s arm. The next instant he had\nwrenched the weapon away by a swift jiu-jitsu trick, sending its owner\nreeling with a right hook.\n\u201cNow we\u2019ll see who\u2019s runnin\u2019 this party!\u201d he growled. \u201cHands up or\nI\u2019ll\u2014\u201d\nWHAP!\nA blackjack wielded by the first mobster slapped Red\u2019s unprotected head.\nThe bulky officer collapsed without a groan.\n\u201cTha fat spy! I hope ya killed him!\u201d rasped the man whose jaw Red had\ncracked. \u201cHe made my teeth ache right down to my heels!\u201d\n\u201cShut up and grab hold of his legs, Gimpy!\u201d the other retorted. \u201cIf I\ndid kill him, we got an alibi. He was threatenin\u2019 us with your gun!\nAnyway, we\u2019ll shove him in the garage and let the big shots worry about\nwakin\u2019 him up.\u201d\nTo carry Red\u2019s limp body across to the warehouse and through a small\ndoor at one side was a short job. A second telephone call completed the\nbusiness. Immediately the pair of mobsters drove away, the bigger one\nstill groaning about his sore jaw.\nMeanwhile, in the living room of the comrades\u2019 quarters, Don Winslow was\ngetting the real story of the beautiful Scorpion spy, Lotus. The girl\nhad thrown away all pretense. She said she hated Scorpia and its evil\nplots to stir up war among the nations.\nAs for her own part in it, ever since she had been old enough to know\nright from wrong, her girlish instincts had rebelled against a life of\nspying and deceit. Yet her fear of Cho-San, and especially of that\nmysterious personage who called himself the Scorpion, had forced her to\nobey their orders. Even if she had dared to break with their dreaded\norganization, she had nowhere to go, no one to protect her from the\nvengeance of Scorpia.\nAt least, Lotus intimated, that was the situation until she had met\nCount Borg. Andr\u00e9 was not the criminal type she had known. He never\nspoke of his past life, even after she came to know him well, but he had\nevidently been a man of honor and high culture until joining the ranks\nof Scorpia.\nThe lonely girl had fallen desperately in love with him, though he had\nnever acted as anything more than a kind friend to her. Whenever she\nwhispered to him her longing to be free from Scorpia, Andr\u00e9 would show\nonly a passing interest. Once he had half promised to take her away from\nCho-San\u2019s jealous guardianship, but it never came to anything.\n\u201cAnd now that Andr\u00e9 is no longer one of Scorpia, he has forgotten me!\u201d\nLotus finished tearfully. \u201cNow I will never be free, for there is no one\nwho will help me!\u201d\n\u201cNonsense,\u201d exclaimed Don gruffly, trying to hide the feelings her story\nhad roused in him. \u201cListen, Miss Lotus! You have a lot more real friends\nthan you ever had before. I\u2019m one of them, and I know of another right\nhere in this underground stronghold of Scorpia. When you get clear,\nthere\u2019ll be others\u2014Uncle Sam\u2019s trusted officers and agents, men and\nwomen\u2014who\u2019ll stand ready to protect you until we\u2019ve wiped the Scorpion\nand Cho-San off the slate. You\u2019ll pick up your friendship with Count\nBorg on better terms than before. He\u2019ll be needing _you_ this time, Miss\nLotus\u2014needing someone who really cares!\u201d\n\u201cDon Winslow,\u201d answered the girl solemnly, \u201cyou\u2019ve given me a hope to\nlive for. That\u2019s something so priceless, something so far beyond any\nthanks, that I won\u2019t try to say more. Except that you\u2019re going to stop\ncalling me _Miss_. Promise me that, Commander!\u201d\n\u201cPlain Don, to you!\u201d amended the young officer, gripping the strong\nlittle hand she offered him. \u201cAll right, Lotus; we\u2019re shipmates from now\non. In the name of the United States Navy, I welcome you to the ranks of\npeace. But remember this, always:\u2014_The things worth living for are also\nthe things worth dying for!_ You and I and Suzette\u2014yes, she\u2019s a\nshipmate, too!\u2014may have to give our lives this very night for the cause\nof world peace!\u201d\nThe young girl\u2019s smile was as fearless as the light that shone in her\ndark eyes.\n\u201cI am ready, Don Winslow!\u201d she said calmly. \u201cYou can count on me to help\nor to suffer, as the need may be. Even the tortures of Cho-San\u2019s Lantern\nRoom could not terrify me now. Am I glad that Suzette....\u201d\nAs if in answer to her spoken name, the little French maid appeared from\nbehind the carved Chinese screen. Impulsively she seized her mistress\u2019\nhands and squeezed them.\n\u201cSuzette is glad also, Mademoiselle!\u201d she exclaimed earnestly. \u201cBut,\n_h\u00e9las_! There is no time to speak of that. I have bad news for\nCommander Winslow!\u201d\n                    THE ROOM OF A THOUSAND TORMENTS\nBefore Don could frame a question, the little French-woman caught his\narm.\n\u201c_\u00c9coutez!_\u201d she cried in a husky undertone. \u201cDo you know a man about\ntwenty-six year old, with big, thick chest and red hair dyed black?\u201d\n\u201cYes, yes!\u201d Don whipped back. \u201cGo on! Tell me what you mean! They\nhaven\u2019t caught him?\u201d\n\u201cBut they have, Monsieur!\u201d replied Suzette. \u201cAh, I had the fear it might\nbe one of your men! They have just brought him in, unconscious, and\nCho-San is very much excited. I hear him say, 'Now I shall grind the\ntruth out of that clown who calls himself Count Borg. But first, I\u2019ll\nburn this dog with dyed hair until he howls all he knows!\u2019\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s Red!\u201d Don groaned, his fists knotting at his sides. \u201cYou mean,\nSuzette, that they\u2019ve got him in the torture room? Merciful heavens! I\u2019d\nrather be there in his place\u2014but, quick! Tell me what we can do to get\nhim away?\u201d\n\u201cThere is nothing, Don!\u201d wailed Lotus, wringing her hands in distress.\n\u201cOnce they have gotten your friend in the Lantern Room, there\u2019s no way\nof rescuing him except by a trick. The place is too well-guarded....\u201d\n\u201cA trick!\u201d exclaimed Suzette excitedly. \u201cLet me think jus\u2019 a moment I\nbelieve there is a way....\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s got to be!\u201d grated Don. \u201cEven if we lose a chance of trapping\nthe Scorpion\u2019s whole bunch, we\u2019ve got to get Red out of this. He\u2019s my\nshipmate, and....\u201d\n_\u201cMais, oui!\u201d_ cried the little maid. \u201cWe will do it with the help of\n_le bon Dieu_! Only first, you and Mademoiselle must be in the Lantern\nRoom. You must pretend not to care how much they torture your poor\nfriend. You must not let Cho-San see that you know him at all. Then,\nwhen the chance have arrive, the lights will go out. Your friend must be\nquickly freed, and then _Ps-st_!\u201d\nAt Suzette\u2019s hissed warning, Lotus broke into rapid speech.\n\u201cI understand, my little maid!\u201d she said loudly, with a wink at the\nFrenchwoman. \u201cYou think you must play the chaperon whenever I am with\nCount Borg. That is why you are always sneaking into the room! Now, let\nme tell you this....\u201d\n\u201cStop your chatter, girl!\u201d rasped the voice of Cho-San behind them. \u201cI\nhave something of importance to tell your Andr\u00e9; so be silent or leave\nthe room! Count Borg, it appears that our task of laying hands on Don\nWinslow may be unexpectedly simplified!\u201d\n\u201cReally, Cho-San!\u201d shrugged Don indifferently. \u201cDid you think it was\ngoing to be difficult? I imagine if you used a large enough mob to seize\n\u201cWill you never be serious?\u201d spat the Chinese. \u201cTo put it bluntly, in\nelegant words such as you can understand, we have nabbed a guy who looks\nlike one of Winslow\u2019s pals. _Now_ do you understand?\u201d\n\u201cOh, I say! That\u2019s luck, you know! Really!\u201d exclaimed Don, acting his\npart in spite of inward anxiety. \u201cYou mean we can use this man as bait\nto trap Winslow? Have the fellow write a note to his Commander, or\nsomething?\u201d\n\u201c_Or something!_\u201d the Oriental mimicked him grimly. \u201cI can think of\nsomething even simpler than a written note, my dear Count. With the\ninformation I can get from this Navy spy, by the use of a little\npain.... But come with me to the Lantern Room and see for yourself! You,\ntoo, Lotus, dismiss your maid and come with us. It is time you should\nsee what a little persuasion\u2014Oriental style\u2014can accomplish. I have\nmachines, copied from the torture rooms of Ancient China, which can\nextract any secret!\u201d\nChuckling evilly, the huge Scorpion leader motioned the two young people\nout of the room ahead of him.\nAs he turned away, Don fought an overpowering desire to smash his fist\ninto Cho-San\u2019s grinning yellow face. Only by ramming his hands deep in\nhis pockets did he succeed in controlling them. Although on fire with\nanxiety for Red, he must pretend a careless, somewhat bored good humor.\n\u201cAnd I feared we were going to have a tiresome evening, Cho-San,\u201d he\nmurmured. \u201cChinese torture machines sound awfully entertaining, I must\nsay! Er\u2014by the way, I don\u2019t recall how we get to the lamp room, as you\ncall it.\u201d\n\u201cLantern Room!\u201d growled the Chinese. \u201cLotus will lead the way and I will\nfollow. Take the shortest corridor, girl! I am anxious to see your\nAndr\u00e9\u2019s face when he sets eyes on our latest captive.\u201d\nThe doorway concealed by the carved screen opened into another dimly\nlighted vestibule. Don guessed that a number of its darkly shining\npanels were really hidden doors, communicating with as many passageways.\nThe girl, however, showed no hesitation in locating the one she wanted.\nHer small fingers played briefly with one of the carved dragons of the\nmolding. There was the usual muffled click. Two seconds later a black\nopening gaped in the solid wall.\nThis time the narrow corridor ran almost straight, with a sharp downward\nslope. The distance might have been a hundred feet before another panel\nslid open at Lotus\u2019 touch, and bright electric light streamed briefly\ninto the dark passageway. Knowing, yet fearing, what he was going to\nsee, Don Winslow stepped into the Room of a Thousand Torments.\nThe place was really a stone vault of immense proportions, fifty feet\nwide and perhaps a hundred long. Its groined ceiling was supported by\nthick stone pillars to which were affixed chains and ring bolts of iron.\nAlong the walls stood a weird array of mechanical monsters, some of them\nso crudely made that they might have been centuries old. Don glimpsed a\nmedieval \u201crack\u201d for pulling living human bodies apart, a rude \u201cwheel\u201d\nbetween whose heavy spokes human legs and arms could be broken like\nmatchsticks, an \u201ciron maiden\u201d whose hinged and hollow halves were spiked\nwith deadly knife blades.\nThere were rows of other horrible machines at which he barely glanced.\nWhat drew his attention like a terrible magnet was the prone figure of\nRed Pennington, still in his valet\u2019s garb, lying on a dark stained plank\ntable. Blood trickling from Red\u2019s broken scalp had smeared the chalklike\nwhiteness of his face. So deathly was his appearance that the two\nChinese hatchet men standing guard above him looked like murderers\ngloating over their kill!\nBiting hard on his tongue, Don Winslow held back his rage. Still keeping\nhis outward pose of lazy boredom, he turned to the Scorpion leader.\n\u201cOh, come now, Cho-San!\u201d he protested. \u201cWhat kind of a silly joke is\nthis? The fellow\u2019s dead as dust! No fun in tormenting a corpse, you\nknow.\u201d\nWith a feline hiss, Cho-San leaped past him, shouldering aside the\nnearest hatchet man. Placing his ear to Red\u2019s chest, he listened for the\nheartbeat. The silence in the great, vaulted room was breathless.\nAbruptly the big Oriental straightened up, motioning the guards away.\n\u201cThe man is not quite dead; we can quickly revive him,\u201d he said. \u201cCome\nnearer, Count Borg! We shall show you some fun _at the expense of your\nown valet_!\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d cried Don sharply, striding across to the table. \u201cWhy,\nyou\u2019re right, Cho-San! I didn\u2019t recognize him with all that blood on his\nface. But see here\u2014you can\u2019t put the screws on my valet, you know! He\u2019s\njust a harmless chap I picked up to do for me....\u201d\n\u201cUmmmmm-hmmmmmm! Of course, of course!\u201d rumbled Cho-San. \u201cJust a\nharmless chap you\u2014or perhaps someone else\u2014told to follow our car this\nevening! Well, my dear Count Borg, he succeeded, as you observe!\u201d\nThe guards had returned with two buckets of water and a wide leather\nstrap. At a gesture from Cho-San, they sloshed the water over Red\u2019s body\nfrom head to foot. As soon as both buckets were empty one of the hatchet\nmen began slapping their bound and helpless victim\u2019s face with the heavy\nstrap.\nSuddenly Red groaned, rolling partly on his side. The man with the strap\nstepped away. At the same time, Cho-San pushed Don forward.\nThe trick was cleverly planned. Only luck and Don\u2019s presence of mind\nprevented a showdown then and there. As it happened, Red in his\nhalf-conscious state still thought he was back at the Empire rehearsing\nthe part of \u201cPenny.\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir! I\u2019ll get right up, sir!\u201d he mumbled, opening one eye. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t mean to fall asleep, but ... mmmmm\u2014my head!\u201d\nAt that moment Don flashed him a warning signal often used between\nthem\u2014a sharp lift of the right eyebrow. And, foggy as poor Red\u2019s brain\nstill was, he got it.\nInstead of answering, he shut his mouth and groaned.\nWith a sigh of inward relief, Don Winslow went on with the act. Until\nthe chance should come for a getaway, he must play for time.\n\u201cLook here, my man!\u201d he snapped angrily. \u201cWhat on earth possessed you to\nfollow my friend\u2019s car this evening? Hang it! If this is some stupid\npolice trick....\u201d\n\u201cNot at all, my dear Count!\u201d chorded Cho-San, seizing Red by the scalp.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a trick of the famous Navy Intelligence, if anything. Look closely\nat this stout lieutenant\u2019s hair\u2014dyed black, _except at the roots_!\u201d\nA flat accusation could not have been more menacing than Cho-San\u2019s leer.\nYet, somehow Don sensed that the Chinese was still only guessing. With a\npuzzled frown he returned the man\u2019s snaky gaze.\n\u201cA lieutenant?\u201d he drawled. \u201cOh, of course! You mean Red Pennington. But\nreally, Cho-San, this fellow Penny couldn\u2019t be Don Winslow\u2019s shipmate. I\npicked him up only today on the sidewalk, mooching for dimes. He told me\nhe\u2019d been a valet and I hired him. Even bought him an outfit of clothes.\nCome now, Cho-San, admit that your idea\u2019s a bit fantastic! Besides, how\ncould Pennington have got here so soon from Haiti, old dear? Ha-ha! I\u2019ve\ngot you there, haven\u2019t I?\u201d\n\u201cUnless,\u201d smiled the Chinese with sinister emphasis, \u201c\u2014unless you, my\ndear Don Winslow, brought him with you as a passenger in the plane that\nMichael Splendor _allowed_ you to steal!\u201d\n                        WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT\n\u201cOh-h-h!\u201d Lotus\u2019 gasp of amazement was well faked. \u201cWhy, Cho-San, unless\nyou\u2019re joking you\u2019re insane to think of such a thing! This isn\u2019t Don\nWinslow\u2014it\u2019s _Andr\u00e9_! I know because I\u2014I love him! Even you, Cho-San,\nmust admit a woman can recognize the man she loves.\u201d\nFor a moment the Scorpion leader stood snarling like a tiger that had\nmissed its kill. His lips writhed back and strange animal sounds came\nthrough his bared yellow teeth.\n\u201cAr-r-rgh! So!\u201d he growled. \u201cWe shall see. We shall see if you have\nturned traitor to Scorpia, my little Lotus. I know one way to answer\nboth questions. Stand aside!\u201d\nForcing her back with a sweep of his loglike arm, Cho-San erupted into\nsing-song Chinese commands. While he was still speaking, the two hatchet\nmen leaped to obey.\nRed Pennington was lifted from the table, carried to a spot beneath the\nnearest stone arch, and held there upright, while Cho-San advanced upon\nhim with the tread of a big jungle cat. Seizing Red\u2019s bound wrists, the\nChinese jerked them toward a loop of wire which hung down from the\narch\u2019s apex.\n\u201cGreat guns, Lotus!\u201d whispered Don, his lips barely moving. \u201cWe\u2019ve got\nto do something quick. They\u2019re going to hang Red up by the\nthumbs\u2014torture him before our eyes!\u201d\nThe girl nodded silently. Her face was dead white, her lips a thin\npurple line. With Don at her side, she made for the leering Scorpion\nleader.\n\u201cDon\u2019t, Cho-San!\u201d she exclaimed in a low, tragic voice. \u201cIf you are such\na fiend that you must torture somebody, take me! I could stand it better\nthan watching....\u201d\n\u201c_Oo-oo-oonh!_\u201d\nThe moan of agony was wrung from Red\u2019s lips, as Cho-San threw his weight\non the pulley rope. The stocky lieutenant now hung by his thumbs from\nthe wire loop which had cut through skin and tissue.\nOnly Lotus\u2019 warning nudge kept Don from throwing himself then and there\nupon the slant-eyed devil who was leaning on that rope. With a supreme\neffort he controlled himself.\nSuzette, he recalled, had mentioned a plan of rescue which Lotus would\nattempt when the chance came. Until then he must play the game!\nLotus, he noticed, had moved over to the nearest wall. She leaned\nagainst it in a pathetic huddle, her hands covering her face. So\nconvincing was her pose of despair that Don wondered if it were acting\nat all.\nRed anger again clouded his brain. His hand crept to the lapel of his\ndinner jacket within quick reach of the automatic beneath his armpit.\n\u201cI advise you to keep your hand away from your weapon, my friend!\u201d came\nCho-San\u2019s ugly growl. \u201cBack there in the shadows stands one of my\npersonal bodyguards, with a Thompson submachine gun aimed at your\nmidriff. At the first signal from me\u2014he will make a bloody rag of your\nshirt front. Ah-ha! You see him now?\u201d\nSlowly Don\u2019s narrowed gaze made out the shadowy figure behind an\nunlighted archway. His hand lifted to cover a well-faked yawn.\n\u201cOf course I see him!\u201d he murmured lazily. \u201cBut why all the dramatics,\nCho-San? So far the fun you promised has been frightfully tiresome. I\u2019ve\nheard men groaning in pain before in my life, you know. Really, this\nisn\u2019t even interesting....\u201d\n\u201cIt will be, my dear Borg-Winslow!\u201d spat the Chinese. \u201cIt will be most\ninteresting when Lieutenant Pennington starts to tell us\u2014between\ngroans\u2014just which your name really is! And if this simple\nthumb-stretcher doesn\u2019t work, I have a new electrical machine which\ntears the brain apart, bit by bit. Perhaps you would like me to give you\na taste of that, when I am finished with your friend?\u201d\nWith a ghastly chuckle, Cho-San turned back to his work. The pulley rope\ntightened. From Red\u2019s anguished throat burst another pitiful moan.\nAt that instant the huge room was plunged in darkness. There was a\nscuffle of feet, two hard, thudding blows\u2014the sound of one or more\nfalling bodies.\nA girl\u2019s scream rang out, followed by Cho-San\u2019s bass bellow. Then came\nsilence, more stifling than the thick darkness of the vault.\nIn contrast to the gruesome quiet of Cho-San\u2019s dark torture room, loud\nargument resounded in the brightly lighted office of the local\nIntelligence Bureau. Michael Splendor, just arrived from the airport to\ntake charge of operations, was laying down the law to the chief of the\nSan Francisco operatives.\n\u201cIt\u2019s all ye\u2019re fault, Hammond!\u201d he roared, pounding the desk with an\nenormous hairy fist. \u201cYe should have seen the game was up when Cho-San\nbutted in on the party and spirited Don Winslow away in his big black\ncar! Ye should have had a squad of expert men ready to shadow him,\ninstead of leavin\u2019 it to a young officer who\u2019s not trained to the work.\nNow, repeat if ye will, the story of that taxi driver who said he\u2019d been\nhired to follow Cho-San\u2019s limousine!\u201d\n\u201cI know he\u2019s the one who drove Pennington, because we took his license\nnumber,\u201d Hammond stated flatly. \u201cHis name\u2019s Grogan, and he seems to be\non the level. He says they lost Cho-San\u2019s limousine somewhere in\nChinatown. They followed another by mistake and it brought them up in\nfront of Cho-San\u2019s curio shop. Pennington told Grogan to stop and wait\nwhile he took a look at the place. While the lieutenant was gone, two\ntough eggs from the second car shoved pistols through Grogan\u2019s window\nand told him to drive on. Grogan had no choice but to obey. He came back\nhere to his regular stand, and we nabbed him for questioning. That\u2019s\nall!\u201d\n\u201cAnd isn\u2019t it enough to persuade ye that both Pennington and Commander\nWinslow are in deadly peril?\u201d retorted Splendor bitterly. \u201cWhy did ye\nhave to wait till I arrived, before raidin\u2019 Cho-San\u2019s layout? Get busy,\nnow, call up all your reserves\u2014every fightin\u2019 man ye can deputize for\nthe job. What\u2019s holdin\u2019 ye?\u201d\n\u201cNothing, sir, now that you\u2019ve ordered it!\u201d replied Hammond, his honest\nface flushing red. \u201cOf course you\u2019re aware we\u2019ll need to find evidence\nof lawless activities in order to justify a raid. Cho-San has both\nwealth and influence to fight criminal charges in any court!\u201d\n\u201cAnd what of that?\u201d the lion-maned cripple roared back. \u201cBy this time\nDon Winslow and Pennington will have found enough evidence to hang that\nyellow fiend higher than Haman. Away with ye, Hammond! Collect your men,\nand be sure that one of them is husky enough to carry me on his back.\nLegs or no legs, I\u2019ll lead this raid if it\u2019s me last act!\u201d\nWithout a word Hammond departed, swept from the room by the blast of\nSplendor\u2019s fierce energy. As the door closed behind him another opened\nto admit Mercedes Colby still in her flying togs.\n\u201cI heard that last, Mr. Splendor!\u201d she cried, coming quickly to the\ncripple\u2019s chair. \u201cNo wonder Hammond calls you 'the old Lion\u2019! But you\nwere joking, weren\u2019t you, about leading this raid on Cho-San\u2019s place?\u201d\n\u201cFaith, and why should I joke about that?\u201d snorted the veteran\nIntelligence officer. \u201cHave I been in a jokin\u2019 mood since we took off\nfrom Haiti this mornin\u2019? At least I can shoot with the best of Hammond\u2019s\ndeputies, and that\u2019s all I ask a chance to do. But what about the thing\nI sent ye to find out, child? Is Count Borg well guarded in that room\nHammond assigned him to?\u201d\n\u201c_Too_ well guarded, if you take the Count\u2019s word for it,\u201d replied\nMercedes with a smile. \u201cMr. Hammond assigned a couple of his best\ndetectives, armed to the teeth, to guard the doors. Of course they\ndidn\u2019t arm Count Borg because he\u2019s a prisoner, at least, technically.\nBut I don\u2019t think any Scorpion gang is going to kidnap him tonight.\u201d\n\u201cI hope not, my dear,\u201d sighed Splendor, wagging his gray maned head.\n\u201cBut if Cho-San has pierced Don Winslow\u2019s disguise, as I fear he has\ndone, things may happen too fast for us to prevent...\u201d\n\u201c_Oh-h-h! The lights!_\u201d\nMercedes\u2019 gasp cut through a pitch black room. Without warning every\nlight had gone out, not only in the office building but in the street\noutside.\nIn a darkness just as absolute, Don Winslow plunged blindly forward,\nbearing Red\u2019s helpless weight. Lotus\u2019 scream had given him his\ndirection. If only he didn\u2019t bump into a pillar or a prowling hatchet\nman, he\u2019d make it to where she waited!\nSuddenly a small, firm hand clutched his arm. Without question he obeyed\nits pressure, felt himself being guided past an unseen obstruction.\nThe next instant a cool draught struck his face. The guiding hand gave\nhis arm one quick, farewell squeeze. Somewhere behind him sounded the\nclick of a closing panel.\nThe darkness was as thick as ever, but now he sensed that he was no\nlonger in the vaulted torture room. That cool current of air suggested a\ntunnel or corridor connecting with the world above ground.\nLuckily he had remembered to take a small pocket torch when he went down\nto dinner that evening. Its white beam now showed up the rough stone\nwalls of a passageway, like the one leading from the elevator. But that\nwas not all.\nWithin arm\u2019s reach stood the French maid, Suzette, her finger to her\nlips in silent warning. As Don met her eyes, she beckoned urgently and\nturned to vanish in the black shadows.\nWhen the flashlight found her again Suzette was several yards up the\ntunnel, running like a boy. Don followed somewhat more slowly, trying to\nkeep Red\u2019s head from bumping the low, timbered roof. He was breathing\nheavily when he finally overtook the French-woman.\n\u201cWe mus\u2019 be ver\u2019 quick, Commander!\u201d she whispered, halting at a place\nwhere the passageway branched. \u201cYour poor friend, is he too badly hurt\nto walk?\u201d\n\u201cNot so\u2019s you\u2019d notice it, Miss!\u201d came Red\u2019s husky answer. \u201cJust get\nthese ropes off my hands and ankles, and I\u2019ll manage to toddle. Got a\nknife, Skipper?\u201d\nDon\u2019s penknife was already out, sawing at the brutally tight cords.\n\u201cThis is easier than getting that loop of wire off your thumbs in the\ndark, shipmate!\u201d he panted. \u201cI was afraid those two cat-eyed hatchet men\nwould come back at me before I got you clear.\u201d\n\u201cNot a chance!\u201d grinned Red Pennington rubbing his blood smeared wrists.\n\u201cYou hit \u2019em so hard they couldn\u2019t even crawl away, Skipper. You must\nhave judged their positions just right.\u201d\n\u201c_Allons donc, Messieurs!_ We waste time!\u201d cut in Suzette\u2019s sharp\nwhisper. \u201cWe are not out of the danger yet. This left-hand\npassage\u2014come! And run as if the devil-dog Marines were after you!\u201d\n                        PULLING DEATH\u2019S WHISKERS\nRed Pennington made a desperate spurt to catch up. His feet and hands\nwere still numb; his head ached fiercely; his stomach was seasick for\nthe first time in years. But that crack about the Marines was too much\nto swallow.\n\u201cYou got it wrong, lady!\u201d he puffed, stumbling at Suzette\u2019s heels. \u201cYou\nmean run like _we_ were chasin\u2019 the _Marines_, don\u2019t you? No gob ever\nyet ran away from a leatherneck...\u201d\n\u201cPipe down and save your breath, sailor!\u201d warned Don. \u201cSuzette\u2019s leading\nthis patrol, and it\u2019s not over yet by a long shot!\u201d\nAs he spoke the fleet-footed French girl darted into another branch\ntunnel. This one doubled back after a few feet, then branched again, and\ncontinued at right angles. In the next few minutes the young officers\nrealized they were deep in an underground maze. Here anyone but a guide\nwith an exceptional memory would lose the way.\nAnd now another danger made itself apparent. From time to time distant\nshouts and the clatter of a machine gun echoed through the rocky\nlabyrinth. In quick whispers tossed over her shoulders Suzette urged\ngreater speed. The noticeable dimming of Don\u2019s flashlight gave added\nwarning.\nDespite aching muscles and tortured lungs, Red forced himself to a\nswifter pace. As a result, he tripped and fell. Before Don could help\nhim, he was running again, ignoring a pair of gashed knees. Sheer\nfighting courage kept him up, defying the weight of a body built more\nfor comfort than for speed.\nAll at once Suzette slowed and stopped, throwing back a warning arm.\n\u201cPut out your torch, _Monsieur_ Winslow!\u201d she hissed. \u201cAround the next\ncorner is a machine gun in a 'pill-box.\u2019 It stands between us and\nfreedom. Either we mus\u2019 silence it or be trap here where we stand!\u201d\n\u201cI see,\u201d muttered Don. \u201cBut you must have made some plan for doing that,\nSuzette. What\u2019s our best play?\u201d\nIn the pitch darkness the girl grasped a sleeve of each of the two men.\nNot until their three heads were literally together, did she reply.\n\u201cI can think of jus\u2019 one way to do,\u201d she said tensely. \u201cSomewhere along\nthe next passage is a photo-electric trigger, worked by infra-red light.\nIf we try to pass it, the overhead lights flash on, the machine gunner\nbegin to shoot, and we die with fifty bullet holes in our backs! So\nthis, _Messieurs_, is my plan. When the lights flash on, I will empty my\nsmall pistol through the machine gunner\u2019s loophole. That will keep him\nbusy until you pass beyond the next turn. Before he dare to look again,\nI follow you, and\u2014\u201d\n\u201cNothing doing, Suzette!\u201d Don cut in abruptly. \u201cThat way you\u2019d be\nsacrificing your life for us and you know it. I\u2019ve got another idea.\nWe\u2019ll silence that machine gun before the lights flash up in the\npassageway. All I ask is for you to show me that 'pillbox\u2019 loophole _in\nthe dark_!\u201d\nWell trained by the French Secret Service, Suzette knew the voice of\nauthority. Without hesitation she took Don\u2019s hand.\n\u201cCome then, _Monsieur_!\u201d she whispered. \u201cAnd your friend\u2014he mus\u2019 keep\nclose behind us, but make no sound.\u201d\nFor the next thirty feet they proceeded at a snail\u2019s pace, careful not\nto make the slightest sound. At last, however, Suzette halted, to grope\nfor a few seconds at an unseen wall.\nDon guessed what she was doing. When the tug came on his wrist, he let\nhis own hand be guided until it touched the edges of a square opening.\nThe loophole! And protruding from it, Don could feel the ugly steel\nsnout of a submachine gun. The other end, he knew, was held by a ready\nkiller, whose grip need only tighten on the trigger to spray forth a\nstream of lead and fire!\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard of pulling Death\u2019s whiskers,\u201d the young officer thought with\na slight shiver, \u201cbut this is the nearest I\u2019ve come to doing it yet!\u201d\nHis next movements were coolly calculated. Fixing the loophole\u2019s\nposition in mind, he took a fresh grip on the unlighted pocket torch. At\nthe same time he drew the snub-nosed .38 caliber automatic from his\nshoulder holster. Lastly, to steady his aim, he drew a single deep\nbreath.\nThe rest happened too fast for words to describe.\nThe flash of Don\u2019s torch, the blast of his pistol, a muffled explosion\ninside the concrete wall\u2014all followed in the same split instant. The\nscream of human pain that issued through the loophole seemed to be\nminutes later, though actually it was hardly a second.\nWhile the cry still echoed, a blinding flood of light showed three\ncrouched figures racing for the tunnel\u2019s end. So cramped was the passage\nthat bullets from the \u201cpillbox\u201d could have cut them down like toy\nsoldiers, but not even one shot rang out. The next instant all three had\ndisappeared around a rocky projection of the wall.\nDon Winslow\u2019s dimming flashlight now showed a rough-boarded staircase,\nleading upward. At Suzette\u2019s heels, the two officers mounted, three\nsteps at a time. At the top they crossed a narrow hall, burst through a\nhalf-concealed door, and came out into the open air.\nHere, in what seemed to be a dark alley, Red Pennington grabbed at Don\u2019s\nshoulder.\n\u201cAvast, Skipper!\u201d he panted! \u201cLemme get a breath or two before\nwe\u2014ugh\u2014go on!\u201d\n\u201c_Non! Non!_ Not yet, _Messieurs_!\u201d the Frenchwoman\u2019s voice lashed back.\n\u201cSoon we will stop, but it is not safe yet. _Allons!_\u201d\nAs if to confirm her words, high-pitched, Oriental voices broke out in\nthe building behind them. Red waited for no more, but lunged ahead,\nsobbing for breath.\nThe route they followed for the next five minutes was as mixed up as the\nmaze of underground tunnels they had left. Back and forth through dark\nalleyways and darker buildings they dodged. Suzette had evidently\nstudied the route by daylight, and kept a map of it in her mind for just\nsuch an emergency.\nAt the last door, which seemed to be that of a basement apartment, she\nused a key.\n\u201cThis place is safe if we do not show the light, _Messieurs_,\u201d she\npanted. \u201cMany weeks ago I have rent and furnish it under another name.\nBeyond is a door opening to another street where you can get a taxi. And\nnow, while Suzette gets her breath, tell me what you did to that machine\ngun, Commander. I die of curiousness!\u201d\n\u201cI took a chance and tried to plug his gun muzzle with my own bullet,\u201d\nDon answered. \u201cJust by luck I did it first try. Of course, when the\nmachine gunner pulled the trigger, his weapon blew up! That\u2019s all there\nwas to it!\u201d\n\u201cExcept a chilled steel nerve and cracking good marksmanship!\u201d grunted\nRed Pennington. \u201cIf you\u2019d missed that first shot the guy inside would\nhave blown your head off.\u201d\n\u201c_Mais, oui!_\u201d chimed in Suzette. \u201cWe owe our lives to the so brave\nCommander! But now I mus\u2019 speak of other things. Tell me, Monsieur\nWinslow, how many men you can bring for a raid tonight on the underworld\nof Scorpia? We mus\u2019 strike now, while so many agents are here for\nCho-San\u2019s big conference!\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, Suzette!\u201d exclaimed Don. \u201cTonight\u2019s the time, and I\u2019ve\nasked our local office to hold fifty fighting men within call in case I\nneeded them. Michael Splendor has just arrived and is probably running\nthem up now. I could lead them back here within an hour, probably...\u201d\n\u201cBut that is perfect, Commander!\u201d cried the little Frenchwoman. \u201cGo now,\nand bring your men to the shop of Cho-San. I will have the door unlock,\nso you need make no noise. From the shop I will conduct you to the\nsecret gallery w\u2019ich overlook the Scorpion\u2019s great Assembly Room. The\nagents will soon be gather there to hear Cho-San\u2019s instructions for a\nnew world war plot. Your men will then take them by surprise and make\nthe\u2014w\u2019at you call\u2014_clean-up_ in one big swoop!\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll do that or die trying, Suzette!\u201d Don exclaimed heartily. \u201cNow\nlead the way to the other door, and we\u2019ll be off. If you get a chance to\nspeak to Lotus, tell her we\u2019ll be back to take her away from Cho-San\u2019s\ntorture rooms and slimy passages.\u201d\nSuzette did not reply. Taking Don\u2019s hand she led the two young officers\nswiftly through the apartment and an adjoining basement. As they came\nout onto a darkened areaway, Don Winslow thought he heard the little\nmaid sob.\n\u201c_Voil\u00e0!_\u201d she said in a choked voice. \u201cYou can see the street beyond\nthat alley to the right. And hurry, _Messieurs_, if you hope to see the\nlittle Lotus alive. I have fear that Cho-San has punish her already for\nher part in helping you escape!\u201d\nDon\u2019s groan came through gritted teeth.\n\u201cHeaven grant you\u2019re wrong about that!\u201d he said hoarsely. \u201cIf that child\nhas given her life for us, we\u2019ll never rest till we wipe the last memory\nof Scorpia from the earth! Come, Red! Every second counts against us\nnow!\u201d\nFeet stamped and flashlights blazed through the office building of the\nlocal Intelligence Bureau. Above the sounds of disciplined search,\nMichael Splendor\u2019s great voice could be heard roaring questions and\norders.\nThere had been two or three minutes time, however, between the moment\nthe lights went out and the organization of a flashlight brigade. In\nthat brief space the emissaries of Scorpia had pulled off their\ncarefully planned raid and departed. As souvenirs of their visit they\nhad left two drugged and unconscious detectives outside an upper floor\nroom.\nCount Borg had vanished, snatched from under the noses of Hammond\u2019s best\nmen; and no one had seen him go. The fact was a stunning blow to the\nBureau chief; but to Splendor, it was just one more challenge to fight.\n\u201cFind out how many men ye\u2019ve got here now, Hammond!\u201d he bellowed down\nthe corridor. \u201cBring them back to the main office so I can look them\nover. If I spot no spies among them, we\u2019ll start at once.\u201d\nThe office lights were still out, but darkness was no obstacle to the\ngray-haired cripple. Holding an electric torch in his teeth, he\npropelled his wheel chair through the door and around the long oak table\nwhich ran almost the length of the room. Satisfied that no prowlers\nlurked in the shadows, he took his place beside the single entrance and\nwaited.\nMoments later, Hammond finished rounding up his force of deputies. As he\nled them down the corridor toward the main office Splendor\u2019s bull voice\nhailed him.\n\u201cStand opposite me, Hammond,\u201d the veteran ordered, \u201cand let your men\npass between us one by one. That way we\u2019ll be sure there\u2019s no traitor\namong them!\u201d\nAs he spoke there was a sudden stir among the group of men outside. It\nended briefly with a cry of discovery.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got him, sir!\u201d cried one of the deputies. \u201cThis fellow didn\u2019t want\nto stand inspection, I guess. I caught him trying to slip away!\u201d\nSpotlighted by a score of torch beams, the culprit was pushed forward to\nthe door. In his light topcoat he looked like a slim boy, hanging his\nhead as if in shame.\nA flick of Hammond\u2019s hand knocked off the low pulled fedora and brought\na gasp from every onlooker. The youthful face, under a mass of tightly\nwound hair, was Mercedes Colby\u2019s.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care\u2014I\u2019m going with you anyway!\u201d the girl exploded, turning\nupon Michael Splendor. \u201cI\u2019m no fluffy, helpless child to be sent to bed\nwhen there\u2019s a real job of work to do! If a man with no legs can risk\nhis life to help Don Winslow, so can a girl. And you\u2019re not going to\nstop me!\u201d\nThrowing off the borrowed topcoat, Mercedes stood there slim and defiant\nin her boyish flying togs. Her clear eyes glowed like battle lanterns in\nthe light of Splendor\u2019s torch beam. Before the veteran could frame a\nreply, a voice outside in the corridor drew everyone\u2019s attention.\n\u201cGood for you, Mercedes!\u201d cried Don Winslow, striding up the corridor\nwith Red at his heels. \u201cYou\u2019re not the only woman who\u2019s risking her life\ntonight in the cause of humanity. When he knows the truth, even Mr.\nSplendor won\u2019t try to keep you back!\u201d\nDon\u2019s arrival acted like a powerful stimulant to the spirits of everyone\nthere. What had seemed a dangerous duty to most of Hammond\u2019s hard-boiled\ndeputies, now took on the color of high adventure. There was something\nin the young Commander\u2019s presence which always fired men to eager\nloyalty, and they expressed it now in a muffled cheer.\nBriefly Don outlined the situation up to the moment he and Red had left\nSuzette. In return Hammond told him of Count Borg\u2019s disappearance, and\nthe preparations made up to then.\nEach deputy, the Bureau chief explained, was armed with two pistols.\nHalf of them carried Thompson submachine guns and the rest a supply of\ntear gas bombs. There were extra weapons and gas masks in the office, he\nsaid, from which Don and Red could choose.\n\u201cI can\u2019t see that there\u2019s any need to wait, then,\u201d said Don. \u201cAs soon as\nMr. Splendor has finished his inspection, we can start!\u201d\nFor weapons, both the Navy officers selected regulation Enfield rifles,\nwhich could be used as terrible clubs in hand-to-hand fighting.\nMercedes, still insistent on going along, was fitted out with a\nbulletproof vest under her light topcoat. Her weapons consisted of a\npair of automatics, one loaded with tear gas cartridges. The three of\nthem were the last to pass Michael Splendor\u2019s swift inspection.\nAt his own signal, the veteran was lifted pickaback to the shoulders of\na powerful deputy, and carried at the head of his fifty men to the cars\nwaiting outside. With a few low spoken words, the deputies jammed into\nthe vehicles. Doors slammed, starters whirred, and the raiding party was\non its way, speeding through the foggy streets.\nTwenty minutes later, the leading car braked to a stop in front of\nCho-San\u2019s darkened shop. As the others lined up behind it, the crippled\nbut dauntless leader headed the silent rush of fighting men across the\nstreet.\nAt the shop door Don and Red caught up with him. The knob turned easily\nat the young Commander\u2019s touch. An instant later ten flashlight beams\npicked out the small figure of Suzette, waiting in the center of the\nroom.\n\u201cThank Heaven you are arrive, _Messieurs_!\u201d the girl exclaimed. \u201cThe\nlittle Lotus still lives, and they have just brought in Count Borg.\nFollow me quickly if you would save them!\u201d\nDeep under the fortresslike mansion of Cho-San, a huge room had been\nhollowed out of the native earth and rock. Across one end of it\nstretched a platform, equipped with lights to produce every sort of\nstage effect. The room\u2019s main floor space was filled with regular\ntheater seats enough to accommodate two hundred persons.\nAt present more than half of the seats were occupied. Men and women of\nall nationalities sat conversing in twenty different tongues and\ndialects. As if to add drama to the scene, each appeared in his native\ncostume, however outlandish it happened to be. There were dark men from\nIndia, Morocco, and the South Sea Islands; black men from Africa, and\nyellow men from the Far East. Mingled with these were fair-skinned women\nfrom North and South America and from the glittering capitals of\nEurope\u2014a strangely varied and colorful assembly!\nYet for all their differences of age, sex and race, these people had one\ntrait in common. It was an expression of reckless cruelty, like a brand\nburned deep into their very souls.\nThere was nothing strange about that, of course, for these were the key\nmen and women of Scorpia, the chief spies and agents of a world-wide\ncrime club. Success for them meant always disaster for civilized\nnations\u2014revolutions, wars, and bloody conquests, from which the\nScorpion\u2019s brood could pick their illegal wealth.\nThe sound of hard-voiced laughter and conversation died suddenly. Weird\nmusic throbbed out from some hidden source. Slowly the great curtain of\npurple velvet rolled back upon a scene of medieval horror.\nThree spotlights threw a merciless radiance upon the darkened stage. In\nthe center stood Cho-San, robed in the rich silks of Ancient China, his\nhands clasped under loose sleeves. Motionless as a statue, his huge\nfigure dominated the scene.\nAt Cho-San\u2019s right a second spotlight circled a great wooden wheel, to\nwhose spokes had been lashed the body of a girl. Still clad in her white\nsatin evening gown, Lotus\u2019 young beauty was in tragic contrast with her\nstiff, tortured pose.\nThe third part of the gruesome tableau was a heavy wooden stretcher, or\nrack, to which a man was bound by hands and feet. So taut were the ropes\nthat another turn of the machine\u2019s windlass would have jerked his joints\napart.\nAll this the audience took in before the first gasp of astonishment\nescaped their lips. Like a wind through dry branches a harsh whisper\nswept across the room:\u2014\n\u201cThe Lotus! Count Borg! _What does it mean, Cho-San?_\u201d\nThe whisper died into silence. Openmouthed the assembled agents of\nScorpia sat staring at the terrible, unspoken wrath of Cho-San. As they\nwatched, the towering figure of the Chinese seemed to swell and\npalpitate with voiceless fury.\nWhen it came, his first word rolled out like an organ\u2019s shuddering bass.\n\u201cTreason!\u201d he thundered. \u201cTreason to the power of Scorpia! These two,\nabout to die in torment, dared to defy the Master; and I, Cho-San,\naccuse them before you all!\u201d\nThe hundred-odd men and women of Scorpia shivered in the darkness beyond\nthe stage. All had heard tales of Cho-San\u2019s torture room. Some even had\nvisited the vaulted chamber and seen old bloodstains on those devilish\nmachines.\nThey remembered their fellow agents who had disappeared to be \u201ctried\u201d\nlater in this same underground auditorium. In such cases the accused\nwere brought on the stage to give their \u201cconfessions\u201d; but their broken\nbodies and fear stricken tones told plainer than words of secret\ntorments. Not even the few who were released after trial ever told\nexactly what had happened to them.\nAnd now these members of Scorpia\u2019s Inner Council were to see with their\nown eyes the fate of two who had defied the Scorpion\u2019s power. Their\ncruel natures were as thrilled by the prospect as they were awed by\nthought that their own turn might come some day.\nSuch was the mind of the audience which heard Cho-San\u2019s grim accusation.\nWith savage eagerness they drank in the Scorpion leader\u2019s every word,\nwhile their eyes gloated over those helpless victims on the wheel and\nrack.\nWith the tread of a great jungle beast, Cho-San approached the\nhalf-conscious Lotus.\nFacing the assembly, the Chinese raised his voice.\n\u201cThis girl, this fickle traitoress,\u201d he cried, \u201chas gone over to the\nenemy, body and soul. In a few minutes you will hear her confess her\nguilt under mortal pain. But first\u2014\u201d\nCho-San paused dramatically.\n\u201cFirst,\u201d he repeated, \u201cshe will listen to the screams of this other\nenemy of Scorpia\u2014the man who was once a member of this very Inner\nCouncil\u2014Count Andr\u00e9 Borg! We shall see what confession another turn of\nthe ropes will wring from him ... Dr. Skell!\u201d\nInto the spotlight moved a tall man garbed in a white laboratory coat.\nHis bald, skull-like head turned to face Cho-San.\n\u201cOne turn?\u201d he asked, laying a bony hand upon the rack\u2019s windlass.\nThe Chinese nodded. Slowly the rack\u2019s wooden crank moved downward,\ntightening the ropes. Count Borg\u2019s body stiffened under the frightful\ntension. Through his clenched jaws issued a grinding sob of pain.\n\u201cAnother turn and his bones snap out of their sockets,\u201d came the dry\ncroak of Dr. Skell. \u201cShall I go on?\u201d\n\u201cNo! No!\u201d came Lotus\u2019 frantic cry. \u201cTorture me, Cho-San, but not Andr\u00e9!\nAnything\u2014_anything but that_!\u201d\n\u201cTear him apart!\u201d snarled the Scorpion leader. \u201cPut your weight on that\nwindlass, or\u2014\u201d\nCR-RACK!\nThe whipping report of a rifle slapped against the walls. With a queer,\nanimal whine, the bony Skell shrank back, his bullet grazed hand\ndripping red.\nFor a moment paralysis seemed to grip the assembled Council of Scorpia.\nThen through tense silence the voice of Don Winslow cut like a knife.\n\u201cHold it, Cho-San! We\u2019ve got every exit covered. You\u2019d better give up!\u201d\nQuick as a cat, the big Chinese leaped. Outside the spotlight, his\nfigure was a swift vanishing blur. The slam of an automatic pistol came\nseconds too late, as Michael Splendor charged onto the stage at the head\nof twenty fighting men.\nLeaping down across the footlights, Don Winslow, Red Pennington and a\ndozen of Hammond\u2019s men lined up with ready guns. Yet in the face of that\nthreat more than half the Scorpion assembly had drawn concealed pistols.\nA single shot would touch off a battle to the death. None knew it better\nthan Michael Splendor as he perched on the shoulders of a powerful\ndeputy, full in the spotlight\u2019s glare. He knew also that men and women,\nhowever desperate, can sometimes be bluffed.\n\u201cEvery exit to this room is blocked by armed men!\u201d he announced in a\nringing voice. \u201cThrow down your weapons and ye\u2019ll take no harm. Fight\nand ye\u2019ll get licked anyway. Which will ye choose?\u201d\nA low muttering began among the trapped councilmen of Scorpia. Above the\nbabel of whispers a single voice rose clear.\n\u201cCho-San escaped!\u201d rang the defiant shout. \u201cThe secret corridors are NOT\nblocked. We will scatter\u2014and catch these fools in their own trap!\u201d\nA roar of approval went up from the crowd. In three scrambling groups\nthe assembly broke for the sides and rear of the auditorium, avoiding\nthe platform. A few of the nearest kept their eyes and pistols trained\non the line of riflemen, but they clearly wished to postpone the\nshooting.\nTo the mob\u2019s angry surprise, this means of escape had been forestalled.\nWhen the paneled exit doors slid back, a squad of deputies barred each\nopening with clubbed guns. At the same time Splendor\u2019s bellow rose above\nthe tumult.\n\u201cOn with your gas masks, boys!\u201d he ordered. \u201cWe\u2019ll have these wastrels\nchokin\u2019 for breath in two minutes.\u201d\nSuiting action to words, the veteran pulled the ring of a tear gas\ngrenade and flung it. Twice more he repeated the motion before bullets\nfrom the ranks of Scorpia drilled him and his human mount. With a groan\nthe big deputy sank to his knees, spilling his wounded chief to the\nfloor.\nFrom the embattled exits more gas grenades were being hurled, but there\nthe press of fighting bodies was too close for pistol work. The same\nsort of struggle was taking place where Don Winslow and his squad of\nfighters held back a rush for the stage exits.\nThe only shooting appeared to be aimed at Splendor and the fallen\ndeputy, sprawled in the white glare of the spotlight.\nIt was Mercedes Colby who acted in the nick of time to save them.\nAlready she had cut loose the racked body of Count Borg and freed his\nsobbing companion. Now, braving the bullets that clipped across the\nstage, she started to drag Michael Splendor out of the light.\nAt that moment two Malay councilmen broke through Don\u2019s thin line of\nfighting deputies. Maddened by the smart of tear gas they leaped onto\nthe platform, armed with long, glittering knives. Their yells of\ntigerish fury announced that they had gone _amok_.\nBullets could not have stopped them in time, yet Mercedes sprang to face\nthem. Her left hand pistol barked. White smoke from the tear gas\ncartridges belched in the face of her attackers.\nTheir yells ended in choking grunts. Clawing at their blinded eyes, the\nMalays staggered back to plunge over the platform\u2019s edge.\nFrom then on it was a losing battle for the Scorpion forces. The tear\ngas, now filling the entire room, effectively blinded everyone but the\nmasked raiders. One after another the furious councilmen gave up the\nstruggle to nurse their swollen eyes.\nDon Winslow sensed the turn of the tide. Turning back, he leaped onto\nthe stage which was still clear of the fumes, and raised his mask.\n\u201cGive up, you dupes of Scorpia!\u201d he shouted. \u201cAll those who have had\nenough, come this way!\u201d\nThere was an instant rush toward the platform. With streaming, smarting\neyes, the men and women of Cho-San\u2019s erstwhile audience fought their way\ntoward the sound of Don\u2019s voice, glad to surrender. The only ones who\nstayed back were the twenty or more who had run into a hard-swung gun\nbutt, and lay snoring where they had dropped.\nOf Hammond\u2019s deputies, however, ten men were wounded by knives or\nbullets, and three had given their lives. Don Winslow and Red each bled\nfrom knife slashes received in the melee. The old lion, Michael\nSplendor, had taken a bullet through the throat, but he still lived by a\nmiracle. Mercedes, with Lotus\u2019 help, had just finished bandaging the\nveteran\u2019s wound when Don located them back stage. Count Borg lay near\nby, conscious but unable to rise.\nThe problem now was to evacuate safely both walking persons and wounded.\nDon himself had just turned back to take charge when the little French\nmaid, Suzette, appeared suddenly out of the shadows.\n\u201cCome with me, _Monsieur_,\u2014you and two others!\u201d she cried, seizing the\nyoung Commander\u2019s arm. \u201cI have locate Cho-San and Scorpion himself in\ntheir secret chamber. They are prepare now the getaway with their\ntreasure and secret papers. In a few moments they will be gone!\u201d\nRed Pennington and Mercedes were near enough to overhear. Their response\nwas instantaneous.\n\u201cWe\u2019re with you, Don!\u201d they said, almost together.\nFrom the other side of the platform a big man was approaching, his\ntommy-gun held across an arm. As the newcomer raised his gas mask, Don\nhailed him.\n\u201cHammond! Take charge of clearing out prisoners and wounded!\u201d he\nordered. \u201cGet Mr. Splendor out first. We\u2019ll see you topside.\u201d\nBefore the Bureau Chief could answer Don turned, heading into the stage\nwing at Suzette\u2019s heels. Mercedes and Red followed, stowing away their\ngas masks as they ran. If more fighting were ahead of them, they would\nneed free hands and clear eyesight.\nSuzette led them through a rapid succession of passageways and sliding\npanels, without stopping for explanations. Not until all four of them\nhad crowded into a tiny elevator and shut the door, did she answer any\nof the questions in the others\u2019 minds.\n\u201cWe are now descending to the basement of Cho-San\u2019s big house,\u201d she\nwhispered. \u201cThis is the way he escaped a few minutes ago. I guess where\nhe have gone, and follow him by a roundabout way. I listen and hear him\ntalk with the Scorpion in the secret chamber. Now if we are quick....\u201d\nThe elevator stopped with scarcely a bump. As the door slid open, Don\nstepped out, his rifle at the ready. The others piled out after him,\ninto a large, magnificently furnished room.\n\u201cThis is the Scorpion\u2019s study,\u201d hissed Suzette. \u201cThe hidden chamber is\nbeyond that tall mirror. Come, and keep your weapons ready.\u201d\nOnce across the big room, the Frenchwoman motioned the others to take up\npositions on each side of the long _cheval_ glass. The moment they had\ndone so, she pressed a hidden spring.\nWithout a sound the mirror tilted outward from the top to show a small,\nlighted room beyond. A glimpse of two men in overcoats standing beside\nan open safe was enough for Don. His rifle swung up to cover them, just\nas the door mechanism stopped halfway open with a click.\nAt the sound both men spun around, their hands too full to reach for a\nweapon. Cho-San\u2019s right arm held a bundle of black bound ledgers, his\nleft hand a heavy satchel. His leer of fury was devilish. The other\nman\u2019s face was masked by a purple cloth. Beneath the sleeves of the\nblack overcoat, his gloved hands gripped a pair of suitcases.\nFor ten seconds the tableau held, in an atmosphere charged with menace.\nStrangely enough, it was Suzette\u2019s half sobbing cry that broke the\ntension.\n\u201c_H\u00e9las, Monsieur!_\u201d wailed the little Frenchwoman. \u201cI cannot make the\ndoor open more!\u201d\n\u201cNever mind, Suzette,\u201d came Don\u2019s calm reply. \u201cI\u2019ve got the Scorpion\ncovered. Cho-San, if you can lower that door from the inside, better do\nit and give up peaceably. You can\u2019t dodge the rifle Pennington has aimed\nat you.\u201d\n\u201cVery well, Winslow,\u201d the big Chinese growled, letting fall his armful\nof ledgers. \u201cI\u2019ll have to use a key to release the mechanism.\u201d\nCoolly Cho-San slipped a hand into his overcoat pocket. As he withdrew\nit, Don caught the light of a small, shiny object. Without warning it\nflicked from the yellow fingers, straight toward the half-open door.\nSmoke puffed in a sudden cloud, obscuring the whole opening. From behind\nit came a harsh mocking laugh.\nBefore the sound died out, Don Winslow slammed his rifle barrel into the\ncrack of the closing mirror, jamming its machinery. At the same time\nthere came the clang of a steel door somewhere inside the secret room.\n\u201cThey\u2019re gone!\u201d yelped Red Pennington. \u201cQuick, Suzette! Which way can we\nfollow \u2019em?\u201d\n\u201cBack! Get back, _Monsieur_!\u201d cried the little French maid, tugging at\nhis sleeve. \u201cThat smoke is deadly poison. Quick, everyone\u2014put on the\ngas masks and come away!\u201d\n\u201cShe\u2019s right, Red!\u201d clipped Don Winslow, whipping out his own mask.\n\u201cClear out of here before something worse happens! I\u2019ll be with you as\nsoon as I get my gun loose.\u201d\nThe smoke had spread out some distance from the jammed doorway, making\nobjects near it indistinct. As his friends moved back, Don Winslow\nplunged straight into it. For a few moments his figure vanished\ncompletely.\nJust as Red was about to go back for him he reappeared, carrying not\nonly his rifle but a bundle of black leather-covered books. Without\nlifting his mask, he motioned the others on, away from the spreading\nsmoke.\nFor Suzette, their retreat was barely in time. Unprotected by a gas\nmask, the courageous French girl had refused to leave the room before\nDon appeared. Now, reeling from a slight dose of the poison, she led\nthem through a panel in the farther wall.\nIn the clean air of an adjoining room she motioned her companions to\nremove their masks.\n\u201cIt is over now, my friends,\u201d she said faintly, as Red steadied her in\nthe grip of a muscular arm. \u201cWe have lost the Scorpion and his so evil\nlieutenant, but we have failed in nothing else, I think. Thanks to\nCommander Winslow, we have the evidence which will convict many of our\nenemies of their hidden crimes!\u201d\nFollowing her eloquent look, Mercedes let out a muffled cry.\n\u201cSo that\u2019s what you went back for, Don?\u201d she gasped. \u201cYou\u2014you went into\nthat gas filled room just for those black ledgers? Oh, why did you do\nit?\u201d\n\u201cCho-San seemed to value them, and I knew he couldn\u2019t have stopped to\npick them up,\u201d the young commander answered. \u201cIf they do contain the\nevidence Suzette claims, they\u2019re worth a bigger risk than I took. And,\nspeaking of risks, we\u2019re none of us out of here yet. For all we know the\nnext room to this may be filled with hachet men waiting to jump us.\u201d\n\u201c_Mais non_,\u201d cried Suzette, catching Mercedes\u2019 startled look. \u201cI think\nCho-San sent all the hachet men and bodyguards ahead to help them with\ntheir getaway. When they leave that secret chamber, they go by some\nother passage to the outside. No doubt the cars were waiting to take\nthem and their men. Jus\u2019 now this house is safe as any church.\u201d\nMercedes Colby slipped an arm around the little maid\u2019s waist.\n\u201cPerhaps you\u2019re right, Suzette,\u201d she smiled, \u201cbut even that doesn\u2019t make\nme anxious to stay here. Lean your weight on me and let\u2019s get going.\nFresh air is what we need more than anything, except news from our\nfriends.\u201d\nThe news that reached them at the local Intelligence Office was better\nthan Don Winslow or any of his three companions had dared to expect. The\nbullet which had passed through Michael Splendor\u2019s throat had missed the\nlarge blood vessels, though coming dangerously near to the spinal cord.\nThe doctors\u2019 first report gave him more than a fighting chance to live.\nCount Borg\u2019s wrenched limbs would be useless for the next month, but his\nagony on the rack had somehow torn the veil obscuring his memory. His\nfirst words on regaining consciousness had been an anxious question\nabout Lotus. The girl herself was at the same hospital, suffering from\nshock, but happier than she had been in her life before.\nRed Pennington refused point-blank to be doctored at the hospital. He\ninsisted that Don with a first aid kit could fix up his torn thumbs and\nbruised head as well as any sawbones. He\u2019d go to the hospital next day,\nhe declared, but as a visitor, not a patient.\nActually it was two days before the doctors permitted the two young\nofficers and Mercedes Colby to visit the crippled veteran. By that time\nthe danger of wound fever was past, and the \u201cOld Lion\u201d of the Navy\nIntelligence Service was loudly demanding a sight of his friends.\n\u201cAhoy, Commander!\u201d he greeted, as Don stepped into the white hospital\nroom. \u201cThey showed me your note about the evidence in those black ledger\nbooks. Is it true that it clinches the guilt of all them we took in the\nraid?\u201d\n\u201cIt does more than that, sir!\u201d smiled Don, taking the older man\u2019s hand.\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not going to tell you another thing till you calm down and quit\ntrying to sit up. A man with a bullet hole in his vertebrae ...\u201d\n\u201cWhisht, now!\u201d complained the dauntless cripple. \u201cIs that a respectful\nway to talk to your elders? Mercedes, child! Tell me what\u2019s on Commander\nWinslow\u2019s mind. Suspense is not good for a sick man, ye know that!\u201d\n\u201cLie down and I\u2019ll tell you!\u201d laughed the girl, taking the chair Red had\nmoved over to the bedside. \u201cIt\u2019s just that those ledgers contain a\nrecord of every order carried out by Scorpion agents in the past two\nyears. The evidence incriminates hundreds more besides those we captured\ntwo nights ago.\u201d\n\u201cYeah!\u201d put in Red Pennington with a fighting grin. \u201cWith this evidence\nas a weapon, the United States Navy is going to make a thorough clean-up\non the Scorpion! Am I right, Skipper?\u201d\n\u201cI hope so, Red!\u201d replied Don Winslow soberly. \u201cAt least we\u2019ll make the\nAmericas and their two oceans an unlucky harbor for the enemies of\npeace. With the aid of all our loyal shipmates, not forgetting Suzette\nand Count Borg and Lotus, too, we\u2019ll work, we\u2019ll live, and if need be\nwe\u2019ll die to make this old world a better place!\u201d\n\u201cAmen!\u201d responded Michael Splendor from his sickbed. \u201cAlready ye have\nthe Scorpion and his warmongers on the run, but perilous waters lie\nbefore ye. Commander. The enemy is desperate. He\u2019ll use every fiendish\ntrick to wreck ye, and there\u2019ll be a bitter fight when ye overhaul\nhim\u2014perhaps in some far corner of the earth. Me one regret is that I\nmust lie here safe and helpless for the next two months while me young\nshipmates are riskin\u2019 their necks on land or sea or in the air!\u201d\nImpulsively Don gripped Splendor\u2019s big hand with both his own.\n\u201cYou old fire-eater!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cYou\u2019ll be back with us _inside_ of\ntwo months, if my guess is right! Not even a bullet nicked spine is\ngoing to keep you out of our country\u2019s fight to wipe war\u2014and the threat\nof war\u2014from the face of the earth.\u201d\n\u201cMay your words come true!\u201d replied the crippled veteran earnestly. \u201cAnd\nmay victory crown your every venture, Don Winslow of the Navy!\u201d\n_Watch for the next Don Winslow story!_\n          Thrilling best-seller tales of mystery and adventure\n         STOCKY OF LONE TREE RANCH                 CHAS. H. SNOW\n         DEATH ON THE DIAMOND                     C. FITZSIMMONS\n         HAWK OF THE WILDERNESS                    W. L. CHESTER\n         THE PONY EXPRESS                     HENRY JAMES FORMAN\n         THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW TIE     LAWRENCE DWIGHT SMITH\n               THE LONE RANGER\n               THE LONE RANGER AND THE MYSTERY RANCH\n               THE LONE RANGER AND THE GOLD ROBBERY\n               THE LONE RANGER AND THE OUTLAW STRONGHOLD\n               THE LONE RANGER AND TONTO\n                 THE G-MEN SMASH THE \u201cPROFESSOR\u2019S\u201d GANG\n                 THE G-MEN IN JEOPARDY\n                 THE G-MEN TRAP THE SPY RING\n                JIMMY DRURY: CANDID CAMERA DETECTIVE\n                JIMMY DRURY: WHAT THE DARK ROOM REVEALED\n                JIMMY DRURY: CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA\n               GROSSET & DUNLAP    Publishers    NEW YORK\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Don Winslow of the Navy, by Frank V. 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{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Jeannie Howse and Friend, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)\nLIFE IN A TANK\n   [Illustration: A TANK ON ITS WAY INTO ACTION]\nLIFE IN A TANK\n_By_\nRICHARD HAIGH, M.C.\nCAPTAIN IN THE TANK CORPS\n_With Illustrations_\n[Illustration]\nBOSTON AND NEW YORK\nHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY\nThe Riverside Press Cambridge\nCOPYRIGHT, 1918, BY RICHARD HAIGH\nALL RIGHTS RESERVED\n_Published June 1918_\nContents\nIllustrations\nA Tank on its Way into Action                      _Frontispiece_\n  British Official Photograph\nKing George and Queen Mary inspecting a Tank on the British\n  British Official Photograph\nA British Tank and its Crew in New York                        20\n  Photograph by Underwood & Underwood\nA Tank moving to the Attack down what was once a Main Street   56\n  British Official Photograph\nA Tank going over a Trench on its Way into Action              72\n  British Official Photograph\nA Tank halfway over the Top and awaiting the Order to\n  Advance in the Battle of Menin Road                          80\n  Photograph by Underwood & Underwood\nA Tank bringing in a Captured German Gun under Protection\n  Photograph by Underwood & Underwood\nA British Tank in the Liberty Loan Parade in New York         124\n  Photograph by Underwood & Underwood\nLIFE IN A TANK\nI\nTHE MEANING OF THE TANK CORPS\nTANKS!\nTo the uninitiated--as were we in those days when we returned to the\nSomme, too late to see the tanks make their first dramatic\nentrance--the name conjures up a picture of an iron monster, breathing\nfire and exhaling bullets and shells, hurling itself against the\nenemy, unassailable by man and impervious to the most deadly engines\nof war; sublime, indeed, in its expression of indomitable power and\nresolution.\nThis picture was one of the two factors which attracted us toward the\nHeavy Branch Machine-Gun Corps--as the Tank Corps was known in the\nfirst year of its being. On the Somme we had seen a derelict tank,\nwrecked, despoiled of her guns, and forsaken in No Man's Land. We had\nswarmed around and over her, wild with curiosity, much as the\nLilliputians must have swarmed around the prostrate Gulliver. Our\nimagination was fired.\nThe second factor was, frankly, that we were tired of going over the\ntop as infantrymen. The first time that a man goes into an attack, he\nas a rule enjoys it. He has no conception of its horrors,--no, not\nhorrors, for war possesses no horrors,--but, rather, he has no\nknowledge of the sudden realization of the sweetness of life that\ncomes to a man when he is \"up against it.\" The first time, it is a\nsplendid, ennobling novelty. And as for the \"show\" itself, in actual\npractice it is more like a dream which only clarifies several days\nlater, after it is all over. But to do the same thing a second and\nthird and fourth time, is to bring a man face to face with Death in\nits fullest and most realistic uncertainty. In soldier jargon he \"gets\nmost awful wind up.\" It is five minutes before \"Zero Hour.\" All\npreparations are complete. You are waiting for the signal to hop over\nthe parapet. Very probably the Boche knows that you are coming, and\nis already skimming the sandbags with his machine guns and knocking\nlittle pieces of earth and stone into your face. Extraordinary, how\nmaddening is the sting of these harmless little pebbles and bits of\ndirt! The bullets ricochet away with a peculiar singing hiss, or crack\noverhead when they go too high. The shells which burst on the other\nside of the parapet shake the ground with a dull thud and crash. There\nare two minutes to wait before going over. Then is the time when a man\nfeels a sinking sensation in his stomach; when his hands tremble ever\nso slightly, and when he offers up a pathetic little prayer to God\nthat if he's a bit of a sportsman he may be spared from death, should\nhis getting through not violate the divine and fatalistic plans. He\nhas that unpleasant lack of knowledge of what comes beyond. For after\nall, with the most intense belief in the world, it is hard to\nreconcile the comforting feeling of what one knows with that terrible\ndread of the unknown.\nA man has no great and glorious ideas that nothing matters because he\nis ready to die for his country. He is, of course, ready to die for\nher. But he does not think about it. He lights a cigarette and tries\nto be nonchalant, for he knows that his men are watching him, and it\nis his duty to keep up a front for their sake. Probably, at the same\ntime, they are keeping up a front for him. Then the Sergeant Major\ncomes along, cool and smiling, as if he were out for a stroll at home.\nSuddenly he is an immense comfort. One forgets that sinking feeling in\nthe stomach and thinks, \"How easy and jolly he is! What a splendid\nfellow!\" Immediately, one begins unconsciously to imitate him. Then\nanother thinks the same thing about one, and begins to imitate too. So\nit passes on, down the line. But there is nothing heroic or exalting\nin going over the top.\nThis, then, was our possible second reason for preferring to attack\ninside bullet-proof steel; not that death is less likely in a tank,\nbut there seems to be a more sporting chance with a shell than with a\nbullet. The enemy infantryman looks along his sight and he has you for\na certainty, but the gunner cannot be so accurate and twenty yards\nmay mean a world of difference. Above all, the new monster had our\nimaginations in thrall. Here were novelty and wonderful developments.\nIn the end of 1916, therefore, a certain number of officers and men\nreceived their orders to join the H.B.M.G.C., and proceeded\nsorrowfully and joyfully away from the trenches. Sorrowfully, because\nit is a poor thing to leave your men and your friends in danger, and\nget out of it yourself into something new and fresh; joyfully, because\none is, after all, but human.\nAbout thirty miles behind the line some villages were set aside for\nthe housing and training of the new units. Each unit had a nucleus of\nmen who had already served in tanks, with the new arrivals spread\naround to make up to strength.\nThe new arrivals came from all branches of the Service; Infantry,\nSappers, Gunners, Cavalry, and the Army Service Corps. Each man was\nvery proud of his own Branch; and a wonderfully healthy rivalry and\naffection sprang up between them. The gunner twitted the sapper, the\ncavalryman made jokes at the A.S.C., and the infantryman groused at\nthe whole lot. But all knew at the bottom of their hearts, how each is\nessential to the other.\nIt was to be expected when all these varied men came together, that\nthe inculcating of a proper _esprit de corps_--the training of each\nindividual in an entirely new science for the benefit of the\nwhole--would prove a very difficult and painstaking task. But the\nwonderful development, however, in a few months, of a large,\nheterogeneous collection of men into a solid, keen, self-sacrificing\nunit, was but another instance of the way in which war improves the\ncharacter and temperament of man.\nIt was entirely new for men who were formerly in a regiment, full of\ntraditions, to find themselves in the Tank Corps. Here was a Corps,\nthe functions of which resulted from an idea born of the exigencies of\nthis science-demanding war. Unlike every other branch of the Service,\nit has no regimental history to direct it, no traditions upon which to\nbuild, and still more important from a practical point of view, no\nexperience from which to draw for guidance, either in training or in\naction. In the Infantry, the attack has resulted from a steady\ndevelopment in ideas and tactics, with past wars to give a foundation\nand this present one to suggest changes and to bring about remedies\nfor the defects which crop up daily. With this new weapon, which was\nlaunched on the Somme on September 15, 1916, the tactics had to be\ndecided upon with no realistic experimentation as ground work; and,\nmoreover, with the very difficult task of working in concert with\nother arms of the Service that had had two years of fighting, from\nwhich to learn wisdom.\nWith regard to discipline, too,--of all things the most important, for\nthe success of a battle has depended, does, and always will depend,\nupon the state of discipline of the troops engaged,--all old regiments\nhave their staff of regular instructors to drill and teach recruits.\nIn them has grown up that certain feeling and loyalty which time and\npast deeds have done so much to foster and cherish. Here were we,\nlacking traditions, history, and experience of any kind.\nIt is easy to realize the responsibility that lay not only upon the\nChief of this new Corps, but upon each individual and lowest member\nthereof. It was for us all to produce _esprit de corps_, and to\nproduce it quickly. It was necessary for us to develop a love of the\nwork, not because we felt it was worth while, but because we knew that\nsuccess or failure depended on each man's individual efforts.\nBut, naturally, the real impetus came from the top, and no admiration\nor praise can be worthy of that small number of men in whose hands the\nreal destinies of this new formation lay; who were continually\ndevising new schemes and ideas for binding the whole together, and for\nturning that whole into a highly efficient, up-to-date machine.\n    [Illustration: KING GEORGE AND QUEEN MARY INSPECTING A TANK ON\n    THE BRITISH FRONT IN FRANCE]\n\"How did the tank happen to be invented?\" is a common question. The\nanswer is that in past wars experience has made it an axiom that the\ndefenders suffer more casualties than the attacking forces. From the\nfirst days of 1914, however, this condition was reversed, and whole\nwaves of attacking troops were mown down by two or three machine guns,\neach manned, possibly, by not more than three men. There may be in a\ncertain sector, before an attack, an enormous preliminary bombardment\nwhich is destined to knock out guns, observation posts, dumps, men,\nand above all, machine-gun emplacements. Nevertheless, it has been\nfound in actual practice that despite the most careful observation and\nequally careful study of aeroplane photographs, there are, as a rule,\njust one or two machine guns which, either through bad luck or through\nprecautions on the part of the enemy, have escaped destruction. These\nare the guns which inflict the damage when the infantrymen go over and\nwhich may hold up a whole attack.\nIt was thought, therefore, that a machine might be devised which would\ncross shell-craters, wire and trenches, and be at the same time\nimpervious to bullets, and which would contain a certain number of\nguns to be used for knocking out such machine guns as were still in\nuse, or to lay low the enemy infantry. With this idea, a group of men,\nin the end of 1915, devised the present type of heavy armoured car. In\norder to keep the whole plan as secret as possible, about twenty-five\nsquare miles of ground in Great Britain were set aside and surrounded\nwith armed guards. There, through all the spring and early summer of\n1916, the work was carried on, without the slightest hint of its\nexistence reaching the outside world. Then, one night, the tanks were\nloaded up and shipped over to France, to make that first sensational\nappearance on the Somme, with the success which warranted their\nfurther production on a larger and more ambitious scale.\nII\nFIRST DAYS OF TRAINING\nWe were at a rest camp on the Somme when the chit first came round\nregarding the joining of the H.B.M.G.C. The Colonel came up to us one\nday with some papers in his hand.\n\"Does anybody want to join this?\" he asked.\nWe all crowded around to find out what \"this\" might be.\n\"Tanks!\" some one cried. Some were facetious; others indifferent; a\nfew mildly interested. But no one seemed very keen about it,\nespecially as the tanks in those days had a reputation for rather\nheavy casualties. Only Talbot, remembering the derelict and the\ninterest she had inspired, said, with a laugh,--\n\"I rather think I'll put my name down, sir. Nothing will come of it,\nbut one might just as well try.\" And taking one of the papers he\nfilled it in, while the others stood around making all the remarks\nappropriate to such an occasion.\nTwo or three weeks went by and Talbot had forgotten all about it, in\nthe more absorbing events which crowded months into days on the Somme.\nOne day the Adjutant came up to him and, smiling, put out his hand.\n\"Well, good-bye, Talbot. Good luck.\"\nWhen a man puts out his hand and says \"Good-bye,\" you naturally take\nthe proffered hand and say \"Good-bye,\" too. Talbot found himself\nsaying \"Good-bye\" before he realized what he was doing. Then he\nlaughed.\n\"Now that I've said 'Good-bye,' where am I going?\" he asked.\n\"To the Tanks,\" the Adjutant replied.\nSo he was really to go; really to leave behind his battalion, his\nfriends, his men, and his servant. For a moment the Somme and the camp\nseemed the most desirable places on earth. He thought he must have\nbeen a fool the day he signed that paper signifying his desire to join\nanother Corps. But it was done now. There were his orders in the\nColonel's hand.\n\"When do I start, sir? And where do I go?\" he asked.\n\"You're to leave immediately for B----, wherever that is. Take your\nhorse as far as the railhead and get a train for B----, where the Tank\nHeadquarters are. Good-bye, Talbot; I'm sorry to lose you.\" A silent\nhandshake, and they parted.\nTalbot's kit was packed and sent off on the transport. A few minutes\nlater he was shaking hands all round. His spirits were rising at the\nthought of this new adventure, but it was a wrench, leaving his\nregiment. It was, in a way, he thought, as if he were turning his back\non an old friend. The face of Dobbin, his groom, as he brought the\nhorses round was not conducive to cheer. He must get the business over\nand be off. So he mounted and rode off through a gray, murky drizzle,\nto the railhead about eight miles away. There came the parting with\nDobbin and with his pony. Horses mean as much as men sometimes, and\nhis had worked so nobly with him through the mud on the Somme. He\nwondered if there would be any one in the new place who would be so\nfaithful to him as Polly. Finally, there was Dobbin riding away, back\nto M----, with the horse, and its empty saddle, trotting along beside\nhim. It was simply rotten leaving them all!\nOne has, however, little time for introspection in the Army, and\nespecially when one engages in a tilt with an R.T.O. The R.T.O. has\nbeen glorified by an imaginative soul with the title of \"Royal\nTransportation Officer.\" As a matter of fact, the \"R\" does not stand\nfor \"royal,\" but for \"railway,\" and the \"T\" is \"transport,\" nothing so\ngrandiose as \"transportation.\" Now an R.T.O.'s job, though it may be a\nsafe one, is not enviable. He is forced to combine the qualities of\nbooking-clerk, station-master, goods-agent, information clerk, and day\nand night watchman all into one. In consequence of this it is\nnecessary for the traveller's speech and attitude to be strictly\nsoothing and complimentary. Talbot's obsession at this moment was as\nto whether B---- was near or far back from the line.\nIf he supposed that B---- was \"near\" the line, the R.T.O. might tell\nhim--just to prove how kind Fate is--that it was a good many miles in\nthe rear. But no such luck. The R.T.O. coldly informed Talbot that he\nhadn't the slightest idea where B---- was. He only knew that trains\nwent there. And, by the way, the trains didn't go there direct. It\nwould be necessary for him to change at Boulogne. Talbot noticed these\nsigns of thawing with delight. And to change at Boulogne! Life was\nbrighter.\nTravelling in France in the northern area, at the present time, would\nseem to be a refutation of the truth that a straight line is the\nshortest distance between two points. For in order to arrive at one's\ndestination, it is usually necessary to go about sixty miles out of\none's way,--hence the necessity for Talbot's going to Boulogne in\norder to get a train running north.\nHe arrived at Boulogne only to find that the train for B---- left in\nan hour.\nHe strolled out into the streets. Boulogne had then become the Mecca\nfor all those in search of gaiety. Here were civilized people once\nagain. And a restaurant with linen and silver and shining glass, and\nthe best dinner he had ever eaten.\nWhen he had paid his bill and gone out, he stopped at the corner of\nthe street just to look at the people passing by. A large part of the\nmonotony of this war is occasioned, of course, by the fact that the\nsoldier sees nothing but the everlasting drab of uniforms. When a man\nis in the front line, or just behind, for weeks at a time he sees\nnothing but soldiers, soldiers, soldiers! Each man has the same\ncoloured uniform; each has the same pattern tunic, the same puttees.\nEach is covered with the same mud for days at a time. It is the\noccasion for a thrill when a \"Brass Hat\" arrives, for he at least has\nthe little brilliant red tabs on his tunic! A man sometimes finds\nhimself envying the soldiers of the old days who could have occasional\nglimpses of the dashing uniforms of their officers, and although a red\ncoat makes a target of a man, the colour is at least more cheerful\nthan the eternal khaki. The old-time soldier had his red coat and his\nbands, blaring encouragingly. The soldier of to-day has his drab and\nno music at all, unless he sings. And every man in an army is not\ngifted with a voice.\nSo Talbot looked with joy on the charming dresses and still more\ncharming faces of the women and girls who passed him. Even the men in\ntheir civilian clothes were good to look upon.\nRiding on French trains is very soothing unless one is in a hurry. But\nunlike a man in civil life, the soldier has no interest in the speed\nof trains. The civilian takes it as a personal affront if his train is\na few minutes late, or if it does not go as fast as he thinks it\nshould. But the soldier can afford to let the Government look after\nsuch minor details. The train moved along at a leisurely pace through\nthe lovely French countryside, making frequent friendly stops at\nwayside stations. On the platform at \u00c9taples station was posted a\nrhyme which read:--\n    \"A wise old owl lived in an oak,\n    The more he saw, the less he spoke;\n    The less he spoke, the more he heard;\n    Soldiers should imitate that old bird.\"\nIt was the first time that Talbot had seen this warlike ditty. Its\nintention was to guard soldiers from saying too much in front of\nstrangers. Talbot vowed, however, to apply its moral to himself at all\ntimes and under all conditions.\nFrom nine in the morning until half-past two in the afternoon they\nrolled along, and had covered by this time the extraordinary distance\nof about forty miles! Here at last was the station of Saint-P----.\nTalbot looked about him. Standing near was an officer with the\nMachine-Gun Corps Badge, whom he hailed, and questioned about the\nHeadquarters of the Tank Corps.\n\"About ten miles from here. Are you going there?\" the fellow asked.\nTalbot explained that he hoped to, and being saturated with Infantry\nideas, he wondered if a passing motor lorry might give him a lift.\nThe man laughed. \"Why don't you telephone Headquarters and ask them to\nsend a car over for you?\" he asked.\nTalbot did not quite know whether the fellow were ragging him or not.\nHe decided that he was, for who had ever heard of \"telephoning for a\ncar\"?\n\"Oh, I don't believe I'll do that--thanks very much for the hint, all\nthe same,\" he said. \"Just tell me which road to take and I'll be quite\nall right.\"\nThe officer smiled.\n\"I'm quite serious about it,\" he said. \"We all telephone for cars when\nwe need them. There's really no point in your walking--in fact,\nthey'll be surprised if you stroll in upon them. Try telephoning and\nyou'll find they won't die of shock.\"\nPartly to see whether they would or not, and partly because he found\nthe prospect of a motor car more agreeable than a ten-mile walk,\nTalbot telephoned. Here he experienced another pleasant surprise, for\nhe was put through to Headquarters with no difficulty at all. A\ncheerful voice answered and he stated his case.\n\"Cheero,\" the voice replied. \"We'll have a car there for you in an\nhour--haven't one now, but there will be one ready shortly.\"\nSaint-P---- was a typical French town, and Talbot strolled around.\nThere were soldiers everywhere, but the town had never seen the\nGermans, and it was a pleasant place. There was, too, a refreshing\nlack of thick mud--at least it was not a foot deep.\nAlthough Talbot could not quite believe that the car would\nmaterialize, it proved to be a substantial fact in the form of a\nbox-body, and in about an hour he was speeding toward Headquarters. It\nwas dark when they reached the village, and as they entered, he\nexperienced that curious feeling of apprehensive expectancy with which\none approaches the spot where one is to live and work for some time to\ncome. The car slowed up to pass some carts on the road, and started\nforward with such a jerk that Talbot was precipitated from the back of\nthe machine into the road. He picked himself up, covered with mud. The\nsolemn face of the driver did not lessen his discomfiture. Here was a\nstrange village, strange men, and he was covered with mud!\n    [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._\n    A BRITISH TANK AND ITS CREW IN NEW YORK]\nMaking himself as presentable as possible, Talbot reported to\nHeadquarters, and was posted to \"J\" Company, 4th Battalion. That night\nhe had dinner with them. New men were arriving every few minutes, and\nthe next day, after he had been transferred to \"K\" Company, they\ncontinued to arrive. The nucleus of this company were officers of the\noriginal tanks, three or four of them perhaps, and the rest was made\nup with the newcomers.\nMen continued to arrive in driblets, from the beginning of December to\nthe first of January. When a new man joins an old regiment there is a\nreserve about the others which is rather chilling. They wait to see\nwhether he is going to fit in, before they make any attempts to fit\nhim in. In a way, this very aloofness makes for comfort on the part of\nthe newcomer. At mess, he is left alone until he is absorbed\nnaturally. It gives him a chance to find his level.\nAll this was different with the Tank Corps. With the exception of the\nvery few officers who were \"old men,\" we were all painfully new, so\nthat we regarded one another without criticism and came to know each\nother without having to break through the wall of reserve and\ninstinctive mistrust which is characteristically British. A happy bond\nof good-fellowship was formed immediately.\nThe first few days were spent in finding billets for the men. They\nwere finally quartered at a hospice in the village. This was a private\nalmshouse, in charge of a group of French nuns, where lived a number\nof old men and women, most of them in the last stages of consumption.\nThe Hospice consisted of the old Abbey of Ste. Berthe, built in the\ntwelfth century, and several outbuildings around a courtyard. In these\nbarns lived the men, and one large room was reserved for the officers'\nmess. The Company Orderly Room and Quartermaster's Stores were also\nkept in the Hospice, and four or five officers were quartered above\nthe Refectory. The buildings were clean and comfortable, and the only\ndrawback lay in the fact that one sometimes found it objectionable to\nhave to look at these poor old creatures, dragging themselves around.\nThey had nothing to do, it seemed, but to wait and die. One old man\nwas a gruesome sight. He was about ninety years old and spent his days\nwalking about the courtyard, wearing a cigarette tin hung around his\nneck, into which he used to cough with such terrible effort that it\nseemed as if he would die every time the spasm shook him. As a matter\nof fact, he and many others did die before we left the village: the\nextreme cold was too much for them; or perhaps it was the fact that\ntheir quiet had been invaded by the \"mad English.\"\nIt was during this time that Talbot developed a positive genius for\ndisappearing whenever a gray habit came into sight. The nuns were\nsplendid women: kind and hospitable and eager for our comfort, but\nthey did not like to be imposed upon, however slightly. The first\nthing that Frenchwomen do--and these nuns were no exception--when\nsoldiers are billeted with them, is to learn who is the officer in\ncharge, in order that they may lose no time in bringing their\ncomplaints to him. The Mother Superior of the Hospice selected Talbot\nwith unerring zeal. His days were made miserable, until in\nself-defence he thought of formulating a new calendar of \"crimes\" for\nhis men, in which would be included all the terrible offences which\nthe Mother Superior told off to him.\nDid the Colonel send for Captain Talbot, and did Talbot hurry off to\nobey the command, just so surely would the Mother Superior select that\nmoment to bar his path.\n\"Ah, mon Capitaine!\" she would exclaim, with a beaming smile. \"J'ai\nquelque chose \u00e0 vous dire. Un soldat--\"\nTalbot would break in politely, just as she had settled down for a\ngood long chat, and explain that the Colonel wished to see him. As\nwell try to move the Rock. It was either stand and listen, or go into\nthe presence of his superior officer with an excited nun following him\nwith tales of the \"crimes\" his men had committed. Needless to say, the\nMother Superior conquered. Talbot would have visions of some fairly\nserious offence, and would hear the tale of a soldier who had borrowed\na bucket an hour ago, promising, on his honour as a soldier of the\nKing, to return it in fifty minutes at the most.\n\"And it is now a full sixty minutes by the clock on the kitchen\nmantel, M'sieu le Capitaine,\" she would say, her colour mounting, \"and\nyour soldier has not returned my bucket. If he does not bring it back,\nwhen can we get another bucket?\"\nAnd so on, until Talbot would pacify her, promising her that the\nbucket would be returned. Then he would go on to the Colonel,\nbreathless and perturbed, his mind so full of buckets that there was\nhardly room for the business of the Tank Corps. Small wonder that the\nsight of a gray habit was enough to unnerve the man.\nHe, himself, was billeted with a French family, just around the corner\nfrom the Hospice. The head of the family had been, in the halcyon days\nbefore the war, the village butcher. There was now Madame, the little\nMarie, a sturdy boy about twelve, and the old Grand'm\u00e8re. The husband\nwas away, of course,--\"dans les tranch\u00e9es,\" explained Madame with\ncopious tears.\nTalbot was moved to sympathy, and made a few tactful inquiries as to\nwhere the husband was now, and how he had fared.\n\"Il est maintenant \u00e0 Paris,\" said Madame with a sigh.\n\"In Paris! What rank has he?--a General, maybe?\"\n\"Ah, M'sieu s'amuse,\" said Madame, brightening up. No, her husband was\na chef at an officers' mess in Paris, she explained proudly. He had\nbeen there since the war broke out. He would soon come home, the\nSaints be praised. Then the Captain would hear him tell his tales of\nlife in the Army!\nThe hero came home one day, and great was the rejoicing. Thrilling\nevenings the family spent around the stove while they listened to\nstories of great deeds. On the day when his _permission_ was finished,\nand he set out for his hazardous post once more, great was the\nlamenting. Madame wept. All the brave man's relatives poured in to\nkiss him good-bye. The departing soldier wept, himself. Even\nGrand'm\u00e8re desisted for that day from cracking jokes, which she was\nalways doing in a patois that to Talbot was unintelligible.\nBut they were very kind to Talbot, and very courageous through the\nhard winter. When he lay ill with fever in his little low room, where\nthe frost whitened the plaster and icicles hung from the ceiling,\nMadame and all the others were most solicitous for his comfort. His\nappreciation and thanks were sincere.\nBy the middle of December the Battalion had finally settled down and\nwe began our training. Our first course of study was in the mechanism\nof the tanks. We marched down, early one morning, to an engine hangar\nthat was both cold and draughty. We did not look in the least like\nembryo heroes. Over our khaki we wore ill-fitting blue garments which\nmen on the railways, who wear them, call \"boilers.\" The effect of\nwearing them was to cause us to slouch along, and suddenly Talbot\nburst out laughing at the spectacle. Then he remembered having heard\nthat some of the original \"Tankers\" had, during the Somme battles,\nbeen mistaken for Germans in their blue dungarees. They had been fired\non from some distance away, by their own infantry; though nothing\nfatal ensued. In consequence, before the next \"show\" chocolate ones\nwere issued.\nIn the shadows of the engine shed, a gray armour-plated hulk loomed\nup.\n\"There it is!\" cried Gould, and started forward for a better look at\nthe \"Willie.\"\nAcross the face of Rigden, the instructor, flashed a look of scorn and\npain. Just such a look you may have seen on the face of a young mother\nwhen you refer to her baby as \"it.\"\n\"Don't call a tank 'it,' Gould,\" he said with admirable patience. \"A\ntank is either 'he' or 'she'; there is no 'it.'\"\n\"In Heaven's name, what's the difference?\" asked Gould, completely\nmystified. The rest of us were all ears.\n\"The female tank carries machine guns only,\" Rigden explained. \"The\nmale tank carries light field guns as well as machine guns. Don't ever\nmake the mistake again, any of you fellows.\"\nHaving firmly fixed in our minds the fact that we were to begin on a\nfemale \"Willie,\" the instruction proceeded rapidly. Rigden opened a\nlittle door in the side of the tank. It was about as big as the door\nto a large, old-fashioned brick oven built into the chimney beside the\nfireplace. His head disappeared and his body followed after. He was\nswallowed up, save for a hand that waved to us and a muffled voice\nwhich said, \"Come on in, you fellows.\"\nGould went first. He scrambled in, was lost to sight, and then we\nheard his voice.\nMcKnutt's infectious laugh rose above the sound of our mirth. But not\nfor long.\n\"Hurry up!\" called Rigden. \"You next, McKnutt.\"\nMcKnutt disappeared. Then to our further astonishment his rich Irish\nvoice could be heard upraised in picturesque malediction. What was\nRigden doing to them inside the tank to provoke such profanity from\nthem both? The rest of us scrambled to find out. We soon learned.\nWhen you enter a tank, you go in head first, entering by the side\ndoors. (There is an emergency exit--a hole in the roof which is used\nby the wise ones.) You wiggle your body in with more or less grace,\nand then you stand up. Then, if it is the first time, you are usually\nprofane. For you have banged your head most unmercifully against the\nsteel roof and you learn, once and for all, that it is impossible to\nstand upright in a tank. Each one of us received our baptism in this\nway. Seven of us, crouched in uncomfortable positions, ruefully rubbed\nour heads, to Rigden's intense enjoyment. Our life in a tank had\nbegun!\nWe looked around the little chamber with eager curiosity. Our first\nthought was that seven men and an officer could never do any work in\nsuch a little place. Eight of us were, at present, jammed in here, but\nwe were standing still. When it came to going into action and moving\naround inside the tank, it would be impossible,--there was no room to\npass one another. So we thought. In front are two stiff seats, one for\nthe officer and one for the driver. Two narrow slits serve as\nportholes through which to look ahead. In front of the officer is a\nmap board, and gun mounting. Behind the engine, one on each side, are\nthe secondary gears. Down the middle of the tank is the powerful\npetrol engine, part of it covered with a hood, and along either side a\nnarrow passage through which a man can slide from the officer's and\ndriver's seat back and forth to the mechanism at the rear. There are\nfour gun turrets, two on each side. There is also a place for a gun in\nthe rear, but this is rarely used, for \"Willies\" do not often turn\ntail and flee!\nAlong the steel walls are numberless ingenious little cupboards for\nstores, and ammunition cases are stacked high. Every bit of space is\nutilized. Electric bulbs light the interior. Beside the driver are the\nengine levers. Behind the engine are the secondary gears, by which the\nmachine is turned in any direction. All action inside is directed by\nsignals, for when the tank moves the noise is such as to drown a man's\nvoice.\nAll that first day and for many days after, we struggled with the\nintricacies of the mechanism. Sometimes, Rigden despaired of us. We\nmight just as well go back to our regiments, unless they were so glad\nto be rid of us that they would refuse. On other days, he beamed with\npride, even when Darwin and the Old Bird distinguished themselves by\nasking foolish questions. \"Darwin\" is, of course, not his right name.\nBecause he came from South Africa and looked like a baboon, we called\nhim \"Baboon.\" So let evolution evolve the name of \"Darwin\" for him in\nthese pages. As for the Old Bird, no other name could have suited him\nso well. He was the craftiest old bird at successfully avoiding work\nwe had ever known, and yet he was one of the best liked men in the\nCompany. He was one of those men who are absolutely essential to a\nmess because of his never-failing cheer and gaiety. He never did a\nstroke of work that he could possibly \"wangle\" out of. A Scotchman by\nbirth, he was about thirty-eight years old and had lived all over the\nworld. He had a special fondness for China. Until he left \"K\" Company,\nhe was never known by any other name than that of \"Old Bird.\"\nThere was one man, from another Company, who gave us the greatest\namusement during our Tank-mechanism Course. He was pathetically in\nearnest, but appeared to have no brains at all. Sometimes, while\nasking each other catch questions, we would put the most senseless\nones to him.\nDarwin would say, \"Look here, how is the radiator connected with the\ndifferential?\"\nThe poor fellow would ponder for a minute or two and then reply, \"Oh!\nthrough the magneto.\"\nHe naturally failed again and again to pass his tests, and was\nreturned to his old Corps.\nSomehow we learned not to attempt to stand upright in our steel\nprison. Before long, McKnutt had ceased his remarks about sardines in\na tin and announced, \"Sure! there is plenty of room and to spare for a\ndozen others here.\" The Old Bird no longer compared the atmosphere,\nwhen we were all shut in tight, with the Black Hole of Calcutta. In a\nword, we had succumbed to the \"Willies,\" and would permit no man to\nutter a word of criticism against them.\nIt is necessary here, perhaps, to explain why we always call our\nmachines \"Willies.\" When the tanks were first being experimented\nupon, they evolved two, a big and a little one. Standing together they\nlooked so ludicrous, that they were nicknamed \"Big\" and \"Little\nWillie.\" The name stuck; and now, no one in the Corps refers to his\nmachine in any other way.\nA few days before Christmas, our tank course was finished, and the Old\nBird suggested a celebration. McKnutt led the cheering. Talbot had an\nidea.\n\"Let's get a box-body and go over to Amiens and do our Christmas\nshopping,\" he said.\nA chorus of \"Jove, that's great!\" arose. Every one made himself useful\nexcepting the Old Bird, who made up by contributing more than any one\nelse to the gaiety of the occasion. The car was secured, and we all\npiled in, making early morning hideous with our songs.\nWe sped along over the snowy roads. War seemed very far away. We were\nextraordinarily light-hearted. After about twenty miles the cold\nsobered us down a little. Suddenly, the car seemed to slip from under\nus and we found ourselves piled up in the soft snow of the road. A\nrear wheel had shot off, and it went rolling along on its own.\nFortunately we had been going rather slowly since we were entering a\ntown, and no one was hurt. Borwick, the musician of the Company,\nlooked like a snow image; Darwin and the Old Bird were locked in each\nother's arms, and had an impromptu and friendly wrestling match in a\nsnowdrift. McKnutt was invoking the aid of the Saints in his\nendeavours to prevent the snow from trickling down his back. Talbot\nand Gould, who had got off lightly, supplied the laughter. The wheel\nwas finally rescued and restored to its proper place, and we crawled\nalong at an ignominious pace until the spires of Amiens welcomed us.\nWe shopped in the afternoon, buying all sorts of ridiculous things,\nand collecting enough stores to see us through a siege. After a\nhilarious dinner at the H\u00f4tel de l'Univers (never had the Old Bird\nbeen so witty and gay), we started back about eleven o'clock, and\nforgetting our injured wheel, raced out of the town toward home. A\nshort distance down the main boulevard, the wheel again came off, and\nthis time the damage could not be repaired. There was nothing for it\nbut to wait until morning, and it was a disconsolate group that\nwandered about. All the hotels were full up. Finally, a Y.M.C.A. hut\nmade some of us welcome. We sat about, reading and talking, until we\ndozed off in our chairs. The next morning we got a new wheel and ran\ngingerly the sixty-odd miles back, to regale the others with enviable\ntales of our pre-Christmas festivities.\nIII\nLATER DAYS OF TRAINING\n\"Well, thank Heaven, that sweat's over,\" said the Old Bird the night\nafter we finished our tank course, and had our celebration. He\nstretched luxuriously.\n\"Yes, but you're starting off again on the gun to-morrow morning,\"\nsaid the Major, cheerfully.\nThe Old Bird protested.\n\"But I can have a few days' rest, sir, can't I?\" he said sorrowfully.\nThe Major laughed.\n\"No, you can't. You're down, so you'll have to go through with it.\"\nSo for three days we sat in the open, in the driving sleet, from\nhalf-past eight in the morning until half-past four in the afternoon,\nlearning the gun. On the fourth day we finished off our course with\nfiring on the range. Surprising as it may seem, after two or three\nrounds we could hit the very smallest object at a distance of four or\nfive hundred yards.\n\"How many more courses must we go through?\" asked the Old Bird of\nRigden, as they strolled back one evening from the range. The Old Bird\nwas always interested in how much--or, rather, how little--work he had\nbefore him.\n\"There's the machine gun; the signalling course,--you'll have to work\nhard on that, but I know you don't object,--and also revolver\npractice. Aren't you thrilled?\"\n\"No, I'm not,\" grumbled the Old Bird. \"Life isn't worth living with\nall this work to do. I wish we could get into action.\"\n\"So do I,\" said Talbot, joining them. \"But while we're waiting,\nwouldn't you rather be back here with good warm billets and a\ncomfortable bed and plenty to eat, instead of sitting in a wet trench\nwith the Infantry?\" He remembered an old man in his regiment who had\nbeen with the Salvation Army at home. He would stump along on his flat\nfeet, trudging miles with his pack on his back, and Talbot had never\nheard him complain. He was bad at drill. He could never get the orders\nor formations through his head. Talbot had often lost patience with\nhim, but the old fellow was always cheerful. One morning, in front of\nBapaume, after a night of terrible cold, the old man could not move.\nTalbot tried to cheer him up and to help him, but he said feebly: \"I\nthink I'm done for--I don't believe I shall ever get warm. But never\nmind, sir.\" And in a few minutes he died, as uncomplainingly as he had\nlived.\n\"You're right, of course, Talbot,\" the Old Bird said. \"We're very well\noff here. But, I say, how I should like to be down in Boulogne for a\nfew days!\" And until they reached the Mess, the Old Bird dilated on\nthe charm of Boulogne and all the luxuries he would indulge in the\nnext time he visited the city.\nThe rest of that week found us each day parading at eight o'clock in\nthe courtyard of the Hospice, and after instruction the various\nparties marched off to their several duties. Some of us went to the\ntankdrome; some of us to the hills overlooking historic Agincourt,\nand others to the barn by the railroad where we practised with the\nguns. Another party accompanied Borwick to a secluded spot where he\ndrilled them in machine-gun practice. Borwick was as skilful with a\nmachine gun as with a piano. This was the highest praise one could\ngive him.\nThat night at mess, Gould said suddenly:--\n\"To-morrow's a half day, isn't it?\"\n\"Of course. Wake up, you idiot,\" said Talbot. \"We're playing 'J'\nCompany at soccer, and on Sunday we're playing 'L' at rugger. Two\nstrenuous days before us. Are you feeling fit?\"\nGould was feeling most awfully fit. In fact, he assured the mess that\nhe, alone, was a match for \"J\" Company.\nOur soccer team was made up almost entirely of men who had been\nprofessional players. We had great pride in them, so that on the\nfollowing afternoon, an eager crowd streamed out of the village to our\nfootball field, which we had selected with great care. It was as flat\nas a cricket pitch. A year ago it had been ploughed as part of the\nFrench farmland, and now here were the English playing football!\nBefore the game began there was a good deal of cheerful chaffing on\nthe respective merits of the \"J\" and \"K\" Company teams. And when the\nplay was in progress and savage yells rent the air, the French\nvillagers looked on in wonder and pity. They had always believed the\nEnglish to be mad. Now they were convinced of it.\nFrom the outset, however, \"J\" Company was hopelessly outclassed, and\nwishing to be generous to a failing foe, we ceased our wild cheering.\n\"J\" Company, on the other hand, wishing to exhort their team to\ngreater efforts, made up for our moderation, with the result that our\nallies were firmly convinced that \"J\" Company had won the game! If\nnot, why should they dance up and down and wave their hats and shriek?\nAnd even the score, five to one in favor of \"K\" Company, failed to\nconvince them entirely. But \"K\" went home to an hilarious tea, with a\nsense of work well done.\nAnd what of the rugger game the next day? Let us draw a veil over it.\nSuffice it to say that the French congratulated \"K\" Company over the\noutcome of that, although the score was twelve to three in favor of\nWe awoke on Monday morning with a delightful feeling that something\npleasant was going to happen, for all the world the same sensation we\nused to experience on waking on our birthday and suddenly remembering\nthat gifts were sure to appear and that there would be something\nrather special for tea! By the time full consciousness returned, we\nremembered that this was the day when, for the first time, the tank\nwas to be set in motion. Even the Old Bird was eager.\nWe hurry off to the tankdrome. One after another we slide in through\nthe little door and are swallowed up. The door is bolted behind the\nlast to enter. Officer and driver slip into their respective seats.\nThe steel shutters of the portholes click as they are opened. The\ngunners take their positions. The driver opens the throttle a little\nand tickles the carburetor, and the engine is started up. The driver\nraces the engine a moment, to warm her up. The officer reaches out a\nhand and signals for first speed on each gear; the driver throws his\nlever into first; he opens the throttle: the tank--our \"Willie\"--moves!\nSupposing you were locked in a steel box, with neither portholes to\nlook through nor airholes to breathe from. Supposing you felt the\nsteel box begin to move, and, of course, were unable to see where you\nwere going. Can you imagine the sensation? Then you can guess the\nfeelings of the men in a tank,--excepting the officer and driver, who\ncan see ahead through their portholes,--when the monster gets under\nway. There are times, of course, with the bullets flying thick and\nfast, when all portholes, for officer, driver, and gunners, must be\nclosed. Then we plunge ahead, taking an occasional glimpse through the\nspecial pin-point holes.\nThirty tons of steel rolls along with its human freight. Suddenly,\nthe driver rings a bell. He presses another button, and signals the\ndriver of the right-hand track into \"neutral.\" This disconnects the\ntrack from the engine. The tank swings around to the right. The\nright-hand driver gets the signal \"First speed,\" and we are off again,\nat a right angle to our former direction.\nNow we are headed for a gentle slope across the field, and as we\napproach it, the tank digs her nose into the base of the hill. She\ncrawls up. The men in the rear tip back and enjoy it hugely. If the\nhill is steep enough they may even find themselves lying flat on their\nbacks or standing on their heads! But no such luck. Presently they are\nstanding as nearly upright as it is ever possible to stand, and the\ntank is balancing on the top of the slope. The driver is not expert as\nyet, and we go over with an awful jolt and tumble forward. This is\nrare fun!\nBut the instructor is not pleased. We must try it all over again. So\nback again to attack the hill a second time. The top is reached once\nmore and we balance there. The driver throws out his clutch, we slip\nover very gently, and carefully he lets the clutch in again and down\nwe go. The \"Willie\" flounders around for the fraction of a second.\nThen, nothing daunted, she starts off once more. We have visions of\nher sweeping all before her some day far behind the German lines.\nThree or four weeks of this sort of thing, and we are hardened to it.\nOur reward came at last, however. After mess one morning, when the\nconversation had consisted mainly of the question, \"When are we going\ninto a show?\" with no answer to the question, we were called into the\nMajor's room, where he told us, in strictest secrecy, that in about\nthree weeks a big attack was to come off. We should go in at last!\nFor the next two or three weeks we studied maps and aeroplane\nphotographs, marking out our routes, starting-points, rear\nammunition-dumps, forward dumps, and lines of supply. At last, then,\nour goal loomed up and these months of training, for the most part\ninteresting, but at times terribly boring, would bear fruit. Two\ndirect results were noticeable now on looking back to the time when we\njoined. First, each man in the Battalion knew how to run a tank, how\nto effect slight repairs, how to work the guns, and how to obtain the\nbest results from the machine. Second, and very important, was the\nfact that the men and officers had got together. The crews and\nofficers of each section knew and trusted each other. The strangeness\nof feeling that was apparent in the first days had now entirely\ndisappeared, and that cohesion of units which is so essential in\nwarfare had been accomplished. Each of us knew the other's faults and\nthe mistakes he was prone to make. More important still, we knew our\nown faults and weaknesses and had the courage to carry on and overcome\nthem.\nA few nights before we moved up the line, we gave a grand concert.\nBorwick and the Old Bird planned it. On an occasion of this sort, the\nOld Bird never grumbled at the amount of work he was obliged to do.\nSome weeks before we had bought a piano from one of the inhabitants of\nthe village, and the piano was naturally the _pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance_ of\nthe concert. The Old Bird went around for days at a time, humming\nscraps of music with unintelligible words which it afterwards\ndeveloped at the concert were awfully good songs of his own composing.\nThe Battalion tailor was called in to make up rough Pierrot costumes.\nThe Old Bird drilled us until we begged for mercy, while Borwick\nstrummed untiringly at the piano. At last the great night arrived.\nA stage had been built at one end of a hangar, and curtains hung up.\nThe whole of the Staff and H.Q. had been invited, and the _maire_, the\n_cur\u00e9_, the _m\u00e9decin_ of the village, and their families were also to\nattend.\nPromptly at eight o'clock, the concert began, with Borwick at the\npiano. Everything went off without a hitch. Although \"K\" Company\nprovided most of the talent, the Battalion shared the honours of the\nentertainment. Each song had a chorus, and so appreciative was our\naudience that the choruses were repeated again and again. The one\n\"lady\" of the Troupe looked charming, and \"she\" arranged for \"her\"\nvoice to be entirely in keeping with \"her\" dress and paint. The French\nspectators enjoyed it hugely. They were a great encouragement, for\nthey laughed at everything uproariously, though it could not have been\ndue to their understanding of the jokes.\nAt ten o'clock we finished off with \"God Save the King,\" and went back\nto our billets feeling that our stay in the village had been\nsplendidly rounded off.\nIV\nMOVING UP THE LINE\nTwo or three days before we were due to leave, we had received orders\nto pack our surplus kit, and have it at the Quartermaster's Stores at\na certain time. We drew a long breath. This meant that the actual\ndate, which up to the present had been somewhat indefinite, was close\nat hand. We were given orders to draw our tanks and the whole Company\nwas marched over to work sheds about two miles away at E----, where\ntanks and stores were issued.\nThe variety and number of little things which it is necessary to draw\nwhen fitting out a tank for action is inconceivable. Tools, small\nspares, Pyrenes, electric lamps, clocks, binoculars, telescopes,\npetrol and oil funnels, oil squirts, grease guns, machine guns,\nheadlights, tail lamps, steel hawsers, crowbars, shovels, picks,\ninspection lamps, and last, but not least, ammunition. The field-gun\nammunition has to be taken out of its boxes and placed in the shell\nracks inside the tank. The S.A.A. (small arms ammunition) must be\nremoved from its boxes and stacked away. At the same time every single\nround, before being put into the drum, must be gauged. All this has to\nbe done in the last two or three days, and everything must be checked\nand countersigned. There is always a great deal of fun for Tank\nCommanders in drawing their stores. It is a temptation, when in the\nmidst of all these thousands of articles, to seize the opportunity,\nwhen no one is looking, to pocket a few extra spares and dainty little\ntools, not, of course, for one's own personal benefit, but simply\nbecause such things are always being lost or stolen, and it is\nexasperating, to say the least, to find one's self, at a critical\nmoment, without some article which it is impossible to duplicate at\nthe time.\nDuring these last few days it was a continual march for the men from\nB---- to E----. Very often they were called back when their day's work\nwas over to draw some new article or make some alteration which had\nbeen forgotten at the time they were in the workshops.\nAt last, however,--on the third day following the grand concert,--the\nkits were packed, loaded on to the lorries, and sent off to E----. The\ntroops said \"Good-bye\" to the village which had been such a happy home\nand school during that winter of 1916, and the officers made their\nfond adieus to the mothers and daughters of the houses in which they\nhad been billeted.\nThe companies formed up and marched along to the workshops. Every one\nwas in high spirits, and there was a friendly race to see which\nCompany of the Battalion could load up their tanks in the shortest\ntime on to the specially constructed steel trucks.\nA few days before all these activities commenced, Talbot and another\nTank Commander had gone on to the tanks' ultimate destination, A----,\na village which had been evacuated a few days before by the Germans on\ntheir now famous retirement to the Hindenburg Line. It was a most\nextraordinary sight to ride along the road from Albert to Bapaume,\nwhich during the summer and winter of the preceding year had witnessed\nsuch heavy fighting. The whole country on each side of the road was a\ndesolate vista of shell-holes as far as the eye could see. Where\nvillages had been, there was now no trace left of any sort of\nhabitation. One might think that, however heavy a bombardment, some\ntrace would be left of the village which had suffered. There was\nliterally nothing left of the village through which had run the road\nthey were now travelling. Over this scarred stretch of country were\ndotted camps and groups of huts, with duck-boards crossing the old\nshell-holes, some of which were still full of water.\nOn approaching B---- they saw traces everywhere of the methodical and\norganized methods by which the Germans had retired. The first sign was\na huge shell-crater in the middle of the road, about forty feet deep,\nwhich the Boche had arranged to prevent armoured cars from following\nhim up. If they did succeed, the transports would be delayed in\nreaching them, at all events. These holes were rather a nuisance, for\nthe road itself was a mass of lesser shell-craters and the soft ground\non each side was impassable. The road was crowded with engineers and\nlabor battalions, filling in the shell-holes, and laying railways into\nthe outskirts of A----.\nIn A---- the old German notices were still standing as they had been\nleft. Strung across the road on a wire was a notice which read:\n\"Fuhrweg nach Behagnies.\" Every house in the town had been pulled\ndown. The wily Boche had not even blown them up. Instead he had saved\nexplosives by attaching steel hawsers to the houses and by means of\ntractors had pulled them down, so that the roof and sides fell in on\nthe foundation. Every pump handle in the village had been broken off\nshort, and not a single piece of furniture was left behind. Later, we\nfound the furniture from this and other villages in the Hindenburg\nLine.\nSaddest of all, however, was the destruction of the beautiful poplar\ntrees which once bordered the long French roads built by Napoleon.\nThese had been sawn off at their base and allowed to fall on the side\nof the road, not across it, as one might suppose. If they had been\nallowed to fall across the road, the Boche, himself, would have been\nhindered in his last preparations for his retreat. Everything was done\nwith military ends in view. The villages were left in such a condition\nas to make them uninhabitable, the more to add to our discomfort and\nto make our hardships severer. The trees were cut down only on those\nparts of the road which were screened from observation from his\nballoons and present trenches. In some places where the road dipped\ninto a valley the trees had been left untouched.\nAt the place where our tanks were scheduled to arrive, and which had\nlately been a railhead of the Boche, all the metals had been torn up,\nand in order to destroy the station itself, he had smashed the\ncast-iron pillars which supported the roof, and in consequence the\nwhole building had fallen in. But nothing daunted, the British\nengineers were even now working at top speed laying down new lines.\nSome of the metals, which a few short weeks before had been lying in\ncountless stacks down on the quays at the Bases, now unrolled\nthemselves at the rate of about two and a quarter miles a day. One\ninteresting feature of this rapid track-laying was that when the tank\ntrain left E----, on its two and a half days' journey down to the\nrailhead at A----, the track on which the train was to run was not\ncompleted into A----. But, nevertheless, the track arrived ahead of\nthe train, which was the main point!\nAs they rode into the ruined village of A---- Talbot and his companion\ncame across still further evidence of the steps which the German will\ntake to inconvenience his enemy. In order to battle against the hordes\nof rats which are so prevalent in the old parts of the line in France,\nthe Boche breeds cats in enormous numbers. Yet, in order to carry out\nto the limit his idea that nothing of value should fall into our\nhands, he had killed every cat in the village. In every house three or\nfour of these poor little creatures lay around with their heads\nchopped off. Tabby cats, black cats, white cats, and little kittens,\nall dead. Farther on, over a well at the corner of the main square was\nposted a sign which read: \"This well is poisoned. Do not touch. By\norder. R.E.\"\nHere and there a house had been left intact, with its furniture\nuntouched. It was not until later that it struck us as peculiar that\nthese houses had been spared from the general destruction. Two or\nthree days later, however, after we had moved in, and headquarters had\nbeen established, we discovered that under many of these houses, and\nat certain crossroads which had not been blown up in the usual manner,\nthe Boche had left mines, timed to go off at any time up to\ntwenty-eight days. One could never be sure that the ground underneath\none's feet would not blow up at any moment. These mines were small\nboxes of high explosive, inside of which was a little metal tube with\ntrigger and detonator attached. Inside the tube was a powerful acid,\nwhich, when it had eaten its way through, set free the trigger and\nexploded the charge. The length of time it took for the mine to\nexplode was gauged by the strength or weakness of the acid in the\ntube.\n    [Illustration: A TANK MOVING TO THE ATTACK DOWN WHAT WAS ONCE\n    A MAIN STREET]\nWe were also impressed with the mechanical genius of the German. The\nBoche had made a veritable mechanical toy out of nearly every house in\nthe village which he had spared. Delightful little surprises had been\nprepared for us everywhere. Kick a harmless piece of wood, and in a\nfew seconds a bomb exploded. Pick up a bit of string from the floor\nand another bomb went off. Soon we learned to be wary of the most\ninnocent objects. Before touching anything we made elaborate\npreparations for our safety.\nOne of the men was greatly annoyed by a wire which hung over his head\nwhen he was asleep, but he did not wish to remove it. He had decided\nthat it was connected with some devilish device which would do him no\ngood. Finally, one morning, he could endure this sword of Damocles no\nlonger. With two boon companions, he carefully attached a string about\nfifteen yards long to the wire. They tiptoed gently out of the house\nto a discreet distance, and with a yell of triumph, the hero pulled\nthe string,--and nothing happened!\nBut there was another side to all this. McKnutt some time afterwards\ncame in with an interesting story. Some Sappers, he said, had been\ndigging under a house in the village, presumably for the mysterious\nreasons that always drive the Engineers to dig in unlikely places. One\nof them pushed his shovel into what had been the cellar of the house,\nbut as the roof had fallen in on the entrance, they did not know of\nits existence. When they finally forced their way in, they found two\nGerman officers and two Frenchwomen in a terribly emaciated condition.\nOne of the Boches and one of the women lay dead, locked in each\nother's arms. The other two still breathed, but when they were brought\nup into the open they expired within a few hours without either of\nthem giving an explanation. The only reason we could find for their\nterrible plight was that the women had been forced down there by the\nofficers to undergo a last farewell, while the Germans were destroying\nthe village, and that the house had fallen in on top of them. Later,\nprobably no one knew where they had disappeared, and they were unable\nto get out of the ruins or to make themselves heard. The village of\nA---- gained a romantic reputation after that, and it was curious to\nrealize that we had been living there for days while this silent\ntragedy was being enacted.\nIn addition to the destruction in the towns, the beautiful orchards\nwhich are so numerous in France were ruined. Apple, pear, and plum\ntrees lay uprooted on the ground, and here again the military mind of\nthe German had been at work. He did not wish the fruit that the trees\nwould bear in future to fall into our hands.\nBut although the village was a pretty poor place in which to stay, the\nnear presence of a B.E.F. Canteen was a comfort. It is always amazing\nto visit one of these places. Within perhaps four or five miles of the\nfiring line we have stores selling everything from a silver cigarette\ncase to a pair of boots, and everything, too, at nearly cost price.\nThe Canteen provides almost every variety of smoking materials, and\neatables, and their only disadvantage is that they make packages from\nhome seem so useless. As the tobaccos come straight out of bond, it is\nfar cheaper to buy them at the Canteen, than to have them forwarded\nfrom home. These Canteens are managed by the Army, and are dotted all\nover the country inhabited by the British troops. Since they have\nsprung into existence life at the front has been far more comfortable\nand satisfactory in France, and people at home are discovering that\nmoney is the best thing to send out to their men.\nFinally, one cold, sunny morning, about half-past five, the tank train\nsteamed slowly into A----, and drew up on a siding. It was not\npossible to begin the work of unloading the tanks until night fell. So\nthe tired crews turned into the roofless houses which had been\nprepared for them, and slept until dusk. When darkness fell, as if by\nmagic, the town sprang to activity.\nV\nPREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW\nThat night the engines were started up, and one by one the tanks\ncrawled off the train. Although the day had begun with brilliant\nsunshine, at dusk the snow had begun to fall, and by the time the\ntanks came off, the snow was a foot thick on the ground. The tanks\nmoved down to the temporary tankdrome which had been decided upon near\nthe railway, and the sponson trucks were towed there. The night was\nspent in fitting on the sponsons to the sides of the machines. It was\nbitterly cold. The sleet drove in upon us all night, stinging our\nhands and faces. Everything seemed to go wrong. We had the utmost\ndifficulty in making the bolt-holes fit, and as each sponson weighs\nabout three tons they were not easy to move and adjust. We drove ahead\nwith the work, knowing that it must be done while the darkness\nlasted.\nFinally, about two hours before dawn broke, the last bolt was\nfastened, and the tanks were ready to move. The night was blacker than\never as they lumbered out of the tankdrome, and were led across the\nsnow to a halfway house about four miles from the railhead, and an\nequal distance from the front-line trenches. We had not quite reached\nour destination when the darkness began to lift in the east, and with\nfeverish energy we pushed ahead, through the driving snow.\nLate that afternoon, Talbot was again sent ahead with five or six\ntroopers and orderlies to a village in the front line. It was\nnecessary for us to spend three or four days there before the attack\ncommenced, in order to study out the vulnerable points in the German\nline. We were to decide also the best routes for the tanks to take in\ncoming up to the line, and those to be taken later in crossing No\nMan's Land when the \"show\" was on. We rode along across fields denuded\nof all their trees. The country here was utterly unlike that to which\nwe had been accustomed in \"peace-time trench warfare.\" This last\nexpression sounds like an anomaly, but actually it means the life\nwhich is led in trenches where one may go along for two or three\nmonths without attacking. In comparison with our existence when we are\nmaking an offensive, the former seems like life in peace times. Hence,\nthe expression. But from this it must not be supposed that \"peace-time\ntrench warfare\" is all beer and skittles. Quite the contrary. As a\nmatter of fact, during four or five days in the trenches there may be\nas many casualties as during an attack, but taking it on an average,\nnaturally the losses and dangers are greater when troops go over the\ntop. Curiously enough, too, after one has been in an attack the\nfront-line trench seems a haven of refuge. Gould, who was wounded in\nthe leg during a battle on the Somme, crawled into a shell-hole. It\nwas a blessed relief to be lying there, even though the bullets were\nwhistling overhead. At first he felt no pain, and he wished, vaguely,\nthat he had brought a magazine along to read! All through the burning\nsummer day he stayed there, waiting for the night. As soon as it was\ndark he wriggled back to our trenches, tumbled over the parapet of the\nfront-line trench, and narrowly escaped falling on the point of a\nbayonet. But he never forgets the feeling of perfect safety and peace\nat being back, even in an exposed trench, with friends.\nThe fields across which we rode had been ploughed the preceding autumn\nby the French civilians. Later, when the snow had disappeared, we\ncould see where the ground had been torn up by the horses of a German\nriding-school of ten days before. On some of the roads the ruts and\nheavy marks of the retreating German transports could still be seen.\nIt was a new and exciting experience to ride along a road which only\ntwo or three days before had been traversed by the Germans in a\nretreat, even though they called it a \"retirement.\" The thought was\nvery pleasant to men who, for the last two years, had been sitting _in\nfront_ of the Boche month after month, and who, even in an attack, had\nbeen unable to find traces of foot, hoof, or wheel mark because of\nthe all-effacing shell-fire. Here and there were places where the\nBoche had had his watering-troughs, and also the traces of scattered\nhuts and tents on the ground where the grass, of a yellowish green,\nstill showed. The front line of defence here was really no front line\nat all, but was merely held as in open warfare by outposts, sentry\ngroups, and patrols.\nAt night it was the easiest thing in the world to lose one's self\nclose up to the line and wander into the German trenches. In fact,\nover the whole of this country, where every landmark had been\ndestroyed and where owing to the weather the roads were little\ndifferent from the soil on each side, a man could lose himself and\nfind no person or any sign to give him his direction. The usual guide\nwhich one might derive from the Verey lights going up between the\nlines was here non-existent, as both sides kept extremely quiet. Even\nthe guns were comparatively noiseless in these days, and were a man to\nfind himself at night alone upon this ground, which lay between two\nand three miles behind our own lines, the only thing he could do\nwould be to lie down and wait for the dawn to show him the direction.\nAs we rode toward O---- our only guide was a few white houses two or\nthree miles away on the edge of the village. The German had not\nevacuated O---- of his own free will, but a certain \"Fighting\nDivision\" had taken the village two days before and driven the German\nout, when he retired three or four hundred yards farther to his rear\nHindenburg Line. The probable reason why he hung on to this village,\nwhich was really in front of his line of advance, was because at the\ntime he decided to retire on the Somme, the Hindenburg Line was\nincomplete. In fact, the Boche could still be seen working on his wire\nand trenches.\nWe arrived in O---- at nightfall. Some batteries were behind the\nvillage, and the Germans were giving the village and the guns a rather\nnasty time. Unhappily for us, the Boche artillery were dropping\nfive-nine's on the road which led into the village, and as they seemed\nunlikely to desist, we decided to make a dash for it. The horses were\na bit nervous, but behaving very well under the trying circumstances.\n(With us were some limbers bringing up ammunition.) Shells were\nexploding all around us. It would never do to stand still.\nThe dash up that hundred yards of road was an unpleasant experience.\nAs we made the rush, the gunners tearing along \"hell for leather\" and\nthe others galloping ahead on their plunging horses, we heard the dull\nwhistle and the nearer roar of two shells approaching. Instinctively\nwe leaned forward. We held our breath. When a shell drops near, there\nis always the feeling that it is going to fall on one's head. We\nflattened ourselves out and urged our horses to greater speed. The\nshells exploded about thirty yards behind us, killing two gunners and\ntheir mules, while the rest of us scrambled into the village and under\ncover.\nIn the darkness, we found what had once been the shop of the village\nblacksmith, and in the forge we tied up our horses. It was bitterly\ncold. It was either make a fire and trust to luck that it would not be\nobserved, or freeze. We decided on the fire, and in its grateful\nwarmth we lay down to snatch the first hours of sleep we had had in\nnearly three days. But the German gunners were most inconsiderate, and\na short time afterward they dropped a small barrage down the road. The\nfront of our forge was open, and we were obliged to flatten ourselves\non the ground to prevent the flying splinters from hitting us. When\nthis diversion was over, we stirred up our fire, and made some tea,\njust in time to offer some to a gunner sergeant who came riding up. He\nhitched his horse to one of the posts, and sat down with us by the\nfire. The shell-fire had quieted down, and we dozed off, glad of the\ninterlude. Suddenly a shell burst close beside us. The poor beast,\nwaiting patiently for his rider, was hit in the neck by the shrapnel,\nbut hardly a sound escaped him. In war, especially, one cannot help\nadmiring the stoicism of horses, as compared with other animals. One\nsees examples of it on all sides. Tread, for instance, on a dog's\nfoot, and he runs away, squealing. A horse is struck by a large lump\nof shrapnel just under its withers, and the poor brute trembles, but\nmakes no sound. Almost the only time that horses scream--and the sound\nis horrible--is when they are dying. Then they shriek from sheer pain\nand fear. Strange as it may seem, one is often more affected by seeing\nhorses struck than when men are killed. Somehow they seem so\nparticularly helpless.\nIt was during these days at O---- that Talbot discovered Johnson.\nJohnson was one of his orderlies. Although it did not lie in the path\nof his duty, he took the greatest delight in doing all sorts of little\nodd jobs for Talbot. So unobtrusive he was about it all, that for some\ntime Talbot hardly noticed that some one was trying to make him\ncomfortable. When he did, by mutual agreement Johnson became his\nservant and faithful follower through everything. The man was\nperfectly casual and apparently unaffected by the heaviest shell-fire.\nIt is absurd to say that a man \"doesn't mind shell-fire.\" Every one\ndislikes it, and gets nervous under it. The man who \"doesn't mind it\"\nis the man who fights his nervousness and gets such control of\nhimself that he is able to _appear_ as if he were unaffected. Between\n\"not minding it\" and \"appearing not to mind it\" lie hard-won moral\nbattles, increased strength of character, and victory over fear.\nJohnson had accomplished this. He preserved an attitude of careless\ncalm, and could walk down a road with shells bursting all around him\nwith a sublime indifference that was inspiring. Between him and his\nofficer sprang up an extraordinary and lasting affection.\nThe wretched night in the forge at last came to an end, and the next\nmorning we looked around for more comfortable billets. We selected the\ncellar of a house in fairly good condition and prepared to move in,\nwhen we discovered that we were not the first to whom it had appealed.\nTwo dead Germans still occupied the premises, and when we had disposed\nof the bodies, we took up our residence. Here we stayed, going out\neach day to find the best points from which to view No Man's Land,\nwhich lay in front of the village. With the aid of maps, we planned\nthe best routes for the tanks to take when the battle should have\nbegun. Not a detail was neglected.\nThen something happened to break the monotony of life. Just back of\nthe village one of our batteries was concealed in such a fashion that\nit was impossible to find it from an aeroplane. Yet every day,\nregularly, the battery was shelled. Every night under cover of the\ndarkness, the position was changed, and the battery concealed as\ncleverly as before, but to no avail. The only solution was that some\none behind our lines was in communication with the Germans, _every\nday_. Secrecy was increased. Guards were doubled to see that no one\nslipped through the lines. Signals were watched. The whole affair was\nbaffling, and yet we could find no clue.\nJust in front of the wood where the battery was concealed, stood an\nold farmhouse where a genial Frenchwoman lived and dispensed good\ncheer to us. She had none of the men of her own family nor any\nfarmhands to help her, but kept up the farmwork all alone. Every day,\nusually in the middle of the morning, she went out to the fields\nbehind her house and ploughed, with an old white horse drawing the\nplough. For some reason she never ploughed more than one or two\nfurrows at a time, and when this was done, she drove the white horse\nback to the barn. One day, an officer noticed that a German plane\nhovered over the field while the woman was ploughing, and that when\nshe went back to the house, the plane shot away. The next day the same\nthing happened. Later in the day, the battery received its daily\nreminder from the Boche gunners, as unerringly accurate as ever.\nHere was a clue. The solution of the problem followed. The woman knew\nthe position of the battery, and every day when she went out to\nplough, she drove the white horse up and down, making a furrow\ndirectly in front of the battery. When the men in the German plane saw\nthe white horse, they flew overhead, took a photograph of the newly\nturned furrow, and turned the photograph over to their gunners. The\nrest was easy.\n    [Illustration: A TANK GOING OVER A TRENCH ON ITS WAY INTO\n    ACTION]\nThe next day we missed three events which had become part of our daily\nlife. The German plane no longer hovered in the air. Our battery, for\nthe first time in weeks, spent a peaceful day. And in the field behind\nher house, a woman with an old white horse no longer made the earth\nready for the sowing.\nFor three days now we had received no rations, and were obliged to\nsubsist on the food which the Boche had left behind him when he fled.\nFinally, when all our plans were complete, we were notified that the\npoint of attack had been shifted to N----, a village about four miles\naway. This practical joke we thought in extremely bad taste, but there\nwas nothing for it but to pack up and move as quickly as possible. We\nlearned that our troops at N---- had tried twice to break through the\nGerman lines by bombing. A third attempt was to be made, and the tanks\nwere depended upon to open the way. Hence the change in our plans.\nEarly the next morning we left O----, and dashed along a road which\nlay parallel with our line, and was under direct observation from the\nGerman trenches. Owing to the fact, probably, that he was not properly\nsettled in his new line, the Boche did not bother us much, excepting\nat one place, where we were obliged to make a run for it. We arrived\nat N---- just after the tanks had been brought up. They were hurriedly\nconcealed close up to houses, in cuttings, and under trees.\nThe show was scheduled to come off the next morning at 4.30. That\nnight we gathered at Brigade Headquarters and made the final plans.\nEach tank had its objective allotted to it, and marked out on the Tank\nCommander's course. Each tank was to go just so far and no farther.\nTalbot and Darwin were detailed to go forward as far as possible on\nfoot when the battle was in progress, and send back messages as to how\nthe show was progressing. Talbot also was given the task of going out\nthat night to make the marks in No Man's Land which would guide the\ntanks in the morning.\nAt eleven o'clock, in the bright moonlight, Talbot, with Johnson and a\ncouple of orderlies, started out. They climbed over the front line,\nwhich was at present a railway embankment, crawled into No Man's Land,\nand set to work. Immediately the Boche snipers spotted them and\nbullets began to whistle over their heads. Luckily, no one was hit,\nbut a couple of \"whizz bangs\" dropped uncomfortably close. The men\ndropped for cover. Only Johnson stood still, his figure black against\nthe white snow gleaming in the moonlight.\nThe shells continued to fall about them as they wriggled back when the\nwork was done. As they reached N---- the tanks were being led up\ntoward the line, so that later, under cover of the darkness, they\nmight be taken farther forward to their starting-points.\nVI\nTHE FIRST BATTLE\nAt dawn the next morning, the tanks were already lined up, sullen and\nmenacing in the cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting air.\nOne by one the crews entered the machines, and one by one the little\nsteel doors closed behind them. The engines throbbed, and they moved\noff sluggishly.\nDarwin and Talbot, with their orderlies, waited impatiently. The\nmoments just before an attack are always the hardest. A few batteries\nwere keeping up a desultory fire. They glanced at their watches.\n\"Only a minute to go,\" said Darwin. \"I bet the show's put off or\nsomething. Isn't this snow damnably cold, though!\"\nSuddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed out. Then from all sides\na deafening roar burst forth and the barrage began. As we became\naccustomed to the intensity and ear-splittingness of the sound, the\nbark of the eighteen-pounders could be faintly distinguished above the\ndull roar of the eight-inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousands\nof flashes, large and small, each one showing, for a second, trenches\nor trees or houses, and during this tornado we knew that the \"Willies\"\nmust have started forward on their errand.\nAs the barrage lifted and the noise died down a little, the first\nstreaks of light began to show in the sky, although we could\ndistinguish nothing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks could be\nseen. But the ominous sound of machine guns and heavy rifle-fire told\nus that the Boche was prepared.\nWe could stand this inactivity no longer. We trudged forward through\nthe snow, taking the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses as\nour guide, the officers leading the way and the orderlies behind in\nsingle file.\n\"The blighter's starting, himself, now,\" said Talbot, as a four-two\nlanded a hundred yards away, and pieces of earth came showering down\non our heads. Then another and another fell, each closer than the one\nbefore, and instinctively we quickened our steps, for it is difficult\nto walk slowly through shell-fire.\nThe embankment loomed before us, and big splotches of black and yellow\nleaped from its surface. The deafening crashes gave us that peculiar\nfeeling in the stomach which danger alone can produce. We scrambled up\nthe crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we reached the top that\nthe sound of the machine guns had died away, excepting on the extreme\nleft in front of B----, where the ordinary tap of ones and twos had\ndeveloped into a sharp crackle of tens and twenties. By listening\ncarefully one could feel, rather than hear, the more intermittent\nbursts from the rifles.\n\"There's one, sir,\" shouted one of the orderlies.\n\"Where?\"\n\"Half-right and about five hundred yards ahead.\"\nBy dint of straining, we discovered a little animal--or so it\nlooked--crawling forward on the far side of the Hindenburg Line.\nAlready it was doing a left incline in accordance with its\ninstructions, so as to enfilade a communication trench which ran back\nto N----. The German observer had spotted her. Here and there, on each\nside of her, a column of dirt and snow rose into the air. But the\nlittle animal seemed to bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, and\nshe went calmly on her way, for all the world like a giant tortoise at\nwhich one vainly throws clods of earth.\nAs it grows lighter, we can now see others in the distance. One is not\nmoving--is it out of action? The only motion on the whole landscape is\nthat of the bursting shells, and the tanks. Over the white snow in\nfront of the German wire, are dotted little black lumps. Some crawl,\nsome move a leg or an arm, and some lie quite still. One who has never\nseen a modern battle doubtless forms a picture of masses of troops\nmoving forward in splendid formation, with cheering voices and\ngleaming bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an observer in a post\nor in a balloon, no concerted action is visible at all. Here and there\na line or two of men dash forward and disappear. A single man or a\nsmall group of men wriggle across the ground. That is all.\n\"Well, they haven't got it in the neck as I supposed,\" said Darwin.\n\"Remarkably few lying about. Let's push on.\"\n\"All right,\" Talbot assented. \"If you like.\"\nWe crawled over the top of the embankment and continued down the side.\nAbout two hundred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks, with her\nnose in the air. A little group of three or four men were digging\naround her, frantically. We rushed over to them, and found that the\nOld Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large pit which lay in the\nmiddle of No Man's Land, and was stuck with her tail in the bottom of\nthe ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordinary instances of luck\nwhich one notices everywhere in a modern battle. The tank had been\nthere about ten minutes when the German gunners had bracketed on her,\nand were dropping five-nines, all of them within a radius of seventy\nyards of the tank, and yet no one was hurt. Finally, by dint of\nstrenuous digging, she started up and pulled herself wearily out of\nthe pit.\n    [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._\n    A TANK HALFWAY OVER THE TOP AND AWAITING THE ORDER TO ADVANCE\n    IN THE BATTLE OF MENIN ROAD]\nSuddenly, Darwin shouted:--\n\"Look here, you fellows! What are these Boches doing?\"\nLooking up, we saw about forty or fifty Germans stumbling over their\nown wire, and running toward us as hard as they could go. For a moment\nwe thought it was the preliminary step of a counter-attack, but\nsuddenly we discovered that they carried no arms and were attempting\nto run with their hands above their heads. At the same time something\noccurred which is always one of the saddest sights in war. One hears a\ngreat deal about the \"horrors of war\" and the \"horrors\" of seeing men\nkilled on either side of one, but at the time there is very little\n\"horror\" to it. One simply doesn't have time to pay any attention to\nit all. But the sad part was that the German machine gunners, seeing\ntheir men surrendering, opened a furious fire on them. There they\nwere, caught from behind, and many of them dropped from the bullets of\ntheir own comrades.\nTwenty or thirty of them came straight on, rushed up to the pit where\nthe tank had come to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge.\nEvidently, they knew of the British passion for souvenirs, for when\nour men surrounded them, the Germans plucked wildly at their own\nshoulder straps as if to entreat their captors to take the shoulder\nstraps instead of anything else!\nWe gave two or three of the wounded Germans some cigarettes and a\ndrink of water. They were then told to find their quickest way to the\nrear. Like other German prisoners we had seen, they went willingly\nenough. German discipline obtains even after a man has been made a\nprisoner. He obeys his captors with the same docility with which he\nhad previously obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves, and\nstarted on the right road, the prisoner will plod along, their\nN.C.O.'s saluting the English officers, and inquiring the way to the\nconcentration camp. When they find it, they usually appear well\npleased.\nThe Old Bird's tank moved on.\n\"I suppose everything's going all right,\" said Talbot. \"Suppose we\nmove on and see if we can get some information.\"\n\"Yes, or some souvenirs,\" Darwin replied with a laugh.\nWe pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had completed their job were\ncoming back and passed us. A little later we met some fellows who were\nslightly wounded and asked them how the battle was going. Every story\nwas different. The wounded are rarely able to give a correct version\nof any engagement, and we saw that no accurate information was to be\ngleaned from these men.\nWe had been out now for an hour and a half and still had no news to\nsend back to Headquarters. We knew how hard it was for the officers\nbehind the lines, who had planned the whole show, to sit hour after\nhour waiting for news of their troops. The minutes are like hours.\n\"My God, Darwin, look!\" Talbot cried. \"Something's happened to her.\nShe's on fire!\"\nIn the distance we saw one of our tanks stuck in the German wire,\nwhich at that point was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke was\nbelching from every porthole. A shell had registered a direct hit,\nexploding the petrol, and the tank was on fire. We dashed forward\ntoward her.\nA German machine gun rattled viciously. They had seen us. An instant\nlater, the bullets were spattering around us, and we dropped flat. One\nman slumped heavily and lay quite still. By inches we crawled forward,\nnearer and nearer to the blazing monster. Another machine gun snarled\nat us, and we slid into a shell-hole for protection. Then, after a\nmoment's breathing space, we popped out and tried to rush again.\nAnother man stopped a bullet.\nIt was suicide to go farther. Into another shell-hole we fell, and\nthought things over. We decided to send a message, giving roughly the\nnews that the Hindenburg Line and N---- had been taken. An orderly was\ngiven a message. He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few steps,\ndropped flat, wriggled along across the snow, sprang to his feet, ran\nanother few steps, and so on until we lost sight of him.\nA moment or two later we started across the snow in a direction\nparallel with the lines. Behind an embankment we came across a little\ngroup of Australians at an impromptu dressing-station. Some of them\nwere wounded and the others were binding up their wounds. We watched\nthem for a while and started on again. We had gone about fifty yards\nwhen a shell screeched overhead. We turned and saw it land in the\nmiddle of the group we had just left. Another shell burst close to us\nand huge clods of earth struck us in the face and in the stomach,\nknocking us flat and blinding us for the moment. A splinter struck\nTalbot on his tin hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of the\norderlies screamed and we rushed back to him. He had been hit below\nthe knee and his leg was nearly severed. We tied him up and managed to\nget him back to the Australian aid-post. Two of the original four\nstretcher-bearers had been blown up a few minutes before. But the\nremaining two were carrying on with their work as though nothing had\nhappened. Here he was bandaged and started on his way for the\ndressing-station.\nFar across the snow, we saw three more tanks plodding back toward the\nrear. Little by little, we gained ground until we reached a more\nsheltered area where we could make greater speed. We were feverishly\nanxious to know the fate of the crew of the burning tank. \"Whose tank\nwas it?\" was on every tongue. We met other wounded men being helped\nback; those with leg wounds were being supported by others less\nseriously wounded. They could tell us nothing. They had been with the\ninfantry and only knew that two tanks were right on the other side of\nthe village.\nA moment or two later, Talbot started running toward two men, one of\nwhom was supporting the other. The wounded man proved to be the\nSergeant of the tank we had seen on fire. We hurried up to him. He was\nhurt in the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him, we kept quiet\nand accompanied him back to the dressing-station.\nLater we heard the tragic news that it was Gould's tank that had\nburned up. None of us talked much about it. It did not seem real.\nThey had got stuck in the German wire. A crump had hit them and fired\nthe petrol tank. That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and another,\nescaped from the tank. The others perished with it. We tried to\ncomfort each other by repeated assurances that they must all have lost\nconsciousness quickly from the fumes of the petrol before they\nsuffered from fire. But it was small consolation. Every one had liked\nGould and every one would miss him.\nWe waited at Brigade Headquarters for the others to return. A Tank\nCommander from another Company was brought in, badly wounded and\nlooking ghastly, but joking with every one, as they carried him along\non a stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and they had saved their\nguns and gone on with the infantry. He had been the last to leave the\ntank, and as he had stepped out to the ground, a shell exploded\ndirectly beneath him, taking off both of his legs below the knee.\nThe last of the tanks waddled wearily in and the work of checking-up\nbegan. All were accounted for but two. Their fate still remains a\nsecret. Our theory was that they had gone too far ahead and had\nentered the village in back of the German lines; that the infantry had\nnot been able to keep up with them, and that they had been captured.\nTwo or three days afterwards an airman told us that he had seen, on\nthe day of the battle, two tanks far ahead of the infantry and that\nthey appeared to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the point\nwhere the tanks had been, and on some German prisoners whom we took,\nwe found several photographs of these identical tanks. Then one day,\nwhen we had stopped wondering about them, a Sergeant in our Company\nreceived a letter from one of the crew of the missing machines, saying\nthat he was a prisoner in Germany. But of the officers we have never\nheard to this day.\nWe sat around wearily, waiting for the motor lorries which were to\ntake some of us back to B----. Years seemed to have been crowded into\nthe hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced at his watch. It was still\nonly eight o'clock in the morning. Again he experienced the feeling\nof incredulity that comes to one who has had much happen in the hours\nbetween dawn and early morning and who discovers that the day has but\njust begun. He had thought it must be three o'clock in the afternoon,\nat least.\nThe lorries arrived eventually, and took those who had no tanks, back\nto B----. The others brought the \"Willies\" in by the evening.\nVII\nTHE SECOND BATTLE\nTen days had now elapsed since that day when we had gone back to B----\nwith the officers and men who had survived. We had enjoyed every\nminute of our rest and once more were feeling fit. The remainder of\nthe Company had been divided up into crews. The \"Willies\" themselves\nhad had the best of care and attention.\nMost important of all, to the childish minds of that part of the\nBritish Army which we represented, we had given another concert which\nhad been an even greater success than the first. The Old Bird and\nBorwick had excelled themselves. We were convinced that something was\nwrong with a Government that would send two such artists to the front!\nThey should be at home, writing \"words and music\" that would live\nforever.\nToward the end of the week, plans for another attack were arranged.\nThis time it was to take place at C----, about five miles north of\nN----. We were told that this was to be a \"big show\" at last. Part of\nthe Hindenburg Line had been taken, and part was still in the hands of\nthe enemy. It had been decided, therefore, that this sector of the\nline, and the village behind it, must be captured. Our share in the\nbusiness consisted of a few tanks to work with the infantry. Two of us\nwent up three days before to arrange the plans with the Divisional\nCommander. We wandered up into the Hindenburg Line as close as we\ncould get to the Boche, to see what the ground was like, and to decide\nif possible on the routes for the tanks. In the line were innumerable\nsouvenirs. We found the furniture that the Germans had taken out of\nthe villages on their retirement, and had used to make their line more\ncomfortable.\nWe found, too, an extraordinary piece of engineering. A tunnel about\nten miles long ran underneath the whole of the Hindenburg Line. It was\nabout thirty or forty feet down, and had been dug, we heard, by\nRussian prisoners. The tunnel was about six feet wide and about five\nfeet high. It had been roughly balked in with timber, and at every\ntwenty yards, a shaft led out of the tunnel up into the trench.\nBorwick found a large mirror which he felt could not be wasted under\nthe circumstances. He could not resist its charm, so he started\nlugging it back the six miles to camp. It was very heavy and its charm\nhad decreased greatly by the time he reached camp and found that no\none could make any use of it.\nThe day of the attack was still undecided, and in order to be quite\nready when it should come off, we left B---- with the tanks one\nevening and took them up to Saint-L----, a little place about three\nthousand yards away from the Hindenburg Line. Here we staged them\nbehind a railway embankment, underneath a bridge that had been\npartially blown up. This was the same embankment, as a matter of fact,\nbehind which, four or five miles away, the Australian dressing-station\nhad been established in the last battle.\nHere we spent two or three days tuning up the machines, and many of\nour leisure moments in watching a howitzer battery which was just\nbeside us. This was fascinating. If you stand by the gun when it is\nfired, you can see the shell leave the muzzle, and watch the black\nmass shoot its seven or eight thousand yards until it becomes a small\nspeck and finally vanishes just before it hits the ground.\nWe also made an interesting collection of German and English\nshell-cases. These cases are made of brass, and the four-fives,\nespecially, in the opinion of some people, make very nice rose-bowls\nwhen they are polished, with wire arranged inside to hold the\nblossoms. Weird music could be heard issuing from our dugout at times,\nwhen we gave an impromptu concert, by putting several of these\nshell-cases on a log of wood and playing elaborate tunes on them with\na bit of stone.\nAll this merry-making came to an end, though. One day we received word\nthat the attack was to come off the next morning. Then began the\npreparations in earnest and the day went with a rush. At this part of\nthe Hindenburg Line, it was very easy to lose one's way, especially\nat night. The tanks were scheduled to start moving up at ten o'clock.\nTalbot and the Old Bird, with several men, set out at about eight, and\narranged for marks to guide the machines.\nWe had just reached a part of the Hindenburg Line which was now in our\npossession, and were near an ammunition dump, when shells began to\nfall around us. They were not near enough to do us any harm, and we\ncontinued our work, when one dropped into the ammunition dump and\nexploded. In an instant the whole dump was alight. It was like some\nterrible and giant display of pyrotechnics. Gas shells, Verey lights,\nand stink bombs filled the air with their nauseous odors. Shells of\nall sizes blew up and fell in steely splinters. The noise was\ndeafening. Cursing our luck, we waited until it died down into a red,\nsmouldering mass, and then edged up cautiously to continue our work.\nBy this time, Borwick's tank came up, and he emerged, with a broad\nsmile on his face.\n\"Having a good time?\" he asked genially.\nThere was a frozen silence, excepting for his inane laughter. He made\na few more irritating remarks which he seemed to think were very\nfunny, and then he disappeared inside his tank and prepared to follow\nus. We had gone ahead a couple of hundred yards when we heard bombs\nexploding, and looking back we saw the tank standing still, with\nfireworks going off under one of her tracks. Presently the noise\nceased, and after waiting a moment we strolled back. As we reached the\ntank, Borwick and the crew came tumbling out, making the air blue with\ntheir language. They had run over a box of bombs, the only thing that\nhad survived the fire in the ammunition dump, and one of the tracks\nwas damaged. To repair it meant several hours' hard work in the cold\nin unpleasant proximity to the still smouldering dump. Over Talbot's\nface spread a broad smile.\n\"Having a good time?\" he asked pleasantly of Borwick.\nInfuriated growls were his only answer. He moved on with his men,\nwhile Borwick and his crew settled down to work.\nThe night was fortunately dark. They went slowly forward and brought\nthe route almost up to within calling distance of the Germans. The\nVerey lights, shattering the darkness over No Man's Land, did not\ndisclose them to the enemy. Suddenly, a Boche machine gun mechanically\nturned its attentions toward the place where they were working. With a\ntightening of every muscle, Talbot heard the slow whisper of the gun.\nAs it turned to sweep the intervening space between the lines, the\nwhisper rose to a shirring hiss. The men dropped to the ground,\nflattening themselves into the earth. But Talbot stood still. Now, if\never, was the time when an example would count. If they all dropped to\nthe ground every time a machine gun rattled, the job would never be\ndone. So, hands in his pockets, but with awful \"wind up,\" he waited\nwhile the soft patter of the bullets came near and the patter\nquickened into rain. As it reached him, the rain became a fierce\ntorrent, stinging the top of the parapet behind them as the bullets\ntore by viciously a few inches above his head. Then as it passed, it\ndropped into a patter once more and finally dropped away in a whisper.\nTalbot suddenly realized that his throat was aching, but that he was\nuntouched by the storm. The men slowly got to their feet and continued\ntheir work in silence. Although the machine gun continued to spatter\nbullets near them all through the hours they were working, not once\nagain did the men drop when they heard the whisper begin. The job was\nfinally done and they filed wearily back.\nThe attack was timed to come off at dawn. An hour before, while it was\nstill as black as pitch, the tanks moved again for their final\nstarting-point. McKnutt's machine was the first to go.\n\"Cheero, McKnutt,\" we said as he clambered in. \"Good luck!\"\nThe men followed, some through the top and some through the side. The\ndoors and portholes were closed, and in a moment the exhaust began to\npuff merrily. The tank crawled forward and soon disappeared into the\nblackness.\nShe had about fifteen hundred yards to go, parallel with the\nHindenburg Line, and several trenches to cross before coming up with\nthe enemy. We had planned that the tanks would take about three\nquarters of an hour to reach their starting-point, and that soon after\nthey arrived there, the show would begin.\nSince it was still dark and the attack had not commenced, McKnutt and\nhis first driver opened the windows in front of them. They looked out\ninto impenetrable gloom. It was necessary to turn their headlights on,\nand with this help, they crawled along a little more securely. A\nsignal from the driver, and they got into top gear. She bumped along,\nover shell-holes and mine-craters at the exhilarating speed of about\nfour miles an hour, and then arrived at the first trench to be\ncrossed. It was about ten feet wide with high banks on each side.\n\"One up!\" signals the driver. The gears-men get into first gear, and\nthe tank tilts back as it goes up one side of the trench. Suddenly she\nstarts tipping over, and the driver takes out his clutch and puts on\nhis brake hard. McKnutt yells out, \"Hold tight!\" and the tank slides\ngently down with her nose in the bottom of the trench. The driver lets\nin his clutch again, the tank digs her nose into the other side and\npulls herself up slowly, while her tail dips down into the bottom of\nthe trench. Then comes the great strain as she pulls herself bodily\nout of the trench until she balances on the far side.\nIt was now no longer safe to run with lights. They were snapped off.\nOnce more the darkness closed around them, blacker than ever. They\ncould no longer find their route, and McKnutt jumped out, walking\nahead with the tank lumbering along behind. Twice he lost his way and\nthey were obliged to wait until he found it again. Then, to his\nintense relief, the moon shone out with a feeble light. It was just\nenough to illumine faintly the ground before them and McKnutt\nre\u00ebntered the tank, and started on.\nTheir route ran close to the sides of an old quarry and they edged\nalong cautiously. McKnutt, with his eyes glued to the front, decided\nthat they must have already passed the end of the quarry. That would\nmean that they were not far from the spot where they were to wait for\nthe signal to go into action. The moon had again disappeared behind\nthe clouds, but he did not consider it worth while to get out again.\nThe journey would be over in a few minutes.\nSuddenly, his heart took a great dive and he seemed to stop breathing.\nHe felt the tank balance ever so slightly. Staring with aching eyes\nthrough the portholes, he saw that they were on the edge of the old\nquarry, with a forty-foot drop down its steep sides before them. The\nblack depth seemed bottomless. The tank was slipping over. When she\nshot down they would all be killed from concussion alone.\nHis heart was pounding so that he could hardly speak. But the driver,\ntoo, had seen the danger.\n\"For God's sake, take out your clutch and put your brake on!\" McKnutt\nyelled, his voice almost drowned by the rattle and roar inside the\ntank. The man kept his head. As the tail of the tank started tipping\nup, he managed somehow with the brakes to hold her on the edge. For a\nsecond or two, she swayed there. She seemed to be unable to decide\nwhether to kill them or not. The slightest crumbling of the earth or\nthe faintest outside movement against the tank would precipitate them\nover the edge. The brakes would not hold them for long. Then the\ndriver acted. Slowly he put his gears in reverse, keeping the brake on\nhard until the engine had taken up the strain. Slowly she moved back\nuntil her tail bumped on the ground, and she settled down. Neither\nMcKnutt nor his driver spoke. They pushed back their tin hats and\nwiped their foreheads.\nMcKnutt glanced back at the men in the rear of the tank. They, of\ncourse, had been unable to see out, and had no idea of what they had\nescaped. Now that the danger was passed, he felt an unreasonable\nannoyance that none of them would ever know what he and the driver had\ngone through in those few moments. Then the feeling passed, he\nsignalled, \"Neutral left,\" the gearsman locked his left track, and the\ntank swung over, passing safely by the perilous spot.\nThey settled down now to a snail's pace, shutting off their engine, as\nthe Germans could not be more than one hundred and fifty or two\nhundred yards away. Running at full speed, the engine would have been\nheard by them. In a few moments, they arrived at their appointed\nstation. McKnutt glanced at his watch. They had only a few moments to\nwait. The engine was shut off and they stopped.\nThe heat inside the tank was oppressive. McKnutt and James opened the\ntop, and crawled out, the men following. They looked around. The first\nstreaks of light were beginning to show in the sky. A heavy silence\nhung over everything--the silence that always precedes a bombardment.\nPresumably, only the attacking forces feel this. Even the desultory\nfiring seems to have faded away. All the little ordinary noises have\nceased. It is a sickening quiet, so loud in itself that it makes one's\nheart beat quicker. It is because one is listening so intensely for\nthe guns to break out that all other sounds have lost their\nsignificance. One seems to have become all ears--to have no sense of\nsight or touch or taste or smell. All seem to have become merged in\nthe sense of hearing. The very air itself seems tense with listening.\nOnly the occasional rattle of a machine gun breaks the stillness. Even\nthis passes unnoticed.\nSlowly the minute-hand crept round to the half-hour, and the men\nslipped back into their steel home. Doors were bolted and portholes\nshut, save for the tiny slits in front of officer and driver, through\nwhich they peered. The engine was ready to start. The petrol was on\nand flooding. They waited quietly. Their heavy breathing was the only\nsound. The minute-hand reached the half-hour.\nWith the crash and swish of thousands of shells, the guns smashed the\nstillness. Instantly, the flash of their explosion lit up the opposite\ntrenches. For a fraction of a second the thought came to McKnutt how\nwonderful it was that man could produce a sound to which Nature had no\nequal, either in violence or intensity. But the time was for action\nand not for reflection.\n\"Start her up!\" yelled out McKnutt.\nBut the engine would not fire.\n\"What the devil's the matter?\" cried James.\nA bit of tinkering with the carburetor, and the engine purred softly.\nIts noise was drowned in the pandemonium raging around them. James let\nin the clutch, and the monster moved forward on her errand of\ndestruction.\nAlthough it was not light enough to distinguish forms, the flashes of\nthe shell-fire and the bursts from the shrapnel lit up that part of\nthe Hindenburg Line that lay on the other side of the barrier. One\nhundred and fifty yards, and the tank was almost on top of the\nbarricade. Bombs were exploding on both sides. McKnutt slammed down\nthe shutters of the portholes in front of him and his driver.\n\"Bullets,\" he said shortly.\n\"One came through, I think, sir,\" James replied. With the portholes\nshut, there was no chance for bullets to enter now through the little\npin-points directly above the slits in the shutters. In order to see\nthrough these, it is necessary to place one's eye directly against\nthe cold metal. They are safe, for if a bullet does hit them, it\ncannot come through, although it may stop up the hole.\nSuddenly a dull explosion was heard on the roof of the tank.\n\"They're bombing us, sir!\" cried one of the gunners. McKnutt signalled\nto him, and he opened fire from his sponson. They plunged along, amid\na hail of bullets, while bombs exploded all around them.\nMcKnutt and James, with that instinctive sense of direction which\ncomes to men who control these machines, felt that they were hovering\non the edge of the German trench. Then a sudden flash from the\nexplosion of a huge shell lit up the ground around them, and they saw\nfour or five gray-clad figures, about ten yards away, standing on the\nparapet hysterically hurling bombs at the machine. They might as well\nhave been throwing pebbles. Scornfully the tank slid over into the\nwide trench and landed with a crash in the bottom. For a moment she\nlay there without moving. The Germans thought she was stuck. They\ncame running along thinking to grapple with her. But they never\nreached her, for at once the guns from both sides opened fire and the\nGermans disappeared.\nThe huge machine dragged herself up the steep ten-foot side of the\ntrench. As she neared the top, it seemed as if the engine would not\ntake the final pull. James took out his clutch, put his brake on hard,\nand raced the engine. Then letting the clutch in with a jerk, the tank\npulled herself right on to the point of balance, and tipped slowly\nover what had been the parapet of the German position.\nNow she was in the wire which lay in front of the trench. McKnutt\nsignalled back, \"Swing round to the left,\" parallel to the lay of the\nline. A moment's pause, and she moved forward relentlessly, crushing\neverything in her path, and sending out a stream of bullets from every\nturret to any of the enemy who dared to show themselves above the top\nof the trench.\nAt the same time our own troops, who had waited behind the barricade\nto bomb their way down, from traverse to traverse, rushed over the\nheap of sandbags, tangled wire, wood, and dead men which barred their\nway. The moral effect of the tank's success, and the terror which she\ninspired, cheered our infantry on to greater efforts. The tank crew\nwere, at the time, unaware of the infantry's action, as none of our\nown men could be seen. The only indication of the fact was the\nbursting of the bombs which gradually moved from fire bay to fire bay.\nThe Corporal touched McKnutt on the arm.\n\"I don't believe our people are keeping up with us, sir,\" he said.\n\"They seem to have been stopped about thirty yards back.\"\n\"All right,\" McKnutt answered. \"We'll turn round.\"\nMcKnutt and James opened their portholes to obtain a clearer view.\nFive yards along to the left, a group of Germans were holding up the\nadvancing British. They had evidently prepared a barricade in case of\na possible bombing attack on our part, and this obstacle, together\nwith a fusillade of bombs which met them, prevented our troops from\npushing on. McKnutt seized his gun and pushed it through the\nmounting, but found that he could not swing round far enough to get an\naim on the enemy. But James was in a better position. He picked the\ngray figures off, one by one, until the bombing ceased and our own men\njumped over the barricade and came down among the dead and wounded\nGermans.\nThen a sudden and unexplainable sense of disaster caused McKnutt to\nlook round. One of his gunners lay quite still on the floor of the\ntank, his back against the engine, and a stream of blood trickling\ndown his face. The Corporal who stood next to him pointed to the\nsights in the turret and then to his forehead, and McKnutt realized\nthat a bullet must have slipped in through the small space, entering\nthe man's head as he looked along the barrel of his gun. There he lay,\nalong one side of the tank between the engine and the sponson. The\nCorporal tried to get in position to carry on firing with his own gun,\nbut the dead body impeded his movements.\nThere was only one thing to do. The Corporal looked questioningly at\nMcKnutt and pointed to the body. The officer nodded quickly, and the\nleft gearsman and the Corporal dragged the body and propped it up\nagainst the door. Immediately the door flew open. The back of the\ncorpse fell down and half the body lay hanging out, with its legs\nstill caught on the floor. With feverish haste they lifted the legs\nand threw them out, but the weight of the body balanced them back\nagain through the still open door. The men were desperate. With a\ntremendous heave they turned the dead man upside down, shoved the body\nout and slammed the door shut. They were just in time. A bomb exploded\ndirectly beneath the sponson, where the dead body had fallen. To every\nman in the tank came a feeling of swift gratitude that the bombs had\ncaught the dead man and not themselves.\nThey ploughed across another trench without dropping into the bottom,\nfor it was only six feet wide. Daylight had come by now and the enemy\nwas beginning to find that his brave efforts were of no avail against\nthese monsters of steel.\nAll this time the German guns had not been silent. McKnutt's tank\ncrunched across the ground amid a furious storm of flying earth and\nsplinters. The strain was beginning to be felt. Although one is\nprotected from machine-gun fire in a tank, the sense of confinement\nis, at times, terrible. One does not know what is happening outside\nhis little steel prison. One often cannot see where the machine is\ngoing. The noise inside is deafening; the heat terrific. Bombs shatter\non the roof and on all sides. Bullets spatter savagely against the\nwalls. There is an awful lack of knowledge; a feeling of blind\nhelplessness at being cooped up. One is entirely at the mercy of the\nbig shells. If a shell hits a tank near the petrol tank, the men may\nperish by fire, as did Gould, without a chance of escape. Going down\nwith your ship seems pleasant compared to burning up with your tank.\nIn fighting in the open, one has, at least, air and space.\nMcKnutt, however, was lucky. They could now see the sunken road before\nthem which was their objective. Five-nines were dropping around them\nnow. It was only a matter of moments, it seemed, when they would be\nstruck.\n\"Do you think we shall make it?\" McKnutt asked James.\n\"We may get there, but shall we get back? That's the question, sir.\"\nMcKnutt did not answer. They had both had over two years' experience\nof the accuracy of the German artillery. And they did not believe in\nmiracles. But they had their orders. They must simply do their duty\nand trust to luck.\nThey reached the sunken road. The tank was swung around. Their orders\nwere to reach their objective and remain there until the bombers\narrived. McKnutt peered out. No British were in sight, and he snapped\nhis porthole shut. Grimly they settled down to wait.\nThe moments passed. Each one seemed as if it would be their last.\nWould the infantry never come? Would there be any sense in just\nsitting there until a German shell annihilated them if the infantry\nnever arrived? Had they been pushed back by a German rush? Should he\ntake it upon himself to turn back? McKnutt's brain whirled.\nThen, after hours, it seemed, of waiting, around the corner of a\ntraverse, he saw one of the British tin hats. Nothing in the world\ncould have been a happier sight. A great wave of relief swept over\nhim. Three or four more appeared. Realizing that they, too, had\nreached their objective, they stopped and began to throw up a rough\nform of barricade. More men poured in. The position was consolidated,\nand there was nothing more for the tank to do.\nThey swung round and started back. Two shells dropped about twenty\nyards in front of them. For a moment McKnutt wondered whether it would\nbe well to change their direction. \"No, we'll keep right on and chance\nit,\" he said aloud. The next moment a tremendous crash seemed to lift\nthe tank off the ground. Black smoke and flying particles filled the\ntank. McKnutt and James looked around expecting to see the top of the\nmachine blown off. But nothing had happened inside, and no one was\ninjured. Although shells continued to fall around them and a German\nmachine gun raged at them, they got back safely.\n    [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._\n    A TANK BRINGING IN A CAPTURED GERMAN GUN UNDER PROTECTION OF\n    CAMOUFLAGE]\nBrigade Headquarters, where McKnutt reported, was full of expectancy.\nMessages were pouring in over the wires. The men at the telephones\nwere dead beat, but cool and collected.\n\"Any news of the other 'busses?\" McKnutt asked eagerly. The Buzzers\nshook their heads wearily. He rushed up to a couple of men who were\nbeing carried to a dressing-station.\n\"Do you fellows know how the tanks made out?\" he asked.\nOne of them had seen two of the machines on the other side of the\nGerman line, he said. In answer to the questions which were fired at\nhim he could only say that the tanks had pushed on beyond the German\nfront line.\nThen on the top of the hill, against the sky-line, they saw a little\ngroup of three or four men. James recognized them.\n\"Why, there's Sergeant Browning and Mr. Borwick, sir,\" he said.\n\"What's happened to their tank, I wonder?\" He and McKnutt hurried over\nto meet them.\nBorwick smiled coolly.\n\"Hullo!\" he said in his casual manner.\n\"What's happened to your 'bus?\" \"What did you do?\" was fired at him.\n\"We got stuck in the German wire, and the infantry got ahead of us,\"\nhe said. \"We pushed on, and fell into a nest of three machine guns.\nThey couldn't hurt us, of course, and the Boches finally ran away. We\nknocked out about ten of them, and just as we were going on and were\nalready moving, we suddenly started twisting around in circles. What\ndo you think had happened? A trench mortar had got us full in one of\nour tracks, and the beastly thing broke. So we all tumbled out and\nleft her there.\"\n\"Didn't you go on with the infantry?\" asked McKnutt.\n\"No. They'd reached their objective by that time,\" Borwick replied,\n\"so we saved the tank guns, and I pinched the clock. Then we strolled\nback, and here we are,\" he concluded.\nTalbot joined the group as he finished.\n\"But where's the rest of your crew?\" he asked.\nBorwick said quietly: \"Jameson and Corporal Fiske got knocked out\ncoming back.\" He lit a cigarette and puffed at it.\nThere was silence for a moment.\nThen Talbot said, \"Bad luck; have you got their pay-books?\"\n\"No, I forgot them,\" Borwick answered.\nBut his Sergeant handed over the little brown books which were the\nonly tangible remains of two men who had gone into action that\nmorning. The pay-books contained two or three pages on which were\njotted down their pay, with the officer's signature. They had been\nused as pocket-books, and held a few odd letters which the men had\nreceived a few days before. Talbot had often been given the pay-books\nof men in his company who were killed, but he never failed to be\naffected when he discovered the letters and little trifles which had\nmeant so much to the men who had carried them, and which now would\nmean so much to those whom they had left behind.\nIn silence they went back to McKnutt's tank and sat down, waiting for\nnews. Scraps of information were beginning to trickle in.\n\"Have gained our objective in X Wood. Have not been counter-attacked.\"\n\"Cannot push on owing to heavy machine-gun fire from C----.\"\n\"Holding out with twenty men in trench running north from Derelict\nWood. Can I have reinforcements?\"\nThese were the messages pouring in from different points on the lines\nof attack. Sometimes the messages came in twos and threes. Sometimes\nthere were minutes when only a wild buzzing could be heard and the men\nat the telephones tried to make the buzzing intelligible.\nThe situation cleared up finally, however. Our troops had, apparently,\ngained their objectives along the entire line to the right. On the\nleft the next Brigade had been hung up by devastating machine-gun\nfire. As McKnutt and Talbot waited around for news and fresh orders,\none of their men hurried down and saluted.\nHe brought the news that the other three tanks had returned, having\nreached their objectives. Two had but little opposition and the\ninfantry had found no difficulty in gaining their points of attack.\nThe third tank, however, had had three men wounded at a \"pill-box.\"\nThese pill-boxes are little concrete forts which the German had\nplanted along his line. The walls are of ferro concrete, two to three\nfeet thick. As the tank reached the pill-box, two Germans slipped out\nof the rear door. Three of the tank crew clambered down and got inside\nthe pill-box. In a moment the firing from inside ceased, and presently\nthe door flew open. Two British tank men, dirty and grimy, escorting\nten Germans, filed out. The Germans had their hands above their heads,\nand when ordered to the rear they went with the greatest alacrity. One\nof the three Englishmen was badly wounded; the other two were only\nslightly injured, but they wandered down to the dressing-station, with\nthe hope that \"Blighty\" would soon welcome them.\nAlthough Talbot had his orders to hold the tanks in readiness in case\nthey were needed, no necessity arose, and after a few hours' waiting,\nthe Major sent word to him to start the tanks back to the embankment,\nthere to be kept for the next occasion. Better still, the men were to\nbe taken back to B---- in the motor lorries, just as they had been\nafter the first battle. Water, comparative quiet, blankets,--these\nwere the luxuries that lay before them.\nAs he sat crowded into the swaying motor lorry that lurched back along\nthe shell-torn road to B----, Talbot slipped his hand into his pocket.\nHe touched a cheque-book, a package of cigarettes, and a razor. Then\nhe smiled. They were the final preparations he had made that morning\nbefore he went into action. After all he had not needed them, but one\nnever could tell, one might be taken prisoner. One needed no such\nmaterial preparations against the possibility of death, but a\nprisoner--that was different.\nThe cheque-book had been for use in a possible gray prison camp in the\nland of his enemies. Cheques would some time or other reach his\nEnglish bank and his people would know that he was, at least, alive.\nThe cigarettes were to keep up his courage in the face of whatever\ndisaster might befall him.\nAnd the razor? Most important of all.\nThe razor was to keep, bright and untarnished, the traditions and\nprestige of the British Army!\nVIII\nREST AND DISCIPLINE\nWe stayed in that region of the Front for a few more weeks, preparing\nfor any other task that might be demanded of us. One day the Battalion\nreceived its orders to pack up, to load the tanks that were left over,\nand to be ready for its return to the district in which we had spent\nthe winter.\nWe entrained on a Saturday evening at A----, and arrived at St.-P----\nat about ten o'clock on Sunday night. From there a twelve-mile march\nlay before us to our old billets in B----. As may well be imagined,\nthe men, though tired, were in high spirits. We simply ate up the\ndistance, and the troops disguised their fatigue by singing songs.\nThere were two which appeared to be favorites on this occasion.\nOne, to the tune of \"The Church's One Foundation,\" ran as follows:--\n    \"We are Fred Karno's[1] Army,\n    The ragtime A.S.C.,[2]\n    We cannot work, we do not fight,\n    So what ruddy use are we?\n    And when we get to Berlin,\n    The Kaiser he will say,\n    Hoch, hoch, mein Gott!\n    What a ruddy rotten lot,\n    Is the ragtime A.S.C.\"\nThe other was a refrain to the tune of a Salvation Army hymn, \"When\nthe Roll is called up Yonder\":--\n    \"When you wash us in the water,\n    That you washed your dirty daughter,\n    Oh! then we will be much whiter!\n    We'll be whiter than the whitewash on the wall.\"\nEventually the companies arrived in the village at all hours of the\nmorning. No one was up. We saw that the men received their meals,\nwhich had been prepared by the cooks who had gone ahead in motor\nlorries. They did not spend much time over the food, for in less than\nhalf an hour \"K\" billets--the same Hospice de Ste. Berthe--were\nperfectly quiet. We then wandered away with our servants, to be met\nat each of our houses by hastily clad landladies, with sleep in their\neyes and smoking lamps or guttering candles in their hands.\nThe next morning the Company paraded at half-past nine, and the day\nwas spent in reforming sections, in issuing new kits to the men, and\nin working the rosters for the various courses. On Tuesday, just as\nbreakfast was starting, an orderly brought a couple of memorandums\nfrom Battalion Orderly Room for McKnutt and Borwick.\nNo one watched them read the chits, but Talbot, glancing up from his\nplate, saw a look on Borwick's face. It was a look of the purest joy.\n\"What is it?\" he said.\n\"Leave, my God!\" replied Borwick; \"and McKnutt's got it too.\"\n\"When are you going? To-day?\" shouted the Old Bird.\n\"Yes; there's a car to take us to the station in a quarter of an\nhour.\"\nThey both left their unfinished breakfasts and tore off to their\nbillets. There it was but a matter of moments to throw a few things\ninto their packs. No one ever takes any luggage when going on leave.\nThey tore back to the mess to leave instructions for their servants,\nand we strolled out _en masse_ to see the lucky fellows off.\nThe box-body drew away from where we were standing. We watched it grow\nsmaller and smaller down the long white road, and turned back with\nregrets and pleasure in our hearts. With regrets, that we ourselves\nwere not the lucky ones, and knowing that for some of us leave would\nnever come; with pleasure, because one is always glad that a few of\nthe deserving reap a small share of their reward.\nThen, strolling over to the Parade Ground, we heard the \"Five Minutes\"\nsounding. Some dashed off to get their Sam Brownes, others called for\ntheir servants to wipe a few flecks of dust from their boots and\nputtees.\nWhen the \"Fall In\" began, the entire Company was standing \"At Ease\" on\nthe Parade Ground. As the last note of the call sounded, the whole\nparade sprang to \"Attention,\" and the Major, who had been standing on\nthe edge of the field, walked forward to inspect.\nEvery morning was spent in this manner, except for those who had\nspecial courses to follow. We devoted all our time and attention to\n\"Forming Fours\" in as perfect a manner as possible; to saluting with\nthe greatest accuracy and fierceness; and to unwearying repetition of\nevery movement and detail, until machinelike precision was attained.\nAll that we were doing then is the very foundation and essence of good\ndiscipline. Discipline is the state to which a man is trained, in\norder that under all circumstances he shall carry out without\nsecondary reasoning any order that may be given him by a superior.\nThere is nothing of a servile nature in this form of obedience. Each\nman realizes that it is for the good of the whole. By placing his\nimplicit confidence in the commands of one of a higher rank than his\nown, he gives an earnest of his ability to himself command at some\nfuture time. It is but another proof of the old adage, that the man\nwho obeys least is the least fitted to command.\n    [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._\n    A BRITISH TANK IN THE LIBERTY LOAN PARADE IN NEW YORK]\nWhen this war started, certain large formations, with the sheer lust\nfor fighting in their blood, did not, while being formed, realize the\nabsolute necessity of unending drill and inspection. Their first cry\nwas, \"Give us a rifle, a bayonet, and a bomb, show us how to use them,\nand we will do the rest.\" Acting upon this idea, they flung themselves\ninto battle, disregarding the iron rules of a preliminary training. At\nfirst their very impetus and courage carried them over incredible\nobstacles. But after a time, and as their best were killed off, the\noriginal blaze died down, and the steady flame of ingrained discipline\nwas not there to take the place of burning enthusiasm. The terrible\nwaste and useless sacrifice that ensued showed only too plainly that\neven the greatest individual bravery is not enough.\nIn this modern warfare there are many trials and experiences\nunimagined before, which wear down the actual will-power of the men\nwho undergo them. When troops are forced to sit in a trench under the\nmost terrific shell-fire, the nerve-racking noise, the sight of their\ncomrades and their defences being blown to atoms, and the constant\nfear that they themselves will be the next to go, all deprive the\nordinary mind of vital initiative. Having lost the active mental\npowers that a human being possesses, they are reduced to the level of\nmachines. The officers and non-commissioned officers, on whom the\nresponsibility of leadership rests, have that spur to maintain their\nequilibrium, but the private soldiers, who have themselves only to\nthink of, are the most open to this devastating influence. If these\nmachines are to be controlled, as they must be, by an exterior\nintelligence, they must obey automatically, and if in the past\nautomatic obedience has not been implanted, there is nothing to take\nits place.\nThe only means by which to obtain inherent response to a given order\nis so to train a man in minute details, by constant, inflexible\ninsistence on perfection, that it becomes part of his being to obey\nwithout thinking.\nIt must not be presumed that, in obtaining this almost inhuman\nreaction, all independent qualities are obliterated. For, though a\nman's mind is adjusted to carrying out, without questioning, any task\nthat is demanded of him, yet in the execution of this duty he is\nallowed the full scope of his invention and initiative.\nThus, by this dull and unending routine, we laid the foundation of\nthat inevitable success toward which we were slowly working.\nWhen the Company dismissed, the Major, Talbot, and the Old Bird walked\nover to lunch together.\n\"Well, it's a great war, isn't it?\" said the Major, turning to the\nother two.\n\"It's very nice to have got through a couple of shows, sir,\" replied\nTalbot. \"What do you think about it, Old Bird?\"\n\"Well, of course, war is all very well for those who like it. But give\nme the Base every time,\" answered the Old Bird, true to his\nreputation. Then, turning to the Major with his most ingratiating\nsmile, he said, \"By the way, sir, what about a few days in Boulogne?\"\nFOOTNOTES:\n[1] A late, third-rate English pantomime producer.\n[2] Stands for Army Service Corps, and its equivalent in the American\nArmy is the Quartermaster's Corps.\nIX\nA PHILOSOPHY OF WAR\nIt has often been observed that if this war is to end war for all\ntime, and if all the sacrifices and misery and suffering will help to\nprevent any recurrence of them, then it is well worth while.\nIn these days of immediate demands and quick results, this question is\ntoo vague and too far-reaching to bring instant consolation. Apart\nfrom that, too, it cannot decide whether any war, however great, can\never abolish the natural and primitive fighting instinct in man.\nThe source from which we must draw the justification for our optimism\nlies much nearer to hand. We must regard the effect that warring life\nhas already produced upon each individual member of the nations who\nare and who are not engaged in it.\nAt the very heart of it is the effect on the man who is actually\nfighting. Take the case of him who before the war was either working\nin a factory, who was a clerk in a business house, or who was nothing\nat all beyond the veriest loafer and bar-lounger. To begin with, he\nwas perhaps purely selfish. The foundation of his normal life was\nself-protection. Whether worthless or worthy, whether hating or\nrespecting his superiors, the private gain and comfort for himself and\nhis was the object of his existence. He becomes a soldier, and that\nact alone is a conversion. His wife and children are cared for, it is\ntrue; but he himself, for a shilling a day, sells to his country his\nlife, his health, his pleasures, and his hopes for the future. To make\ngood measure he throws in cheerfulness, devotion, philosophy, humour,\nand an unfailing kindness. One man, for instance, sells up three\ngrocery businesses in the heart of Lancashire, an ambition which it\nhas taken him ten years to accomplish. Without a trace of bitterness\nhe divorces himself from the routine of a lifetime, and goes out to\nFrance to begin life again at the very bottom of a new ladder. He who\nfor years had many men under him is now under all, and receives,\nunquestioningly, orders which in a different sphere he had been\naccustomed to give. Apart from the mere letter of obedience and\ndiscipline he gains a spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice, which\nturns the bare military instrument into a divine virtue. He may, for\ninstance, take up the duties of an officer's servant. Immediately he\nthrows himself whole-heartedly into a new form of selfless generosity,\nwhich leads him to a thousand ways of care and forethought, that even\nthe tenderest woman could hardly conceive. The man who receives this\nunwavering devotion can only accept it with the knowledge that no one\ncan deserve it, and that it is greater gain to him who gives than to\nhim who takes.\nWhat life of peace is there that produces this god-like fibre in the\nplainest of men? Why, indeed, is it produced in the life of war? It is\nbecause in war sordidness and petty worries are eliminated; because\nthe one great and ever-present fear, the fear of death, reduces all\nother considerations to their proper values. The actual fear of death\nis always present, but this fear itself cannot be sordid when men can\nmeet it of their own free will and with the most total absence of\ncringing or of cowardice.\nIn commercial rivalry a man will sacrifice the friend of years to gain\na given sum, which will insure him increased material comforts. In war\na man will deliberately sacrifice the life for which he wanted those\ncomforts, to save perhaps a couple of men who have no claim on him\nwhatsoever. He who before feared any household calamity now throws\nhimself upon a live bomb, which, even though he might escape himself,\nwill without his action kill other men who are near it. This deed\nloses none of its value because of the general belief among soldiers\nthat life is cheap. Other men's lives are cheap. One's own life is\nalways very dear.\nOne of the most precious results has been the resurrection of the\nquality of admiration. The man who before the war said, \"Why is he my\nmaster?\" is now only too glad to accept a leader who is a leader\nindeed. He has learned that as his leader cannot do without him, so he\ncannot do without his leader, and although each is of equal\nimportance in the scheme of affairs, their positions in the scheme are\ndifferent. He has learned that there is a higher equality than the\nequality of class: it is the equality of spirit.\nThis same feeling is reflected, more especially among the leaders of\nthe men, in the complete disappearance of snobbishness. No such\nartificial imposition can survive in a life where inherent value\nautomatically finds its level; where a disguise which in peace-time\npassed as superiority, now disintegrates when in contact with this\nlife of essentials. For war is, above all, a reduction to essentials.\nIt is the touchstone which proves the qualities of our youth's\ntraining. All those pleasures that formed the gamut of a young man's\nlife either fall away completely or find their proper place. Sport,\ngames, the open-air life, have taught him that high cheerfulness,\nthrough failure or success, which makes endurance possible. But the\ncomplicated, artificial pleasures of ordinary times have receded into\na dim, unspoken background. The wholesomeness of the existence that\nhe now leads has taught him to delight in the most simple and natural\nof things. This throwing aside of the perversions and fripperies of an\nover-civilization has forced him to regard them with a disgust that\ncan never allow him to be tempted again by their inducements of\ndelight and dissipation. The natural, healthy desires which a man is\nsometimes inclined to indulge in are no longer veiled under a mask of\nhypocrisy. They are treated in a perfectly outspoken fashion as the\nnecessary accompaniments to a hard, open-air life, where a man's\nvitality is at its best. In consequence of this, and as the result of\nthe deepening of man's character which war inevitably produces, the\nsense of adventure and mystery which accompanied the fulfilment of\nthese desires has disappeared, and with it to a great extent the\ndesires themselves have assumed a far less importance.\nIn peace, and especially in war, the young man's creed is casualness.\nNot the casualness of carelessness, but that which comes from the\nknowledge that up to each given point he has done his best. It is\nthis fundamental peace of mind which comes to a soldier that forms the\nbeauty of his life. The order received must be obeyed in its exact\ndegree, neither more nor less; and the responsibility, though great,\nis clearly defined. Each man must use his individual intelligence\nwithin the scope of the part assigned to him. The responsibility\ndiffers in kind, but not in degree, and the last link of the chain is\nas important as the first. There can be no shirking or shifting, and,\nknowing this, each task is finished, rounded out, and put away. One\nmight think that this made thought mechanical: but it is mechanical\nonly in so far as each man's intelligence is concentrated on his own\nparticular duty, and each part working in perfect order contributes to\nthe unison through which the whole machine develops its power. Thus\nthe military life induces in men a clearer and more accurate habit of\nthought, and teaches each one to do his work well and above all to do\nhis own work only.\nFrom this very simplicity of life, which brings out a calmness of mind\nand that equable temperament that minor worries can no longer shake,\nsprings the mental leisure which gives time for other and unaccustomed\nideas. Men who wittingly, time and again, have faced but escaped\ndeath, will inevitably begin to think what death may mean. As the\nfirst lessons of obedience teach each man that he needs a leader to\npass through a certain crisis, so the crisis of death, where man must\npass alone, demands a still higher Leader. With the admission that no\nman is self-sufficient, that sin of pride, which is the strongest\nbarrier between a man and his God, falls away. He is forced, if only\nin self-defence, to recognize that faith in some all-sufficient Power\nis the only thing that will carry him through. If he could cut away\nthe thousand sins of thought, man would automatically find himself at\nfaith. It is the central but often hidden point of our intelligence;\nand although there are a hundred roads that lead to it, they may be\ncompletely blocked. The clean flame of the disciplined life burns away\nthe rubbish that chokes these roads, and faith becomes a nearer and\nmore constant thing.\nThe sadness of war lies in the loss of actual personalities, but it is\nonly by means of these losses that this surrender can be attained.\nIt must not be thought that faith comes overnight as a free gift. It\nis a long and slow process of many difficult steps. There may be first\nthe actual literal crumbling, unknown in peace-time, of one's solid\nsurroundings, to be repeated perhaps again and again until the old\nhabit of reliance upon them is uprooted. Then comes the realization\nthat this life at the front has but two possible endings. The first is\nto be so disabled that a man's fighting days are over. The other is\ndeath. Instant death rather than a slow death from wounds. Every man\nhopes for a wound which will send him home to England. That, however,\nis only a respite, as his return to France follows upon his\nconvalescence. The other most important step is the loss of one's\nfriends. It is not the fact of actually seeing them killed, for in the\nchaos and tumult of a battle the mind hardly registers such\nimpressions. One's only feeling is the purely primitive one of relief,\nthat it is another and not one's self. It is only afterwards, when\nthe excitement is over, and a man realizes that again there is a space\nof life, for him, but not for his friend, that the loneliness and the\nloss are felt. He then says to himself, \"Why am I spared when many\nbetter men have gone?\" At first resentment swallows up all other\nemotions. In time, when this bitterness begins to pass, the belief\nthat somehow this loss is of some avail, carries him a little farther\non the road to faith. This all comes to the man who before the war\nbelieved that the world was made for his pleasure, and who treated\nlife from that standpoint. All that he wanted he took without asking.\nNow, all that he has he gives without being asked.\nWoman, too, gives more than herself. She gives her men, her peace of\nmind and all that makes her life worth living. The man after all may\nhave little hope, but while he is alive he has the daily pleasures of\nhealth, vitality, excitement, and a thousand interests. A woman has\nbut a choice of sorrows: the sorrow of unbearable suspense or the\nacceptance of the end.\nYet it needed this war to show again to women what they could best do\nin life: to love their men, bear their children, care for the sick and\nsuffering, and learn to endure. It has taught them also to accept from\nman what he is able or willing to give, and to admit a higher claim\nthan their own. They have been forced to put aside the demands and\nexactions which they felt before were their right, and to accept\nloneliness and loss without murmur or question.\nA woman who loses her son loses the supreme reason of her existence;\nand yet the day after the news has come, she goes back to her work for\nthe sons of other women. If she has more sons to give she gives them,\nand faces again the eternal suspense that she has lived through\nbefore. The younger women, who in times of peace would have looked\nforward to an advantageous and comfortable marriage, will now marry\nmen whom they may never see again after the ten days' honeymoon is\nover, and will unselfishly face the very real possibility of widowhood\nand lonely motherhood. They have had to learn the old lesson that work\nfor others is the only cure for sorrow, and they have learned too\nthat it is the only cure for all those petty worries and boredoms\nwhich assailed them in times of peace. If they have learned this, then\nagain one may say that war is worth while.\nWhat effect has the war had upon those countries who in the beginning\nwere not engaged in it? The United States, for instance, has for three\nyears been an onlooker. The people of that country have had every\nopportunity to view, in their proper perspectives, the feelings and\nchanges brought about among the men and women of the combatant\ncountries. At first, the enormous casualties, the sufferings and the\nsorrow, led them to believe that nothing was worth the price they\nwould have to pay, were they to enter into the lists. For in the\nbeginning, before that wonderful philosophy of spirit and cheerfulness\nof outlook arose, and before the far-reaching effects of the sacrifice\nof loved ones could be perceived, there seemed to be little reason or\nright for such a train of desolation. They were perfectly justified,\ntoo, in thinking this, when insufficient time had elapsed to enable\nthem to judge of the immense, sweeping, beneficial effects that this\nstruggle has produced in the moral fibre and stamina of the nations\nengaged.\nIt must be remembered that the horrors of the imagination are far\nworse than the realities. The men who fight and the women who tend\ntheir wounds suffer mentally far less than those who paint the\npictures in their minds, from data which so very often are grossly\nexaggerated. One must realize that the hardships of war are merely\ntransient. Men suffer untold discomforts, and yet, when these\nsufferings are over and mind and body are at ease for a while, they\nare completely forgotten. The only mark they leave is the\ndisinclination to undergo them again. But on those who do not realize\nthem in their actuality, they cause a far more terrifying effect.\nNow, others, as well, have discovered that war's advantages outweigh\nso much its losses. They who with their own eyes had seen the\nwonderful fortitude with which men stand pain, and the amazing\nsubmission with which women bear sorrow, returned full of zeal and\nenthusiasm, to carry the torch of this uplifting flame to their own\ncountrymen.\nOthers will realize, too, that although one may lose one's best, yet\none's worst is made better. The women will find that the characters of\ntheir men will become softened. The clear-cut essentials of a life of\nwar must make the mind of man direct. It may be brutal in its\nsimplicity, but it is clear and frank. Yet to counteract this, the\ncontinual sight of suffering bravely borne, the deep love and humility\nthat the devotion of others unconsciously produces, bring about this\ncharity of feeling, this desire to forgive and this moderation in\ncriticism, which is so marked in those who have passed through the\nstrenuous, searing realities of war. Since the thirty pieces of\nsilver, no minted coin in the world has bought so much as has the\nKing's shilling of to-day.\nTHE END\nThe Riverside Press\nCAMBRIDGE \u00b7 MASSACHUSETTS\nU\u00b7S\u00b7A", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Life in a Tank\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1925, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\nJOAN OF THE JOURNAL\n[Illustration: It was the story of the Charity Play]\nJOAN OF THE JOURNAL\nBy\nHelen Diehl Olds\nILLUSTRATED BY ROBB BEEBE\nGROSSET & DUNLAP\nPublishers New York\nBy arrangement with D. Appleton-Century Company\nCOPYRIGHT, 1930, BY\nD. APPLETON AND COMPANY\nAll rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be\nreproduced in any form without permission of the publisher.\nCopyright, 1927, 1928, 1929, 1930 by the Methodist Book Concern\nPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n  To my sons\n  Bob and Jerry\n  just because ...\nCONTENTS\n  I. JOAN GETS A JOB\n  II. THE JOURNAL FAMILY\n  III. JOAN ON THE BEAT\n  IV. \u201cNO MORE MISTAKES\u201d\n  V. THE ANNUAL OUTING\n  VI. TIM\u2019S SECOND WARNING\n  VII. CHUB GETS AN IDEA\n  VIII. CHUB TAKES A HAND\n  IX. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE\n  X. TOMMY-BY-THE-DAY\n  XI. THE DAY NURSERY\n  XII. RICH BOY, POOR BOY\n  XIII. ERIC\n  XIV. SACRED COW\n  XV. JOAN MEETS ALEX\n  XVI. THE HONOR SYSTEM\n  XVII. TIM MAKES THE FRONT PAGE\n  XVIII. DUMMY\u2019S STORY\n  XIX. THE COMMA\u2019S TAIL\nILLUSTRATIONS\n  It was the story of the Charity Play\n  \u201cI\u2019ll talk with this young woman alone,\u201d he said\n  \u201cMark \u2019em \u2018first\u2019 and \u2018second\u2019,\u201d Tim shouted\n  \u201cAre you a deaf-mute or aren\u2019t you?\u201d\nCHAPTER I\nJOAN GETS A JOB\n\u201cI\u2019ll be back in a minute,\u201d Joan called over her shoulder to Mother, as\nshe scurried around past the lilac bushes by the kitchen windows.\nOh, suppose she were too late!\nTim had gone into the _Journal_ office, just as she had started doing\nthe dishes. Joan rarely minded doing dishes, because the windows above\nthe kitchen sink looked across at the _Journal_ office and she could\nwatch everything that went on over there. Usually, she lingered over the\ndishes, just as she hustled over the bed making because the bedrooms\nwere on the other side of the house. But to-day, she had done the dishes\nin less than no time, because she wanted to be nearer the scene of\naction than the kitchen windows.\nShe hurried now, though it was rather undignified for a person fourteen\nyears old to run in a public place like this. That was the trouble with\nliving right down town. No privacy. Joan thought of the rows and rows of\nnew homes out at the end of Market Street, and then looked back at her\nown little home\u2014also on Market Street. It was a tiny, red brick house,\ntucked in between the _Journal_ office and the county court house, set\nback behind a space of smooth green lawn. It was like living in a public\nsquare. But Joan had lived there all her life and really loved the\nexcitement of it.\nUncle John, who was general manager of the paper, would probably be busy\nand tell Tim to wait, as though he were just anybody applying for a\nsummer-time job and not his own nephew, Joan\u2019s seventeen-year-old\nbrother.\nJoan crossed the green plot to the nearest window of the _Journal_\u2014she\nhad climbed in and out of those windows as a little girl. She could see\nChub, the red-haired office boy, wandering around. He was never very\nbusy this time of the afternoon after the paper was on the press. Joan\nwas as much at home in the _Journal_ office as in her own brick house\nnext door. As a baby, she had often curled up on a heap of newspapers\nand taken her nap, regardless of the roar and throb of the presses. That\nwas when Daddy had been alive and had been city editor. He had been so\nproud of his baby girl that he had often taken her to work with him in\nan afternoon when Mother was busy and things at the office were slack.\nShe had grown up with the roar and clatter of the machines, and the\nsmell of hot ink, and she loved it all, just as other girls might love a\nbattered old piano in the parlor\u2014just because it spelled home.\nUncle John\u2019s office was at the end of the editorial rooms, just by the\nswinging door into the composing room. \u201cSanctum sanctorum\u201d she and Tim\ncalled Uncle John\u2019s office. Joan stationed herself out of sight, under\nthe buckeye tree, and peered through the dirty, streaked window. She\ncould see Uncle John\u2019s desk, with its crowded cubby-holes, frayed\nblotter, and books about to fall off.\nShe craned her neck and saw Tim standing before the desk, twisting his\ncap in his hands. Of course, talking to Uncle John wasn\u2019t anything, but\nasking for a job as a cub reporter was. They were talking together, and\nTim looked so serious, Joan would hardly have recognized him.\nOh, he had to get that job! It was during graduation week, when Tim had\nhad to have a new outfit for the commencement exercises, that Mother had\ndone some figuring and suddenly discovered that perhaps there would not\nbe enough money for college for Tim, after all. Tim had had his heart\nset on going to the State University at Columbus that fall. Joan herself\nhad even dreamed of attending the big football games while he was there,\nand when they cheered, \u201cMartin! Atta boy, Martin!\u201d she would say, as\nmodestly as she could, \u201cThat\u2019s my brother!\u201d Tim was good in all\nsports\u2014had been a leader in them all through high school. It was the\nonly thing he really liked, but, in a town like Plainfield, excelling in\nsports offered no method of earning money during the summer months.\nTim had stalked about for days, gloomy as could be, after Mother\u2019s\nannouncement. Then one evening, when Uncle John had dropped in for\nsupper, he had said, \u201cWant a job, do you? Well, come over, and talk to\nme some time. Maybe I can fix you up. We\u2019re adding new names to the pay\nroll every week, and you might as well get yours on, too.\u201d\nIf he\u2019d said anything like that to Joan, she would have been in seventh\nheaven, she thought. But Tim seemed only mildly thrilled. Of course, he\nwanted the job, but it was only a job to Tim, while a job on the\n_Journal_ had been Joan\u2019s lifelong dream.\nFinally, as she watched now, she saw Uncle John get up and walk around\nhis desk. He shook hands with Tim and patted him on the shoulder. Tim\ngrinned all over his face, then turned and went out the door, while\nUncle John went back to his cluttered desk. Joan could have watched Tim\nas he went through the editorial rooms and the business office and the\nfront door of the _Journal_, for there were rows of windows all facing\nher own green yard, but instead, she turned and raced to their kitchen\ndoor.\n\u201cMother!\u201d her voice vibrated through the old house. \u201cTim got the job!\u201d\nMrs. Martin looked up from the oven where she had slipped in a cake, and\nsmiled. \u201cThat\u2019s nice.\u201d\nJoan sank down on a kitchen chair that was peeling its paint. \u201cMother,\nit\u2019s wonderful!\u201d\n\u201cJoan, don\u2019t get so excited.\u201d The oven door banged. \u201cIt\u2019s not you that\u2019s\ngot the job.\u201d\n\u201cI really feel as though it was, honest,\u201d declared the girl. \u201cYou know,\nI\u2019ve always dreamed of having a job on the _Journal_ and now I have\nit\u2014or rather Tim has, but it\u2019s all in the family.\u201d\n\u201cYou should have been a boy, Jo,\u201d Mrs. Martin made her oft-repeated\nremark. As it was, Joan\u2019s dark, straight hair was always given a boyish\nbob, and there were some boyish freckles on her short nose, too. \u201cTim\nmay be the image of his father, but you\u2019re just the way he was, crazy\nabout the newspaper. I don\u2019t see what you see in it. Though I guess it\nhas been better since John\u2019s been managing it. But as soon as we can\nsell this house without a loss, we\u2019ll move.\u201d\n\u201cMother!\u201d Joan wouldn\u2019t feel she were living without the _Journal_ next\ndoor. But she didn\u2019t take her mother\u2019s words seriously. Mother was\nalways talking vaguely of selling the house and had suggested it in\nearnest recently. The interest on the mortgage was high and being in a\nbusiness block, it was hard to find a buyer. If she could retain it,\nuntil some one wanted it for business purposes, they might make a nice\nprofit. But Plainfield was a slow-growing town. Uncle John advised\nholding it until some one wanted it for a business.\n\u201cYour poor father just slaved for that paper, and it never got him\nanywhere,\u201d went on her mother. \u201cI hope you get over the notion of being\na reporter by the time you\u2019re Tim\u2019s age, and take up stenography.\u201d\n\u201cUgh.\u201d Joan made a little face. \u201cOffice work\u2014not me!\u201d\nNo, she was going to be a reporter, no matter what. Hadn\u2019t Daddy taught\nher to typewrite when she was only eleven, and didn\u2019t even Tim think she\nwas a \u201cpretty good typist\u201d? Daddy had always said she had a \u201cnose for\nnews,\u201d too. She remembered feeling her pug nose speculatively the first\ntime he said that, wondering what it meant. Her nose did turn up\ninquisitively. Now she knew, \u201cnose for news\u201d meant she had the natural\ncuriosity that it took to make a good reporter.\nThen the door opened and Tim came in, still wearing the broad grin with\nwhich he had left the _Journal_ office.\n\u201cI\u2019m glad you got it, son.\u201d Mrs. Martin spoke before Tim could say a\nword.\n\u201cJust like that kid, to tell everything before any one else gets a\nchance.\u201d\nHe was really cross. That\u2019s the way he was most of the time, these days.\nThey had been good chums until his senior year in High School, when he\nhad assumed such superior airs. He had acted especially high and mighty\nsince his graduation last week. As far as Joan could find out, he had\nnothing against her except her age. Could she help it that she was\nnearly four years the younger? She was almost as tall as Amy Powell, her\nbest friend, and Amy was fifteen years old. He was usually nice to Amy,\ntoo, but then Amy had a grown-up way around the boys.\nOnly at times did he seem the same old brother. To think that only a\nyear ago they had been such chums, even to having a secret code between\nthem. When she was small, it had amused her to learn that Tim\u2019s real\nname, Timothy, was also the name of a grain. \u201cOats and beans and\nbarley,\u201d she used to sing the old song at him, and somehow or other in\ntheir play that phrase came to mean, \u201cDanger. Look out.\u201d It had been\nconvenient lots of times in their games, Hie Spy and Run Sheep Run. But\nthey hadn\u2019t used it for a long time now.\n\u201cTim, I just couldn\u2019t help telling. I was so excited.\u201d She tried to make\nher dark eyes sober and her voice sorry sounding, now.\n\u201cShe\u2019s the limit.\u201d Tim turned to his mother. \u201cReads what I\u2019m writing\nover my shoulder and breathes down my neck till I\u2019m nearly crazy.\u201d\nHe, like Mother, refused to believe she was in earnest about being a\nreporter.\n\u201cYou ought to be glad I do snoop around,\u201d Joan told him, as she wiped\noff the table for Mother. \u201cYou know Edna Ferber\u2019s _Dawn O\u2019Hara_ was\nrescued from the wastebasket by her sister, so you see! When do you\nstart in?\u201d\n\u201cTo-morrow.\u201d Tim drew up his shoulders, proudly. \u201cUncle John says they\nreally need a cub reporter since they put Mack on Sports. That\u2019s the\nplace I\u2019d really like! But\u2014they need a cub, and I\u2019m it. Decent enough\nsalary, too, Mother; I\u2019ll be able to pay you some board, besides saving\nfor the University.\u201d\nMother smiled. \u201cThat\u2019s fine!\u201d\n\u201cI stopped at Nixon\u2019s desk and he gave me my beat.\u201d Tim pulled a scrap\nof yellow paper from his pocket.\n\u201cWhat _is_ your beat?\u201d Joan squirmed to see.\nHe let her read:\n  Railway Station\n  Flower Shops\n  Library\n  Post Office\n\u201cI have to go round there every day and scare up news,\u201d he said. \u201cThe\nrest of the time, I\u2019ll be busy doing obits and rewrites.\u201d (That meant\nobituary notices and articles rewritten from other newspapers.)\nJoan gazed at him over the plates and things she was carrying into the\nchina closet. She always just drained them, and they were dry now. \u201cAnd\ncan I go with you?\u201d\n\u201cOn my beat?\u201d came the scandalized echo. \u201cI should say not!\u201d\nBut, as she put the plates away, Joan schemed to go. How else could she\nlearn what a cub reporter did on his beat? And since she wanted to be a\nreporter some day herself, she must not miss this opportunity.\n\u201cAnd I mustn\u2019t make any mistakes.\u201d Tim followed her into the dining\nroom. \u201cUncle John says we can\u2019t stand a black eye with election time\ncoming off in the fall.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, what has that to do with it?\u201d Joan asked.\nTim, always willing to display his knowledge, went on to explain that a\nman named William Berry from Western Ohio and called \u201cBilly Berry\u201d in\npolitical circles, was running for governor of the state. He had bought\nthe _Journal\u2019s_ rival, _The Morning Star_, the only other newspaper in\ntown, and was trying every way to \u201cget in good with the people,\u201d to\ninsure his election. The _Journal_, opposed to certain methods and past\nactions of Billy Berry, had had to double their efforts against this\nman, who was not the right one for governor at all. The _Journal_ had\nits own candidate, Edward Hutton, who lived in Cleveland, but who spent\na great deal of time on his estate in the beautiful Ohio Valley country\nnear Plainfield. The _Journal_ and Edward Hutton\u2019s followers were\nstriving to show every one that he was the better man for governor.\nJoan listened intently and tried hard to understand. \u201cAnd is the\n_Journal_ Uncle John\u2019s \u2018political tool\u2019?\u201d she asked.\n\u201cNo, he\u2019s not interested in politics himself, but he is interested in\ngetting Hutton elected.\u201d Tim was really being very decent about\nexplaining. \u201cEverything good we can say about him will help.\u201d He broke\noff and started upstairs. \u201cI\u2019ve got to study to be ready for my job.\u201d\nStudy what, Joan wondered, but she knew better than to ask. He had been\nsuch a peach telling her so much, she mustn\u2019t get him provoked with her.\nShe wandered out to the yard and called Em, the cat. Em really belonged\nto the _Journal_ but she spent most of her time at the Martins\u2019. Daddy\nhad named her Em\u2014which is a very small newspaper measure\u2014when she had\nbeen a tiny, black kitten that you could hold in the palm of your hand.\nNow, she was a big, shiny cat. She rubbed against Joan\u2019s plaid sport\nhose, entreatingly. Joan picked her up and cuddled her slippery length\non her shoulder.\nWhat did it matter if Em shed black hairs over Joan\u2019s white middy? Joan\nnever bothered much about clothes. She wore middies almost all the time\nbecause they were easy to get into and were comfortable. She wished she\nmight always wear knickers, but since she couldn\u2019t, she wore pleated\nskirts as often as she could. The one she had on to-day was a real\nScotch plaid.\nJoan began to hunt for four-leaf clovers in the short-cropped grass. If\nshe found one, she\u2019d give it to Tim, to bring him good luck in his new\nwork. They could have them for \u201ctalismen\u201d like Lloyd and Rob in _The\nLittle Colonel_ books. She was half afraid that Tim would not be a good\nreporter; he was too\u2014temperamental somehow.\nShe glanced often toward the _Journal_ windows. Mother hated having her\nrun over there so much\u2014was afraid Uncle John wouldn\u2019t like it, so she\nwas never to go without an excuse. But Chub often called her to the\nwindows to keep her posted on everything that went on.\nPretty soon, she heard his familiar, \u201cYoo-whoo!\u201d\nA window in the _Journal_ office opposite was pushed up, and Chub stuck\nhis red head out. \u201cCome here a minute.\u201d\nChub was just Joan\u2019s age and her special pal. He knew almost everything\nthere was to know about a newspaper office. He was sympathetic with\nJoan\u2019s ambitions to newspaper fame, and was always willing to answer any\nof her questions. When work was slack at the _Journal_, the two often\nhad games together\u2014even playing mumble-peg on the worn, splintery floor\nof the editorial office.\n\u201cI suppose you know the news?\u201d he grinned, as she came to the window.\n\u201cAbout Tim? Sure thing,\u201d she answered. \u201cSay, Chub, do me a favor, and\nthink up something to call me over to the _Journal_ about, to-morrow\nafternoon, will you? It\u2019ll be Tim\u2019s first day, and I\u2019ll be so anxious to\nknow how everything goes, but I don\u2019t dare let on to him.\u201d\n\u201cO.K.\u201d That was Chub\u2019s favorite expression at the present. He got a new\none every few weeks.\n\u201cSay, Jo,\u201d he lowered his voice. \u201cThere\u2019s something queer going on over\nhere. Mystery. I\u2019m working on it\u2014oh, gee, there\u2019s Cookie waving some\ncopy at me. I gotta go. But I\u2019ll tell you more as soon as I really find\nout something.\u201d\nThe red head was withdrawn, and Joan went back to the kitchen steps,\ndepositing Em beside her saucer of milk.\nA mystery at the _Journal_! What could it be? And would it affect Tim?\nJoan rather guessed so, from Chub\u2019s remarks. Joan loved mysteries, and\nChub knew it. Besides, if Chub had discovered it, then it was bound to\nbe a really good one. A real man\u2019s mystery\u2014nothing silly, like the\nmysteries Amy tried to concoct.\nIn a little bit, Tim came out, in a radiant mood, Joan could tell at a\nglance. \u201cGrab your swimming suit, kid. I want to get in a last swim\nbefore I start my job\u2014I\u2019ll be too busy as a cub, and don\u2019t want to go\nalone.\u201d\nIt was wonderful having Tim decent to her, Joan thought as she flew to\ndo his bidding. Would he always be this agreeable, now that he was happy\nand important over having a job? She hoped so.\nAfter supper, Joan sat on the side steps and listened to the drone of\nthe humming bird that visited the honeysuckle vines, and looked up at\nthe stars above the _Journal_ office roof.\n\u201cTo-morrow, I start my job,\u201d she thought. She really could not have been\nmore interested if she herself, instead of Tim, were to report at the\n_Journal_ at eight o\u2019clock in the morning.\nSoon, there was a little jingle behind her. It was Tim, putting out the\nmilk bottle, with its pennies and nickels, for Mother\u2014also a signal that\nJoan should come on to bed.\nAs she went through the dining room to the stairs, a slim tan booklet\nlying there on the dining room table caught her eye. It was entitled\n_Journal Style_, and was a little pamphlet on what a cub should and\nshould not do. She had never seen a copy of it before. She supposed they\nwere just given to the new men and that was why. That was what Tim had\nbeen studying that afternoon up in his room, and this evening, too,\nprobably while she sat on the steps.\nShe opened it. \u201cThe lead of every story should answer, if possible, the\nquestions: Who? What? Where? When? and How?\u201d\nWhy, this was just exactly what she wanted! She hooked one of the chairs\nup to the table with her foot and began to read.\nAbout an hour later, Mother\u2019s voice called her. \u201cJoan, aren\u2019t you _ever_\ncoming up to bed?\u201d\nShe left the book where she had found it, and stumbled up the stairs,\ntrying to remember all the hints to reporters she had read.\nTo-morrow. The Job! That reminded her of Chub\u2019s mystery. What could he\nmean, and when would he tell her?\nCHAPTER II\nTHE JOURNAL FAMILY\nNext morning, Joan did not even hint to Tim that she was planning some\ntime to follow him. It would seem like \u201ctagging\u201d to him. But she must\nlearn all she could about his job. Maybe she could really help him in\nsome way, and then he\u2019d be glad she had taken such an interest.\nShe hustled about making beds and putting the house in order. She had\nher regular duties, and in the summer-time they were heavier than when\nshe went to school. Joan did not like housework. But she always tackled\nit the way she did everything, and was done before she really had much\ntime to think how she hated it. Whenever she demurred at having to do\nhousehold tasks, when she would rather be over at the _Journal_,\nlearning about newspapers, Mother would say, \u201cJoan, remember that Louisa\nAlcott often had to drop her pen for her needle or broom.\u201d Sometimes,\nMother almost seemed to understand.\nJoan had to stop in the middle of her dusting this morning to answer the\ntelephone. It was Amy asking her to go for a swim.\n\u201cI can\u2019t\u2014I tell you, I\u2019ve got a job.\u201d Joan told her for the fourth time.\nJoan adored swimming, even though the inland city of Plainfield offered\nnothing more than a dammed-up creek.\nA laugh buzzed through the wire. \u201cJo, don\u2019t be silly.\u201d\nIt was hard to refuse Amy. She was one of those bossy girls. But Joan\nhung on, and though Amy coaxed at great length, she was firm.\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to spoil our vacation!\u201d Finally Amy banged down at her\nend.\nJoan, rising with cramped muscles to resume her work, thought to herself\nthat this was going to be the best vacation she ever had because\nshe\u2014well, Tim really\u2014had a job on the _Journal_. As she turned from the\ntelephone, she saw her mother\u2019s face full of disapproval. Mother always\nwanted her to go with Amy, rather than hang around the _Journal_ office.\n\u201cHow could I go, to-day,\u201d she appealed, \u201cwhen Tim just starts his job? I\ndon\u2019t know when something may break, and Tim might miss a big story.\nWhy, there might be a big fire right in this block. I have to stick\naround.\u201d\nThe disapproval did not leave Mother\u2019s face, but she said nothing.\nEverything finished, Joan found it impossible to settle down to reading.\nIt seemed strangely lonesome in the house without Tim. Their vacation\nhad been going on for a whole week now, and the two had been together\nmost of that time, laughing, chattering and bickering with each other.\nShe missed Tim, even if he often did fail to treat her with proper\nrespect.\nShe wandered down to the kitchen and was grateful for Mother\u2019s timid\nsuggestion that the ice box needed cleaning. Anything to keep busy! She\ndiscovered a quantity of milk. Enough for fudge, she decided. Tim would\nlove some when he came home from work that afternoon. She\u2019d make it for\na surprise. She followed the directions Amy had written for her in the\nback of the thick cook book\u2014a new kind of fudge. It turned out\nbeautifully. Mother praised it with lavish adjectives. Joan knew it\nwasn\u2019t that wonderful, but Mother was always pleased when she took an\ninterest in anything domestic.\nTim came home for lunch and between mouthfuls he told Joan what he had\nwritten up that morning\u2014one really sizable obituary. She hoped he had\nput in all the details that the _Journal Style_ booklet had said were\nnecessary for the well-written obit. That was pretty good for him\nactually to report something the first day, she thought. She wished he\nwould tell her in minutest detail, moment by moment, what he had done\nthat morning, but boys were so vague in their conversations. He merely\nsaid he had \u201clegged\u201d it all over town\u2014a leg man, is what he was called\non the newspaper.\nJoan was eager to go over to the _Journal_ for the paper as soon as it\nwas off the press to see Tim\u2019s story. Would Chub remember to call her?\nShe would go over sooner if an excuse offered itself, she decided as she\nsettled down restlessly with a book on the side steps. If only Uncle\nJohn would need her for something; or Miss Betty, who did the society\nnotes, would send her out for candy to nibble on, or for an extra hair\nnet or something, as she often did.\nAbout the middle of the afternoon the call came.\n\u201cYoo-whoo!\u201d It was Chub at the _Journal_ window. \u201cCome on over.\u201d\nJoan\u2019s book fell on the ground and she hurried over. In the editorial\nroom, she glanced around. Tim was not at his desk\u2014he had told her that\nhe was to have the one right next to Mack\u2019s. He was probably out on a\nstory. She hoped it was a big one.\nMr. Nixon, the editor, was in a good humor and gave the manager\u2019s niece\na smile. The editor seldom wore a coat these days. He was usually in\nvest and shirt sleeves which made him seem younger than he really was.\nThe collar button at the back of his neck always showed. Often he was\ncross and would bellow, \u201cGet a job on a monthly,\u201d at all the unlucky\nones who tried to plead that their stories were not quite finished. He\nwas just as apt to call pretty Miss Betty a nincompoop if she made a\nmistake, as he was to say, when she wrote up a good article, \u201cA few more\nstories like this, and the _Journal_ won\u2019t be able to hold you.\u201d\nMiss Betty Parker waved hello from her desk by the window. Miss Betty\nhad the distinction of being the only woman on the editorial staff.\n\u201cHere, woman!\u201d was the way the men often summoned her to the telephone.\nThere was a pink rose on Miss Betty\u2019s desk. Had Mack, the sport editor,\nwho was there with a green eye shade and a pencil behind his ear, given\nit to her? Joan thought it must be lovely to write all those society\nitems about the people who lived on the North Side and who gave teas and\nparties and luncheons and things. Beside that, Miss Betty conducted an\nAdvice to the Lovelorn Column, which Joan read every evening. She signed\nher answers, Betty Fairfax. Mack tried to make Joan believe that he\nwrote the questions, but she knew better than that, because they had had\nthem before he came to the _Journal_, which was only a few months ago.\nSomehow, Joan did not like Mack, although he was really almost as\ngood-looking as Tim. Tim was dark, with wavy hair and dark eyes, while\nMack was very blond, with a reddish mustache. Tim had been loud in his\nprotest against Mack when he first joined the _Journal_ family, and\nespecially when he had been made sport editor. \u201cThat sissy! Imagine him\na sport editor.\u201d But later, he admitted that Mack was a smart fellow.\n\u201cHe has a \u2018nose for news\u2019 all right and he certainly can write,\u201d Tim had\nadded admiringly.\nMack\u2019s corner had been fixed up with appropriate sport pictures before\nhe came. He had added no new ones. Tim would have.\nThere was a member of the _Journal_ staff, of whom Joan approved\nwhole-heartedly. That was old James Cook, a veteran reporter, called\nCookie by all who knew him. He was fat and old, but kind, and always as\ngracious to Joan as though she had been Miss Betty\u2019s age.\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d he greeted her now, as he shuffled over to the files. \u201cI\nthought the day wouldn\u2019t be complete without your shining face around\nhere. Especially now with brother Tim on the pay roll. When are you\ngoing to steal Miss Betty\u2019s job away from her?\u201d\nHe was not teasing, like Mack. But Joan was embarrassed. She really did\nhope to have Miss Betty\u2019s job in a few more years, but it hardly seemed\npolite to admit it.\n\u201cJust as soon as I get to be the star reporter around here on double\nspace rates,\u201d Miss Betty laughed in reply to Cookie, and Joan did not\nneed to answer.\nCookie was one of the nicest men in the world\u2014always ready to help any\none. He would even pitch in and help Miss Betty write up social items,\npink teas and things when she got rushed. \u201cI can describe a wedding gown\nas well as any one,\u201d he would brag. He had once been on the _New York\nBanner_, but his health had failed and now he was content to putter\nalong here on the _Journal_, doing desk work. He was liked by every one.\nHe was always willing to answer all Joan\u2019s questions about the\nnewspaper. He had taught her long ago that \u201cnews is anything timely that\nis of interest,\u201d and Joan had learned that phrase by heart before she\nwas ten. He had told her that the word \u201cnews\u201d came from the letters of\nthe four points of the compass, north, east, west, and south.\n\u201cCookie,\u201d Joan reminded him, \u201cyou\u2019re always saying you are going to tell\nChub and me some of your experiences on that big New York newspaper.\nWhen are you?\u201d\n\u201cOh\u2014some time,\u201d he drawled, as he ambled off.\nAnother member of the _Journal_ tribe sauntered up. It was Bossy, the\ncolored janitor. His steel-rimmed spectacles gave his dark face an\nowlish look. He sniffed at Betty\u2019s rose. \u201cHit sho looks just like an\nartificial one, don\u2019t hit now?\u201d he asked, amiably.\nThere was no squelching Bossy. He was a great talker and every one let\nhim ramble on. He had been the janitor so long that he felt almost as\nthough he owned the paper. No one felt it more keenly when the _Journal_\nwas \u201cscooped\u201d by the _Star_, than did this same, good-natured Bossy. He\nprided himself that he read every word in the _Journal_ every day.\n\u201cYour brother gwine be a newspaper reporter, dat what?\u201d He turned to\nJoan. \u201cWell, he\u2019ll hab to be careful and not make no mistakes. De\n_Journal_ got to be careful. Mistakes is bad. Bossy knows.\u201d He muttered\nsomething to himself.\nTim came back into the office now, with a rather disgusted look on his\nface, and began pounding his typewriter keys, for all the world like a\nprovoked small boy doing his detested piano practice. Joan went over and\nglanced over his shoulder at what he was writing. It was a short article\nasking for cast-off baby things, toys and clothing for the babies of the\ncrowded-to-overflowing day nursery on Grove Street. Of course, Tim would\nhate a \u201csissy\u201d assignment like that, but Joan would have enjoyed seeing\nall the babies and having the matron tell her of the things recently\ndonated.\nWhen he finished that story, he started on the rewrites, stories from\nthe _Morning Star_ dished up in a different style. Joan glanced at his\ndesk. It was cluttered like a real reporter\u2019s. The whole editorial\noffice was untidy. The staff seldom used the tall, green metal\nwastebasket in the corner. They wadded up papers and aimed at it. Chub\noften said, \u201cThe first person to hit the wastebasket around here will be\nfired.\u201d\nJoan noticed that Tim had tacked a slip of yellow copy paper on the wall\njust above his typewriter. It read, in the editor\u2019s handwriting:\n  Martin\u2014\n  Call Undertakers twice a day, at 9:30 and 1:15.\n  Call Medical Examiner at the same time.\n  Read other papers and clip any local deaths.\nUgh! Being a cub reporter was sort of a gruesome job. But Tim did not\nseem to mind that part of it. Would he really like the work, she\nwondered. He had never been half so crazy about the _Journal_ as she\nwas.\n\u201cThey\u2019re running, Jo!\u201d called Chub from the swinging door to the\ncomposing room, and Joan hurried after him.\nThat meant that the paper was being printed. Joan followed Chub \u201cout\nback\u201d into the composing room where the linotype machines were all\nsilent now. This part of the _Journal_ was just as important as the\nwriting and business end, Joan knew, though Amy did not agree with her.\nAmy had visited \u201cout back\u201d only once, and then had brushed daintily by\nthe printers in their ink-smeared aprons. Joan didn\u2019t mind the dirty,\ndim old place, or the rough men. They might be inky and stained, but\nthey were kind, always joking together just as the men in the front\noffices did. The \u201cfront\u201d and \u201cback\u201d were like brothers of an oddly\nassorted family.\nJoan knew all the men back here. The head pressman, the linotype men who\noften printed her name in little slim lines of lead for her when they\nweren\u2019t busy. But she had to hold the lines up to the looking glass to\nread her name. It always made her feel like Alice in _Through the\nLooking Glass_.\nAll about on shelves under the long tables stood little tin trays of\ntype, stacked\u2014stuff ready set for a dearth of news. Joan had learned to\nread type, too. It was just as easy as anything when you got used to it.\nThey passed a gray-haired man sitting hunched on a tall stool, reading\nyards and yards of proof.\n\u201cMeet the Dummy!\u201d Chub said, with a wave of his hand.\nJoan looked at the man, whom she had seen only once before, with some\ninterest. Chub\u2019s remark was not so impolite as it seemed, for \u201cdummy\u201d is\na word used for the plan of the newspaper before it is made up, and\nnames apropos of their work delighted the _Journal_ family. Just like\nEm, the cat.\nHe was a middle-aged man, and seemed rather dignified for a proofreader,\nwith his gray hair and blue eyes.\n\u201cThe office Dummy. He can\u2019t hear a sound or say a word,\u201d Chub stated in\nhis ordinary voice, just at the man\u2019s elbow. \u201cBut I\u2019d forgotten that you\nwere introduced to him the other day when you were over. He came last\nweek, you know.\u201d\nThe man gave Joan a half-smile of recognition. There was something\npuzzling about him. Perhaps there was about every deaf-mute. It really\nmust be terrible to have to write everything you wanted to say, Joan\nmused. And not to be able to hear, but still he couldn\u2019t hear the rumble\nand clatter of the presses, and that might be a blessing, though Joan\nliked it.\nJoan recalled what Chub had told her of Dummy. That he had applied for\nthe job in writing. \u201cI do not speak,\u201d he wrote, \u201cbut I can work. I can\nread proof. I do not have to talk to read proof.\u201d He got the job.\n\u201cDat new proofreader gives me de creeps,\u201d said a voice behind Joan and\nChub, and there was Bossy. \u201cNever saying a word, like dat. Hit ain\u2019t\nnatural.\u201d\n\u201cWell, it is for a deaf-mute,\u201d explained the office boy.\nThey went on out to the cement-floored pressroom where the big presses\nwere. They were roaring like thunder, and whirling endlessly back and\nforth, over and over. Little ridges of tiny blue flames, to speed up the\ndrying of the ink, made blobs of color in the drabness. Leather straps\nabove the presses were slap-slapping to a dull rhythm. It was a dim\nplace, old, musty, ink-reeking, but romantic to Joan. And to think that\nto-day, this big press was multiplying Tim\u2019s story for the thousands of\n_Journal_ readers!\nThe place had a spell for Chub, too, for it was here that he chose to\nmention the mystery.\n\u201cSay, Jo, you remember what I said yesterday? Well, there\u2019s nothing new\nfor me to tell you. When there is, I will. It\u2019s just a mystery, that\u2019s\nall.\u201d\n\u201cBut what\u2019s it about?\u201d pleaded Joan. She hated to be kept in the dark.\n\u201cIt\u2019s\u2014well, I guess I can tell you this much,\u201d he granted. \u201cIt\u2019s\nabout\u2014mistakes.\u201d He shouted the last word, to be heard above the roar.\n\u201cSh!\u201d warned Joan. She was bewildered. Mistakes. It seemed to be in\nevery one\u2019s mind. First Tim had mentioned mistakes, then Bossy, and now\nChub! She wanted to ask more about the mysterious mistakes, but she knew\nChub would tell her when he was ready and no sooner.\nThey went around to the other side of the big Goss press, where a crowd\nof newsboys, both white and colored, were waiting for the papers. Joan\nhardly noticed their grins. She rushed to the levers that were shoving\nthe papers, already folded, and let one be shot right into her hands.\nShe looked down at the folded paper, opened it out, and searched the\nfront page. Tim\u2019s story wasn\u2019t there. She had expected it would be, with\na two-column head, at least. But now she realized that was silly. A new\ncub reporter wouldn\u2019t make the front page, right off like that! She\nturned the pages and hunted. On the back page, she found it\u2014about two\nparagraphs long and under the regular obituary heading. She was\nthrilled, anyway.\nShe clasped the damp paper, reeking of fresh ink, to her chest and the\ninky letters reprinted themselves in a blur upon the front of her white\nmiddy. \u201cMy brother wrote that!\u201d\nOver the paper she caught a glimpse of Dummy, who had left his corner in\nthe other room and appeared now around the big press. Why, the man had\nrather a scared look. Had he read her lips and was he afraid of her\nbrother, perhaps? Maybe Tim\u2019s job wasn\u2019t so safe as they thought. The\nman might be plotting against the manager\u2019s nephew. Joan had read of\nsuch things, but her thoughts were rather vague.\nCHAPTER III\nJOAN ON THE BEAT\nJoan opened the drawer to her dresser by sticking the buttonhook into\nthe keyhole. The handle had been gone for years, but she never minded,\nexcept when she forgot and shut the drawer tight. Then she had to resort\nto the buttonhook.\nShe carefully tucked inside the little tan booklet _Journal Style_ that\nshe had been studying, and shut the drawer again tight. She borrowed it\nwhenever she had a chance. Tim hadn\u2019t missed it, and she hoped he would\nnot find out that she had it. He would only tease; for he refused to\nbelieve how frightfully in earnest she herself was about getting a job\non the _Journal_ one of these days.\nShe went down the stairs, tying her middy tie and saying under her\nbreath, \u201cNever call a bridegroom a groom. A groom is a horseman.\u201d That\nhad been one of the bits of advice in the booklet.\nTim was just going out of the door when she reached the kitchen.\nEvery morning during the past week since Tim had become a reporter on\nthe _Evening Journal_, he had managed to slip out of the house before\nJoan was up and around. But this morning he wasn\u2019t so far ahead of her\nbut that she could catch up with him. Perhaps her chance had come. She\u2019d\ngo with him this morning to see what having a beat was like.\nShe sat down on the edge of a chair, and poured most of the contents of\nthe cream pitcher into her cup of cocoa to make it cool enough to\nswallow in a gulp or two. Then she reached for a crumbly, sugary slice\nof coffee cake.\n\u201cNo cereal, thanks. I\u2019m in a hurry.\u201d Joan started for the door, the\ncoffee cake in one hand. At her mother\u2019s look, she added, \u201cI\u2019ll eat an\nextra egg at lunch to make up the calories, but I must go now.\u201d\nShe dashed out.\nWhat luck! Tim was just coming out of the front door of the _Journal_\noffice when she reached the sidewalk. She paused there, pretending to be\nabsorbed in nibbling her cake, her eyes ostensibly fastened on the\ncracks in the sidewalk. The sidewalk was worth looking at\u2014it was brick\nand the bricks were laid diagonally. It had been a game, when she was\nsmall, to walk with each step in a brick.\nTim mustn\u2019t see her. He would accuse her of tagging, and he was cross\nenough with her as it was. For all week she had been offering bits of\ninformation, like, \u201cMrs. Redfern has had her dog clipped,\u201d and asking,\n\u201cIs that _news_, Tim?\u201d\nAnd Tim, harried with his new work, would snap out an answer in the\nnegative. Poor Tim had already, as he often remarked, written up\n\u201cbattle, murder, and sudden death\u201d since he had taken the job on the\n_Journal_.\nHe went on, now, up the slight slope of Market Street. Joan, slipping\nalong as though headed for the _Journal_ office, went too. At the\n_Journal_ door, she paused and watched while Tim crossed through the\ntraffic of Main Street and started on towards Gay Street. Block by\nblock, or \u201csquare\u201d as they say in Ohio, she trailed after, looking into\nthe shop windows every now and then, lest he should turn around.\nHe kept right on, however\u2014straight to the Plainfield railroad station,\nwhere he disappeared through the heavy doors. Joan, across the street,\nstopped in front of the _Star_ office. Somehow, the _Star_ office seemed\nalmost palatial with its white steps and pillars, in contrast with the\nsomewhat shabby _Journal_ office. That was because the _Star_ was a\ngovernment newspaper, that is, a political man owned it. Tim had once\nsaid that about one third of the newspapers in the United States were\nowned by politicians. The _Journal_ wasn\u2019t, though.\nBut Joan wouldn\u2019t have traded the _Journal_ office for the shiny new one\nof the _Star_. She loved every worn board in the _Journal_ floor, every\nbit of its old walls, plastered with pictures and old photographs.\nShe crossed the street and opened the heavy door by leaning her weight\nagainst it. Tim was at the ticket window. The ticket agent was shaking\nhis head, and Tim went on.\nNo news there, Joan guessed, as she, too, went across the sunny station\nand out the opposite door to where the express men were hauling trunks,\nand travelers were waiting for trains.\nBack to Gay Street, through the musty-smelling Arcade, then Tim entered\na small florist shop, crowded with flowers. Joan looked in the window.\nThe girl at the counter reminded her of Gertie in the business office of\nthe _Journal_. She was chewing gum, and as she talked to Tim, her hands\nwere busy twisting short-stemmed pink roses onto tiny sticks of wood.\nTim got his pencil and pad, and wrote leaning on the counter.\nWhen Tim opened the door, a whiff of sweet flowers was wafted to Joan\nwho was innocently gazing into the window of the baby shop next door.\nTim hurried on up toward the corner, brushing past two ragged children\nwho stood by the curb, both of them crying. They might be \u201cnews,\u201d\nthought Joan, but Tim was hurrying on. Joan took time to smile at the\nsmaller child. Though she wore boy\u2019s clothing, Joan could tell she was a\ngirl by her mass of tangled, yellow curls. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, honey?\u201d\nshe asked.\nThe little girl hung her head and was too shy to answer, but the brother\nspoke up. \u201cMamma\u2019s dead and papa\u2019s gone,\u201d he said.\nTim was up at the corner, now, going into the public library, and Joan\nhurried on. Maybe it wasn\u2019t true anyway.\nJoan stood behind a tall rack of out-of-town newspapers while she\nlistened as Tim asked the stiff-backed, white-haired librarian,\n\u201cAnything for the _Journal_ to-day?\u201d That must be the formula cub\nreporters used. But Miss Bird had said no, softly but surely, almost\nbefore he had the question asked.\nThen, across the street to the post office. Joan, feeling safe in the\nrevolving door, watched while Tim approached the stamp window. He was\ngetting some news, for the clerk was talking to him.\nJust then, a brisk business man of Plainfield, hurrying into the post\noffice to mail a letter while the engine of his car chugged at the curb,\nbanged into the section of the revolving door behind Joan with such\nforce that she was sent twirling twice around the circle of the door,\nand in the dizziness of the unexpected spin, she shot out of the door\u2014on\nthe post office side, instead of the street side. Tim, leaving the stamp\nwindow and coming toward the door, bumped into her!\n\u201cI beg your pardon\u2014\u201d he began, before he recognized his sister. Then,\n\u201cJo, you imp! Where\u2019d you come from?\u201d\n\u201cTim, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d she pleaded. \u201cBut I had to see what you did on your\nbeat.\u201d\n\u201cTagging me\u2014making a fool of me,\u201d Tim fairly sputtered.\n\u201cTim, there\u2019s two children on Gay Street, crying\u2014I think it\u2019s \u2018news.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cNews! What do you know about news?\u201d scoffed Tim. \u201cProbably lost the\npenny they were going to spend on candy.\u201d\n\u201cNo, the boy said that their mother was dead and their father went away.\nIf the mother just died, you could at least get an obit out of it,\u201d she\nexplained.\n\u201cSounds like a decent human interest story,\u201d Tim admitted. \u201cSay, maybe\nthe father couldn\u2019t pay the rent and got dispossessed.\u201d\nThey came successfully through the revolving doors and started down Gay\nStreet together. \u201cIs that the gang over there?\u201d He pointed across at the\nboy and girl. \u201cThey do look forlorn. Maybe I\u2019ve found a big story. You\ngo on home, Jo. I don\u2019t want you following me around on my beat. Looks\ncrazy.\u201d\nNo use trying to explain her real motive to him. \u201cDid the flower shop\ngirl give you a story?\u201d she asked, partly to make conversation and\npartly because she was curious.\n\u201cA wedding. I\u2019ll hand it over to Betty.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019d the post office man give you?\u201d\n\u201cJust a notice about the letter carriers organizing a bowling team,\u201d he\ntold her. \u201cRun on, now. Maybe this isn\u2019t anything. You can meet me at\nthe _Journal_ and I\u2019ll tell you.\u201d\nShe did go on, then. Tim might tell Mother if she didn\u2019t, and then she\u2019d\nbe told not to bother her brother. She couldn\u2019t expect them to\nunderstand that she\u2019d only been trying to help.\nJoan was sitting on the sunny stone step of the _Journal_ office, half\nan hour later, when Tim returned.\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be a dandy feature,\u201d he announced. \u201cMay even make the front\npage.\u201d He forgot it was just his \u201ckid\u201d sister to whom he was talking. He\n_had_ to tell some one. \u201cThat father deserted those children. I turned\nthem over to the Welfare Society.\u201d He told her details, excitedly.\nJoan hung about the _Journal_ office, though Tim hinted openly that she\nshould go home. She wasn\u2019t going to leave now. Tim was working hard over\nhis story of the deserted children. The father\u2019s name was Albert Jackson\nand he lived in South Market Street, a poor section of the city.\nTim was getting nervous over the story. He was sitting on the edge of\nhis chair and squinting at the machine before him. Finally, he jerked\nthe page out, crushed it into a wad and dropped it on the floor.\n\u201cNixon\u2019ll jump on me for such awful-looking copy,\u201d he muttered. \u201cI\u2019ll\nhave to do the whole thing over.\u201d\nThe editor often remarked that \u201ccopy\u201d didn\u2019t need to be perfect, but it\nhad to be understandable to avoid mistakes, and he often told the young\nreporters, when they handed him scratched-up copy, \u201cDon\u2019t economize on\npaper. There\u2019s plenty around here and it\u2019s free. Do it over, if there\nare too many changes.\u201d\nTim reached for the sheet and straightened it out. \u201cIt\u2019s written all\nright, I guess\u2014\u201d\n\u201cJust copying?\u201d Joan queried. \u201cOh, Tim, let me do it.\u201d\n\u201cThink you can?\u201d Tim glanced around the office. Mr. Nixon was out to\nlunch, or he would have refused right off.\n\u201cOf course,\u201d Joan assured him. \u201cI\u2019ve often copied lists of guests for\nMiss Betty. You know, sometimes folks write up their own parties and\nlots of the county correspondents write in longhand. She lets me copy\nthem for her.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know that.\u201d Tim gave her his chair. \u201cWell, go ahead. That\ntypewriter makes me nervous. Some of the letters don\u2019t hit. The comma\u2019s\nnothing but a tail. See? It doesn\u2019t write the dot part at all. You\u2019d\nthink I\u2019d rate a better typewriter than this old thrashing machine.\u201d\nJoan made no reply. She was too thrilled to speak\u2014to think of helping\nTim! She must do her best and not make any mistakes. She smoothed out\nthe copy sheet and placed it on the sliding board.\n\u201cAlbert Jackson of\u2014\u201d her fingers struck the keys slowly but surely.\nWhen she finished the sheet, Tim read it over and placed it on Mack\u2019s\ndesk. He read copy while Nixon was out at lunch, rather than let the\nwork pile up.\nThe sport editor\u2019s face was always smile-lit, like that of an \u00e6sthetic\ndancer. He teased every one. When Gertie from the front office walked\nthrough, with stacks of yellow ads in her hands, he had a tantalizing\nremark ready for her. He started the rumor in the office that Gertie was\nmaking love openly and loudly to Dummy\u2019s silent back.\nJoan went back to the _Journal_ after lunch to bask in the last-minute\nrush, just before the paper was locked up, or \u201cput to bed\u201d\u2014that last,\nbreathless pause to see whether anything big is going to break before\nthe paper is locked into the forms. She was glad school was over\u2014suppose\nshe\u2019d have had to miss all this excitement of Tim\u2019s job!\nShe and Chub went out into the press room again and she grabbed another\nfolded newspaper, damp with fresh ink, from the press. She turned the\npages, the narrow strips of cut edges peeling away from them as she\nopened out the paper. There was the story she\u2019d typed\u2014on the back page,\namong the obituary notices. It was almost as though she herself had\nwritten it. Why, the name was wrong. Instead of starting \u201cAlbert\nJackson,\u201d as she had written it, the story began, \u201cAlbert Johnson of\nNorth Market Street\u2014\u201d a different name and address.\n\u201cI guess that won\u2019t make much difference,\u201d reflected Joan, as she\ncarried the paper back to the editorial office to show to Tim.\n\u201cYou never can tell,\u201d grinned Chub, as he trotted along beside her, his\nrubber sneakers slipping over the oil spots on the cement floor. He had\nnot been an office boy in a newspaper office for two summers for\nnothing. He knew any mistake was apt to be serious. \u201cThat\u2019s what I was\ntelling you about, Jo\u2014mistakes.\u201d But Joan hardly heard him.\nTim was furious when he saw the story.\nMiss Betty, busy already writing up a lengthy account of a wedding that\nwould take place to-morrow, for the next day\u2019s paper, paused in the\nmiddle of her description of the bridal bouquet to console the cub\nreporter.\n\u201cMistakes do happen, Tim,\u201d she laughed. \u201cThink of the day I wrote up a\nmeeting of the Mission Band and said that the members spent the\nafternoon in \u2018shade and conversation,\u2019 only to have it come out as \u2018they\nspent the afternoon in shady conversation\u2019!\u201d\nBut Tim refused to be cheered, and Joan began to realize that the\nmistake was serious, for Mr. Nixon, the editor, had a set look on his\nface, too.\n\u201cDoes it really make so much difference?\u201d she asked.\n\u201cDoes it?\u201d Tim glared at her, his eyes darker than ever. \u201cWith Albert\nJohnson one of the most influential men in town?\u201d\nThen Joan understood. It was the name and address of a real resident of\nPlainfield that had been printed, and that was bad. The man wouldn\u2019t\nrelish reading in the paper that he had deserted his children when he\nhadn\u2019t at all.\n\u201cI can kiss my job good-by,\u201d groaned Tim. \u201cWhy weren\u2019t you careful?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I wrote it right!\u201d To think she had brought all this on Tim.\n\u201cBut you couldn\u2019t have, Jo,\u201d he insisted.\n\u201cI\u2019ll hunt up the copy for you, Tim,\u201d offered Chub. This was often part\nof his duties.\nJoan went with him. They went up to the high stool, before a tall, flat\ntable, where Dummy read yards and yards of proof every day. It was such\na nuisance having to write everything out to him. He directed them to\nthe big copy hook where used copy was kept for alibis. Joan fumbled\nthrough the sheets and found the story. It had \u201cMartin\u201d up in the\nleft-hand corner, the way Tim marked all his copy. The story started,\n\u201cAlbert Johnson of North Market Street.\u201d\n\u201cWhy, it\u2019s written wrong!\u201d she gasped. Her eyes fell on Dummy\u2019s bowed\ngray head. He gave a start as he bent over his pad, wrote something, and\nheld it out to her. \u201cThat\u2019s the way the copy came to me,\u201d she read.\nIt was certainly a mystery how she could write one thing, and it could\nbe changed into something different. There was nothing to be gained by\nscribbling notes to the Dummy, and so Joan and Chub filed back.\nTim was glummer than ever when she told him the news. \u201cYou must have\nwritten it that way, without realizing,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ve asked Mack, and\nhe says it came to him that way.\u201d He bent over his typewriter and banged\naway. He was doing rewrites now.\n\u201cMuch as we all like you, Tim, we can\u2019t let any mistakes like this\nhappen,\u201d the editor said. \u201cI\u2019m responsible for everything in the paper,\nand if anything gets in wrong, I have to discover who\u2019s the guilty party\nand get rid of him.\u201d\nJoan and Chub crept away to the open back window, perched themselves on\nthe broad sill, with their legs outside.\n\u201cI bet that Dummy\u2019s like Dumb Dora in the comic strip, \u2018She ain\u2019t so\ndumb,\u2019\u201d remarked Chub. \u201cThere\u2019s something queer about him. I\u2019ve always\nsaid so. And there\u2019s been queer things going on. You know what I told\nyou about the mysterious mistakes. They\u2019ve been happening before Tim got\non the paper. But I couldn\u2019t prove _who_ made \u2019em. Now, I\u2019m sure it\u2019s\nDummy.\u201d\n\u201cHe couldn\u2019t help it, when the story came to him wrong.\u201d\n\u201cBut, Jo, if you\u2019re sure you wrote it right, then somebody changed it\nand I think Dummy did. He\u2019s got it in for Tim somehow, or for the paper,\nand put that mistake there on purpose. He thinks no one would dare\naccuse him, being a deaf-mute.\u201d\n\u201cBut nothing was erased. I looked especially to see. Perhaps I did write\nit wrong,\u201d began Joan, and then broke off, \u201cOh, there\u2019s Amy.\u201d\nA figure in an orchid sweater was waving to them from the corner. It was\nAmy in a new sweater. She adored clothes. Amy didn\u2019t know a thing about\na newspaper, and Chub was always disgusted with her for that. Tim,\nsurprisingly enough, thought her a \u201cdecent kid\u201d and really treated her\nwith respect. Amy openly admired Tim\u2014she thought him so romantic\nlooking.\n\u201cJo, you wretch!\u201d she said now, crossing the lawn to the _Journal_\nwindow. \u201cYou\u2019re never at home since Tim got that job. I\u2019ve been phoning\nyou all afternoon and I think your mother\u2019s tired of answering.\u201d\nChub got off the window sill. \u201cHere,\u201d he offered Amy a seat.\n\u201cThere\u2019s room for all of us.\u201d Amy was always nice to every male\ncreature, even though he might be just a red-haired, freckle-faced,\nchubby office boy.\nThey all sat together and Joan confided the new mystery to Amy. Though\nAmy knew little about newspaper life, she knew mysteries. She agreed\nthat Dummy seemed a most suspicious character.\n\u201cBut he\u2019s so refined and nice,\u201d Joan demurred.\n\u201cSpies are always refined like that,\u201d was Amy\u2019s reply. Her ideas were\nbased on prolific reading. \u201cThe more refined they are the worse they\nare, always.\u201d\n\u201cOh!\u201d Joan\u2019s mouth dropped open. \u201cI wonder,\u201d she mused. \u201cSay, Amy,\nyou\u2019ve said something. I believe he is a spy.\u201d\nAmy had no notion of what the man could be spying for, but Joan\u2019s eager\nmind was grasping at ideas. Bits of Tim\u2019s conversation about the\npolitical candidate came to her\u2014the importance of not having mistakes in\nthe _Journal_ just at this time. That man, Dummy, had been hired to spy\nupon the _Journal_ and to see that somehow mistakes were made, mistakes\nthat would give the _Journal_ that \u201cblack eye\u201d that Tim talked about;\nmistakes that would eventually elect the _Star\u2019s_ candidate. She was a\nlittle hazy about how it worked. But of course, a deaf man had been\nchosen because no one would bother to argue much with a deaf person. It\nwas too much trouble to write everything.\n\u201cI\u2019ve read of things like that,\u201d admitted Chub, when she had explained\nher ideas. \u201cWe\u2019ll be detectives,\u201d he announced. \u201cAnd we\u2019ll be on the\nwatch for developments. I\u2019ve a peachy book, _How to Be a Detective_.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe\u2014maybe it\u2019s like this,\u201d ideas came to Joan. \u201cMaybe Dummy wants to\nbe a reporter himself and is jealous of Tim\u2019s job. Maybe he doesn\u2019t like\nit because Tim\u2019s only seventeen and a full-fledged reporter. That\u2019s why\nhe makes the mistakes look like Tim\u2019s. Still, I can\u2019t help but like\nDummy. He\u2019s so kind and mild. But he _is_ sort of spooky, somehow.\u201d\nTim came to the window behind them now.\n\u201cJo,\u201d his voice was hoarse and scared-sounding. \u201cCome in here. Mr.\nAlbert Johnson wants to talk to you.\u201d\nJoan jumped off the sill to the soft grass, and stood for a moment\ntrying not to tremble while she looked down at Em, who had just come up\nand was sniffing at her ankles. What was going to happen, now?\n\u201cDon\u2019t let \u2019em scare you, Jo.\u201d Chub\u2019s grimy hand was pressing hers. \u201cThe\n_Journal\u2019s_ got insurance that takes care of libel suits.\u201d\nLibel suits. Oh, dear, that had a dreadful sound. Would Uncle John fire\nTim for her mistake\u2014if it had been a mistake?\n\u201cAll right, Tim, I\u2019m coming,\u201d she called in a voice, that in spite of\nher, trembled, as she came in out of the sunshine, in through the window\nof the _Journal_ office to meet Mr. Albert Johnson.\nCHAPTER IV\n\u201cNO MORE MISTAKES\u201d\nJoan, with pounding heart, lifted her eyes and looked at Mr. Albert\nJohnson. He was a man of about fifty and was seated in the chair at\nTim\u2019s desk. His hair was thin and his face was round. He was holding his\ngray felt hat and his yellow gloves in his hands resting upon a yellow\ncane between his knees. He was tapping the cane on the floor\u2014not with\nimpatience, Joan realized, but it was that cross kind of a tapping noise\nthat a person makes when he is very angry and is trying to control\nhimself. Mr. Johnson\u2019s face told her the same thing. It was red, now,\nand his mouth was set like a bulldog\u2019s. His eyes glared at her. Tim was\nstanding there, too, silent. The rest of the office staff was watching\nthe scene, and pretending not to.\n\u201cAnd are you the young woman who typed this\u2014this\u2014\u201d Mr. Albert Johnson\nlifted up his hat and his hand shook as he held a folded newspaper\ntoward her, \u201cthis ridiculous story about me?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d was Joan\u2019s faint answer. \u201cBut\u2014\u201d\n\u201cWhy,\u201d the man seemed to be seeing her now for the first time, \u201cwhy,\nyou\u2019re nothing but a child. Are you really able to run a typewriter?\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said again. She hated to be called a child.\n\u201cVery, very peculiar.\u201d Mr. Johnson tapped his yellow cane harder than\never.\nJoan could bear it no longer. \u201cBut I\u2019m just positive I wrote that name\nAlbert Jackson,\u201d she burst out.\nThe bulldog man eyed her. \u201cCan you prove it?\u201d\n\u201cNo, the copy was different. It was changed.\u201d She was full of the\nmystery, having just come from the discussion over it with Chub and Amy.\n\u201cWe\u2019re working on it\u2014the mystery\u2014now, and maybe we\u2019ll have it cleared\nup. We have a suspect already.\u201d\nThe man still glared at her. \u201cYoung woman, do you know that I\u2019m part\nowner of this paper with your Uncle John\u2014the general manager is your\nuncle, isn\u2019t he?\u2014and that I\u2019m a lifelong friend and chief backer of the\n_Journal\u2019s_ candidate for the coming election?\u201d\n\u201cOh, dear!\u201d Joan almost sobbed. \u201cI knew you lived out on North Market\nStreet, so I imagined you must be somebody, but I never dreamed you were\nall that!\u201d\nThe bulldog man\u2019s eyes actually twinkled and the yellow cane was still.\n\u201cWell, I am,\u201d he snapped, \u201call that. Of course, you\u2019re too young to\nunderstand about politics, but if you\u2019re big enough to help around a\nnewspaper office, you must know how disastrous it is to have a mistake\nlike this come out in the paper.\u201d He waggled the newspaper again.\n\u201cOh, I do!\u201d breathed Joan, fervently.\n\u201cIt\u2019s going to cost this young man his job, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d Mr. Johnson\nturned his head slightly toward Tim. Her brother\u2019s face was white.\n\u201cOh, no, please!\u201d beseeched the girl. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t his fault, at all. I\ndid it, so why should he lose his job? He needs the money so badly for\ncollege this fall.\u201d Why, it\u2019d be terrible to have Tim lose his job.\nTim gave her a look that said, \u201cYou didn\u2019t need to say _that_.\u201d\n\u201cBut your brother admits he read the copy over, after you\u2019d typed it.\u201d\nMr. Johnson leaned over his cane. \u201cFirst off, I suspected something\ncrooked, but when I found out just a kid had made the mistake.... Your\nbrother did read it over, didn\u2019t he?\u201d\nJoan nodded dumbly. Then her mind, in its wretchedness, went back to the\nmystery. \u201cBut, Mr. Johnson,\u201d she began, unmindful of Tim\u2019s watchful\neyes, \u201cdon\u2019t you think that when we both read the story over, it\u2019s\nmighty queer that it had a mistake like that in it, and neither of us\nsaw it?\u201d\n\u201cBut you probably did it unconsciously. You\u2019re young. The boy\u2019s new at\nthe job and was in a hurry. He let it slip,\u201d answered the man. \u201cYou see,\nI know a lot about newspaper work.\u201d\n\u201cDo you know anything about mysteries?\u201d Joan couldn\u2019t help but ask.\nSomehow this fierce little man was not so fierce as he seemed. He had\nhad a perfect right to be angry. Indeed, there was something really\nrather likable about him.\nA smile played about his bulldog features. \u201cWell,\u201d he drawled. \u201cI ought\nto. I have indigestion bad, lots of times, and then I can\u2019t get to\nsleep, so I keep a good detective story right by my bed, all the time. I\nguess I read about one a week.\u201d\n\u201cAnd don\u2019t you think we have a mystery here?\u201d Joan dropped her voice.\nIn answer, Mr. Johnson motioned Tim to leave. \u201cI\u2019ll talk with this young\nwoman alone,\u201d he said, and shoved a chair toward her. \u201cNow, let\u2019s get\nthis straight. To begin with, before we go on to your little mystery,\nlet me ask you, do you realize how serious a mistake like that is?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s libel,\u201d said Joan, sadly. \u201cI\u2019ve lived next to the _Journal_\u201d\u2014she\npointed through the smudgy window to her red brick home\u2014\u201call my life,\nand I do know how terrible mistakes are. Daddy was city editor, and I\nknow how particular he was about it.\u201d\n\u201cWell, then what about me?\u201d asked Mr. Johnson.\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure the _Journal_ will make it right some way\u2014write a\ncontradictory story and explain that the Albert Johnson who lived on\nNorth Market Street is not the Albert Jackson who deserted his two\nchildren. Tim\u2019ll write you something nice, I know. And the publicity may\neven help you.\u201d She smiled encouragingly. Oh, if she could only get Tim\nout of this mess!\n[Illustration: \u201cI\u2019ll talk with this young woman all alone,\u201d he said.]\n\u201cWell, all right, I\u2019ll risk that.\u201d The man cleared his throat. \u201cAnd now\nto business. Who\u2019s the suspect?\u201d\nJoan slid her chair up until her red plaid skirt touched the\ngray-trousered knees of Mr. Albert Johnson. His cane was leaning back\nagainst his arm now. She told him all about the Dummy\u2014how the copy must\nhave been changed, and Dummy had insisted that it had been handed to him\nlike that, when she knew she hadn\u2019t written it wrong.\nThen she went on and told him how she and Chub and Amy had jumped to the\nconclusion that Dummy was a spy. \u201cEvery crime has a motive, you know,\u201d\nshe assured him earnestly. \u201cAnd so we thought it all out. Of course,\nwe\u2019ll have to have more evidence than just that before we can accuse\nhim.\u201d\n\u201cOf course,\u201d nodded Albert Johnson. \u201cNow, listen here. I\u2019m part owner\nhere and I\u2019ll fix it for your brother to stay on here, and for you to\nstick around this office as much as you like, on one condition.\u201d\n\u201cYes, indeed.\u201d Joan felt she would promise anything to save Tim.\n\u201cI want you to promise me to watch out for \u2018developments\u2019 as you call\nthem, and come to me the next time anything suspicious happens. I don\u2019t\nmind admitting things look queer. And don\u2019t you accuse any one until you\ncome to me. Remember?\u201d\nThat would be easy! They were going to watch for developments, anyway.\nAnd Tim\u2019s job would be safe.\nMr. Johnson got Tim back to the desk, and shook his hand, before he went\ninto Uncle John\u2019s little office with the frosted glass door and the\n\u201cJohn W. Martin\u201d on it. Joan watched his bulldog profile shadowed there\nuntil Mother telephoned to Tim to \u201csend Joan home to help with dinner.\u201d\nAmy had left long ago.\nNothing very exciting happened anyway, Joan learned later. Uncle John\nhad been on the verge of firing Tim, but after his talk with Mr.\nJohnson, he said Tim could remain on probation, providing no more\nmistakes happened. That evening, Tim spent hours wording an apology\nconcerning Mr. Johnson for the paper, and Joan insisted that he tell the\npublic what a nice man Mr. Johnson was.\nTim told her that Mr. Johnson was a wealthy man who dabbled in politics\nas a pastime, so she understood how he had time to bother with\nmysteries. The _Journal_ staff would be interested in it, but they were\nall too busy to do much more than wonder. She did not tell any one that\nshe had enlisted Mr. Johnson\u2019s services in the detective work.\nTim\u2019s write-up of Mr. Johnson must have met with his approval, because\nhe telephoned Joan about twenty minutes after the paper was out, that he\nwas about ready to forgive the entire affair. He asked Joan whether she\nwere watching out for the mystery.\nShe was. Now that she had gained permission from Uncle John and the\neditor, through Mr. Johnson, to \u201cstick around\u201d the office, she fairly\ncamped there every waking moment. Of course, Miss Betty and Tim took\nadvantage of having such a willing young worker around. Miss Betty let\nher copy the news from the suburban towns, which usually came in in\nlonghand. Joan loved it and worked painstakingly. Tim grumbled at times,\nMack teased, Cookie joked, and even the editor got used to seeing her\naround.\n\u201cNewspaper work is hard,\u201d Cookie would tell her when she would make a\nlittle face about being sent on so many errands for Tim. \u201cMake up your\nmind to get used to hard work and nothing else. You work as hard as you\ncan on one story; then it\u2019s printed and over with and you start on\nsomething else. Always some new excitement on a newspaper.\u201d\nJoan understood that, for look how soon every one had forgotten the\nepisode of the mysterious mistake about the Albert Johnson story\u2014or\nappeared to. But she and Chub had not. The office boy had a new solution\nto offer every day.\n\u201cThe life of a newspaper is just ten minutes,\u201d Cookie told her another\ntime.\nTen minutes. She glanced around at the staff all working feverishly to\nget out the paper. And the actual interest in the paper lasted only\nabout ten minutes. That was true, she guessed. Still, all the _Journal_\nfamily seemed to enjoy their jobs.\nAfter a week, Joan suddenly realized that she had joined the staff just\nin time for the annual outing. June nineteenth was just June nineteenth\nto a lot of people in Plainfield, but to the members of the _Journal_\nfamily, it was the big day of the year\u2014the one day when they dropped\ntheir labors of supplying the town with news and took an afternoon and\nevening off. The _Journal_ members were jolly for the most part while\nthey worked. But when they took time off to play they were a perfect\ncircus. Joan looked forward to the picnic.\nA neat \u201cbox,\u201d that is, a little outlined notice, appeared on the front\npage of the paper at the beginning of the week, announcing that the\n_Journal_ would come out early on Friday in order that the staff and all\nemployees could attend the annual picnic. Of course, it would be an\nunusually slim paper that day, but the subscribers did not mind one day\nin the year. Always by one o\u2019clock on June nineteenth the paper was out\non the street and the staff ready to pile into the two big busses\nchartered for the occasion.\nNow Joan could go along. She and Tim had both gone when Daddy was\neditor, but that was long ago. All the employees took their families,\nand Joan would go. Mother, too, perhaps. But no, Mrs. Martin declined\nthe invitation immediately.\n\u201cBounce around in those uncomfortable, crowded busses for an hour, get\neaten alive by mosquitoes and things, and come home as tired as though\nI\u2019d done two weeks\u2019 washing? No, thank you. I\u2019ll take the day off, too,\nbut I\u2019ll run out and see sister Effie. She\u2019s thinking about having her\nappendix taken out, and wants my advice.\u201d\nThe big event at the picnic was the baseball game, and this year the\n_Journal_ team was scheduled to play the _Star_. The _Journal_ team this\nyear was excellent\u2014Mack, Mr. Nixon, Lefty the photographer, Burke the\nbookkeeper, Cookie, the two advertising men, and one of the pressmen.\nChub and Bossy always sat on the bench\u2014that is, they were substitutes\nand hardly hoped for an opportunity to play. Would Tim get to play, Joan\nwondered. The first day he had come to work, Chub grabbed him. \u201cYou\u2019ll\ntry out for the team, won\u2019t you? I bet you\u2019re a peacherino pitcher.\u201d\nJoan could easily see that Chub thought Tim mighty near perfection.\nWell, she thought so, too, most of the time, herself. He had been a star\nin the game at high school, but the men on the _Journal_ team were all\nolder than he was.\nThe owners of the _Journal_ were proud of the prowess of the _Journal_\nteam and their interest in baseball. The owners had this year ordered\nbaseball suits for the team, and the _Journal_ nine had challenged the\n_Star_ team to a game to be played at the annual outing.\nThe suits arrived one day during Tim\u2019s first week on the paper and that\nafternoon no one worked. Fortunately, Bossy did not come in with the\nboxes until the paper was out. Bossy\u2019s eyes were just visible over the\nbig flat suit boxes. Instantly, every member of the staff forgot that\nthe paper must come out to-morrow just as to-day. They\u2019d all work\novertime to-morrow and get it out in record time, but now they had to\nlook at the suits.\nThey were striped gray flannel with \u201cJournal\u201d written across the front\nin flaming red letters.\nBossy\u2019s brown eyes were almost popping out of his face. He had always\nplayed substitute, but he was a bit puzzled now. Was he to have one of\nthe suits?\n\u201cHere\u2019s my fat one,\u201d Cookie held up a shirt by the sleeves across his\nplump front. He was a dandy catcher but a bit slow on bases.\n\u201cThis skinny one must be yours, Mack!\u201d The editor tossed him a gray\nbundle. \u201cJust look through these, Bossy. There was one ordered for you.\u201d\nBossy\u2019s eyes blinked behind their glasses. \u201cDeed and I will, sah.\u201d\nThen the red socks were distributed. \u201cDouble up your fist and if it goes\naround that, it\u2019ll fit.\u201d Miss Betty did the measuring.\nChub was squeezing into his suit, putting it on over his everyday\nclothes, and soon the others followed his example. Cookie looked like a\nyoung boy in his. They all paraded up and down, until Miss Betty rushed\nto her typewriter and began pounding out a poem to celebrate the\noccasion. She called it, \u201cThe Wearing of the Gray.\u201d They all clapped\nwhen she read it aloud. She tried to coax Mr. Nixon to promise to print\nit.\n\u201cLuckily for me,\u201d said the editor, \u201cthe _Journal\u2019s_ policy is never to\nprint poetry.\u201d\nWhereupon Miss Betty made up a jingling tune to go with the words, and\ntaught it to every one to use as a cheer.\n\u201cLet\u2019s have a bit of practice.\u201d The editor was in rare good humor, for\nthey usually practiced in the late afternoons. \u201cBut, since I seem to\nrecall a certain mishap, I suggest we step outside for our practice.\u201d\nHe meant the time that they had had a few \u201cpasses\u201d right there in the\nbig editorial room, one day when work was slack, and Chub had missed a\nball. The glass in the ticker, which reeled out yellow lengths of news\nbulletins, had been broken since that day.\nThey went through the windows to the grassy place by Joan\u2019s home. Em\nscurried out of the way at the first ball.\nJoan sat on her own side steps and looked on. How handsome Tim was, in\nthat gray uniform and cap! Chub sat beside her, both of them engrossed\nin watching the men making catches and putting out imaginary opponents.\n\u201cWe _have_ to beat the _Star_,\u201d she vowed.\nSuddenly, Mr. Nixon, who was captain by courtesy, called Tim. \u201cLefty\nhere and I have been watching you play, Tim. You\u2019re fast and sure. I\nbelieve I\u2019ll put you in as shortstop.\u201d\nTim grinned. Every one seemed delighted. Miss Betty was loud in her\nexclamation. Only Mack was silent. He appeared peeved. Why should he\ncare whether Tim was on the team or not?\n\u201cNo clews to the mystery,\u201d Chub said glumly. \u201cI\u2019ve been watching for\ndevelopments every minute. Maybe we\u2019ll get some at the picnic.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe.\u201d Joan hoped so, because she did want to solve the mystery and\nmake it up to Tim for having got him into such a mess with the Albert\nJohnson story.\nCHAPTER V\nTHE ANNUAL OUTING\nThe two big busses chugged at the curb. Joan, in a sleeveless green\nlinen frock, with her tightly rolled bathing suit dangling by a string\nfrom one finger, had been out a dozen times to have the driver of the\nfirst bus assure her that he was saving two seats next to himself for\nher and Chub. The busses were draped all around with huge placards\nannouncing, \u201cThe Annual Outing of the Plainfield Evening Journal.\u201d\nThe staff had raced all morning, and by noon, the forms were locked and\nthe big presses roaring. The paper was \u201con the street\u201d half an hour\nlater, and by one o\u2019clock the _Journal_ family was ready to start.\nBut first, they must all line up in front of the _Journal_ office, while\nLefty, the staff photographer, snapped a picture. Miss Betty wailed that\nshe was sure he had taken it while her mouth was open. Then, every one\nscrambled aboard. Chub captured the two seats reserved for him and Joan,\nand they were delighted to find that Cookie had squeezed himself next to\nthem. Betty sat in the last seat of all, between Tim and Mack. Both of\nthem were in their baseball suits, as were all the team.\nThe editor and his wife sat in the seat right behind Joan and Chub. Mr.\nNixon had his year-old daughter on his knee. His wife (the office staff\ncalled her Mrs. Editor) often brought the baby down to the office and\nlet her play on the files of out-of-town papers spread out on the long\ntable where Tim did his pasting when he had an extra long story. Joan\nthought little Ruthie very sweet and waved to her now.\nLefty came with his camera over his shoulder and extra plates under his\narm, for he planned to take more pictures later. Uncle John, who was as\nfat as Cookie, was there, too, with his family. That was Aunt Elsie and\nCousin Eleanor. Aunt Elsie\u2019s facial expression showed plainly that she\nwas present only because Uncle John had insisted that her attendance\nwould be good policy. Cousin Eleanor was about Tim\u2019s age and ignored\nJoan almost completely, but played up to Tim. It was Aunt Elsie and\nCousin Eleanor, Joan was sure, who made Mother hate having Joan hang\naround the _Journal_. They both felt above the newspaper and thought\nMother should feel so, too.\nThe head pressman and his wife and their three little boys filled one\nentire seat. Joan saw Dummy coming, old and dignified. Would he enjoy a\npicnic? Papa Sadler, as the circulation man was called, and his scores\nof newsboys, went in the other bus.\nAt last the busses were filled, and after the usual query, \u201cIs every one\nhere?\u201d they started. Chub and Joan, from their positions of advantage,\nwatched the driver and the route through the city. Out to Yellow Springs\nStreet and then straight toward Cliff Woods. It was about a half hour\u2019s\nride after they passed the city limits, marked by the charred ruins of\nwhat had been a match factory.\nThe flat dusty road stretched out ahead. They passed a swiftly moving\ntraction car. Fields of yellow mustard plant reflected the sunshine.\nBlackberry bushes grew on the roadside and brushed their branches\nagainst the _Journal_ busses. Joan sniffed deeply when they passed a\ngrove of locust trees in bloom.\nThe sight of the old match factory had started the editor and Cookie\nreminiscing about that fire which had occurred several years ago.\n\u201cIs a fire the most exciting thing that a reporter can be sent to write\nup?\u201d Joan forgot the scenery long enough to ask Cookie her question.\n\u201cWell, in a way, it is,\u201d he admitted. \u201cBut reporting a fire is not\nalways fun. There\u2019re too often deaths and accidents to write up, too,\nwith a fire story.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s so,\u201d answered Joan, soberly.\n\u201cFires are like bananas\u2014they come in bunches,\u201d said the old reporter.\nJoan laughed. \u201cCookie, remember, just the other day, you promised to\ntell us some of your experiences on the New York newspaper. Can\u2019t you do\nit, now?\u201d\n\u201cUm\u2014I guess so.\u201d Cookie glanced out of the corner of his eye at the\neditor. But Mr. Nixon was totally absorbed in retying the strings on the\nbaby\u2019s frilly bonnet. He was clumsy about it, but he would not let his\nwife help him.\nChub and Joan leaned near Cookie. His spotted vest smelled of stale\ntobacco, but they did not mind.\n\u201cWell, anything to oblige and help a future newspaper reporter,\u201d he\nchuckled. \u201cThis happened a good many years ago, when I was on the _New\nYork Banner_. I started as a cub, you know, but inside of a year I was\ndoing really decent stories. No more obits for me. Then, one day, the\neditor called me to the desk and said he was going to send me out on the\nVanderflip wedding story. Well, can you imagine what that meant to me?\u201d\n\u201cWas it a big wedding?\u201d Joan did not know what answer Cookie expected.\n\u201cWas it? The wedding of Vanderflip\u2019s only son to a girl as rich as she\nwas pretty? Oh, rats, I\u2019m forgetting that all this was over ten years\nago. You couldn\u2019t remember. But it was the biggest wedding St. Thomas\u2019\nhad seen in many a day. I didn\u2019t write up the ceremony\u2014understand, the\nsociety editors did that. But I was to trail along when the wedding\nparty left on the honeymoon, which was to be a hunting trip to Canada. I\nwas to send back a story every day\u2014a good long one, too, for New York\nwould eat up all the details it could get.\n\u201cWell, I sleuthed those folks within an inch of their lives. It was all\nright till we got to the lodge. I found it one of those glorified camps,\ndeep in the heart of the woods, on a private lake, and nowhere for me to\npark within hiking distance. What did I do but apply for the job of\nchore boy at that camp\u2014and got it! I wasn\u2019t much good as a chore boy,\nbut fortunately, there wasn\u2019t a lot to do\u2014take care of the boats and\ncanoes, and be generally useful. My job gave me plenty of opportunity\nfor close-hand stories. But between the work and writing up the stuff on\nmy portable typewriter up in my little shack way off in the woods by\nitself, I was pretty tired at night, and that\u2019s how I happened to miss\nthe fox hunt.\u201d\n\u201cI missed it because I overslept. When I came down to the main lodge, I\ndiscovered that the wedding couple and their party had departed at dawn.\nThe caretaker there was a jolly fellow who liked to talk. Believe me, I\nstarted him on the subject of fox hunts. I had to get some sort of story\nto my chief. The old fellow told me all he knew, which, aided by my\nhealthy imagination, made a grand story. I described the woods in the\nearly morning, the dogs sniffing, the barking, and finally, the\ntriumphant end.\u201d\n\u201cYou _faked_ it?\u201d Even Chub was scandalized.\nCookie nodded. \u201cHad to. Well, I approached my chief\u2019s desk with shaking\nknees, when I got back, expecting to be told I was fired. Instead he\nsaid, \u2018Cookie, old kid, I believe you\u2019ll make an extra space rate man,\nsome day. You covered the Vanderflips pretty well, for the most part.\nBut that fox hunt story\u2014that was the cream of the whole collection!\u2019\u201d\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you ever tell him?\u201d Joan wanted to know.\n\u201cNo. I was tempted to, often,\u201d acknowledged the old reporter. \u201cHe was a\ngood sort. Most editors are. At that, I hadn\u2019t done anything so\nterrible. A great many editors would rather have a plausible and\nentertaining fake than a dull, colorless fact. He hates to be taken in,\nhimself. He wants to be in on the joke, too. But it\u2019s best to be honest\nalways,\u201d he warned.\n\u201cWe\u2019re almost there!\u201d piped the shrill tones of the head pressman\u2019s\noldest son, as the bus swooped through a rustic gate and down into a\nshady, cool, cavernous valley. On one side huge gray cliffs, ragged and\nold, now rose to greet them. One looked like the Old Man of the\nMountain. The busses stopped at the side of the quaint old pavilion,\nwhere supper would be served in event of rain, and every one was out in\ntwo seconds.\n\u201cFirst thing on the program,\u201d announced Cookie, \u201cis\u2014\n  Lemonade\n  Made in the shade\n  Stirred with a rusty spade.\u201d\nHe was a self-appointed lemonade maker and was famous for the\nconcoction. The makings for the drink had been brought along. The rest\nof the supper was coming out by the caterer\u2019s delivery auto later on.\nBossy, Joan, and Chub cut lemons while Cookie pressed them with a wooden\nsqueezer into a large galvanized tub, kept from year to year for this\nspecial purpose. A big cake of ice, shed of its coat of burlap, and\nrinsed off in the near-by spring, was slipped into the sweetened juice.\nThen buckets of spring water, more stirring, until Cookie pronounced it\n\u201cJust as good as last year\u2019s.\u201d Dozens of shiny tin cups were let loose\nand tumbled upon the soft grass, and every one was invited to \u201cStep\nright up and help yourself!\u201d\nThe head pressman\u2019s three little boys took this literally. Finally\nCookie had to hint, \u201cIt\u2019ll be here all afternoon, folks. But we must\nsave some for the _Star_ team.\u201d\nAll during the lemonade making every one had been glancing back toward\nthe rustic gate, watching for the coming of the _Star_ team. Just as\nJoan was starting on her third cup of lemonade, a delivery truck with a\nred star on each side, drove up and the _Star_ team, in their baseball\nsuits of gray with blue letters, with a few of the staff as rooters,\nhopped out. The staff of the _Star_, since it was a morning newspaper,\ndid not need to take much time away from the office for the game. They\nalways worked at night to get their paper out, anyway. Joan had often\ngone to the _Star_ office with Chub when he delivered advertising cuts,\nwhich the two newspapers sometimes shared, and she knew most of the\nstaff by sight. Tebbets, the city editor, was a big bully of a man. Joan\ndid not like him at all. His voice was so loud that the echo of it\nrumbled back from the cliffs. He was so different from Mr. Nixon. Of\ncourse, Editor Nixon often got provoked and then he\u2019d roar like a mad\nbull, but most of the time he was good-natured and treated the _Journal_\nfamily fair and square. Joan might think him hard and stern, but he was\nas meek as a lamb, compared to Mr. Tebbets.\n\u201cWell, Journalites,\u201d Tebbets was bellowing now, \u201care you ready to get\ntrimmed by the best little team in the Ohio Valley?\u201d\nOf course, some one else might have said those very words and they would\nnot have been mean. But not the way Mr. Tebbets said them.\nHis eyes lighted upon Mack. \u201cSo you\u2019re on the team?\u201d he asked.\nJoan guessed he was trying to be funny, for any one could tell Mack was\non the team when he had on the baseball suit.\n\u201cWell\u2014I\u2019m the _Journal_ sport editor,\u201d Mack said, as if in answer to\nTebbets.\nThe _Star_ editor snickered as though that were very funny. Little\nRuthie toddled toward him, waving her plump hands. She had a gold ring\non one of her fat fingers, tied to her wrist with a ribbon. But Mr.\nTebbets did not even glance at her standing there. She looked so cute,\ntoo. She had her bonnet off now, and her dark hair was mussed. She was\nfrowning because the sun was in her eyes. She looked like a miniature of\nthe editor.\nAltogether it was not a promising beginning. The _Star_ team looked so\nmuch stronger than the _Journal_ men. Mack was of slight build and\nthough Tim was tall, he seemed awfully young next to all those strapping\n_Star_ players. Joan was silent as they all trooped along the footpath\nand up a little slope to the sunny field where the game was to be held.\nRude bleachers had been erected by placing boards across wooden boxes.\nThe _Journal_ folks, except some of the women who declared it was too\nhot up there, and the children too young to be interested in baseball,\nlined up on one side. The _Star_ rooters took the other. Chub and Bossy\nsat on the bench for substitutes. Joan hung about.\n\u201cHave we a bat boy?\u201d asked the editor captain, glancing toward the\nnewsboys on the sidelines.\nBut Joan was ahead of any of them. \u201cLet me!\u201d she begged.\nShe had played baseball at school and in the neighborhood, besides\nhaving attended several of the big games. She knew that the duty of the\nbat boy was merely to pick up the bat flung to the ground by the player\nand to get it out of the way. The first time she had ever been a bat boy\nwas when she was only eight years old. She had been hit in the nose by a\nbaseball that time.\n\u201cAll right,\u201d nodded the editor, and Joan took her place on the field, to\nthe right of the home plate, to be ready.\nThe two teams, first the _Star_ and then the _Journal_, had a bit of\nbatting practice (to sharpen up their batting eye, Chub said) as well as\nfielding practice. A well-liked deputy sheriff was to act as umpire.\nChub spoke of him as \u201cUmps.\u201d\nSoon the game was called. The _Journal_ team was in the field, and the\nfirst _Star_ batter was ready to step up to the plate.\n\u201cPlay ball!\u201d shouted the umpire.\nJoan shivered with excitement and was glad again that Tim had made the\nteam. She glanced at him over there between second and third base, ready\nto live up to the name of his position, and \u201cshortstop\u201d the ball\nwhenever possible. The _Star_ made one score during the first inning.\n\u201cThe _Star_ team knows its baseball,\u201d Chub admitted, grumpily, as the\n_Journal_ team trooped in from the field.\nLefty was the first batter up. \u201cWait for a good one,\u201d the crowd advised\nhim, after two balls had been called. He was a good waiter and got a\nwalk. Mack, the second batter, was nailed before he could reach second.\nA groan escaped the _Journal_ rooters as the inning ended and their side\nhad not scored.\nThree more innings dragged by without a score for either team. Then,\nCaptain Nixon got his men together and encouraged them with a few, quick\nwords. Aroused to the fight, the _Journal_ team battled on. Lefty was\nstill pitching splendidly, while the _Star_ pitcher seemed to be\nweakening under the strain. Even so, the _Star_ team managed two runs.\nTwo more scoreless innings followed.\nDuring the first half of the ninth, the _Star_ team fought harder than\never. But the _Journal_ team was fighting, too. No score was made.\nThe _Journal_ team was at bat again. The _Star_ pitcher\u2019s balls were\ngoing a bit wild. The first batter was struck by the ball and got a\nbase. The second made a base on balls. Then Mack managed a bunt which\nlet the runners on first and second each capture a base. All three bases\nwere full when Lefty came to the bat.\nPerhaps the _Star_ team had forgotten that Lefty batted the balls\nleft-handed. Anyway, he knocked it straight down the third baseline and\nfooled the _Journal\u2019s_ rivals, for their fielders were not on duty.\n\u201cDo a \u2018Babe Ruth,\u2019 Lefty!\u201d yelled the newsboys as Lefty started toward\nfirst like a flash. There was no doubt but that all three men would come\nhome safe, making the score four to three. The newsboys started running\nto the field. The _Journal_ had won!\nThe side lines, under Miss Betty\u2019s guidance, burst into the strains of\n\u201cThe Wearing of the Gray.\u201d Every one was pounding Lefty on the back.\nJoan suddenly felt a warm glow in her heart, as though this victory\nmeant that always would the _Journal_ win over their rivals, in scoops\nand in the coming elections. She couldn\u2019t help but feel her paper was\nalways right!\nMr. Johnson, who had been standing on the side lines with the other\nowners of the paper, sought her out. He inquired solicitously after the\nmystery, and she had to admit they had no new clews. He had to hurry off\nto Cincinnati, he explained, and would not be able to stay for the\nsupper, but he had enjoyed the game. Joan wondered whether he were proud\nnow that Tim was on the staff, for Tim had been a splendid shortstop.\n\u201cNow for a swim!\u201d That was every one\u2019s thought after the game. In one\ncorner of Cliff Woods was a lovely, round lake, with bathhouses and\nrafts. Here, the hot, dusty members of the _Journal_ family enjoyed a\nsplash.\nAs Joan emerged from the bathhouse, her wet suit a limp roll under her\narm, her sunburned neck scratchy against her green linen dress, she\nfound Chub waiting for her. Together, like two hungry bears, they\napproached the pavilion but were shooed away by a bevy of printers\u2019\nwives, the refreshment committee, who were surveying the long tables\nthey had set up under the trees. The caterers\u2019 wagons had come and gone.\n\u201cNot quite ready yet,\u201d the committee warned.\n\u201cLet\u2019s go put that rock on the Picnic Pillar,\u201d Chub suggested. \u201cIt might\nbe too dark if we wait till after supper.\u201d\nThey started up the path again, keeping to the right now, instead of\nturning left as they had when they went to the ball field. The Picnic\nPillar was an old rock tower, where every picnic party added a rock to\nthe monument.\nSoon they were in a little dell, where the brook bubbled noisily over\nthe rocks, and ferns and mint and watercress grew in abundance. They\nbegan climbing the cliffs. Chub\u2019s sneakers gave him good footholds, and\nhe helped to pull Joan up the steep, jutty side of the cliff, up to a\nflat space where there were more ferns and sweet, spicy-smelling plants.\nNear the edge of the ridge was the Picnic Pillar, high and towering.\nChub found a round, smooth rock, after turning over several until he\nfound one that just suited. He scrambled up on a convenient bowlder, and\nJoan steadied his ankles for him while he reached up and placed the big\nstone on the top of the pillar\u2014the most recent addition to the stone\nerection which was a monument of hundreds of happy gatherings.\n\u201cSh, Jo!\u201d Chub had jumped to the ground and was silencing her as she was\nabout to speak. \u201cThere\u2019s that spooky Dummy down there, creeping along. I\nsaw him from up there; he\u2019s just below the ledge\u2014and he\u2019s with Tebbets!\u201d\nCHAPTER VI\nTIM\u2019S SECOND WARNING\nDummy with Tebbets of the _Star_! What could that mean, Joan wondered.\n\u201cLet\u2019s peep over,\u201d she whispered to Chub. \u201cMaybe we\u2019ll get some clews.\u201d\nNoiselessly, they crept to the edge of the elevation, fearful of being\nseen if they stood upright. Stretched out on the ground, clutching the\nroots of clumps of weeds, they peered over the edge.\nThere was Dummy, treading with stealthy steps along the path below, and\njust a few paces ahead of him, just about to disappear into a bushy\nthicket, was the broad back of the city editor of the _Star_. Why should\nthe _Star_ editor and Dummy go for a stroll way up here together unless\nto talk over some guilty secret? It was clear now to Joan that Dummy was\na spy, hired by Tebbets. No true member of the _Journal_ family would\nthink of being friends with that awful Tebbets of the rival paper. The\ntwo newspapers were often forced to work together, and the two staffs\nwere friendly enough, but just at this time, they were at strained\nrelations over the coming election.\n\u201cTebbets must know the deaf and dumb language.\u201d Joan hardly knew what to\nthink.\n\u201cSure!\u201d Chub snorted. \u201cIt\u2019s not so hard. How else could he hire Dummy to\ndo his dirty work? He couldn\u2019t write everything he wanted to tell\nhim\u2014too dangerous. Tebbets didn\u2019t want the picnic people to see him\ntalking sign language, so they came up here.\u201d\n\u201cSh! Some one might hear.\u201d But there was no one at all in sight now and\nno sound except for the swaying of the trees and the drowsy hum of\nunseen insects. \u201cI wish Mr. Johnson hadn\u2019t had to hurry off to\nCincinnati. You know I promised him not to jump to conclusions, so we\ncan\u2019t do anything.\u201d\n\u201cNo, I guess not,\u201d agreed the office boy. \u201cCome on, let\u2019s get back\nbefore all the food\u2019s eaten.\u201d\nJust like a boy, always thinking of food\u2014even in the midst of a mystery.\nHowever, the exercise of the game and the swim had given Joan a ravenous\nappetite, too, so she raced Chub down the steep cliff, stones clattering\nloose after them until it sounded in that quiet place as though\nmountains were falling.\nWhen they reached the picnic table, Miss Betty was signaling that she\nwas saving places for them next to her own and Tim\u2019s. The _Star_ staff\nhad just left, she said, for they had to get back to their work.\n\u201cOh, boy, fried chicken!\u201d Chub whistled as he viewed the table.\nIt was a wonderful spread, every one declared. Besides the fried\nchicken, there was cold baked ham, golden mounds of potato salad, sliced\ntomatoes, pickles, olives, and towering plates of bread and butter\nsandwiches.\nDuring the meal, Betty motioned across the table to Mr. Nixon. \u201cListen\nto this, will you, chief?\u201d She unfolded a page of familiar yellow copy\npaper, and cleared her throat preparing to read something aloud. Every\none became quiet and listened.\n\u201cThis is our cub reporter\u2019s write-up of the game this afternoon,\u201d she\nsaid and began to read: \u201c\u2018Lefty Dale did a Dick Merriweather stunt this\nafternoon, when in the ninth inning in the game between the _Journal_\nand the _Star_, he poled a circuit clout _\u00e0 la_ Babe Ruth, with the\nbases loaded to bring his team from behind with two outs in the last\nframe.\u2019\u201d\nThe account went on in Tim\u2019s best baseball manner and told of the game,\ninning by inning, up to the victorious end.\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s good, Martin!\u201d the editor said when Miss Betty had finished\nreading. \u201cWish I could publish it as it is, but the general reading\npublic of Plainfield doesn\u2019t want to read about our triumphing over our\nrivals with all the gory details. Since we aim to give them what they\nwant, just a mere note of the picnic and game score will have to\nsuffice. But your write-up is fine.\u201d\nTim was eating and grinning all at the same time. Mack was scowling at\nhis forkful of salad. Was he afraid that Tim would steal his job from\nhim? Or\u2014was it that he was provoked that Miss Betty was promoting the\ncub reporter this way? Joan had tried to decide whether Miss Betty\nwasn\u2019t beginning to like Tim better than she did Mack. But the society\neditor treated them both as two brothers whom she expected to be pals.\nJoan was disappointed that the office romance wasn\u2019t blossoming faster.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a big compliment the editor\u2019s giving Tim,\u201d Joan whispered to\nChub, now. He nodded over a cold drumstick in reply.\nTalk rattled on. Jokes and clever banter were battered about the table,\nflung from one to another, like a baseball. The head pressman\u2019s three\nlittle boys, up at the other end of the table, were almost choking with\nthe effort of trying to eat and giggle at the same time. The only one\nwho was apparently taking no part in the fun was Dummy. He was sitting\non the other side of the table, with the editor\u2019s family and was feeding\nlittle Ruthie something out of a bowl. Zweiback and milk was her supper,\nbut she was contented with it.\n\u201cIce cream and cake coming. Save room!\u201d one of the refreshment committee\ncautioned Chub. He blushed as every one laughed.\nPoor Dummy. He was missing all the jibes, but he seemed to be enjoying\nhimself anyway. Was he only acting a part in being nice to little\nRuthie? Wouldn\u2019t he be surprised if he knew that they had seen him there\nwith Mr. Tebbets, and that they knew his wicked secret? Now he was\nplaying a silent game of peekaboo with the baby. Silently, Dummy would\nremove wrinkled hands from his dull blue eyes and little Ruthie would\nbubble over with baby chuckles.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see,\u201d Joan mused to herself, as she ate another olive, \u201chow a\nman can seem so nice and make a baby like him like that and still be\nsuch a deep-dyed villain.\u201d\nEvery one was tired the next day, for the _Journal_ family had lingered\nat the picnic woods to make the trip home by moonlight. Perhaps that was\nwhy a mistake occurred the very next afternoon. It was in a story Tim\nhad written, too. He was not in the office when the error was\ndiscovered. Mr. Nixon had sent him up to the library to get a list of\nnew books, in response to a request from Miss Bird, the librarian.\nChub told Joan about the mistake. \u201cOld Nix\u2019s on his ear.\u201d He seemed as\nworried as though it were his own brother. \u201cThere\u2019s another mistake in\none of Tim\u2019s stories. That write-up about the patronesses of the flower\nshow the Women\u2019s Club gives every year for the benefit of the hospital.\nOld Mrs. McNulty\u2019s name was left off the list.\u201d\n\u201cBut is that anything so terrible?\u201d Joan asked. Oh, dear, another\nmistake!\n\u201cWell, you see, the old lady is Mr. Hutton\u2019s mother-in-law, you know,\u201d\nhe explained. \u201cShe likes publicity, too, even though she pretends not\nto. She called the chief up and gave him a good raking over, I guess.\nThe whole office was pretty blue. Seems she gives lavishly to things\nshe\u2019s interested in and is sore as a boil about her name being left off.\nBesides, the paper wants to stand in good with her.\u201d\n\u201cDo you think Dummy\u2014?\u201d Joan began.\n\u201cSure thing!\u201d nodded the office boy. \u201cThey probably doped it up at the\npicnic. But I don\u2019t know how we can prove that Dummy left that name off.\nIt wasn\u2019t on the copy, for Nixon compared that first thing.\u201d\nJoan\u2019s head was swimming as she waited in the _Journal_ office for Tim\nto return. When he came in, he was called to the editor\u2019s desk right\noff, and every one heard Mr. Nixon confronting him with the mistake.\nThe office was silent, waiting for Tim\u2019s reply.\n\u201cGuess I am guilty this time,\u201d he acknowledged. \u201cI realized afterwards\nthat I had left some names off. I took the notes in a hurry, and filled\none piece of paper, and took the last two or three names of the list on\nanother piece, and then I forgot that second page.\u201d\nHe went for his notes on the big hook by his desk. Every one at the\n_Journal_ was required to keep all notes one week, for alibis. Every\nSaturday, the stuff on the hooks was thrown out. Tim thumbed through the\npapers on the hook\u2014there were a great many, for this was Saturday, but\nthe one he was looking for was near the top. He found the scrawled list\nand discovered that two names besides Mrs. McNulty\u2019s were written on an\nextra bit of paper and had been left out of the printed list.\n\u201cWell, I guess it\u2019s not serious, for no one complained but Mrs. McNulty.\nGive her a ring and make peace with her.\u201d The editor looked relieved,\nthen provoked the very next minute. \u201cBut, Martin, really, as a reporter,\nI must say you\u2019re a better ball player. Why can\u2019t you be accurate?\nYou\u2019ve shown you can write. Now, take that baseball write-up yesterday.\nThat was dandy.\u201d\n\u201cThat was fun,\u201d Tim showed his relief at being let off. \u201cWriting this\nother junk isn\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s the regular cub assignment,\u201d snapped the editor, turning back to\nhis work. \u201cRemember now, second warning, no more mistakes.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s all this about a mistake?\u201d It was Uncle John hurrying out from\nhis sanctum sanctorum.\nSo he had to be told. \u201cThe boy\u2019s had the grace to admit that he made it\nthis time,\u201d finished up Mr. Nixon. He sounded as though he still\nbelieved that Tim had made the first mistake, too\u2014the one about the\ndeserted children.\n\u201cPerhaps he will learn more from the mistake than they themselves are\nworth,\u201d Uncle John said. \u201cBut be careful, Tim.\u201d\nBe careful! He would have to be now, Joan realized. She was more puzzled\nthan ever. Even if Tim had made this mistake, she knew she hadn\u2019t\nwritten Mr. Johnson\u2019s name in that other story. She\u2019d have to stick\naround the office even more than ever now to be ready to help Tim. It\nwas too bad that the only time he had really let her help, that terrible\nmistake had had to happen. She supposed he was afraid to trust her\nagain. Well, she\u2019d hang around anyway to be on hand if he did want her.\n\u201cSay, I\u2019m in an awful rush,\u201d Tim said one afternoon. He was always in a\nrush, it seemed. \u201cCan you look up the stuff for the Ten Years Ago\ncolumn?\u201d\nIt was her chance, the first really big thing he had asked her to do\nsince he allowed her to type that story about the deserted children. Of\ncourse, he had let her do little things, like looking up telephone\nnumbers and checking initials.\nShe\u2019d be extra careful, she resolved, as she picked up Em, who was\ncurled up for a nap on the coverless dictionary. Then she lifted off the\ndictionary and tugged at the heavy, bound file.\nEvery day the _Journal_ carried a few items culled from these files. It\nwas part of Tim\u2019s work to pick out those which he thought would interest\nthe present readers of the _Journal_, and to copy them off verbatim. The\nbeginning of this column was always the same\u2014the type was always left\nset up in the forms. It said, \u201cThe following article was printed in the\nissue of the _Plainfield Evening Journal_ for June\u201419\u2014\u201d and then came\nthe date, ten years ago. Joan loved the old files; she liked to pore\nover the yellow pages and laugh at the queer fashions that were in vogue\nin the fifteen and twenty years ago numbers\u2014long skirts that trailed on\nthe ground, veils and funny hats. Why, Mother had a queer old silk\nblouse up in the attic, almost like that picture.\nShe learned to pick out items about prominent men\u2014men who had not been\nso prominent ten years ago. Some of the issues were as interesting as\nstories, real stories, not just news ones. Then she\u2019d type them off, so\nvery carefully.\n\u201cThose old files are full of good stories,\u201d Betty told her. \u201cDon\u2019t you\nknow that half of the authors nowadays get their plots from newspaper\nclippings?\u201d\n\u201cDo they?\u201d Joan was interested.\n\u201cSure, that\u2019s why they sound as though they couldn\u2019t possibly have\nhappened,\u201d laughed Tim. \u201cBecause they actually did.\u201d\nWell, wasn\u2019t their mystery as impossible-sounding as any made up one?\nAll the while she was watching Dummy every possible chance. She had come\nupon him suddenly several times \u201cout back\u201d and he had scurried out of\nthe way, like a cat caught in the cream. She and Chub spent every minute\nthey could \u201csleuthing the office\u201d as he called it. \u201cWatch everything!\nThat\u2019s the only way,\u201d he told her.\nSo Joan watched, and discovered that Betty didn\u2019t go out to lunch with\nMack any more, but she and Tim went out at the same time and often\nlunched together at a white-tiled place, with copper bowls of scarlet\napples and golden oranges in the window. Mother thought it was silly of\nhim to spend his salary on lunches when he lived right next door to his\njob, and said so.\nOf course Miss Betty couldn\u2019t help but like Tim when he tried to be\nnice, and he did try. He would leave foolish notes addressed to \u201cBetty\nBarefacts\u201d on Miss Betty\u2019s desk. Joan discovered one on the society\neditor\u2019s hook when she was destroying her notes for her. It read:\n  Dear Miss Barefacts,\n  I am a young man with passes to the stock company. Is it proper to\n  ask a girl to go to a show on passes?\nMack didn\u2019t tease so much any more, either. He seemed provoked that\nBetty was preferring Tim. Once when Tim was busy at his machine, and\nMack was going out to lunch, his hat punched down over his eyes, Joan\nasked him timidly, \u201cMack, may I use your machine to copy this Ten Years\nAgo To-Day?\u201d\nHe seemed about to give a nod of assent, when Joan added, coaxingly,\n\u201cYour typewriter is better than Tim\u2019s. His commas have no heads.\u201d\nInstantly the sport editor\u2019s face changed. \u201cYou keep out of here.\u201d He\njammed the cracked, black canvas cover down over his machine, and strode\nout of the office, muttering what he thought about a newspaper in a jay\ntown like this that let a kid stick around every minute!\nJoan was bewildered, until she looked across the office now and saw\nBetty and Tim laughing together over some letter she had received for\nthe Advice to the Lovelorn column. Then she thought she understood. Mack\nwas peeved because Betty liked Tim\u2014and about the lunches and notes and\nshows. But why shouldn\u2019t she prefer big, broad-shouldered, dark-haired\nTim to that silly, pink-mustached sport editor, even though Tim was only\nseventeen? And, of course, Mack wasn\u2019t going to treat his rival\u2019s sister\nnicely.\nThings seemed rather at a standstill. To be sure, Mr. Johnson stopped in\nat the office about every other day, when he was in town, and he always\nasked after the mystery. He was interested in learning that Dummy was\nseen in the woods with Mr. Tebbets, but didn\u2019t seem to think that it\nproved anything. Almost every time Mr. Johnston came he had a box in his\nhand.\n\u201cIt\u2019s typewriter supplies,\u201d he would say as he handed it to Joan, with a\ngrin upon his bulldog features.\nExpecting to find a new ribbon for the machine, she would open it always\nto find that it was candy.\n\u201cAren\u2019t you a typewriter?\u201d he would explain, amused at his own joke. He\nwas always surprised to realize that she could type.\nJoan would pass the candy all around, to the girls in the front office,\nto the business staff and to the men out back. Dummy always wrote a\npolite \u201cThank you\u201d on his pad, when he took a piece, and always gave her\na smile.\nPoor old Dummy, he might seem innocent enough, as Mr. Johnson appeared\nto believe, but it was he, Joan was sure, who had changed the name and\naddress on the story she had typed for Tim his second day at the\n_Journal_ and had brought about all the trouble. For Tim was still on\ntrial.\nTim\u2019s probation brought one good result, however. He was working harder\nthan ever and turning in more and better copy, and at the end of the\nweek he got his first real assignment.\nCHAPTER VII\nCHUB GETS AN IDEA\nJoan happened to be in the _Journal_ office that morning when Tim got\nthe assignment.\n\u201cMartin, get a picture of this girl that\u2019s going to marry Judge Hudson,\u201d\nEditor Nixon said over his red date book. \u201cWe\u2019ll use it to-morrow. Now,\ndon\u2019t fall down on this.\u201d\nTim reddened a bit at this, but he said nothing. He had never been sent\nout after a bride\u2019s picture before. But Joan guessed that Editor Nixon\nwas giving him an opportunity to retrieve himself for the mistakes.\nTherefore, she knew immediately that he simply must get that picture.\nMiss Betty had sent for Joan to help her check up some lists of wedding\nguests that morning. Her part was to verify the names and initials by\nlooking them up in the city directory. The _Journal_ was \u201cdeath on\naccuracy,\u201d as Tim often said.\n\u201cThe Judge is marrying that Miss Edith King,\u201d Miss Betty told her.\n\u201cTim\u2019s a whiz if he gets that picture. The Kings pride themselves on\ntheir modesty, I guess. Anyway, I\u2019ve been squelched by some of the best\npeople, but never quite so thoroughly as when Mrs. King made up her\ndaughter\u2019s mind that they didn\u2019t want her picture in the paper.\u201d\nTim had heard part of Miss Betty\u2019s conversation and came over. \u201cI\nsuppose I might ask the Judge for his girl\u2019s picture.\u201d\n\u201cI did,\u201d replied the society editor, \u201cwith my most winning smile. Told\nhim what a wonderful girl he was marrying and all that. She\u2019s got him\nunder her thumb. He admitted he had dozens of pictures of his fianc\u00e9e,\nbut he doesn\u2019t dare let us have one. \u2018She told me not to.\u2019 When an\nengaged man says that, you might as well give up.\u201d\nJoan knew Judge Hudson, or \u201cJudge Hal\u201d as he was called. He was the\nyoungest judge in the municipal court, and every one liked him.\nCookie looked up from his desk in the corner. He was always willing to\nhelp a new man. \u201cDon\u2019t give up before you try, Tim,\u201d he warned now.\n\u201cWhen the editor says get something, he doesn\u2019t mean for you to come\nback empty-handed.\u201d\n\u201cI told Lefty to snap her getting into her car some time, if he gets a\nchance,\u201d stated Miss Betty.\n\u201cIt\u2019s up to me to round up the studios.\u201d Tim reached for his hat.\nIt made no difference whether a person wanted his picture in the paper\nor not. If the _Journal_ thought it should go in, in it went. The\nphotographers in town helped out, too. They couldn\u2019t offer a picture\nwithout the customer\u2019s consent, of course, but they could and did permit\nthe reporters to look over their records, and, when they found what they\nwanted, would make a proof of it for the paper\u2014in return for many favors\nin the way of advertising \u201creaders\u201d or \u201cpuffs,\u201d little squibs in the\nsocial column that looked like real bits of news. The paper guaranteed\nthe photographers would be protected in event of trouble.\nThis part of the newspaper game had always worried Joan a bit, but Chub,\nthe office boy, had told her, \u201cUgh, half the time when folks say no,\nthey really mean yes, and are tickled pink when the picture comes out.\nAnyway, after the picture\u2019s been published, they can\u2019t do anything.\nBesides, what\u2019d a newspaper be without pictures?\u201d\nEven Miss Betty stood up for the newspaper ethics.\n\u201cIf people would only understand,\u201d sighed Cookie, \u201cthat a reporter is a\nreasonable creature. It would not hurt that Miss King to give us just\none picture, and then every one would be happy. Reporters will always\nplay fair if treated right. People show their true character by the way\nthey react to a newspaper inquiry,\u201d he went on; \u201cif they\u2019re snobs, it\ncomes out. A newspaper is a public institution and folks should help\nreporters instead of hindering them.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m glad he didn\u2019t give me that assignment,\u201d rejoiced the society\neditor, now. \u201cI\u2019ll be glad when June is over. I\u2019ve described so many\nbridal costumes, I\u2019ve used up all the adjectives in my Roget\u2019s\n_Thesaurus_. If you ever get married, Jo, take pity on the poor society\neditor and don\u2019t do it in June.\u201d\nAt lunch time, Tim came home, frowning and silent. It was not until he\nstarted on his dessert, which was his favorite apple cake, that Joan\ndared ask him how things had gone that morning.\n\u201cWent to the three best studios,\u201d he mumbled.\n\u201cAnd none of them had Miss King\u2019s picture?\u201d she asked, and then realized\nhow silly that was, because if Tim had the photo, he wouldn\u2019t be so\ngrumpy-looking.\n\u201cI did find one place where she\u2019d had a picture taken,\u201d Tim said. \u201cBut\nit didn\u2019t do me any good. I found her name on the list at Barton\u2019s\nstudio, for back a couple of years. But when Mr. Barton went to his\nfiles to look up the plate to make me a proof\u2014he files \u2019em by years,\nsee?\u2014he found that that was the year his studio was damaged by fire, and\nall the plates ruined.\u201d\n\u201cOh, Tim!\u201d Joan knew how tragic it was. \u201cBut can\u2019t you find any one who\nhas a picture of Miss King?\u201d\n\u201cFat chance she hasn\u2019t posted all her friends not to give the _Journal_\nher picture since she\u2019s so dead set against it.\u201d Tim jabbed savagely at\nthe second piece of cake.\nWhen Tim had finished his lunch, Joan made up her mind to go over to the\n_Journal_ office. Maybe Miss Betty would have some suggestion to offer\nin this dilemma. If only she could really help Tim!\nMother saw her hurrying through the dish-washing and knew why.\n\u201cJoan, I do wish you would be like other girls,\u201d she complained, \u201cand\nsit down once in a while with a bit of embroidery, instead of traipsing\naround after Tim.\u201d\n\u201cGirls don\u2019t do that any more, Mother, unless they\u2019re going to take up\nembroidery as a career,\u201d Joan laughed. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not. I\u2019m going to be a\nreporter like Miss Betty and I have to learn all I can about the job, to\nbe ready. There\u2019s a girl in my class who\u2019s going to be an architect.\nShe\u2019s taking lessons, already. Her father\u2019s one, and he\u2019s teaching her.\u201d\nTim was scowling and talking to Miss Betty when Joan reached the\n_Journal_ office. \u201cThe chief\u2019s on his ear about that King girl\u2019s\npicture,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve been to _every_ studio in town, and I can\u2019t get\nit. And I\u2019m afraid the _Star_ will come out with it.\u201d\n\u201cGosh!\u201d ejaculated Miss Betty. \u201cMunicipal court judges would stay\nbachelors, if they knew how much trouble their modest, retiring\nbrides-to-be made us.\u201d\n\u201cIsn\u2019t there _any_ way to get it?\u201d Joan appealed to Miss Betty.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d the society editor answered, as her fingers pounded out\nwrite-ups of social functions. \u201cI don\u2019t believe Tim can get that picture\nanyway, short of going over to the King home and snatching it off the\nmantel.\u201d\n\u201cOh, is there one on their mantel?\u201d\nMiss Betty laughed at her eagerness. \u201cThere is. I saw it with my own two\neyes when I went there to cover the announcement tea last week. The tea\ntable was right in front of the fireplace, so that\u2019s where I parked,\nhaving had no lunch that day, and the caterer behind the table mistaking\nme for one of Plainfield\u2019s sub-debs. That\u2019s how I happened to notice the\npicture. I was tempted to grab it then.\u201d\nMiss Betty was joking, most likely, but Joan noticed that Chub was\nlistening, intently, too.\n\u201cI don\u2019t suppose it would do any good to ask the Judge again,\u201d said Tim.\n\u201cLet me ask him,\u201d begged Joan. \u201cI\u2019ll coax so hard.\u201d\n\u201cWell, no harm for the kid to try, I guess.\u201d\nJoan started off to Plainfield\u2019s weather-beaten city hall, and found\nJudge Hal in his office, with his hat on and a briefcase under his arm.\nHe was fumbling on his desk, among the papers.\n\u201cI\u2019m from the _Journal_,\u201d she explained.\nThe judge looked at her. \u201cNew office girl?\u201d\n\u201cWell, sort of....\u201d she answered. After all, wasn\u2019t she?\n\u201cHere, then,\u201d he thrust some papers into her hand. \u201cI\u2019m glad you came.\nYou look more reliable than that red-headed imp. Here\u2019s the stuff the\n_Journal_ wanted about that case.\u201d\nJoan took them. \u201cBut I wanted to ask you about Miss King\u2019s picture?\nCouldn\u2019t you let me have one? It\u2019d be such a favor, and would help my\nbrother so much. He\u2019s the cub reporter.\u201d\nThe judge stared. \u201cMiss King\u2019s picture?\u201d he repeated, and he seemed\ncross. \u201cWell, I should say not. You\u2019re the second one that\u2019s asked for\nthat to-day. Some young upstart from the _Star_ was bothering me about\nit, too. Miss King\u2019s shy and retiring,\u201d he interrupted, \u201cand doesn\u2019t\nlike publicity.\u201d\n\u201cBut she ought to like it,\u201d Joan told him almost tearfully. \u201cIf she\u2019s\ngoing to marry a young judge. You\u2019ll need lots of publicity and the\nsupport of the paper. Every time her picture\u2019s in the paper, it\u2019ll help\nyou.\u201d\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d The judge was waving his hat and briefcase at her. \u201cI\u2019m in a\nfrightful hurry, dashing to make a train. Why should they want that\npicture so much? Why all the interest in _us_?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I don\u2019t know,\u201d Joan snapped, and wondered what in the world\nmade her speak so rudely. Probably it was the sting of disappointment.\nThen, too, there was the added anxiety of the knowledge that the _Star_\nwas after the picture, too. Oh, the _Journal_ mustn\u2019t be beaten! \u201cI\ndon\u2019t know why Plainfield is so interested. For all _I_ care you can\nmarry as many girls as you please. But the people are interested, and my\npaper gives \u2019em what they want. And they want that picture.\u201d\nJoan was flinging her remarks after the judge, as she followed him\nacross the room, for he was hurrying off, now.\nJoan reached the corridor just in time to see the elevator flattening\nout its iron gates with judge and briefcase inside. He was gone!\nWell, she\u2019d take the papers he had given her back to the _Journal_\noffice, and then she\u2019d think up some way to get the picture of Miss\nKing. Instead of being stumped by the judge\u2019s curt refusal, she was now\nall the more determined to get it.\nShe left the papers with Chub, and since the staff seemed busy, she went\non home and started weeding the zinnia bed. She could think better if\nshe were doing something. She rather liked weeding the garden,\nespecially the flowers on the _Journal_ side of the house, for then she\ncould watch all the excitement that went on over there and not miss\nanything. The zinnias, being on that side, always received extra\nattention. It was shady there now, too. She _had_ to help Tim. He\nmustn\u2019t fail\u2014not after that other mistake he had really made. Oh, it\nseemed as though he were hoodooed. But this trouble could not be blamed\nupon any one. Not even the mysterious Dummy could have caused this.\nWas Tim going to be a good reporter, after all? Daddy had had strong\nideas on what kind of a person was cut out for a reporter. Tim seemed to\nlike sports. Perhaps he should have tried to be a coach or something,\ninstead of a reporter.\nTim simply had to get that picture somehow. If only Editor Nixon hadn\u2019t\nsaid, \u201cDon\u2019t fall down on this,\u201d it wouldn\u2019t be so bad. He must think\nthat Tim was not doing his best, after all. That\u2019s why he had given him\nthe hard assignment. If she could get that picture, then Tim would have\nto admit she was a real help. Besides, the editor expected the reporters\nto let nothing short of accident or death keep them from fulfilling an\nassignment.\nJust then, the Doughnut Woman came around the house toward the kitchen\ndoor. \u201cIs your ma to home, Joan?\u201d\nThe Doughnut Woman came to the house every Wednesday. She had been\ncoming for years. Her basket was faintly stained with grease and smelled\nsweetly of warm, powdered sugar. Mother always bought a dozen doughnuts\nevery Wednesday, because Tim liked them and because she felt sorry for\nthe Doughnut Woman. She had pathetic brown eyes and wore the most\noutlandish clothes. To-day, hot as it was, she was wearing a green plaid\nsilk blouse and a black skirt. A wide sailor hat and flat-heeled shoes\ncompleted her costume.\n\u201cMother\u2019s taking a little nap,\u201d Joan told her. \u201cBut she left the\ndoughnut money. I\u2019ll get it.\u201d\nWhen she came back, there was Chub parked on the kitchen steps. \u201cI saw\nthe doughnuts and came on over,\u201d he explained. \u201cThought I heard you call\nme.\u201d\nJoan laughed. He hadn\u2019t thought so at all, but he was welcome. Mother\nnever cared if she gave Chub a doughnut or so. It always amused Mother\nthat Chub admired Tim so much.\n\u201cNow don\u2019t you two go eat \u2019em all up before your brother comes home.\u201d\nThe Doughnut Woman handed Joan one of the paper bags from her basket.\n\u201cYou know he does dote on my doughnuts. Well, I use the best of\neverything in them. You could feed my doughnuts to a baby. They wouldn\u2019t\nhurt it.\u201d\n\u201cThey sure are good.\u201d Chub bit into one Joan offered him and made a\nsugar mustache upon his lips. He was eyeing the Doughnut Woman over the\nsugar morsel.\n\u201cTell your ma I hope she gets a good rest. I\u2019m glad she don\u2019t have to\npeddle doughnuts the way I do, when the days is so hot,\u201d said the\nDoughnut Woman as she took her leave.\nThe two watched her around the house. \u201cIsn\u2019t she a scream?\u201d asked Joan.\n\u201cShe looks like some of the pictures in the files of the _Journal_\nfifteen years ago. Mother has a blouse like that in the attic, only it\u2019s\neven worse looking because it\u2019s red.\u201d\n\u201cHas she?\u201d Chub asked. \u201cDo you suppose you could find it for me\u2014an\noutfit like that? I\u2019d like to have it ready, in case I needed it some\ntime. In case I wanted to fool people again the way I did last April\nFool\u2019s Day, remember?\u201d\nJoan did. She and Amy had been invited to a party given by one of their\nclassmates. Chub had offered to escort them there and had arranged to\nmeet them on a certain corner. When Joan and Amy reached the place,\nthere was no one there under the dim street light but a dumpy colored\nwoman, with a basket on her arm, bent over what appeared to be a thick\nstick. There the two girls had waited, with increasing annoyance, for\nChub who had not appeared at the end of twenty minutes. In no uncertain\nwords they said exactly what they thought of a boy who would treat two\ngirls like that. Finally, almost with tears of vexation in their eyes,\nthey decided to hail the next street car and go to the party alone and\nunescorted.\nHardly had they mounted the car steps than the colored woman came\nhobbling after them, screaming, \u201cHey, wait for me!\u201d She picked up her\nskirts, displaying two legs in knickers and boyish hose and shoes, and\nran to the car. In the glare of the lighted street car, they saw a rim\nof red hair peeping under the bandanna when the woman approached. It was\nChub, ready with nickels to pay their fares. The stick he had been\nleaning on was nothing but a ball bat. He had been particularly elated\nat having fooled Amy.\n\u201cBut, Chub,\u201d Joan objected now, \u201cit\u2019s suffocating in the attic.\u201d\n\u201cOh, come on, be a sport,\u201d he pleaded; \u201cI want to assemble my ensemble\nfor Hallowe\u2019en.\u201d\n\u201cWell, all right,\u201d she gave in. The attic was so hot she stayed there\nonly long enough to yank the red silk blouse and other things out of the\ntrunks. She found an old tweed skirt of mother\u2019s and a panama hat that\nTim had discarded. The skirt was too small in the waist for Chub, but\nthey made it fit with a big safety pin. It reached to his ankles. The\npanama hat brim came down over his eyes. His own dusty brown oxfords\ngave just the right effect. As a final touch, Joan, really interested\nnow, added a pair of shell-rimmed glasses that Tim had once worn to a\nmovie party when he had assumed the role of Harold Lloyd.\n\u201cIt\u2019s perfect, Chub,\u201d she giggled. \u201cWait till I get Mother\u2019s covered\nbasket, and you\u2019ll look exactly like the Doughnut Woman.\u201d\nShe found the basket in the pantry, and Chub put the rest of the\ndoughnuts in the bag to give it a bit of reality.\n\u201cGuess I\u2019ll go over to the office and give the folks a laugh,\u201d he\ndecided. \u201cYou stay here or they\u2019ll guess who I am.\u201d\nJoan turned again to her weeding and her thoughts. How could she get\nthat picture for Tim? Betty\u2019s joking remark about snatching the picture\noff the mantel came to her now, as she pulled viciously at the weeds.\nRemembering Cookie\u2019s story\u2014how he had been forced to play the part of\nchore boy to get that story of the wedding in the East\u2014she wondered\nwhether she might not go to the King home on some pretense and get the\npicture, returning it after it had been in the paper. If this were a\nmovie, now, she\u2019d dress up as a dainty little maid with cap and apron\nand get a job in the King household and then disappear with the picture.\nBut she had to do something _quick_!\nThe idea of a disguise seemed so safe. But maids in caps and aprons did\nnot walk the streets in Plainfield. Anyway, she wouldn\u2019t really have the\nnerve to go herself, though, and there was no one she could send on such\nan errand. Chub would be willing enough, but he would only bungle\nthings.\nShe looked up and saw Chub still standing at the sidewalk in front of\nher home. He hadn\u2019t gone to the _Journal_ office, but was just standing\nthere. Now, he was starting, slowly because of the long skirt, but he\nwas going north instead of over to the _Journal_. Where could he be\ngoing in that garb?\nSuddenly she realized that his mind had been working along the same\nlines as her own. She was sure just where Chub was going and why\u2014he was\ngoing after that picture. It was just like him, and he, too, wanted to\nhelp Tim.\nOh, she shouldn\u2019t let him. Why, that was a terrible thing, even for a\nmischievous office boy to do.\n\u201cChub,\u201d she called, \u201cyou better come back here.\u201d\nBut the strangely attired figure hurried on. \u201cWell, let him go,\u201d thought\nJoan. \u201cMaybe he won\u2019t get the picture after all, but if he does it\u2019ll be\nwonderful.\u201d She hopped up, deciding, \u201cI\u2019ll just trail along after him.\u201d\nWhy, this was even more thrilling than the mystery about Dummy.\nCHAPTER VIII\nCHUB TAKES A HAND\nAnd as for Chub\u2014\nHe had had no idea of going over to the _Journal_ office and showing\noff. He hadn\u2019t known precisely how else to get away from Joan, and that\nhad been as good a way as any. Not that he would really have minded\nconfiding his scheme to her. She was a good sport, and usually as much\nfun as a boy. But somehow he felt in his bones that she might object,\nand when Joan felt strongly about anything, she could lay down the law\nto him and be as bossy as her friend, Amy. He had decided not to give\nher the opportunity. After it was all over and he had the picture safely\nin his hands, that was time enough to tell her how he had come by it.\nIt was the old Doughnut Woman who\u2019d given him the idea of getting into\nthe King home, disguised, and capturing the picture. He had nearly told\nJoan his plan, but hesitated, realizing what a \u201cstickler\u201d for honesty\nshe was.\nNo, this was something Joan had better not get mixed up with. Girls\ncouldn\u2019t do things like this; things like masquerading and snatching\nthings off people\u2019s mantels were for men to do. Chub had come to the\n_Journal_ office, full of stories he had read about newspaper reporters.\nOf course, he supposed things like that didn\u2019t really happen in real\nlife, though old Cookie was always saying stranger things happened than\nwere ever read in books. Hadn\u2019t Cookie played the r\u00f4le of chore boy in\norder to get that story when he was on the _New York Banner_? And the\nsecret about Dummy and the mysterious mistakes\u2014gosh, now, that\u2019d make a\nswell detective story.\nHe had walked as slowly as possible around the house and at Joan\u2019s front\nsteps his courage had almost given out. Suppose one of the staff should\nsee him and recognize him even in this get-up! It was one thing to dress\nup like an old colored mammy with face black beyond recognition and to\nstand on a half-dim street corner at night for a joke on Joan and Amy.\nThis was different. It was broad daylight. He began to feel just a\nlittle foolish in the outfit. Besides, the skirt was hot and scratchy.\nPerhaps he oughtn\u2019t to go. But\u2014he wanted to for Tim. He adored Joan\u2019s\nbrother.\nHe stood at the sidewalk, almost ready to turn back, when he caught\nJoan\u2019s eyes upon him. He knew that she suspected he was up to something,\nbut he did not dream she had really guessed his secret. That decided\nhim, if she was going to start bossing him, that this was his clew to do\nexactly as he pleased. He turned and hurried down the street toward the\nNorth Side. Joan wasn\u2019t going to tell him what he could and could not\ndo.\nAnyway, even if some of the _Journal_ people did see him from the\nwindows, they would think him only some sort of peddler. He looked a\nlittle like a gypsy, he reflected.\nSlowly he made his way along North Market Street. After he had passed\nseveral pedestrians who cast only casual glances in his direction, he\nfelt better and began to walk more confidently. At one corner, just\nbefore he crossed the bridge, right in front of the Plainfield jail, he\nmet Amy but she did not know him. He could not stifle a giggle. It was a\nsilly sounding giggle. Perhaps people would think he was a crazy person.\nAmy was hurrying along, with a rolled-up something under her arm that he\nguessed was her bathing suit. For all her being a perfect lady, Amy was\na good swimmer, and Chub had to admire her for that. Otherwise, he\nthought her a total loss and wondered that Joan tolerated her. Would she\nbe surprised if she knew who he was? What was she looking so scared\nabout, anyway? Was she scared of him in this rakish get-up? Then he\nrecalled that Amy always dreaded to pass the jail. Gosh, she sure was a\nsimp. Why, he bet Joan would just as soon go right up and interview one\nof the jailbirds. Joan was a good sport.\nHow different everything looked when you were pretending to be some one\nelse. It was almost as though he were walking down a strange street in a\nstrange city.\nOver the bridge, the residential part of Market Street began. Several\nmore blocks, then around a corner and there on Maple Street was the King\nhome, a big yellow house with a wide porch across the front, set up on a\nterrace. The street was shady and deserted. Except for Amy, he had not\nmet any one he knew. It hadn\u2019t been so bad, and soon he would have the\npicture in his hands. Wouldn\u2019t Joan be surprised, and Tim\u2014just think how\npleased he\u2019d be to have the office boy risk everything for him like\nthis.\nHe had his plan all mapped out. He\u2019d go to the front door, and boldly\nask whether doughnuts were wanted. It would probably be answered by a\nmaid and when she went to ask Mrs. King about the doughnuts, Chub would\nseize the picture. If she bought the doughnuts right away, why, Chub\u2019d\nsell her the solitary bagful, with the short dozen in it that was in his\nbasket, and would manage some way to get into the house.\nUp the steps and across the porch. Masquerading was fun, after you got\nused to it. But the long skirt was swelteringly hot. The panama hat was\ntight and hurt him where the bows of the spectacles pressed into his\nhead.\nNo one answered his ring right away, so Chub peeped through the door. It\nopened into the living room, which looked like a furniture ad. Just\nacross the room was a red brick fireplace. Chub pressed his face closer\ntill the spectacles clinked against the glass. There was a picture of a\ngirl on the fireplace. Just as Miss Betty had said. He had been rather\nanxious for fear she had been joking. The _Journal_ folks did joke so\nmuch you never could tell when they weren\u2019t stringing you.\nHe waited and then pressed the bell again\u2014hard. Perhaps it didn\u2019t ring\nunless you pressed it very hard.\nSome one came across the room and the door was opened suddenly. It was a\nmaid, big and fat and as black as the ink he used to put on the\nadvertising roller. She almost filled the doorway. It would be hard to\npass her.\n\u201cD-do you want any doughnuts?\u201d Chub\u2019s chin quivered now when he began to\nspeak, in spite of himself.\nThe colored woman eyed him, and took in every detail from the glasses\ndown to the sport hose and oxfords. \u201cWhat you mean, ring ma do\u2019bell like\ndat?\u201d\n\u201cWhy\u2014I thought maybe it was broken,\u201d Chub explained.\n\u201cHit will be broken, if you keep on ringing hit like dat,\u201d she snapped.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the idea of ringing hit dat way?\u201d\nChub remembered his character. \u201cDo you want some doughnuts? Nice, fresh\ndoughnuts, only thirty cents a dozen.\u201d\n\u201cNo, we don\u2019t.\u201d The door began to shut.\n\u201cI use the best of everything in them,\u201d Chub persisted, recalling the\nDoughnut Woman\u2019s chatter. \u201cYou can feed them to the baby.\u201d\n\u201cHain\u2019t got no baby,\u201d was the answer. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t feed \u2019em to no dog.\u201d\nSomehow, she reminded Chub so much of himself, as he had looked and\nacted April Fool\u2019s Day, that he almost laughed. The door began again to\nclose.\nChub, frantic that his plan was failing when he was this near his goal,\nput one sturdy oxford in the door and held it open. He couldn\u2019t give up,\nnow. \u201cJust go ask the lady of the house if she\u2019d like some nice, fresh\ndoughnuts, my good woman.\u201d He had heard that phrase, \u201cmy good woman,\u201d on\nthe stage, and thought it would impress the maid.\nHe had to get that picture!\n\u201cMa name\u2019s Sarah, and not \u2018my good woman\u2019 like dat. I ain\u2019t aiming to\nbudge. I done told you, we don\u2019t want none of your doughnuts.\u201d She began\nmumbling under her breath again.\nWhat should he do? Ideas, usually so ready for him in an emergency,\nseemed to have left him stranded, now. Then he had a thought. \u201cBut\nyou\u2019re new here, aren\u2019t you?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cRight new,\u201d Sarah admitted. \u201cBut what\u2019s dat to you?\u201d\n\u201cWell, Mrs. King\u2019s been getting doughnuts for years and years,\u201d Chub\nrattled on, with a sick smile. \u201cI\u2019m just sure she wants them. Just ask\nher, will you?\u201d\nSarah was unconvinced, but she edged a bit, wheeled around in the\ndoorway and waddled toward the stairs at the end of the room.\nChub dashed to the fireplace, and grabbed the picture. There was only\none there. He was out of the house like a flash, his tweed skirt\nflapping against his legs, the bag of doughnuts rattling around in the\nbasket.\n\u201cTell Mrs. King I had to have this, but I\u2019ll send it back all right,\u201d he\ncalled over his shoulder in panting gasps, as he hurried down the steps\nto the sidewalk.\nFat Sarah loomed in the doorway, calling wild words. Now she was\nstarting down the steps after Chub, wheezing and groaning and waving her\npink-palmed black hands.\nShe was coming down the sidewalk! \u201cStop, thief! Robber! Help! Murder!\u201d\nChub was glad that the street was deserted and that he was a good\nrunner. He picked up the tweed skirt and went faster.\nBlack Sarah followed to the corner, but Chub was around it and down an\nalley by that time. He could outrun Sarah, even in a gunny sack, he was\nsure. Clutching the picture in one hand, the basket bouncing on his\nother arm, he trotted down the alleys parallel to Market Street.\nSuddenly his skirt seemed to be grabbing him about the ankles, getting\nlonger and longer. He transferred the picture to his other hand, and\nfelt at the back of the skirt. The pin was gone, and the skirt was\ncoming off. Chub let it fall to the ground, stepping out of it as he\nran, kicking it ahead with one foot and catching it up in his arms,\nwithout slacking his speed. He probably looked crazier than ever now,\nwith his short knickers and that red blouse. Just before the last alley\nbrought him to the bridge, where he would have to cross into\nPlainfield\u2019s business section, he decided to discard his disguise right\nthere. He peeled off the blouse, flipped off the glasses, and pulled off\nthe hat. Then he squeezed everything into the basket. He put the picture\ninside, too, for safekeeping.\nChub was so elated over his success that he felt like racing when he\ncame out on the street again. It was so good to be free of those\ncumbersome old clothes, too. At the bridge, he passed two men talking\ntogether.\n\u201cThey\u2019re saying up the street that the King home has just been robbed,\u201d\none of them said.\nChub shuddered as he hurried on. He supposed he was a thief. But he was\nmerely borrowing the picture for the paper. He would have it back on the\nKing fireplace, safe and sound, to-morrow. He\u2019d take it back himself.\nNo, maybe Sarah would recognize him even without his disguise and would\nwallop him with her mighty black arm. She was capable of anything. He\u2019d\nsend it back by a regular messenger.\n\u201cYoo-whoo! Chub, wait!\u201d He heard a call and looked back over his\nshoulder. Joan was coming toward him.\nHidden behind a tree, Joan had watched Chub\u2019s encounter with Sarah,\nthough she could not hear their conversation. When he had disappeared\ndown an alley, she had started on back home, so she was surprised to see\nhim hurrying along ahead of her when she reached the bridge. She knew he\nhad the picture, for she had seen it in his hand when he emerged down\nthe King steps, tripping over the tweed skirt. But he refused to show it\nto her until they reached her own yard, when he transferred the basket\nand its contents to her.\nTim was at the editor\u2019s desk when she and Chub came into the office.\n\u201cThink we\u2019re getting out a weekly?\u201d the editor was bawling. \u201cIs this all\nthe copy you can turn in?\u201d\n\u201cI would have had more,\u201d Tim defended himself. \u201cBut I spent most of the\nday hunting for the King girl\u2019s picture.\u201d\n\u201cWhere is it?\u201d\n\u201cI haven\u2019t it,\u201d Tim answered and added, \u201cyet.\u201d\nJoan wished they could go over now, but she knew Tim would be provoked\nif Editor Nixon found out they had hunted for the picture. They could do\nnothing but stand there in the doorway and listen.\n\u201cIt\u2019s got to be in the hands of the engraver by ten in the morning,\u201d the\neditor said. \u201cSo get a wiggle on, Martin.\u201d\nThey reached Tim\u2019s desk before he did, and held out the picture.\n\u201cOh, fine!\u201d Tim did not even say thank you, but the grateful look on his\nface repaid them for all their trouble. He went back to the editor\u2019s\ndesk with the picture.\n\u201cGood for you, Martin!\u201d shouted the editor. \u201cI didn\u2019t believe anybody\ncould get that picture!\u201d He looked at it. \u201cYes, that\u2019s the girl, all\nright. Looks a bit like Jacqueline Joyce, the screen star, doesn\u2019t it,\nBetty?\u201d\nThe society editor looked at it. \u201cA little,\u201d she agreed. \u201cSeems to me\nI\u2019ve heard people say that.\u201d\nThe _Star_ didn\u2019t have the picture, after all. After the _Journal_ was\nout, next afternoon, Joan started over to meet Miss Betty, who was going\nto treat her at the tea room for helping her yesterday morning. The\n_Journal_ staff often went there between meals, and it somehow gave Joan\na deliciously grown-up feeling. Mother, scandalized at the idea, had\nsaid, \u201cThere\u2019s toast left from breakfast and plenty of fresh fruit, if\nyou\u2019re really hungry.\u201d Joan had pointed out, \u201cIt isn\u2019t that, Mother. I\njust want to eat _out_.\u201d\nBesides, she wanted to confide to Miss Betty all about yesterday and to\nask her advice about the best method of returning the picture.\nWhen she entered the front office she found Chub, rather pale beneath\nhis freckles, laughing away with Gertie, the ad girl.\n\u201cOh, gee, Jo, you\u2019re just about two minutes too late,\u201d he grinned. \u201cYou\nmissed it.\u201d\n\u201cWhat?\u201d\n\u201cThe grand finale to the King act,\u201d he went on. \u201cMamma King and Daughter\nKing\u2014I suppose I should call them the Queen and the Princess\u2014just left\nhere, with....\u201d\n\u201cWith the Betrothed Knight,\u201d added Gertie.\n\u201cThe Kings?\u201d Joan\u2019s mind groped. \u201cWas she provoked about the picture?\u201d\n\u201cWell, she was put out,\u201d admitted Chub. \u201cI thought Tim and me\u2019d both\nlose our jobs, immediately, if not sooner. But she never got to see Nix,\nand everything\u2019s O.K. now. You see, it just happened that the _Journal_\ncame out with the wrong picture. That was a picture of Jacqueline Joyce\nthat we\u2014we came across. Mamma King was fit to be tied. But I saved the\nday. I told \u2019em how we wanted to help the cub reporter, and how when an\neditor says get it, he doesn\u2019t mean you to come back empty-handed.\u201d\n\u201cThe wrong picture!\u201d Joan felt a little sick.\n\u201cChub apologized all over the place, \u2019n\u2019 everything,\u201d put in Gertie,\n\u201cbut he couldn\u2019t make an impression until _he_ came in\u2014\u201d\n\u201cJudge Hal,\u201d Chub explained. \u201cHe was just back from Dayton and found out\nthey were down here. Hadn\u2019t seen the picture, but only laughed about it,\neven when I had to admit that I was the \u2018queer old character\u2019 who Mrs.\nKing said hooked it off the mantel. It seems he has a soft spot in his\nheart for reporters, \u2019cause he used to be editor of his college mag.,\nand knows how mistakes happen. He was a prince, all right! He said _you_\njumped all over him yesterday and he\u2019d thought over all you\u2019d said, and\ndecided you were right, and that it was mostly their own fault for not\nletting the paper have the picture. Well, somehow or other, _he_\npacified them and took \u2019em home.\u201d\nAnd they had tried so hard to help Tim. But to get out of it all so\nnicely!\n\u201cHe even got her to promise to give us her latest picture,\u201d he went on.\n\u201cHe said you were such a spunky kid asking for it, and if no one knew\nanything but them, it didn\u2019t need to be mentioned that the wrong picture\nwas used. They\u2019re both going to pose for Lefty, this afternoon, they\npromised.\u201d\nBoth of them! A special photo with \u201c... by the Staff Photographer\u201d\nprinted underneath. That would be a real scoop for the _Journal_.\nUsually, the society people of Plainfield would smash Lefty\u2019s camera\nrather than pose before it.\nGertie was busy now, taking an ad for a customer who\u2019d come in. Chub\nwhispered above the thump, thump of the stamp he was marking on the ad\nsheets, \u201cWell, Jo, there\u2019s another mistake we couldn\u2019t blame on Dummy.\nMaybe those others were real ones, too.\u201d\nBut Joan knew that the story she had typed had been changed.\nCHAPTER IX\nA MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE\nTim was being careful these days. His whole job depended on his\naccuracy. The editor had said to Mack when he commissioned the sport\neditor once to read copy, \u201cYou have to watch Martin\u2019s stuff. He\u2019s apt to\nmake mistakes.\u201d\nTim _had_ made but one mistake, though Joan could not prove it. So he\nhad to be extra careful.\nJoan was out in the grassy yard, one morning, playing a game of croquet\nwith Em, the cat. Joan did the playing for both herself and her\nopponent, who stalked about with a very disinterested air. Joan was\nplaying with one eye on the _Journal_ office. Suddenly Chub rapped on\nthe window and called her over.\nWhen she reached the _Journal_ office, Chub was standing outside one of\nthe phone booths, waving the telephone receiver at her. \u201cIt\u2019s for you.\u201d\nJoan went inside the airless booth\u2014still partly filled with smoke\nbecause one of the men of the staff had been in there recently. The\nbooth had penciled numbers all over the woodwork. That list of numbers\nin one corner were those of the undertakers. Tim let her call them once\nin awhile, when he was pretty sure there were no deaths, and had\ninstructed her to call him to the phone if there were any to be\nreported. Joan had learned to know the different voices at the other end\nof each number. She did not like that part of the cub\u2019s job. It seemed\nso cold-blooded to ask, \u201cAnything for the _Journal_?\u201d She was always\nrelieved to have the politely mournful voice say, \u201cNo, nothing to-day.\u201d\n\u201cListen, Jo,\u201d it was Tim at the other end of the wire. His voice sounded\nexcited. \u201cI\u2019m stuck out here in Baiting Town, covering a Lodge picnic,\nand I can\u2019t get back in time. I just realized that I\u2019ve let a mistake go\nthrough. It\u2019s that story about the charity play. I wrote it up from the\ndress rehearsal yesterday morning. It was to come off last night, but\nthe leading lady came down with tonsillitis and it\u2019s been postponed. So\nkill the story for me, won\u2019t you? Grab it off the hook, if it hasn\u2019t\nbeen set.\u201d\nKill it! That had a horrible sound, but that meant only voiding the\nstory\u2014throwing it out. She hoped it hadn\u2019t really got into print, for\nthen they would have to stop the presses. That would be dreadful. Chub\nhad told her once that it cost the _Journal_ a great deal of time,\nexpense and labor to stop the presses. But it would have to be done. The\npaper couldn\u2019t come out with a long story about a play that had not come\noff. Tim had been so proud of that play assignment, too. \u201cGive me about\na column on this,\u201d the editor had said and had consented to Tim\u2019s\nattending the dress rehearsal in order to have the story all set up,\nready to come out on the heels of the performance.\nJoan slammed down the receiver and dashed through the swinging door to\nthe composing room. She went straight to the big hook where the day\u2019s\ncopy hung and began thumbing through it. As she stood there, she became\naware of some sort of confusion going on in the proofreader\u2019s corner. He\nand Mack seemed to be having an argument.\nDummy could argue, though he seldom did. It was too much trouble for any\none to carry on his part in writing. Mack would write something, Dummy\nwould read the pad, and he would write. Mack would write again. Then\nDummy would merely point to an item already written on his pad. This\nseemed to provoke Mack even more, for he would have to write new\narguments.\nJoan had gone through all the stories on the hook and had not found the\none about the charity play. As she started over again to look once more,\nshe glanced back at the two men over in the corner.\nDummy was beginning to write something, asserting whatever it was with\nfierce strokes of his pencil. Mack, reading as Dummy wrote, seemed\ncrosser than ever and grabbed Dummy\u2019s pencil. This infuriated the\nproofreader, and Joan did not wonder. To have his pencil taken away from\nhim like that! Why, that was as if some one seized your tongue and held\nit so you could not speak.\nWell, the story wasn\u2019t here. She\u2019d have to ask Dummy what happened to\nit. Maybe he had not read proof on it yet.\nAs she approached, both men glanced up and dropped their quarrel,\npretending that there had been no argument. Joan was puzzled. Perhaps\nMack had been merely teasing poor old Dummy. But no, the proofreader\u2019s\neyes were hard and glittering with real anger. Joan felt it had been\nmore than a mere bandying of words. Mack strolled off, abruptly,\nsauntering with his important little way, that caused Amy to call him\n\u201chigh hat.\u201d Being on the copy desk once in a while was giving him the\nbig head, Chub said.\nJoan looked at Dummy. He did not look like a villain. However, she felt\nagain as she had when she had discovered his eyes upon her that first\nday Tim was on the paper. What was there peculiar about him? Was it\nshyness or secretiveness?\nHe had regained his pencil now, and Joan borrowed it to write on the\nclean pad sheet that he presented, \u201cWhere is the story about the\ncharity....\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d he wrote without waiting for her to finish. \u201cWhere is it? That\u2019s\nwhat I want to know.\u201d\nThat\u2019s what they had been arguing about, Joan guessed.\n\u201cThe story was wrong\u2014\u201d Joan began.\n\u201cI know it,\u201d Dummy had the pencil again. \u201cI went to the hook to get it\nto keep it out, because another story came through about Miss Florence\nWebb having tonsillitis.\u201d\nJoan was sure he had intended to make changes in one of Tim\u2019s stories.\nBut she did not say or write anything. She was too worried. Had the\nstory gone through? Suddenly, as she stood there, thinking, there\nsounded in her ears a familiar and terrible racket, unearthly and\nunending. The presses were running.\n\u201cStop the presses!\u201d She ran toward the big Goss giant in the pressroom.\nShe could not let that story come out. The _Journal_ would look\nridiculous, printing something that hadn\u2019t happened.\nDummy sensed her words and followed, trying with gestures to soothe her.\nIf she had not known he was a villain, she would have thought him very\nnice. He always treated her as though she were grown up. But she knew he\nreally wanted that story to go through.\nHowever, his glances and gestures were kind enough\u2014as consoling as\nwords. He smiled as she seized one of the damp, fresh papers. What did\nthat smile mean? He was a puzzle.\nJoan opened out the paper, and with the proofreader looking over her\nshoulder, she went through the whole issue, column by column.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t in!\u201d she cried. Tim was safe. By some miracle, the charity\nplay story had been left out. The presses would not have to be stopped,\nafter all. Oh, blessed relief!\nDummy had taken the paper from her limp hand, and was going through it\nagain. Then he shook his head. Was he relieved, too? Or was he sorry\nthat the terrible mistake hadn\u2019t been made? Was he merely jealous of\nTim\u2019s job or was he a spy, as they thought?\nThings looked suspicious, though, she thought. Mack and Dummy had been\narguing about this very story. And where _was_ the story? It seemed to\nhave simply disappeared. She had really no facts to present to Mr.\nJohnson. She\u2019d have to wait and watch some more. She and Chub had been\nso busy chasing that picture of Miss King, working so hard to get it\nthat they very nearly got into hot water because they got the wrong one,\nwhile all the time something really important was brewing right under\ntheir noses here in the back room of the _Journal_.\nJoan, hurrying out to the editorial office to tell Chub the latest\ndetails, brushed past Bossy, who was ambling into the front office with\na bundle of papers on his arm. He was muttering to himself, \u201cQuare\ngoin\u2019s on around heah, dat\u2019s what I say.\u201d\nBossy was always mumbling under his breath, and Joan paid no attention.\nShe had had an inspiration (what she and Amy called a brain throb).\nPerhaps Chub in his eagerness to help Tim had realized the story was\nwrong and had held it from going into the paper. Chub, however, denied\nknowing anything about the mysterious disappearance of the charity play\nstory. His guileless, freckled face helped corroborate his innocence.\nJoan felt he was telling the truth. Chub might be mischievous and full\nof faults, but he did not lie. He listened intently while she told him\nthe latest developments.\nWhen Tim came in, they had to discuss it all over again. He was relieved\nthat the story hadn\u2019t been printed, but he was dumbfounded that it had\ndisappeared right off the hook. \u201cCome on, I\u2019m going to look over the lay\nof the land,\u201d he said to Joan. \u201cI want to get to the bottom of this. It\nsurely looks crooked. Besides, I don\u2019t like to lose that write-up with\nall my carefully phrased compliments for each and every member in the\ncast. I can use it whenever the play does come off.\u201d\nDummy was still in his corner. Although the paper was out, the\nafternoon\u2019s work was not over for the _Journal_ family. No sooner was\none edition out than they went to work assembling news stories and\narticles for the next day\u2019s paper. Not news items, necessarily, mostly\nrewrites and things that had no special time value. The back office\nusually worked, pressmen and all, until four o\u2019clock or after.\nTim satisfied himself that the story was not on the big hook; then he\nwent over to the proofreader\u2019s corner. Joan saw Dummy\u2019s eyes upon them.\n\u201cIt certainly is funny how that story could vanish\u2014\u201d he began.\nJoan wanted him to be careful how he worded his conversation to Dummy,\nlest the proofreader guess himself to be under suspicion. If she said,\n\u201cSh!\u201d he would read her lips and know she was warning her brother to be\non his guard and he might divine that they were suspecting him.\n\u201cOats and beans and barley,\u201d she said, instead. She had never expected\nreally to use that old slogan in a crisis like this, but it came in\nhandy.\nTim stared. Then he understood and stopped speaking. Joan gave him a\nlook that meant, \u201cI\u2019ll explain later.\u201d Tim conducted a cautious, written\nconversation with Dummy but found nothing new about the mystery.\n\u201cHe and Mack were arguing about that story being gone,\u201d Joan told her\nbrother; \u201cthat\u2019s why I didn\u2019t want you to say anything much. He\u2019d read\nyour lips and be warned. See?\u201d\nBut both Dummy and Mack denied any knowledge of the lost story.\n\u201cDummy\u2019s a crackerjack proofreader,\u201d Tim mused, when he and Joan were\nback in the editorial room. \u201cUncle John says it\u2019s really uncanny how\nquick and accurate he is.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s because his speech and hearing are gone,\u201d said Miss Betty. \u201cThe\nother senses become more acute. I read that somewhere.\u201d\n\u201cSounds reasonable,\u201d admitted Tim.\n\u201cBut he hasn\u2019t good sense if he\u2019s been letting mistakes get by him,\u201d\nthought Joan.\n\u201cYe-ah,\u201d put in Chub, \u201cbut that makes it more mysterious why he should\nmake mistakes. Makes me think more than ever that he\u2014\u201d\nJoan punched him to cease speaking. The whole office mustn\u2019t be informed\nthat they were suspecting poor old Dummy.\n\u201cWho is he, anyway?\u201d asked Mack. \u201cWith his gentlemanly manners and his\nquiet ways. Still waters run deep, you know.\u201d\nEvery one admitted Dummy was a mystery.\nWhen the editor heard that the charity play had been postponed, he was\nwild, in the parlance of the office. He cornered Tim. \u201cDidn\u2019t you write\nup a big spiel about it?\u201d he almost groaned. \u201cAnd the play didn\u2019t come\noff.\u201d\n\u201cThe story wasn\u2019t in,\u201d Tim told him.\n\u201cBut I sent it out back early this morning.\u201d\nTim shrugged his innocence. \u201cI know, but it\u2019s\u2014well, it\u2019s _gone_!\u201d\n\u201cA lucky break for you, Tim,\u201d conceded the editor, after he had listened\nto the story. \u201cYou better keep on being careful. One more bust, and out\nyou go. You see, Tim, I like you and all that, but as editor, I\u2019m\nresponsible for everything in the paper. If mistakes are getting into\nthe paper, it\u2019s up to me to see who\u2019s making \u2019em, p.d.q., and get rid of\nhim. I\u2019ve told you all this before.\u201d\nAgain Joan felt like shouting that Tim had made only one mistake\u2014the\nomission of Mrs. McNulty\u2019s and the two other names. Mr. Nixon was\nstubborn. He was convinced that Tim had made the mistakes. He would\nprobably not believe otherwise until she and Chub cleared up the mystery\nand brought the guilty party to him.\nShe and the office boy fairly sleuthed Dummy, hoping to get something to\nreport to Mr. Johnson. On Fourth of July, which was a week later, Joan\nstumbled upon another clew. \u201cThis mystery is getting to be as bad as the\nAlger books,\u201d she thought.\nThe _Journal_ was coming out early that day, with a diminished edition,\nas on the day of the annual outing, in order that the staff might have a\nbit of a holiday. Every one was busy, working extra hard, so busy that\nthey did not even have time to let Joan help. She had stayed home\ninstead, spending the time trying to console Em.\nPoor Em did not like the fireworks. Living right in the heart of the\ntown like this, she suffered agonies. The boys on the street, and the\n_Journal_ newsies, hanging around waiting for the paper to come out,\nwould hurl \u201ctwo-inchers\u201d and snakes-in-the-grass in her direction. She\nwould meow and hiss like a wild thing. Finally, she would flee to a\nsafer place. Now, she had just disappeared through one of the back\nwindows of the _Journal_. Joan knew more newsboys were waiting back\nthere\u2014boys ready to tease the cat. She determined to go after her pet\nand lock her in the house until the terrible\u2014to Em, at least\u2014day of\nindependence was over.\nJoan scurried through the editorial office and through the door to out\nback. She caught sight of Em\u2019s slim, black body scuttling along ahead of\nher over the cement floor, on velvet-soft paws. Now she was under the\nmake-up tables, where the long galleys of print were assembled in a\nnewspaper form.\nThen the cat darted across the composing room and into the pressroom,\nover to the far corner where rolls of paper, as high as Joan herself,\nwere stored. Em, frantic at being chased, even by Joan, played hide and\nseek about the paper rolls. Joan called her endearing names, and finally\nrounding her into a corner, stooped to pick her up. She quieted the cat\nwith reassuring words. Her eyes wandered to the floor. Why, what was\nthat, there in the corner? It looked like yellow copy paper, several\nsheets pasted together, the way Tim did when he wrote a long story. She\nstarted to turn the paper over, idly, with the toe of her oxford, when\nher foot touched something hard underneath. She pushed the paper off\nwith her foot. The thing was long and hard and dirty with dried ink and\ndust; it was a galley of type, still set up in its narrow tin trough.\nNewspapers are notoriously untidy places; still, Joan was surprised to\nfind the set-up type here, for the type was always melted down in a\nlittle furnace and reused in the linotype machines. She was about to go\non when her eyes were attracted by Tim\u2019s name peeping out from a fold of\nthe yellow paper\u2014MARTIN, written all in capitals, the way he always did\nin the upper left-hand corner. It must be one of his stories. She draped\nEm over her arm while she picked up the paper and smoothed it out on her\nknee.\nIt was the story of the charity play, the story that had disappeared off\nthe hook. She examined the galley and found it to be the proof of the\nstory and underneath were the proof sheets, too. No wonder it had not\nbeen in the paper, for every evidence of the story had been hidden away\nhere in this corner. Some one had done it who had not quite dared to\ndestroy the story. It could not have been Chub, trying in his bunglesome\nway to help Tim. She believed firmly in his honesty.\nShe\u2019d save the story for Tim, because he had said he could use it later.\nShe folded it up and tucked it under her middy. The proof sheets and the\ngalley of type she put back into the corner and left.\nChub vowed he knew nothing about the story being hidden. He thought,\nlike Joan, that Dummy must have taken it to put a mistake in it somehow\nand then, panicky at being almost caught, had hidden it away.\nShe vowed then that she would watch developments more closely than ever.\nBut, as it happened, she did not.\nLater, she recalled Cookie\u2019s statement that reporters were always keyed\nup over something, forgetting the big excitement of one assignment when\nthe next one came along. Yes, that was true. Think how wrought up she\nhad been over the deserted children, over Miss King\u2019s picture, and now\nover the charity play story.\n\u201cSomething exciting every day on a newspaper,\u201d Miss Betty told her when\nJoan tried to tell the older girl these thoughts. \u201cYou\u2019d love it,\nSub-Cub.\u201d That was their new name for Joan.\n\u201cI\u2019d like the same thing, over and over,\u201d Tim grumbled, thumping on his\ntypewriter keys. He was peeved that morning because he had been sent to\ninterview a set of six-months-old triplets, whose parents had rented a\ngarage, though they owned no car. They needed the space to park the\ntriple baby carriage, which was too wide to enter their front door!\n\u201cAt least, I mean, I\u2019d like to write about the same _kind_ of thing\nevery day,\u201d he went on. \u201cThen I could work up a style of my own\u2014and\nfollowers.\u201d\n\u201cAh, the lad aspires to be a columnist!\u201d jeered Mack, who had a habit of\noverhearing everything that was said, since his desk was next to Tim\u2019s.\n\u201cNo, not exactly.\u201d Tim was fussed. Why did Mack always tease?\nCookie looked up from his corner. \u201cI had dreams, too, once,\u201d he said.\n\u201cHang on to yours, Tim. They\u2019re mighty precious.\u201d\nCookie was right about forgetting one thrilling story for new interests\nand about there always being something new in newspaper life. Despite\nJoan\u2019s resolve to watch developments, she was so preoccupied for the\nnext few weeks that she hardly thought of Dummy and the mysterious\nmistakes at all.\nFor it was that very Saturday morning that she met Tommy.\nCHAPTER X\nTOMMY-BY-THE-DAY\nJoan met Tommy in the Juvenile Court. She had hesitated outside the big\ndouble doors that Saturday morning, listening to the low hum of voices.\nIt was distressing how shy she was at times. She must get over it, if\nshe were to be a real reporter. Talking to people didn\u2019t bother her, but\nwalking into that room full of strange, staring people did.\nHowever, Judge Grayson merely turned his head for a second and Mrs.\nHollis, the matron of the Detention Home, flashed her a smile of\nrecognition as she stole in, tiptoeing over the creaky boards. Tim was\nin the back of the room, of course. The sight of reporters up in front\nsometimes worried the timid mothers who had come to plead for their\nwayward sons. \u201cOh, all this ain\u2019t going to be in the papers, is it?\u201d\nthey would wail to the judge.\nJoan disregarded her brother\u2019s frown, and slipping into the seat next to\nhim, whispered her message. She had been sent to tell him to come back\nto the _Journal_\u2014a story had broken and he was needed. She had happened\nto be over there, and had volunteered to go for him, after the editor\nhad looked around for the red-headed office boy and found him missing as\nusual, when wanted. Joan was glad she happened to have on a fresh middy.\nTim hadn\u2019t been sent to \u201ccover\u201d the Juvenile Court, for the _Journal_\nhad its own court reporter, but Editor Nixon had wanted to see what Tim\ncould do in the feature-story line. Miss Betty, who sometimes attended\ncourt, was busy with brides this Saturday morning and couldn\u2019t be\nspared.\nNow he shoved his note paper into his pocket and slipped out of the\ncourt room, at Joan\u2019s whisper. He seemed a bit provoked at being called\naway. The half-dozen young boys who were up before Judge Grayson for\nsome deviltry or other, eyed him as he went out. Joan herself, now that\nshe had braved the ordeal of entering the room while the court was in\nsession, decided to stay awhile, and that\u2019s how she met Tommy! Court was\nalways interesting. She hoped that none of these cases would be the kind\nwhen every one under sixteen was asked to leave.\nShe knew all the officials in the Juvenile Court. It was held in a room\nin the county courthouse. Juvenile Court was an informal proceeding,\nwith Judge Grayson talking more like a father than a judge.\nIt wasn\u2019t the usual playing hooky from school case that the judge was\ntaking up now. It wasn\u2019t a boy at all, but a young mother, hugging a\nchubby little boy. He wore blue overalls and looked about two years old.\nThe morning sun slanting in through the long windows made his curls as\nyellow as the _Journal_ copy paper.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t think Tommy would cry so long and hard, Judge! He\u2019s not really\na baby,\u201d the young mother was saying. \u201cOr I never would have left him\nalone in the room. But I had to go to work to earn some money.\u201d\nJudge Grayson\u2019s tired-looking face was kind but stern. \u201cDon\u2019t you know\nthere\u2019s a Day Nursery on Grove Street for just such mothers as you?\u201d\nThe young woman nodded. \u201cI did take him over there when I first came to\nPlainfield two weeks ago and got this job at Davis\u2019. But the lady there\nsaid the nursery was full\u2014the babies were taking naps two and three in a\ncrib, and she couldn\u2019t possibly take Tommy. I couldn\u2019t take him to work\nwith me, and I didn\u2019t dare ask the landlady to keep him so I left him\nalone.\u201d\nJoan knew where the Day Nursery was\u2014just the front room in Mrs. Barnes\u2019\nown home. She and Amy had visited it when it first opened with two\nbabies, not long ago\u2014and now it was filled to overflowing.\n\u201cIf you have no one to care for the boy,\u201d said Judge Grayson in his\nslow, even tones, \u201cI\u2019m afraid he will have to go to the Home till there\nis room in the Day Nursery.\u201d\nTommy\u2019s mother raised eyes dark with fright. \u201cOh, don\u2019t take him away,\nJudge.\u201d She hugged the little fellow harder than ever.\n\u201cI\u2019ll keep him till I find some family to board him by the day,\u201d spoke\nup Mrs. Hollis, briskly. \u201cBut what Plainfield needs is a bigger Day\nNursery.\u201d\nThe next case was called. A big boy of sixteen was up for petty\nthieving. He was sent to \u201cBoyville,\u201d the truant school, and then the\ncourt adjourned for lunch.\nJoan could not get the thought of the too full Day Nursery out of her\nmind, and of poor Tommy locked in a furnished room and howling for his\nmother while she was out at work. Maybe Mother would keep Tommy till\nthere was a vacancy at the Day Nursery. That would be better than having\nhim at the Detention Home with Mrs. Hollis. It would be fun, too. On the\nway out, she edged over toward Mrs. Hollis and spoke to her about it.\nTommy gave her a wobbly smile.\nAt lunch, Joan was too absorbed in the problem of Tommy to take her\nusual interest in Tim\u2019s account of the morning. He had been sent to\nwrite up a butcher shop that had been flooded from a broken water main.\nThat was what the story had been. \u201cNothing at the Juvenile Court,\neither,\u201d he grumbled.\n\u201cOh, yes, there was,\u201d she corrected, as she spread her bread with peanut\nbutter to make a sandwich. Lunch in summer was always a picnicky meal.\n\u201cThat part about the Day Nursery ought to make a dandy feature.\u201d\n\u201cWho\u2019s interested in babies?\u201d Tim always took her suggestions\ndoubtfully. Besides he seemed to be getting all the baby assignments\nlately.\n\u201cWhy, everybody! Except _you_, maybe. Everybody\u2019s been a baby, you see,\u201d\nshe told him.\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d like to hand in something from the Court so Nixon will send\nme again, for listening to cases isn\u2019t a bad way to spend a morning.\u201d\nAfter Tim had hurried off, Joan approached her mother. \u201cCouldn\u2019t we take\nTommy by the day? I asked Mrs. Hollis and she says it\u2019d be much better\nfor him to be here with us, and she says the mother\u2019s willing to pay\nsomething for his care.\u201d\nMrs. Martin considered. \u201cWell, if you want to,\u201d she decided. \u201cIt\u2019s the\nlesser of two evils, I guess. Maybe having Tommy here will keep you from\nrunning over to the _Journal_ so much. But you and Amy will have to take\ncharge of him. I\u2019ve planned to put up preserves this week.\u201d\n\u201cWe will,\u201d promised Joan. Amy would adore to help. Amy didn\u2019t know much\nabout newspapers, but she knew a lot about babies. She had played dolls\ntill she was a big girl. Joan had seldom played with dolls even when she\nwas small. Playing about under the desks in the _Journal_ office, using\nthe discarded bits of lead plate for blocks had been more fun than dolls\nto young Joan. But now\u2014a real baby! She\u2019d like that!\nTommy was installed that very afternoon.\nTommy-by-the-Day, Chub named him when Joan explained to the _Journal_\nstaff through the open windows that Tommy was to be at her house by the\nday, and that his mother would bring him early in the morning and call\nfor him after work.\n\u201cMe, Tommy-by-the-Day\u201d the baby echoed, patting his chest with one pudgy\nhand.\nWhile he took his nap, Joan stole off to the _Journal_, and found Tim\nhard at work over the Day Nursery story. When he was called into one of\nthe phone booths, she read what he had written. His story covered the\nfacts, but it was stiff and journalistic, somehow. It did not give half\nan idea how cute Tommy really was. As she stared at the yellow page,\nJoan was seized with such an amazing inspiration that she trembled, just\nthinking of it. Oh, she wouldn\u2019t _dare_ do it!\nShe would. Tim couldn\u2019t do much but scold. She rolled his story out of\nthe machine, inserted another sheet and began to type. She was not used\nto composing on the typewriter and in her worry and hurry, her fingers\nstruck the wrong keys, but the result was readable. She used all of\nTim\u2019s facts in the story, but by merely changing a phrase of his now and\nthen and sticking in a few of her own, she managed to capture all the\nadorable neediness of that little scamp of a Tommy.\nTim came and shooed her off when she was writing in the middle of it,\nwriting in the heat of creation. Would he be mad?\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the big idea?\u201d he sputtered, but not very loudly, for he was\nreading her story. \u201cOh, I see, well\u2014I may use some of your ideas, kid.\nThey\u2019re not half bad.\u201d But Joan suddenly turned shy and fled. Would he\nkill her?\nWhen Tim came home after work, Tommy was sitting up on the big, red\ndictionary eating his early supper of rice, milk, and applesauce.\n\u201cCute kid.\u201d Tim pretended to punch him in the stomach by way of welcome.\nThen he told her, \u201cNixon said my Day Nursery story was good.\u201d Not a word\nabout her suggestions. But, being Tim, he wouldn\u2019t say anything. \u201cHe\neven said he was going to write his to-morrow\u2019s editorial on the\nsituation, just to see what\u2019ll happen.\u201d\nWhat happened was that the _Journal\u2019s_ readers immediately wrote in on\nthe subject. Some even enclosed checks, but it would take a lot of\nchecks to enlarge the present nursery. New and larger quarters were\nneeded. Since there was no money with which to build, a place would have\nto be found among the present buildings in Plainfield. At the end of a\nweek one letter suggested that the county offer part of the old\nHistorical Building for use as a day nursery.\nThe Historical Building was a landmark and was right across the street\nfrom the _Journal_ office, on the corner. It contained relics from the\ntime when Plainfield was first settled.\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t that be a wonderful place?\u201d asked Miss Betty of the rest\nof the staff later, when Joan was in the _Journal_ office. Every one on\nthe _Journal_ was interested in Tommy, now, and in the nursery problem.\n\u201cIt would. But they can\u2019t get it,\u201d drawled Cookie. \u201cIt\u2019s because of old\nMrs. McNulty. She gave a whole room full of junk to the Historical\nBuilding, and she wants the place used for that and nothing else. They\napproached her on the subject once before, soon as folks saw the Day\nNursery wasn\u2019t going to be big enough. But she put her foot down. The\ncounty doesn\u2019t want to get in bad with her because she\u2019s Hutton\u2019s\nmother-in-law. The county wouldn\u2019t care\u2014hardly any one but country hicks\nor school kids go through the building any more, anyway. But the old\nlady won\u2019t give in....\u201d\n\u201cMaybe if she saw Tommy and realized how much the nursery would mean to\nhim,\u201d proposed Miss Betty. \u201cA concrete case might make all the\ndifference to a person like that, and Tommy\u2019s an appealing kid.\u201d\nYes, Tommy was a darling and he was thriving under the girls\u2019 care. That\nwasn\u2019t vanity. Every one said so. Tommy\u2019s mother told them so every\nevening when she came to \u201ccollect\u201d him. She always looked tired, but as\nsoon as her eyes lighted on her small son, she looked like a different\nperson. \u201cYou girls are giving him wonderful care,\u201d she had told them\nmore than once in the short time they had had him. He was getting\nplumper and healthier every day.\n\u201cI believe I will take him round to Mrs. McNulty\u2019s,\u201d Joan determined\nnow. \u201cAnd let him plead his own case.\u201d She turned and started home.\nMaybe Mrs. McNulty wasn\u2019t really mean. She was glad, however, that the\nwoman would not know she was a sister to the cub reporter who had left\nher name off the list of patronesses that time.\nShe found that \u201cminding\u201d a baby and holding down a job were difficult\nthings to combine. Of course, she hadn\u2019t really a job, but she felt as\nthough Tim\u2019s were her own, somehow\u2014and now she couldn\u2019t keep up with it.\nAnyway, Tommy was so interesting that she didn\u2019t miss the _Journal_\nexcitement so much. The tricks that a two-year-old could think up! He\nhad a passion for stealing sugar\u2014all the door knobs were smeary and\nsticky where his sugary hands had reached to open the doors. You simply\nhad to watch him every single minute, she had discovered. He was at the\nrun-about, reaching age. Nothing was safe from him.\nShe found Amy waiting for her on the steps of the Martins\u2019 porch, her\nface tragic. Had something happened to Tommy?\n\u201cJoan! Your mother\u2019s got a telegram from your Aunt Effie to come and\nkeep house for her while she\u2019s at a hospital having her appendix taken\nout. She\u2019s going next week, and that means we can\u2019t keep Tommy, for she\nsays you can\u2019t manage the house and Tim and Tommy both.\u201d\nIt did look hopeless until Joan remembered about Mrs. McNulty and the\nHistorical Building. Amy fell right in with the plan of taking Tommy to\nsee the old lady. She always welcomed any kind of adventure, and her\nimagination, fed by the romantic books she read, pounced immediately\nupon the idea that Mrs. McNulty would take a great fancy to the little\nboy.\n\u201cMaybe she\u2019ll give him a fortune,\u201d she mused. \u201cProbably she\u2019ll get him a\nnurse with a long veil like you see in the New York papers.\u201d\nAs soon as Tommy woke up from his nap, they got him ready. They scrubbed\nhis cheeks till they shone like candy apples and brushed his yellow\nhair, matted from his nap, till it looked like taffy. \u201cGood enough to\neat!\u201d thought Joan. No one could resist him.\nHis diminutive overalls were brushed spic and span and a missing button\nreplaced\u2014with green thread since that was all they could find in a\nhurry. His worn sandals were polished so thoroughly that some of the\nshine was brushed on to his pink toes showing through the cut-work.\nMrs. McNulty lived on the North Side, just across the bridge over the\nglorified creek that divided the main part of Plainfield from the\nresidential section. Amy had borrowed a rickety, cast-off baby cart for\nTommy some days ago, and it came in handy now, for it would be too far\nfor his short legs to trudge.\nDown Market Street they went, proudly pushing their charge, past the\nSoldiers\u2019 Monument, without which no Ohio town is complete.\nJust before they came to the bridge, they passed a big, yellow brick\nbuilding with a huge sign across it. \u201cDEPARTMENT of CORRECTION, City of\nPlainfield,\u201d it read.\n\u201cI always hate to pass the jail.\u201d Amy quickened her step.\n\u201cYou needn\u2019t worry. There\u2019s no robbers or thugs in there, now,\u201d\ncomforted Joan. \u201cDon\u2019t you read the _Journal_? Cookie had a peachy story\nabout its being empty. It seems our fair city is getting so well-behaved\nthat the few city arrests that are made don\u2019t fill up this jail at all,\nso they\u2019re taken to the county one. This place isn\u2019t needed, so it\u2019s\nempty.\u201d\nThey had hardly crossed the bridge when Master Tommy was tired of the\ncart and decided to get out. He began to howl his loudest, and since\nthey did not want to present a roaring boy to Mrs. McNulty, they were\nforced to let him out. Then he insisted upon pushing the buggy himself.\nThe McNulty homestead had been converted into apartments a few years\nbefore. There were a few apartments in Plainfield, and the McNulty one,\nbecause of its central location and history, was considered the best.\nJust as they approached the steps leading up, Tommy banged the buggy\ninto a tree. As he had pushed with all his might he tumbled smack down\non the sidewalk. He shed real tears, which mingled with the dirt his\nface had collected from the sidewalk. One fat knee had gone through the\nfaded overalls, and was stained with blood. The girls picked him up,\nsoothed him and repaired the damages as best they could.\nThey parked the cart at the steps, hauled Tommy up and rang the McNulty\nbell. The colored maid eyed them curiously, and answered indifferently\nthat Mrs. McNulty was in. They followed her through a hall that smelled\nof incense and into a crowded living room, where on a chaise longue, old\nMrs. McNulty was reclining. She was so ugly that Joan thought she looked\nlike a witch, in spite of the gray, marceled hair and the trailing\nlavender robe she had on. She was holding a green bottle to her nose.\n\u201cYes?\u201d she lifted her eyebrows. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d\nBoth girls started to speak at once, then halted, and ended by being\nembarrassed. Amy was seized with an uncontrollable desire to giggle.\nFinally, Joan, giving Amy a withering glance, managed to explain that\nthe Day Nursery needed larger quarters and that the Historical Building\nhad been suggested. She ended her plea by pushing Tommy forward and\nsaying that there was no room for him in the present Day Nursery.\nPerhaps it had been a mistake to bring him along. He was not very\nappealing, with the tear in his overalls, and his dusty sandals on the\npurple velvet of the rug. He reached for the green bottle, and when it\nwas lifted out of his grasp, he opened his mouth to yell.\n\u201cA nasty boy.\u201d Mrs. McNulty continued to sniff at the bottle. \u201cDoesn\u2019t\nlook clean.\u201d\nJoan swooped him up before he let out the yell entirely, and tickled him\nto make him laugh instead. It was too bad, after they had worked so hard\nto make him presentable.\n\u201cAnd you\u2019ve come to see whether I\u2019ll change my mind about the relics in\nthe building?\u201d went on the old lady. \u201cOf course, I can\u2019t keep the county\nfrom giving up part of the building if they decide to, but in that\nevent, I shall most certainly withdraw the things I have there.\u201d\nJoan faced the woman over Tommy\u2019s mop of yellow hair. \u201cBut what are old\nrelics compared to live babies?\u201d she demanded.\n\u201cThe relics mean a great deal to me and\u2014to the county, too,\u201d she said,\nquietly. \u201cWhy, the little bed that my father\u2019s father slept in when he\nwas a baby is in that building. I\u2019ll not change my mind.\u201d\nShe was dismissing them, and there was nothing to do but take the hint\nand depart.\nTommy, perfectly subdued, smiled up at them when they put him in his\ncart. Both girls were silent as they started down toward the bridge.\nWhat was going to happen to Tommy now?\nCHAPTER XI\nTHE DAY NURSERY\nThe _Journal_ staff was genuinely sorry to learn that Tommy had failed\nto soften old Mrs. McNulty\u2019s heart. Miss Betty didn\u2019t even smile when\nJoan told her the tragic details of the visit. Joan had gone right over\nto the _Journal_ office as soon as they returned from Mrs. McNulty\u2019s.\nSince it was Amy\u2019s day to take care of Tommy, she remained at Joan\u2019s\nhome, helping the little fellow scatter his stone blocks over the grass\nin the side yard. The first few days they had taken Tommy over to call\non the _Journal_ folks, but that soon proved too hectic. There were so\nmany things for him to reach for over there, and the editor seemed to\nthink he interfered with the staff\u2019s work. So Joan had gone alone to\ntell the news.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the McNulty pride,\u201d stated Tim from his desk. He had rather hoped\nJoan might stumble upon a feature story for him in the old lady acting\nas fairy godmother to the little boy, and he was a bit disappointed.\n\u201cShe could have given up that space in the Historical Building and saved\nthe day. But she\u2019s so proud of having those things in there.\u201d\n\u201cIt was Tommy\u2019s clothes,\u201d decided the society editor. \u201cThe old lady\u2019s\nprobably used to seeing kids Tommy\u2019s age decked out in white dimity and\nsky-blue ribbon. I\u2019ll tell you what. Let\u2019s take up a collection and\noutfit the youngster. It won\u2019t change Mrs. McNulty\u2019s heart\u2014too late for\nthat. But if he looked better, perhaps some wealthy resident would take\na liking to him and produce a place for a bigger day nursery. Here, I\u2019ll\nstart the finery fund.\u201d She pulled open her desk drawer, took out her\nred pocketbook and gave Joan a shining quarter.\n\u201cHere\u2019s a twin to that one.\u201d Cookie, who had heard it all, was reaching\ninto his pocket.\nThe _Journal_ staff wasn\u2019t rich, but it was generous. Every one in the\neditorial and business offices gave something. Gertie could give only a\nnickel.\n\u201cBusted?\u201d teased Tim. \u201cWhen the ghost walked just yesterday?\u201d\nThat was the staff\u2019s way of saying that yesterday had been pay day. But\nGertie always spent the contents of her envelope on clothes as soon as\nshe got it, and was always in debt.\nWhen the printers and pressmen strolled through on their way home, they\nwere approached and most of them contributed. Dummy gave a quarter. He\ndid like children. Joan remembered the day of the picnic. And Chub added\nhis bit. Mack gave a whole dollar.\nThe total was overwhelming\u2014almost ten dollars and fifty cents! To-morrow\nmorning, Joan and Amy would take Tommy to Davis\u2019 Department Store and\noutfit him.\nThey chose Davis\u2019 for two reasons. It was Plainfield\u2019s largest\nstore\u2014four stories high, with an elevator. And Tommy\u2019s mother was\nworking there. They stopped for a brief chat with her at the\nhandkerchief section. Joan and Amy sat down on the round, twisty stools\nbefore the counter, while Tommy gurgled at seeing his mother in this\nunexpected place.\nHer dark eyes shone with pride as they always did when she saw Tommy.\nShe carried him over to show him to the floorwalker and other bosses.\nWhen she came back, she was beaming. \u201cMr. Dugan liked Tommy so well he\nsaid for you girls to tell whoever waits on you that the things are for\nme,\u201d she told them. \u201cAnd you\u2019ll get the employee\u2019s discount.\u201d\nThen Tommy was perched upon the glass show case, where he swung his\nsandaled feet unconcernedly while the other salesgirls admired his blue\neyes and sunny smile. Joan\u2019s mother had mended the torn overalls with a\nneat patch so that they didn\u2019t look too forlorn.\nFinally, good-bys were said, and they went on up in the elevator to the\nsecond floor, where the things Tommy\u2019s size were sold.\nIt was fun to select everything new for him. And with the discount they\ncould buy a lot. Little underwear suits of cross-barred material, short\nsocks in a variety of colors, sturdy little slippers, two play suits,\nand a white suit with tiny trousers, for best. It had a yellow duck\nembroidered on the pocket.\nThey decided to dress him up so his mother could see him when they\npassed her counter again. The ducky suit was buttoned on the fat,\nsquirming Tommy, Dutch-blue socks were pulled up around his plump, pink\nlegs, and the new slippers were put on. All the clerks in the children\u2019s\nsection chimed in with the two girls in adoring the little boy. He\nlooked like a different child.\nTommy himself staggered about, almost bursting with importance over his\nnew possessions. Joan and Amy turned from him to hand his sodden little\ngarments to the girl behind the desk to be wrapped with the new things.\nIt didn\u2019t make a very big package and they decided to take it along with\nthem instead of having it sent.\n\u201cI\u2019ll lug the package,\u201d offered Joan, \u201cif you\u2019ll steer Tommy.\u201d\nThey looked around for the little boy\u2014but he was gone!\nWhy, he had been right there just a moment ago, while they were waiting\nfor the package. They hadn\u2019t taken their eyes off him for more than a\nsecond, really. Yet he was gone.\nThey roamed about aimlessly, calling and peering behind counters and\nback of the life-sized dolls that stood about, stiffly displaying\nchildren\u2019s frocks.\n\u201cThe little boy?\u201d questioned one salesgirl who looked no older than Amy.\n\u201cMaybe he wandered over into the Misses and Small Women.\u201d\nThey went over into that department, shouting \u201cTommy!\u201d at every few\nsteps and glancing behind all the figures. They even peeped into the\nfitting rooms\u2014little curtained-off places. In one, a stout mother, who\nwas watching her young lady daughter try on a dress, screamed as Joan\nsuddenly popped her head in. She murmured an apology, explaining that\nshe was hunting for a little boy.\n\u201cWell, we haven\u2019t got him,\u201d came the cross answer.\n\u201cThat woman almost had a _fit_, as well as a _fitting_, the way you\nscared her!\u201d giggled the salesgirl.\nShe could joke. Tommy hadn\u2019t been in her charge. She hadn\u2019t lost him.\nWhy, it was a terrible thing that had happened, Joan slowly began to\nrealize. They had searched the entire floor, and Tommy simply wasn\u2019t\nthere. They had lost him\u2014and he was a ward of the city. Mrs. Hollis had\nimpressed that fact upon her when they were making their arrangements to\ntake Tommy by the day. What would happen to them? Would they be sent to\njail themselves? And his poor mother! How would she stand the shock?\n\u201cHe looked like he was a millionaire baby in those clothes,\u201d reflected\nJoan. \u201cMaybe he\u2019s been kidnaped, and we\u2019ll have to pay a ransom.\u201d\nAll the store employees on that floor had joined in the search by this\ntime. Finally, the young salesgirl suggested that they ask the elevator\nman whether any one had left the floor with Tommy. Maybe he had noticed\nhim and would remember.\n\u201cWell, all right,\u201d agreed Joan, half-heartedly. \u201cThough I hardly believe\nit will do any good.\u201d\nThey strolled over to the elevator. The man who ran it was old and wore\na black skullcap. He sat on a tall-legged stool while he operated the\ncar.\n\u201cWhy, yes,\u201d he answered to their question. \u201cThere was a little boy\u2014about\nthree years old, I should judge\u2014in a white suit. He came off of this\nfloor awhile ago, with a bunch of women, and I just naturally supposed\nhe was with them.\u201d\nOf course, Tommy was only two, but he did look more grown-up in the new\nclothes.\n\u201cDid he go up or down?\u201d Joan demanded.\n\u201cUp, I think.\u201d He jerked his black-capped head in answer.\nThe two girls dashed into the little car and got off at the next floor.\nIt was the women\u2019s wear department. Again they hunted through all the\nfitting rooms, behind the counters and show cases and everywhere. But no\nTommy.\nThere was still the fourth floor. The last one. Would he be there? Joan\nwas weak with fear. They squeezed into the elevator again. \u201cFurniture,\nVictrolas, Radios,\u201d thundered the elevator man, as the iron gates opened\nout.\nSo many suites of highly polished furniture, so many big, shadowy beds\nand high bureaus, behind which a little boy could be hidden. Suddenly,\nthe blare of a radio going full blast told them that the music\ndepartment was just beyond. They went on there. A radio was pealing out\n\u201cThe Stars and Stripes Forever\u201d to a rapt audience of two.\nA wizened old lady, in stylish clothes that looked out of place on her,\nwas sitting in one of the wicker chairs provided in the radio\ndepartment. On her lap was a little boy in a white suit that still had\nthe price tag on one trouser leg, Joan noticed. He was clapping his\nhands to the music. It was Tommy. The woman was old Mrs. McNulty, Joan\nrecognized at a glance.\nThe girls breathed audible sighs. However, relief at finding Tommy was\ndrowned out by other mixed emotions when Joan remembered about Mrs.\nMcNulty.\n\u201cCome away, Tommy.\u201d She held out her hands. \u201cI don\u2019t believe that lady\nlikes boys.\u201d\nBut this cunning, clean little Tommy had captured the old witch. He\nrefused to move, and snuggled closer against Mrs. McNulty\u2019s flat old\nchest.\n\u201cBut I do!\u201d contradicted the old lady. \u201cI never saw this child before,\nbut I know that he has a soul for music.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s the same one that we brought to see you yesterday,\u201d Joan told her.\n\u201cYesterday!\u201d repeated Mrs. McNulty. \u201cI don\u2019t recall. Oh, yes, when I had\nthat terrific headache. Are you the girls who called? And is this\nprecious child that nasty little boy?\u201d\nThe girls nodded.\n\u201cI never would have believed it.\u201d Every line of the old face looked\nsurprise.\n\u201cHow did he get here?\u201d they both asked, then.\n\u201cHe just came walking into this department,\u201d was the answer. \u201cAnd went\nright up to the radio and stood there and listened. Bless his heart.\u201d\nShe actually hugged him and kissed the top of his head.\nJoan knew she should say something, but she didn\u2019t know just what.\n\u201cClothes do make the man,\u201d she began, remembering that quotation from\nher English class. \u201cThe _Journal_ staff all contributed and we picked\nout his things this morning before he got lost.\u201d\n\u201cIs he a relative of yours?\u201d\n\u201cOh, no!\u201d It was evident that Mrs. McNulty hadn\u2019t half listened to them\nyesterday, so Joan told the whole story over again, beginning with her\nvisit to the Juvenile Court, then telling about the crowded Day Nursery,\nand how the Judge had permitted her and Amy to take Tommy by the day.\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t you reconsider about the Historical Building?\u201d she finished\nup.\n\u201cNo. I think the county needs that building. It\u2019s educational. I will\nnot give up an inch on that.\u201d The old head wobbled positively. \u201cBut I\nwill help out about the Day Nursery. In a city the size of Plainfield,\nthere ought to be some place else we could get.\u201d\nSuddenly a half-memory stirred Joan\u2019s brain. \u201cThere is!\u201d she assured\nher. \u201cI\u2019ve thought of the dandiest place.\u201d She bent her lips to Mrs.\nMcNulty\u2019s ear.\nThe old witchlike face was frozen with horror at Joan\u2019s whispered words,\nbut after a minute she smiled, and when she smiled, she was uglier than\never. \u201cI never would have thought of it, but I believe it _would_ do. I\nknow the mayor personally, and I know he\u2019ll fix it so we can have it.\u201d\n\u201cHave what?\u201d Amy wanted to know.\nWhen they told her, she shuddered. But Joan was sure it would make a\nwonderful day nursery.\nIn less than two weeks, everything was ready. Aunt Effie hadn\u2019t had to\nhave the operation after all, so Tommy stayed on with them until the\nlast minute. Joan and Amy, each hugging a package under her arm, hurried\nalong north on Market Street. They\u2019d been raiding the Ten Cent Store for\nsomething for Tommy. Something for Tommy meant that all the other babies\nin the new, bigger and better Day Nursery would enjoy the new\nplaythings, too.\nThe old sign was gone from the city jail, and a freshly painted one\nsparkled at them in the sunshine. \u201cDAY NURSERY,\u201d it said.\nThe girls turned in through the big double doors, with the ease of\nfamiliarity, went up the broad, winding stairs, and opened the first\ndoor.\nThe two large front rooms opened out together. In the first one were\nabout a dozen snowy white cribs, holding sleeping babies\u2014all sorts and\nages. Tiny, wrinkled ones with tight fists. Big, roly-poly ones with\nroguish faces. Some with dark eyes and skin. The barred windows cast\nstriped shadows across the counterpanes.\nThere were gay rag rugs upon the floor, scores of Jessie Wilcox Smith\npictures around the walls, boxes of scarlet geraniums in the windows\nbefore the ruffled dotted curtains. Low white shelves in one corner held\ntoys. All about were small tables and chairs. Along one wall were hooks\nholding the daytime clothes, with a pair of shoes, slipped off for the\nnap, on the floor underneath each hook. On another wall was a row of\ntiny toothbrushes, all colors, and a row of shiny tin cups. The whole\nplace had a clean baby smell.\n\u201cYou\u2019d never think the jail could be so nice,\u201d Amy declared as she\nalways did when they came into the rooms. \u201cHow _did_ you ever think of\nit, Jo?\u201d\nMrs. Barnes was over in a far corner beside a crib where she was\nsettling a rosy one-year-old for a nap. They could see her assistant in\nthe other room, sitting in a low chair with a basket of mending on her\nlap.\n\u201cOh, hello, Joan and Amy.\u201d Mrs. Barnes looked up as they came in.\n\u201cHere\u2019s a new one. Her name is Mary, and she just came this morning.\nIsn\u2019t she a darling?\u201d\nThe girls went over to view the newcomer.\n\u201cTommy\u2019ll be so glad to see you, when he wakes up,\u201d went on Mrs. Barnes.\n\u201cHe jabbers about you all the time. Come and take a peep at him. He\u2019s in\nthe other room, now.\u201d\nMore bars, more curtains, more geraniums, more cheerful rugs. More cribs\nwith sleeping babies.\n\u201cI have twenty now,\u201d she said, like a proud mother. \u201cLook here!\u201d\nTommy, one chubby hand thrust under a flushed cheek was peacefully\nsleeping, clad only in his new underwear. The girls were surprised to\nsee that he was in a low, wooden bed, instead of an iron crib like the\nrest. The bed was of dark wood and the headpiece had a carved bird on\nit.\n\u201cIs this bed a new donation?\u201d asked Joan.\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d the matron nodded. \u201cMaster Tommy\u2019s sleeping in the bed of\nMrs. McNulty\u2019s father\u2019s father. She had it sent over from the Historical\nBuilding this morning. Said it might as well be somewhere where it would\nbe used.\u201d\nOh! That\u2019d make a great feature story for Tim! Maybe Lefty would come\nand take a picture of Tommy in the antique bed. Joan\u2019s thoughts ran on.\n\u201cAnd look at this,\u201d the matron pointed to a tiny Victrola on the floor\nbeside Tommy\u2014a child\u2019s toy that really played little records. \u201cMrs.\nMcNulty is convinced that he is to be a musician.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be a scoop for Tim,\u201d she told Amy, as they walked home.\nAmy looked blank.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know what a scoop is?\u201d Joan asked.\n\u201cOf course I do.\u201d Amy tossed her head. \u201cIt\u2019s a coal basket.\u201d\nJoan told her that a scoop was the _Star\u2019s_ having a story that the\n_Journal_ should have had and did not. She explained it absent-mindedly.\nShe was busy thinking what a fine story this bit of semi-civic news\nwould be for Tim. So appropriate, too, for he could bring in Mr.\nHutton\u2019s name. Yes, Tim would be glad. The paper wasn\u2019t doing so well\nlately, he had confided to her. Uncle John was worrying about how to\nboost the circulation. Maybe this would help.\nCHAPTER XII\nRICH BOY, POOR BOY\nThe _Journal_ started a contest to boost circulation. The boy readers\nwere asked to write in on the subject of their favorite baseball player.\nThe scheme worked, too, for the lists showed many new subscribers since\nthe boys had been sending in their letters. Every day now, Tim was\nwriting a story about how the letters were coming in and which player\nwas leading in popularity for that day\u2014a funny little column, so full of\nwit and real sport news that even Mr. Nixon noticed it.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll make a regular columnist out of you, Martin,\u201d he teased. \u201cThat\nand sports seem to be your long suits. Guess you like \u2019em better than\nstraight news stuff. But stick at the cub job. You have lots to learn.\u201d\nHe glanced at Tim\u2019s copy in his hand. \u201cDon\u2019t say an accident took place;\nweddings take place, accidents occur. And remember _Journal_\nstyle\u2014\u2018street\u2019 gets lower case, \u2018Avenue,\u2019 upper case.\u201d\nMr. Nixon couldn\u2019t give a real compliment to save his soul, Joan\nthought, but Tim was grinning understandingly, and promised to remember\nabout street and Avenue. That meant that Avenue was spelled with a\ncapital, while street was not. Purely _Journal_ style.\nFrom the very first day of the contest they were swamped with letters.\nMiss Betty and Mack took turns reading them, but soon they were too busy\nto get them read every day, and the letters began to pile up.\n\u201cShut your eyes and pick one for the prize,\u201d suggested Mack. That was\nlike him.\n\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t be fair,\u201d objected Miss Betty.\nShe went to Editor Nixon about it. He glanced around the office, a\nworried pucker between his bushy brows. His eyes lighted upon Joan, who\nwas spending most of her time in the _Journal_ office these days, now\nthat Tommy was safely off her hands. (She had to watch for new\ndevelopments on the Dummy mystery.) Burke had hunted through the\nenvelopes for hers one pay day! The editor was now so accustomed to\nseeing her around that now he practically gave her an assignment.\n\u201cLook here,\u201d he waved his fat, blue pencil toward her. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you\nand the office pest read over these baseball fan letters?\u201d He meant\nChub.\nWasn\u2019t it lucky that English had always been Joan\u2019s favorite and easiest\nsubject at school? She could judge the letters with a critical eye. Chub\nwasn\u2019t much use that way. He didn\u2019t recognize bad grammar even when it\nstared him in the face. But he was a big help, for he knew the baseball\nstuff. \u201cThis one sounds good,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cBut it\u2019s something he\u2019s read\nsomewhere. He hasn\u2019t thought it up himself.\u201d\nThe _Journal_ was offering two prizes. The first was to be a check for\ntwenty-five dollars. Uncle John had offered it himself. The second prize\nwas two seats to the best baseball game of the season in Ohio, to be\nplayed that year in Cleveland. Not only that, but the lucky winner would\nbe introduced to Babe Ruth and would be given a baseball autographed by\nthe famous player. The second prize, so every one thought, was about as\nnice as the first prize, and was worth as much in actual money, for all\nexpenses were to be paid for the trip, the car fare, tickets, and so on,\nhaving been donated. It was the kind of prize to fascinate a boy. And\nyet, twenty-five dollars was a lot of money.\nWhen the contest ended, Joan and Chub had narrowed the letters down to\ntwo which were decidedly better than the rest. This afternoon\u2019s paper\nwas to announce the prize winners. Mr. Nixon had handed the two best\nletters back to Joan, with, \u201cYou might as well do it all. You decide\nwhich one\u2019s best. They both look good to me.\u201d\nJoan sighed again as she stared at the two letters before her. \u201cI wish\none of the rules of the contest had been for the boys to use pen names,\u201d\nshe said to herself. \u201cThen I wouldn\u2019t know who was who.\u201d\nShe was sitting at the long, crowded table that stretched across the\nmiddle of the editorial room; the desks were all around the windows and\nwalls. She had cleared a space on the table; it was here, every day for\nthe past weeks, she and Chub had read the letters written by the boy\nreaders of the _Journal_.\nJoan realized she would have to make up her mind, now, for Tim, who was\nwriting up the announcement story, was looking over his typewriter at\nher for the names. The two letters seemed almost equally good, but one\nwritten by fifteen-year-old Eric Reynolds was slightly better than the\nother one, which was signed, \u201cJimmy Kennedy, age thirteen.\u201d Joan knew of\nthe Reynolds family\u2014they lived in a big place, with a sunken garden and\na tall, iron fence all around. Too bad a rich boy like Eric had\nsubmitted a letter. Well, she might give him the second prize\u2014the trip\nto the game and the autographed ball. He didn\u2019t need the money, and from\nJimmy Kennedy\u2019s address on South Washington Street, she knew that he\nlived in one of the soot-streaked, gray-painted houses, which had their\nback yards cut into triangles by the railroad running along there. Jimmy\nought to have the money prize. Yet his letter wasn\u2019t quite as good as\nEric\u2019s. But Eric was rich, and Jimmy was poor. Rich boy, poor boy! It\nreminded her of\n  Rich man, poor man,\n    Beggarman, thief,\n  Doctor, lawyer,\n    Merchant, chief!\n\u201cMark \u2019em \u2018first\u2019 and \u2018second,\u2019\u201d Tim shouted. \u201cI\u2019m going to run the\nwhole letters, just as written.\u201d\nJoan patted Em before she decided. Em loved this table, too. Now, she\nwas curled upon a heap of papers from small surrounding towns that Miss\nBetty clipped for social items, and was batting her topaz eyes, almost\nasleep. Then, Joan bent over with the stub of blue pencil Mr. Nixon had\ngiven her, and with quick decision, she wrote a Roman I on Jimmy\u2019s\nletter and a II on Eric\u2019s.\nThere, she had done it! Mr. Nixon was standing by Tim\u2019s typewriter,\nwaiting for the copy. It was the last bit, for the composing men were\nready to lock up the forms. \u201cEnd that sentence,\u201d he commanded Tim.\n\u201cWe\u2019re waiting on that story.\u201d He vanished through the swinging door.\nJoan continued to sit at the table. Things were always so hurried until\npress time, and then the rush was over. She and Chub often worked\npuzzles and tried writing headlines and doing all sorts of things at\nthis time of the day. Chub always had a new enthusiasm, and Joan found\nmost of them interesting. Somehow, the things boys did were always more\nfun than what girls did. For awhile, Chub had been studying a book, _How\nto Be a Detective_, and was always trying to make a mystery out of\neverything. Dummy, of course, was a real mystery. No one could deny\nthat. Now, Chub had sent away for a book of magic.\n[Illustration: \u201cMark \u2019em \u2018first\u2019 and \u2018second\u2019,\u201d Tim shouted.]\nTo-day he came up to the long table, with an ink bottle in his hand. He\nput it on the table and uncorked it. \u201cIt\u2019s magic ink,\u201d he informed her.\n\u201cI made it. The book showed how\u2014out of different chemicals. It writes\njust like any ink, but only lasts a day or so, and then it becomes\ninvisible. To get it back, you have to hold it over heat.\u201d\nHe was about to demonstrate its powers when Em, suddenly awake, stood up\nand patted her front paws at the bottle, sniffing and scratching.\n\u201cWhat ails her?\u201d asked the office boy.\nJoan wrinkled up her nose. \u201cIt\u2019s that ink. It has a funny smell\u2014she\nhates some smells like gunpowder, but this is sort of like sassafras.\nShe likes it. She thinks it\u2019s catnip, I guess.\u201d\nEm had succeeded in wetting one paw. Then she rolled over and over upon\nthe floor, rubbing her nose with her paws, her eyes beaming, purring\nloudly all the while.\nMr. Nixon came out front again, and Chub, afraid of being pressed into\nservice, made an exit. Mr. Nixon called Miss Betty to his desk. Joan saw\nher shake her head. Then he motioned to Joan, and she went over. \u201cWonder\nif you could do something for me? I want a story about these two boys\nwho won the prizes. Miss Betty\u2019s tied up with a church wedding, and\nTim\u2019s busy, too. Think you could do it? Get their pictures, and find out\nsomething about \u2019em. Your brother can write it up. You\u2019ve got the\naddresses. Get Burke to give you some petty cash for street car fares.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ll walk,\u201d Joan told him. It was like asking for money to have\nBurke dole out nickels and dimes when she wasn\u2019t really on the pay roll.\nJust being sent out like this was pay enough for her. She had some\nchange in her pocket, anyway. She dived into a phone booth to inform\nMother importantly that Mr. Nixon was sending her out. Mother would hate\nto hear about the assignment, but Joan was thrilled. Of course, it\nwasn\u2019t a real assignment, for Tim would write it up, but she was really\nhelping him, now.\nIt was too far to walk. She boarded a red and yellow street car at the\ncorner, and went north on Market Street, past Mrs. McNulty\u2019s. Joan\nwished she had on the new flowered organdie Mother had made for her.\nStill, the pleated tan silk skirt with sweater to match, a gay triangle\nscarf around her shoulders and a jaunty b\u00e9ret on her head looked very\nnice, indeed. This costume seemed more grown up than most of her\nclothes. What if she had on the old plaid skirt and a middy! She got off\nright in front of the Reynolds residence. Going places was always fun\ntill she got there. Then she was often seized by an attack of\nbashfulness. Now, she walked up the bluestone path to the house and rang\nthe bell before she got panicky. The door was opened by a colored man in\na white coat. \u201cMaster Eric\u2019s up in his room,\u201d he said in reply to her\nquestion. \u201cMrs. Reynolds is giving a party on the west porch. I\u2019ll call\nMaster Eric.\u201d He showed her into a living room as large as the editorial\nroom at the _Journal_. Joan\u2019s dusty oxfords sank into the velvet of the\nChinese blue rug on the floor. There was a grand piano and on its\npolished surface was Eric\u2019s picture\u2014an almost life-size of his head\nonly. Joan heard the voices of the guests on the porch, the clink of\nchina, and she smelled the food. A uniformed maid, bearing a tray of\ndishes, entered from the sun porch.\nEric came down the stairs. He was a tall boy, with dark hair, slightly\nwavy, that he tossed back from his forehead with a quick movement of his\nhead. He had dark eyes, and a nice smile, but he was rather pale. He was\nshyly surprised when she informed him that he had won the second prize,\nthough he did not seem so pleased about it as she had expected. Was he\ndisappointed that he had not won first? He should have, but he did not\nneed the money. She knew he\u2019d enjoy the big game, for he must like\nbaseball to have written such a splendid letter.\nEric\u2019s mother, a tall woman with glasses on a gold chain\u2014came in, too.\n\u201cI\u2019m serving luncheon to my guests.\u201d Her voice was cold and ungracious.\n\u201cBut I suppose I can arrange to have Eloise serve you and your friend,\nalso, Eric.\u201d\n\u201cOh, no, thank you,\u201d declined Joan. \u201cI had my lunch long ago, and I have\nanother call to make. But I would like a picture of Eric.\u201d\nThe boy seemed relieved that she was not going to stay. Mrs. Reynolds\nhurried off. The maid came into the room again, with steam coming from\nthe tray.\n\u201cWon\u2019t you have a cup of tea, Miss?\u201d she asked Joan, holding out a cup,\nand as Joan shook her head, she offered it to Eric.\n\u201cNone for me, either.\u201d He put out his hand to wave the cup away, and the\ngirl jerked the cup back, causing a few drops to fall on his hand.\nEric\u2019s face got whiter than ever. He cradled his fingers in his other\nhand. \u201cMy fingers!\u201d he spoke as if in agony.\n\u201cWhy, it couldn\u2019t have hurt much,\u201d Joan remarked.\n\u201cNo, it didn\u2019t,\u201d he admitted, \u201cbut it might have.\u201d\nAfraid of getting hurt! What a sissy! And Joan had rather liked him\nuntil then. She asked him a few questions for the paper, and left, with\nthe big photograph tucked under her arm.\nThe street car back to town carried her past the _Journal_ office. A few\nblocks more and she was at Washington Street. Joan knew her Plainfield.\nShe realized that the first thing a reporter must do is to learn the\ncity. She studied maps and knew the names of all the streets and even\nsome of the alleys. She wanted to learn as much as she could, so that\nshe could soon be a real reporter.\nJimmy\u2019s house was just like a dozen others on the street. The front of\nit looked shut up, but when Joan knocked it was immediately answered by\na boy, who looked young for thirteen. \u201cAre you Jimmy Kennedy?\u201d she\nasked. \u201cI came to tell you that you won the first prize\u2014\u201d\n\u201cI ain\u2019t Jimmy. I\u2019m Johnny,\u201d the boy interrupted. He turned and shouted\ninto the house at the top of his voice. \u201cHey! Everybody! Jimmy\u2019s won the\nfirst prize.\u201d\nInstantly, it seemed to Joan, boys of all ages appeared. There were only\nfive altogether, however, she found out when they quieted down and she\ncould count them. Jimmy was the oldest. Johnny, who had shouted the\nnews, was next. Then, there were Joe and Jeff, and little Jerry, the\nfour-year-old baby of the family. The boys\u2019 mother appeared from the\nkitchen, drying her hands on her apron. \u201cFor shame, you boys, not to ask\nthe newspaper lady in.\u201d (She thinks I\u2019m grown up! thought Joan.) \u201cCome\nin, my dear, and we\u2019ll have some lemonade all around to celebrate. Sure,\nit\u2019s grand news that Jimmy will be getting a prize. That Jimmy, he\u2019s\nthat crazy about baseball! He\u2019s been wild to go to that game and get\nthat signed baseball.\u201d\nThe mother seemed to have the prizes mixed, but Joan said nothing. How\nglad the mother\u2019d be to have him win the money. They all sat around the\noilcloth-covered table. Young Jerry squirmed into Joan\u2019s lap. She\nmanaged to drink her lemonade and eat the sugary cookies without\nspilling any on his dark Dutch-cut hair or sailor suit. He had great,\nblue eyes like all his brothers, and looked like \u201cSonny Boy\u201d of movie\nfame. Jimmy had more freckles than any of the others. He seemed bashful,\nthough jolly, but somehow not so elated over the prize as she had\nthought he would be. But boys were funny that way. They never showed how\nthey really felt. Perhaps, after all, he was just embarrassed and a bit\nbewildered to have won twenty-five dollars. She glanced around the\ncluttered, shabby kitchen and was satisfied that she had decided right\nabout the prizes. They could buy something nice with the money, or put\nit away for Jimmy\u2019s education.\nWhen Joan asked for a picture, Mrs. Kennedy set her glass down on the\ntable. \u201cI declare, I don\u2019t believe we\u2019ve got a recent picture of Jimmy,\u201d\nshe announced, sadly. \u201cThe latest one was taken when he was about ten,\nJohnny\u2019s age, in his surplice for the choir.\u201d It showed a boy who looked\nvery much as Jimmy did now, except that he wore a Buster Brown collar.\n\u201cDon\u2019t give it to her, Mom!\u201d protested Jimmy. \u201cEverybody\u2019ll think I\u2019m a\nbaby. Do they _have_ to have a picture?\u201d\n\u201cThe editor wants one,\u201d Joan assured him. \u201cThere\u2019s no time to get the\nstaff photographer to take one.\u201d She did not say that the _Journal_\nwould probably not bother sending Lefty out to take a picture. He had\nmore important ones to take. Besides, it was always cheaper to borrow a\npicture. \u201cBut I\u2019m sure Lefty\u2014that\u2019s the photographer\u2014can fix this up,\u201d\nshe went on. \u201cHe can change the collar to the kind you\u2019re wearing now.\u201d\n\u201cCan he, honest?\u201d Joe was all eyes. \u201cBy magic?\u201d\nMrs. Kennedy took the picture out of the frame for Joan, and she left to\nget back to the office. When the picture came out the next afternoon,\nJimmy Kennedy was wearing a grown-up collar and a four-in-hand tie,\ninstead of a Windsor. Joan had known Lefty could do anything. The big\npicture of Eric and the smaller one of Jimmy were the same size in the\npaper reproduction, and Jimmy\u2019s looked just as nice as Eric\u2019s, which had\nbeen taken by the town\u2019s best photographer.\nTim wrote up a dandy story, too, from the data Joan could give him.\n\u201cGee, you saw enough to write a novel about it!\u201d he said, as she reeled\noff the number of lamps, candlesticks, and clocks that graced the\nReynolds home. \u201cI\u2019m glad it\u2019s a boy story this time,\u201d he smiled. \u201cI sure\ngot tired of writing up babies!\u201d\nThe _Journal_ sent the check to Jimmy and the game tickets to Eric. Joan\nwas in Uncle John\u2019s office when he signed the check, for it was not an\nordinary check like the ones Burke made out for stamps and clean towels.\nIt was a special check and had to be signed by Uncle John himself, with\nhis odd, illegible scrawl, John W. Martin. He always made an\nold-fashioned _M_. He had to hunt around for fresh ink, as the inkwell\non his desk was full of dry, black chunks. He found a bottle behind the\nbooks on the desk and used that.\nBoth boys promptly wrote in with brief, polite notes of thanks. Joan\nread them over when they were published in the _Journal_, each one a\nbare stick (two inches of print). They seemed too short and too polite.\nWhat was the trouble? They were not at all the frankly delighted, boyish\nnotes that you would have expected Eric and Jimmy to write.\nTwo days later, Gertie appeared in the little hallway between that\noffice and the editorial one. \u201cA Jewish gentleman, very much out of\ntemper, is demanding to speak to Mr. Martin,\u201d she announced. Then she\nsaw that Tim\u2019s desk was vacant. \u201cIsn\u2019t the cub here?\u201d\nJoan looked up from the damp proof sheets of the society layout for\nSunday. She was helping Miss Betty and was pasting the typed captions\nunder the proper picture. She shook her head at Gertie, as she carefully\npressed down on a strip of copy paper, bearing the title, \u201cTo be Married\nThis Week.\u201d\nGertie left, but reappeared in a flash. \u201cSay, this gink won\u2019t take no\nfor an answer. Madder\u2019n a hornet. Says he wants to talk to some one who\nknows something about those prizes the boys won.\u201d\nJoan forgot the brides and jumped up, grabbing a pad and pencil. She\nstarted to the nearest phone booth, knowing that Gertie would switch the\ncall back to her. She clamped the head phones over her ears, and had her\nhands free to make notes. A tumult of quick Jewish phrases sounded in\nher ears. \u201cHey, you Mr. Martin, what you think this boy try pull trick\nlike this?\u201d\n\u201cWho is it, please?\u201d\n\u201cI tell you two, t\u2019ree times. It\u2019s Abie. You know me. I got Abie\u2019s\nPawnshop on Main Street, near Spring.\u201d His voice drifted away, as though\nhe were talking to some one else. \u201cWell, all right, you talk, then, and\ntell Mr. Martin come quick, or I have you put in jail.\u201d\nAnother voice, surprisingly familiar, inquired whether she were Mr.\nMartin.\n\u201cNo, this is _Miss_ Martin,\u201d Joan felt important, but puzzled over that\nvoice. \u201cCan I help you?\u201d\n\u201cThis is Eric Reynolds,\u201d came the answer. \u201cWill you please have some one\nfrom your office come over here and help me out. I\u2019m in trouble.\u201d\nCHAPTER XIII\nERIC\nEric Reynolds! The winner of the second prize was in trouble and was\ncalling on Joan to help him. Still, he did not know her name was Martin\nor that she was the girl who had interviewed him at his home a few days\nago, when she had informed him that he was one of the winners.\nWhat could the mysterious trouble be? Of course, she must go and help\nhim, if she could, even though he was a sissy. \u201cI\u2019ll come,\u201d she said,\nand heard Eric\u2019s \u201cThank you very much,\u201d as he hung up.\nShe could at least find out what Eric or Abie had wanted with Tim. No\nuse to bother any one in the office with this until she knew more.\nProbably Abie wanted to give Tim a scolding about something. Cub\nreporters were always being summoned for all sorts of things. Perhaps\nsomething Tim had written for the paper had aroused Abie\u2019s ire. Still,\nwhat had Eric to do with it? And what was a rich boy like Eric doing in\na pawnshop?\nJoan trotted along up Market Street and around the corner on Main. It\nwas just a few blocks to Abie\u2019s Pawnshop. Every one called him just\nAbie. The shop was in the cheap part of Main Street\u2014the wrong side of\nBuckeye, which divided the two districts. The shop was a tiny place,\ncrowded with everything from furs to fruit dishes. Three gold balls, a\nbit tarnished, hung in front, and inside at the right was a wire cage,\nwhere Abie, framed by a background of watches and clocks, usually held\nforth. To-day, however, he was in the center of the shop. Eric Reynolds\nwas there, too, holding a black violin case under his arm.\n\u201cHey, are you _Mr._ Martin?\u201d Abie growled when he saw her.\nJoan explained that Mr. Martin was her brother and that she had come in\nhis place, as he was busy on an assignment.\n\u201cYour brother\u2014he signed this, hey?\u201d Abie brandished a bit of paper under\nher nose. He was a small man, in shirt sleeves and a vest, with a heavy\ngold chain across his plump stomach. The chain was wobbling, he was so\nangry. \u201cThis boy here\u2014\u201d he indicated Eric with a jerk of his pudgy\nthumb\u2014\u201che wants to buy violin off me and he gives me check for\ntwenty-five dollars\u2014and it _ain\u2019t signed_.\u201d\nNot signed! Why, she had watched Uncle John sign it. Anyway, how did\nEric happen to have the check? Had the awards really been mixed, after\nall? Perhaps, even now, Jimmy was speeding toward Cleveland to the big\ngame. Or\u2014perhaps Eric had stolen the check, for some reason. But surely\nhe had plenty of money. He looked especially stylish in the sweater and\nhose-to-match set he was wearing to-day. But how did he get the check?\nShe remembered having seen Jimmy\u2019s name on it. And now, Eric had it, and\nsomehow it was blank where Uncle John had signed his name.\nIt certainly was a _mystery_. The word reminded her of Dummy. Could he\nhave mixed the prizes, thinking that he would get the paper in bad with\nthe public? The mistake might, too, for, of course, a paper awarding\nprizes ought to award them correctly. Dummy could certainly think up\nstrange things to do\u2014for she was sure he had had a hand in this.\n\u201cIs this Miss Martin?\u201d Eric asked. Didn\u2019t he recognize her in the old\nmiddy? \u201cYou\u2019re the girl who came to see me, aren\u2019t you? Will you kindly\ntell this man that your brother did sign this check when he sent it to\nJimmy, and that it\u2019s perfectly O.K.?\u201d\n\u201cMy brother is Mr. Martin,\u201d Joan smiled. \u201cBut not the one you think.\nThat\u2019s my uncle. The girl called Tim to the phone, and he wasn\u2019t there,\nand I got your message to come around. But\u2014\u201d she broke off her\nexplanation. \u201cThe check _was_ signed. I saw it. It was sent to Jimmy,\nthough.\u201d And she had been so anxious that no more mistakes should be\nmade.\n\u201cI can explain,\u201d the boy began. \u201cYou see, I was disappointed when I\ndidn\u2019t get first prize, because I wanted, not the honor, but the money.\u201d\nHe looked embarrassed but went on. \u201cMy music teacher told me there was a\nreally good violin here at Abie\u2019s shop. It was twenty-five dollars, and\nI have only a small allowance. My parents wouldn\u2019t get it for me. They\ndidn\u2019t know I\u2019d been taking secret lessons since Christmas. Professor\nHofman gives them to me, free. Mother wants me to be an athlete and she\nsuggested my trying in the contest, and I did in hopes of winning the\nmoney.\u201d\nAbie was getting impatient during this recital. Evidently he had heard\nthe explanation before. He was waving his hands. \u201cIt ain\u2019t signed,\u201d he\nmuttered.\n\u201cYes, but how did you get the check?\u201d Joan asked Eric.\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s funny,\u201d he drawled. Did he talk slowly, naturally, or was he\ntrying to infuriate Abie? Eric was such an odd boy, you never could be\nsure about him. \u201cI didn\u2019t want the tickets, but it seems that the other\nboy did. I was certainly surprised to have a voice over the phone ask me\nif I wanted to sell the tickets and passes for twenty-five dollars. It\nwas Jimmy. I told him I\u2019d give them to him. But he insisted that we swap\nprizes. I did it, because I wanted the violin so much. It hardly seemed\nright, but Jimmy said my letter was better than his.\u201d\n\u201cIt was,\u201d Joan admitted. \u201cBut I gave the money prize, to him, because he\nwas\u2014poor.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t care anything about baseball,\u201d Eric stated. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t dare\nplay ball, for fear I\u2019d break my finger and couldn\u2019t play the violin.\nProfessor Hofman says my fingers are\u2014are precious.\u201d He almost whispered\nthe last word.\nHe wasn\u2019t a sissy, only a genius. What if her decision had kept him from\nfulfilling his ambition? She could sympathize with him, for didn\u2019t she\nwant to be a newspaper reporter, while Mother thought it unladylike? She\nhad put a stumblingblock in his way when she had decided the prizes,\nthinking he did not need money.\n\u201cSo I took the check,\u201d Eric continued, \u201csince Jimmy said he didn\u2019t need\nit and would much rather have the tickets. We met at the bank, and the\nman there explained how Jimmy was to write payable to me on it. And I\nwrote \u2018Payable to Abie Goldstein\u2019 on it and brought it here. We didn\u2019t\nshow the check to any one there; just asked. I didn\u2019t notice it then,\nand when I got here, there was no signature. Jimmy hadn\u2019t mentioned\nanything about it.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s been coming in here, looking at that violin, two, t\u2019ree times\nevery week for long time,\u201d nodded Abie. \u201cTo-day, he say he take it. I\nthink it lot money for him to have, but he look rich, and I give it him.\nThen he give me check not signed. I not so dumb as I look, maybe! I tell\nhim I put him in jail for that! I call Mr. Martin at the _Journal_, like\nhe say\u2014and you come.\u201d\nHe seemed to consider her a poor substitute. She remembered now that\nAbie had shouted something about putting some one in jail when she had\ntalked to him over the telephone. She did not doubt but that the irate\nlittle man would do something awful to Eric if he could not prove his\ninnocence. To think how she had misjudged Eric. She must help him now,\nfor in a way, it was through her that he was in this mix-up. It was\ncertainly a mystery, though. How could a check be signed one day and\nunsigned the next? Even Dummy could hardly do such a thing.\nIt was clear that she must do two things. She must get hold of Jimmy,\nsomehow, to prove that Eric\u2019s story was true, and then get Uncle John to\nuntangle the knotty problem of the signature. She went back of the\ncounter to Abie\u2019s phone. It was on the wall. She had to tilt the\nmouthpiece down and then stand on tiptoe. Joan doubted whether Jimmy had\na telephone and when Information Operator assured her he did not, she\nasked for the nearest one. Miss Betty often did that. The telephone next\ndoor proved to be that of a Mrs. Kelly who was willing to send one of\nher children over to deliver a message to Jimmy Kennedy. \u201cTell him to\ncome to the _Journal_ office as quickly as possible,\u201d Joan told her.\n\u201cIt\u2019s important.\u201d\n\u201cSure and he\u2019ll be there quick as you like,\u201d came Mrs. Kelly\u2019s answer.\n\u201cHe\u2019ll likely use his bike and he\u2019s fast as the wind on that.\u201d\nThen, the three of them started over to the _Journal_ office. Before he\nleft, Abie called his assistant to \u201cmind the shop.\u201d Joan and Eric led\nthe way, and Abie followed, his hands wildly waving. Eric seemed a\nlittle sober now at the outcome of the exchange of prizes. He said\nnothing but still hugged the violin.\nUncle John was busy and while they were waiting Jimmy appeared. Tim was\nback now, the paper was out, and Joan explained things to him. When they\nwent into Uncle John\u2019s office, Tim went in, too. They seemed to fill the\nlittle room, the sanctum sanctorum. Em was there, curled up on the\nwindow sill, her tail hanging straight down. Silhouetted against the\nlight, she looked like a spook. Joan picked her up and held her. Uncle\nJohn got up from his swivel chair that creaked gratefully when he\nhoisted his stout self from it and greeted them with raised eyebrows.\nJoan started to explain the situation, but Abie, flashing the check,\nbroke in with his mumblings.\nUncle John took the check. \u201cWell, what\u2019s it all about? This is the check\nI sent to the Kennedy boy.\u201d\n\u201cYes, but I wanted the tickets to the game\u2014they\u2019re hard to get\u2014and the\ntrip to Cleveland and the autographed ball,\u201d Jimmy said. \u201cAnd when I\ndidn\u2019t win \u2019em, and read in the _Journal_ that a kid named Eric Reynolds\ndid, I went to the drug store and telephoned him.\u201d\n\u201cAnd we traded prizes,\u201d put in Eric. \u201cBut the check wasn\u2019t signed.\u201d\n\u201cWell, this is a mystery,\u201d Uncle John examined the check. \u201cI\u2019m positive\nI signed it. This is the same check, I\u2019m sure.\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes, sir.\u201d Jimmy twisted at his blouse pocket and produced an\nenvelope. \u201cHere\u2019s what the letter and the check came in, addressed to\nme. The letter\u2019s at home, but I brought the check along in this to keep\nit clean for Eric.\u201d\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s the same check,\u201d Uncle John said, holding it out.\nThe bit of paper brushed against Em\u2019s long white whiskers as Uncle John\nplaced it on his desk. The cat squirmed in Joan\u2019s arms. She wrinkled up\nher black face and began to sneeze and hiss, wrenching herself away, as\nif to spring toward the check.\n\u201cWhy\u2014\u201d Joan put Em down and the cat immediately rolled over and over on\nthe floor, casting sidewise glances at them from her big yellow eyes.\nThen Joan picked up the check, held it to her own nose and sniffed.\n\u201cWhy, it does! It smells like sassafras!\u201d\n\u201cWell, and what has that to do with it?\u201d snapped the pawnshop owner.\n\u201cMaybe the boys was drinking sassafras sodys at the drug store and\nspilled some on it. What does that prove, if you\u2019re so smart?\u201d\nBut Joan would not give up. \u201cDid you?\u201d she turned to the boys.\nThey both shook their heads. \u201cI don\u2019t like sassafras,\u201d Eric said.\nJoan opened the office door and called Chub. He came right in, for he\nhad been standing outside, listening and watching their shadows on the\nfrosted door window. \u201cChub,\u201d she demanded, \u201cwhere did you hide that\nmagic ink?\u201d\nChub blushed until his face was almost as red as his hair. \u201cI\u2014I suppose\nI shouldn\u2019t of, but I hid it behind those books on the General Mag.\u2019s\ndesk.\u201d\nThe general manager was Uncle John, of course. \u201cI did use the ink behind\nthe books,\u201d he stated. \u201cI thought it was a misplaced supply bottle, and\nwell, I must have signed the check with the vanishing ink? Here, give it\nto me, and I\u2019ll sign it again\u2014\u201d he started to dip his pen into the\nfilled inkwell.\n\u201cNo, Uncle John, please! Let us prove it!\u201d Joan begged. \u201cChub, do your\nstuff. Let\u2019s see you magic the signature back again.\u201d\nTim produced the match Chub asked for, and he cupped his hands while the\nyounger boy held the tiny flame near the check. Breathlessly, the others\nwatched. Abie\u2019s brown eyes were bulging. He did not know what to expect.\nEric and Jimmy were frankly interested. Uncle John was amused. Joan and\nChub were the only ones watching with real assurance.\nThe match went out in spite of Tim\u2019s shielding hands. Three times\nmatches were lighted and three times they went out. Chub began to get\nred in the face and beads of perspiration stood out on his cheeks. Even\nJoan got a little worried. Maybe Chub\u2019s magic wasn\u2019t any good. Then they\ncouldn\u2019t prove that this check had been signed and that Eric was all\nright. She had to prove it!\n\u201cWe have to have a steady, even heat,\u201d Chub decided. \u201cI did it over the\nkitchen stove at home. But there\u2019re no gas jets here.\u201d\n\u201cI know! The flames that dry the print!\u201d Joan started out to the\ncomposing room, and the rest trailed along, quite a little procession,\nit was, with Joan and Chub leading.\nThe big room was fairly silent now, for the paper had just been run off\nthe giant presses. But the rows of tiny blue flames along the top of\neach roller, which dried each page as it was flipped over, had not yet\nbeen turned out. Joan had always thought the flames very pretty\u2014that\nlittle bit of bright color in this dim, cement-floored room, which was\nlike a vast cave somehow, and usually thunderous with the roar of the\npresses.\nChub, as master of ceremonies, held the piece of paper up in front of\nthe flames, moving it gently back and forth, so that it would not be\nscorched or burned.\nThe others pressed close about the office boy. Soon, there appeared upon\nthe check down in the right-hand corner, the scrawled signature, \u201cJohn\nW. Martin,\u201d old-fashioned _M_ and all.\n\u201cIt\u2019s certainly magic!\u201d cried Joan.\n\u201cYes, but don\u2019t leave that ink around again,\u201d Uncle John warned Chub.\n\u201cVery fine trick,\u201d said Abie, while the others murmured their surprise.\n\u201cNow, let\u2019s see, is this exchange the boys are making O.K.?\u201d Uncle John\nasked, when they were all back in his little office again, and he had\nthe check with its restored signature in his hand.\n\u201cJimmy, don\u2019t you know twenty-five dollars is a lot of money?\u201d\n\u201cWell, I suppose it is,\u201d admitted Jimmy. \u201cBut you see, I just entered\nthe contest \u2019cause I wanted the ball and the trip to the game. Mom\nthought I won that, and I didn\u2019t tell her any different, because we\ntraded. It\u2019d cost me twenty-five dollars to go to the game, and Babe\nRuth wouldn\u2019t sign a baseball for me, without I had that prize\nannouncement letter telling him to. Anyway, I didn\u2019t think my letter\nwould win first, but I hoped it would win second.\u201d\n\u201cEric\u2019s was the better one, really,\u201d Joan remarked.\n\u201cEvery one seems agreed.\u201d Uncle John passed the check over to Abie. \u201cI\nguess the violin is the boy\u2019s.\u201d\n\u201cWon\u2019t you play something?\u201d Joan begged Eric. \u201cDo let him, Uncle John.\nThe paper\u2019s out, and no one\u2019s busy.\u201d\nAt Uncle John\u2019s nod, Eric took the violin from its case and tucked it\nunder his chin. A dark lock of his hair tumbled upon his forehead and\nmade his thin face look even whiter than usual. \u201cA regular violin face,\u201d\nJoan thought to herself. \u201cI wonder I didn\u2019t think of it before. And I\nthought he\u2019d be a speedy ball player, because he was thin. Fine reporter\nI\u2019d be!\u201d\nEric played. A dreamy but spirited thing that made you think of lads and\nlassies doing an old-time dance on a green countryside. Joan could\npicture the colors of their costumes as the couples whisked about,\nhopping, and smiling to each other. Every one in the little office stood\nperfectly still while Eric played.\nWhen he finished, the bow drooped limp and lifeless in his hand. Uncle\nJohn strode toward the door. \u201cVery nice, indeed,\u201d he said, and his voice\nwas gruff. \u201cBut this is hardly a concert hall.\u201d\nAbie was clapping his hairy hands. \u201cWonderful! Wonderful! Five dollars\nand even more you would pay to hear such playing like that!\u201d\n\u201cThe kid\u2019s clever, no joke,\u201d Tim remarked as he went out. \u201cAnd their\nswapping the prizes will make a peach of a follow-up story.\u201d\nEric held out his hand to Joan, right there in front of Jimmy and Chub.\n\u201cThank you very much,\u201d he said in his grown-up way, \u201cfor helping us\nout\u2014for solving the mystery.\u201d\nJoan laughed. \u201cDon\u2019t thank me. Thank Em. She did it.\u201d\nThey all looked over to the corner where Em was unconcernedly licking\nher black paw.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the second time she proved herself a heroine,\u201d Joan thought to\nherself. She had led Joan to the charity play story\u2014and now this. Dummy\nhad hid the story, she was sure, and had been only pretending in his\nargument with Mack. You couldn\u2019t tell about the proofreader. Yet, here\nwas another mistake that had happened and Dummy had not been to blame.\nCHAPTER XIV\nSACRED COW\n\u201cThat is the curse of the newspaper game,\u201d said Mr. Nixon one busy lunch\ntime, a few days later, as he banged down the receiver of his desk\nphone.\nThe office was deserted except for Cookie, over in his corner, and Joan,\nwho had strolled in expecting to find Miss Betty. But the society editor\nhad gone to report a lecture at the Music Club luncheon. Tim and Mack\nwere out, too; Cookie did not look up at the editor\u2019s remark. So it\nseemed that he must be talking to Joan.\n\u201cWhat is?\u201d she asked.\n\u201cWhat?\u201d his bushy brows went up. \u201cI guess I was talking to myself. It\u2019s\na sign of old age. But I meant\u2014Sacred Cow.\u201d\nSacred Cow. Joan didn\u2019t understand. Cookie was busy, but she just had to\nask him. He was always nice about questions.\n\u201cWhy, just a \u2018puff\u2019\u2014you know, free publicity for advertisers. They never\nseem to ask for it at a reasonable time, but always when we have to do\neverything but hold the presses to give it to them.\u201d\nThen, of course, Joan knew. Those squibs Miss Betty sometimes stuck into\nthe society columns about what good dinners the Tea Room served. That\nwas Sacred Cow.\n\u201cThe story is only a means of getting the store\u2019s name in the paper,\u201d\nCookie went on. Then he called across to the editor, \u201cWhat is it this\ntime, Nix?\u201d\n\u201cWindow display at Davis\u2019,\u201d was the answer. \u201cAnd every one\u2019s going to be\nbusy this afternoon. Want it in to-day\u2019s paper, too\u2014and I\u2019ve no one to\nsend.\u201d\nCookie was not sent out on stories any more; he was too old.\nJoan suddenly felt as she had when she had been tempted to change Tim\u2019s\nstory about Tommy and the overcrowded Day Nursery. That had turned out\nall right. Should she take a chance again?\n\u201cMr. Nixon,\u201d she approached his desk timidly, \u201ccouldn\u2019t I go?\u201d\n\u201cYou?\u201d The editor looked up. \u201cBut you can\u2019t write.\u201d\n\u201cOh, yes, I can,\u201d Joan assured him. \u201cI can compose right on the\ntypewriter, too, just the way the rest of the reporters do. I\u2014I,\u201d she\nhated to tell him this, but she couldn\u2019t miss such an opportunity, \u201cI\nwrote part of that Day Nursery story for Tim. You see, I know more about\nbabies than he does.\u201d\n\u201cBabies\u2014\u201d repeated the editor. \u201cThis is a baby window display. Girl, I\nlike your spunk and I believe I\u2019ll let you try. Run along.\u201d\nJoan wanted to ask a dozen questions. Which window was it? Was she to\nsee any one in particular? What kind of a write-up did he want? One of\nthose chummy intimate chats that Miss Betty sometimes wrote, or a stiff,\nformal article?\nBut she didn\u2019t ask any of them. He had said she could go. If she\nbothered him, he might change his mind. She said only, \u201cO.K.,\u201d the way\nChub always did, and went over to Tim\u2019s desk. There she helped herself\nto a yellow pencil, furnished by the _Journal_, and a folded pad of copy\npaper. She would take plenty of notes. She had helped often around the\n_Journal_, but this was the first assignment that she was to do all by\nherself and as luck had it, she had on her tan sweater outfit. Chub,\nappearing suddenly, slapped her on the back as she went out, with \u201cGood\nluck!\u201d\nAt the corner she almost ran into Mack, who was coming out of a\nrestaurant door. \u201cWhere\u2019s the fire?\u201d he asked, seeing her hurry. In her\nenthusiasm, she could not resist saying, \u201cI\u2019m covering a story for the\npaper, Mack.\u201d\nHe stared at her. He was an odd creature, she reflected. Any one else\nwould have been decent about it. But, of course, he disliked her because\nshe was the sister of his rival.\n\u201cDid you notice who was with me, just now?\u201d he asked.\nJoan shook her head. She had vaguely seen a big sort of man strolling\noff, but had been too occupied with her own thoughts really to notice.\nMack continued to stare at her. \u201cI believe I\u2019ll tell you, kid. You see,\nI found out that you and that office boy think Dummy\u2019s a crook. Well, so\ndo I. So I thought I\u2019d do some investigating on my own hook. I was just\ntrying to pump Tebbets about him. Keep quiet about all this.\u201d\n\u201cAll right.\u201d Joan was too engrossed in being sent on her first real\nassignment to bother much about anything, even about the office mystery.\nAt least, Mack wasn\u2019t laughing at them for thinking Dummy a spy\u2014the way\nTim probably would have. Rather the sport editor now seemed very much in\nearnest. Of course, he wanted to be the one to solve the problem in\norder to shine in Miss Betty\u2019s eyes.\nA few blocks more and she was at Davis\u2019 Department Store. She got\npanicky. Maybe she shouldn\u2019t have come. After all, she wasn\u2019t a real\nreporter. Oh, what an adorable window! Chubby, lifelike baby figures,\nclad in abbreviated sun suits, playing in real sand. This must be the\nwindow. Joan pressed her face against the glass and took in details.\nWriting this up would be fun! Wouldn\u2019t Tommy look cunning in one of\nthose suits?\nThat reminded her that Tommy\u2019s mother was in Davis\u2019, just inside the\ndoor at the handkerchief counter. She would ask her about the window.\n\u201cMr. Dugan, the floorwalker, will be glad to tell you about the window,\nJoan,\u201d Tommy\u2019s mother said. \u201cHe adores kids, and that window is a pet of\nhis.\u201d\nMr. Dugan was lovely (Joan\u2019s word), a tall man in striped trousers and a\ncutaway coat, who looked more like an usher at a stylish wedding than a\nfloorwalker. He took her to the window and explained about the suits,\nsaying that Davis\u2019 was the first store in Plainfield to show them. Joan\nmade a note of that on her pad and underscored it.\n\u201cYou see, in these suits, the babies get all the necessary vitamines\nfrom the sunshine.\u201d\nJoan bent over her pad. \u201cVitamine\u2014\u201d she didn\u2019t know how to spell it, but\nshe could look it up when she got back to the office.\nMr. Dugan saw her dilemma. \u201cV-i-t-a-m-i-n-e,\u201d he spelled, without even\nsmiling. He went on and told her about the New York lecturer who would\ntalk to the mothers on the importance of sunshine.\nWhen Joan thanked him for his kindness, he said, \u201cI\u2019ve enjoyed it all,\ntoo, for I never was interviewed by such an inspired young newspaper\nreporter. Most of them are so bold and prepossessing that you hate to\ntell \u2019em anything.\u201d\nThat was because this was her very first assignment and she had been\nscared to pieces. Of course, it was probably just good luck that Mr.\nDugan had proved so amiable\u2014what Tim called a \u201clucky break.\u201d\nShe hurried back to the _Journal_, meeting Amy just at the big double\ndoors of the red-front Five and Ten. She was on her way to buy a\nheart-shaped powder puff, special that day for only ten cents. She urged\nJoan to come in and indulge, too.\n\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d Joan displayed her yellow notes, importantly. \u201cI\u2019ve got a\ndead-line to make.\u201d\n\u201cYou funny kid. Your nose is shiny.\u201d\nJoan didn\u2019t mind her laughing. She was too happy over her assignment to\nlet anything worry her. Amy knew that she had not started powdering yet,\nexcept when she went to parties.\nLuckily, Tim was still out on his assignment, and she could have his\ntypewriter undisturbed. It wasn\u2019t a good machine; it worked hard and the\ncommas were all headless, which made the composition rather confusing.\nChub came over and hung around her typewriter, while Joan worked on her\nstory. She had read scores of fashion notes, store openings, and so on,\nfollowing Miss Betty through all her literary adventures, so that she\nnow had a fairly clear idea of how to go about writing up the Davis\ndisplay window.\nJust as she had with the Day Nursery story, she made the youngster who\nwas to wear the sun suit, and receive its benefits, very real and\nfascinating. No one could resist the story\u2019s appeal. Every mother who\nread it would say, \u201cThat\u2019s just the thing for Billy and Betty,\u201d and\nwould go right down to the store. She had the facts, too, and even\nquoted the New York lecturer and Mr. Dugan.\nShe looked up every word she was the least doubtful about in the worn,\ncoverless dictionary. She remembered that Miss Betty counted four\ntriple-spaced typed pages to a column. Recalling Miss Betty\u2019s recent\nwrite-up of a toggery shop, she planned to make this the same length,\nabout a third of a column, and figured that would be a little more than\na page of typewriting.\nAt last the story satisfied her and she retyped it. She had made too\nmany changes in the original to hand that draft in, although she knew\nthat was the way real reporters did. What name should she put in the\nupper left-hand corner? If she put simply Martin, every one would think\nTim had written it, and he would be blamed if there were any mistakes in\nit. \u201cJoan\u201d would be too informal, so she decided on J. MARTIN, and typed\nit in capitals, the way Tim did.\nShe left a space for the \u201chead.\u201d The _Journal_ headlines were written\nright on the copy. What kind would it have\u2014a No. 1 italic, or a\ntwo-column boldface? Joan had often tried to learn headline writing but\ndiscovered that finding words to fit the spaces was harder than\ncross-word puzzles.\nShe knew that a news story should, if possible, answer the questions:\nWho? What? Where? When? and How? in the first sentence, and she had\ndevised such a \u201clead.\u201d She remembered that Cookie once told them about a\nyoung reporter, who, in writing about a young man who had been drowned,\nstarted his story by telling how the youth had left home that morning,\nand gone on a picnic with his chums, how they had enjoyed lunch, and\nthen hired a boat to go rowing. Not until the last paragraph did the\nreader learn that the young man had been drowned. That was the wrong way\nto write news stories, Cookie explained.\nWas her story good enough? For a moment, she was tempted not to hand it\nin, after all. Still, Mr. Dugan would look for it in the _Journal_.\nShe placed it timidly upon Mr. Nixon\u2019s desk. He was talking over the\ntelephone, listening with one cheek held against the mouthpiece to shut\nout the office noises. He nodded at her and began to read copy on the\nstory while he listened to the telephone conversation, answering with\nmonosyllables. It might be a tip for a big news story he was getting, or\nit might be Mrs. Editor on the other end of the wire, telling him about\nthe baby. Once Chub had told Joan that Mrs. Editor had telephoned that\nthe baby had a tooth\u2014her first. The connection had been poor and for a\nfew moments the office was thrown into consternation, because the editor\nhad understood her to say, \u201cRuthie has the croup.\u201d Perhaps, though, Chub\nhad made that story up. You never did know what to believe, for the\n_Journal_ family liked joking so well.\nThe editor slammed down the receiver and walked toward the composing\nroom with Joan\u2019s story. How would she ever live until the middle of the\nafternoon when the paper came out? Miss Betty had come back and was\nworking feverishly to get her copy in. Tim came, too, and when he wasn\u2019t\nbusy, Joan told him she had interviewed a Sacred Cow.\n\u201cToo bad I wasn\u2019t here to help you,\u201d he said.\nJoan kept thinking about her story. The linotype men must be through\nwith it by now. It had been written off by one machine, she was sure\u2014for\nonly the long stories were split up by pages and handed around in order\nto keep all the linotype men busy. Then the proof was \u201cpulled\u201d and Dummy\nread that. He would have her copy to follow and would see her name on\nit. Would he know who J. Martin was?\nShe heard the presses going\u2014and a sick feeling clutched her. Suppose she\nhad made some terrible mistake in the story?\nOne minute she wanted to run out after the papers as she often did. But\nthat would seem over-anxious. The next minute, she wanted to run home\nand not even look at the story. Oh, wouldn\u2019t some one ever go back after\nthe papers?\nFinally, Chub and Gertie emerged through the swinging door. Gertie had a\nbunch of papers over her arm, and so did Chub. Hers were for counter\nsales in the front office. Chub handed one to each member of the staff,\nas was his custom. Then he came to Joan, sitting there, silently\ntwisting her tie.\n\u201cHere\u2019s yours.\u201d He handed her a copy, damp and limp, it was so fresh\nfrom the press.\nShe took the paper. She remembered that day, so long ago it seemed,\nthough it was only a month and a half, when she had read Tim\u2019s first\nstory, and now\u2014she was going to read her own. Her own first story. In\nthe _Journal_. \u201cThank you, Chub,\u201d her voice came in a whisper.\nChub looked at her, staring at the paper. \u201cGosh, ain\u2019t you going to hunt\nup your story? Ain\u2019t on the front page, for I saw the page proof of\nthat. Here let me help you hunt. Don\u2019t you know a reporter,\u201d he drew the\nword out, deliciously, as though he were chewing a caramel, \u201cshould read\nover his stuff _after_ it\u2019s printed?\u201d\n\u201cYes, I know.\u201d Her hand actually shook as she turned the pages. Together\nthey scanned the paper, down one column and up the next, their eyes\ndarting from one headline to another. At length they found it buried on\none of the inside pages, but with an italicized headline that made it a\nreally, truly feature story. There it was, just as she had written it.\nOnly one word was changed. She had used the word \u201cladies\u201d and in the\npaper, it was \u201cwomen.\u201d She remembered now that the booklet, _Journal\nStyle_, had said, \u201cDo not use the term \u2018lady,\u2019 except to designate the\nwife of an English lord.\u201d Of course, that was just part of the _Journal_\npolicy, but she wished she had not forgotten.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a good story, Joan.\u201d Mr. Nixon was smiling at her. \u201cI guess the\nDavis Department Store won\u2019t have any kick on the kind of stuff we give\n\u2019em.\u201d\n\u201cWhat page?\u201d Miss Betty was turning over her copy of the _Journal_.\nAfter she had discovered it and read it, she announced, \u201cThat\u2019s a dandy\nstory, Jo.\u201d\n\u201cIt is that.\u201d Cookie added his bit.\nTim glanced at it, rather casually, Joan thought, and decided, \u201cIt\u2019s\npretty good for just a sub-cub reporter.\u201d\nEven Mack was nice enough to nod.\nJoan could only grin like a Cheshire cat, blinking in the bewilderment\nof so much praise. Then, hugging the paper to her, she started home to\nshow it to Mother. Mrs. Martin was busy cutting up an old dress, but she\nput her work aside and sat down in the porch rocker to read the story.\n\u201cWhy, Joan,\u201d she finished it at last. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you could do things\nlike this. It sounds as good as what Tim writes. I believe you\u2019d make a\nbetter reporter than he, after all. I feel as though I had seen Davis\u2019\nwindow, myself. I\u2019ll go around past there on my way to the Auxiliary\nMeeting, just to see it. I want to.\u201d She smiled. \u201cGuess I\u2019ll have to let\nyou be a newspaper woman, after this.\u201d\nThat from Mother!\nTo cover her confusion at Mother\u2019s words, Joan dashed into the dining\nroom and started setting the table, though it wasn\u2019t nearly time. As she\nplaced the silverware around, she began to wonder about Mack. She wasn\u2019t\nsure whether she was glad or sorry that he knew they suspected Dummy of\nbeing a spy.\nCHAPTER XV\nJOAN MEETS ALEX\nEven Tim seemed to have more respect for Joan after her write-up of the\nDavis kiddie window. Mr. Dugan had been satisfied, too, and had sent\nJoan a tiny sun suit of bright green hue, for her to give to Tommy. He\nsaid it was in appreciation of the nice write-up she gave them. Miss\nBetty was always being given all sorts of things, even a tip once from a\nwealthy woman, whose party she had written up extravagantly. \u201cIt\nhappened I was a little short of news that day!\u201d Miss Betty explained.\nJoan was helping Tim more and more. She had gradually fallen into the\nhabit of getting the stuff for the Ten Years Ago To-Day column ready for\nhim every day.\nMiss Betty was right when she said that the articles in the files were\nlike stories. To-day, she found an engrossing one\u2014all about a man who\nhad disappeared right here in Plainfield. The man had been a bookkeeper,\nMr. Richard Marat, and had discovered a deficiency in his books, and,\nfearing arrest, had fled\u2014no one knew where. Reading ahead in the files,\nJoan learned that experts had examined the man\u2019s books, had found no\ndeficiency and had reported that the man had simply made a mistake. Joan\ncouldn\u2019t help feeling sorry for him, whoever he was, running away like\nthat when he\u2019d done nothing wrong. She knew how helpless one felt when a\nmistake happened that wasn\u2019t expected like that. She read parts of it\naloud to Tim.\n\u201cHair slightly gray, blue eyes\u2014um, that would fit a lot of people,\u201d Tim\nsaid. \u201cIt\u2019s not specific enough. That\u2019s the most important thing to\nlearn in the newspaper world\u2014get details.\u201d Joan finished her typing and\nTim was pleased when she handed it to him.\nTim was in a good humor. He whistled as he reached for his hat. \u201cWant to\ngo along?\u201d he asked. \u201cThe paper\u2019s on the press and things are dull, so\nNix\u2019s sending Lefty out to the Boyville School to take pictures of the\nboys\u2019 band in their new uniforms. And I\u2019m to go along to see if I can\u2019t\nget a feature out of it.\u201d\nShe would adore it. \u201cBut\u2014Amy\u2019s waiting for me\u2014\u201d she faltered. She had on\nthe flowered organdie of palest yellow. She and Amy had planned a call\non a visiting girl. But a chance to go with Tim! They could do the\nother, any time.\n\u201cTake her along,\u201d he invited. They found Amy waiting on the sidewalk\nengaged in conversation with Lefty, who was in his old car at the curb.\nAmy had on an organdie, too\u2014hers was pale pink. \u201cHop in, kids,\u201d he held\nopen the sagging door. \u201cSure, you can both go along.\u201d\nLefty was nice, and rather young. Not so young as Tim, of course, but\nstill, young. Joan and Amy climbed in. It might be just taking a ride to\nAmy, going out ten miles or so in the country on this sunshiny\nafternoon, but to Joan it was covering an assignment. Now that she was a\nreporter, too! Amy began chattering away, saying that this was the first\ntime she had ever sat behind Tim and noticed what good-looking ears he\nhad. Tim reddened at this, but did not get peeved. Amy always flattered\nthe boys and they seemed to like it. Lefty was occupied with the\ndriving. Joan wished that Chub could have come along, too.\nSoon they passed through a tiny village. Nothing much there but a brick\nschool, a few houses and stores, and an ugly frame building that bore\nthe words, \u201cBlack Stump Volunteer Firemen\u2019s Hall.\u201d\n\u201cIs Black Stump a village?\u201d Amy asked.\n\u201cSure is,\u201d Lefty nodded. \u201cYou are now in its busy center.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s a queer name for a town,\u201d Joan remarked.\nA little farther along, they came to a large estate on the right side of\nthe road, hidden behind a Christmas tree hedge that seemed to stretch\nfor miles. It was the home of Mr. West, one of the wealthiest men in the\ncountry. Through the vine-covered entrance gates, they had a peep at a\nwinding path, leading over a rustic bridge and past a sparkling pond.\nThen, the red-roofed buildings of the Boyville School came into sight as\nthey started upgrade. Lefty turned in between the two bleak posts and\npassed a big, bold sign, which announced:\n                  Plainfield Township Truant School\nAt the desk inside the main building they were greeted by Mr. Link, the\nprincipal, a stern, gray-haired man, as erect as a general, and Mr.\nBassett, his drooping little clerk.\n\u201cThe band is waiting at the East Cottage,\u201d Mr. Link said. \u201cCome this\nway.\u201d He opened a door at the back of the room and led them out into a\ncavelike place. It was a tunnel, with round, sloping walls of cold, gray\nstone and about as high as a tall man. Dampness rushed at them from the\nfrigid walls.\nThe principal noted their puzzled expressions as the four stepped into\nthe chill, queer place. \u201cThis tunnel is a part of our subway system,\u201d he\nexplained. \u201cAll our buildings are connected with this tunnel\nunderground. It saves a lot of time and trouble. Food is taken in large\nthermos cans from the main kitchen to the cottage dining rooms. The\ntunnel even runs to the old isolation hospital, across the lots from\nthese buildings. But we don\u2019t use that hospital any more, for we had so\nfew contagious cases, we found it better to take them to Plainfield.\u201d\nNow he was opening a door, leading them up into a vast place that reeked\nof soap and water. Past a pantry and dining room, where tables were set\nwith white cloths and napkins, rolled into rings, marked each place.\n\u201cThe boys are just outside this cottage,\u201d said the principal.\nCottage! It certainly wasn\u2019t the cozy place the word suggested, this\nbare, unlovely building. They followed Mr. Link up to the second floor\nof the cottage, where there was a living room, with the boys\u2019 study\nbooks in apple-pie order on the table. Joan caught a glimpse of the\ndormitory through an open door, with rows of scrupulously neat cots. Had\nthe boys smoothed those beds? She marveled, but Mr. Link had said that\nthe boys helped the matron with all the household tasks.\nThe second floor was on a level with the ground, and when they came out\nthe front of the cottage they spied the band, about twenty boys in\nuniforms of French blue, with red-lined capes, costumes which Amy\npronounced \u201csimply gorgeous!\u201d The boys\u2019 shiny instruments sparkled in\nthe sun. Lefty pulled out the slender black stems of his tripod and set\nit up. Tim took charge of the boys, who obeyed him meekly, eyeing the\nprincipal all the time. He had the smaller boys sit on the lower step,\nthe taller ones behind, the two buglers on each end, with the gold cord\nhanging just so. Then Lefty squinted into his camera\u2014he was so slow and\ndeliberate, at times.\nTim was chatting with the principal. \u201cNo, we don\u2019t use the honor\nsystem,\u201d Mr. Link was saying. \u201cI don\u2019t believe it would work. The boys\nare bad boys, or they wouldn\u2019t be here. We treat them like the prisoners\nthey are.\u201d\nJoan decided to wander about a bit by herself, while the pictures were\nbeing taken. She strolled back into the cottage, without the others\nmissing her. As she ventured along she suddenly heard a swish, swish,\nand looking over to the corner of the living room, she spied a boy of\nabout her own age, kneeling beside a pail of soapy, gray water,\nscrubbing the floor.\n\u201cO gosh!\u201d He jumped to his feet. His face got red. \u201cI\u2014I\u2014\u201d he could do\nnothing but stutter and seemed overcome with embarrassment. He was so\ndifferent from Chub, who was plump and had red hair and freckles. This\nboy was tall and lanky, with a shock of very light hair and big blue\neyes. He stared down at the scrub brush in his rough, red hands. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019m\non the clean-up crew this week,\u201d he said.\n\u201cI came with my brother\u2014he\u2019s a cub reporter\u2014and the photographer to take\npictures of the band boys,\u201d Joan explained. \u201cTheir uniforms are nice.\u201d\nShe could not help but compare them with the blue overalls and faded\nshirt that he was wearing. He was barefooted, too.\n\u201cYe-ah. They\u2019re nice. We wear uniforms, too\u2014brown ones with brass\nbuttons.\u201d\nHe seemed loath to turn back to his work while she was there, so she\nturned and started on. \u201cSay,\u201d he called after her, \u201cdo me a favor? Tell\nme something. Do you know much about a newspaper?\u201d\nDid she? When she had lived next to one all her life! She nodded, too\nsurprised at his question to speak.\n\u201cWell,\u201d he went on, \u201cdo you know where I could go to school to study\nrunning a linotype machine?\u201d\nJoan didn\u2019t know. \u201cBut I\u2019ll find out and write you,\u201d she promised. He\nseemed to want to know so badly!\nInstantly, his thin face lighted up. \u201cGosh, would you? I\u2019d sure like to\nget a letter. The other fellers do, sometimes, but I never have. Just\naddress it, \u2018Alex White,\u2019 and I\u2019ll get it.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t your parents write you?\u201d Joan was curious.\n\u201cHaven\u2019t any,\u201d came the quick answer. \u201cThey both died when I was little,\nand I lived with Aunt Florrie, and she used to switch me every time I\nplayed hooky to hang around the pressroom at the _Journal_\u2014\u201d\n\u201cThe _Journal_!\u201d gasped the girl. \u201cWhy, I live next to it!\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019ve been in your alley a million times, I guess,\u201d drawled Alex\nWhite. \u201cI used to sell papers. Know Papa Sadler?\u201d\nOf course. Every one did. Papa Sadler was the name the boys gave to the\njolly, middle-aged circulation manager, who managed the newsboys,\ncollected their receipts, and paid them their commissions. Joan recalled\nhow Papa Sadler and his \u201cgang\u201d had enjoyed the picnic. Once Alex had\nbeen one of those happy-hearted boys who swarmed around Papa Sadler,\nquarreling for the best routes and showing off and having fun! How had\nhe happened to end up here?\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you like school?\u201d she ventured.\n\u201cNope, couldn\u2019t stand it. Played hooky until the truant officer came,\nand Aunt Florrie said she wished he would send me here, because she had\nsix kids of her own and I was a bother.\u201d His voice dropped. \u201cI\u2019ll be\never so much obliged to you, if you get me that information,\u201d he said in\na funny, formal way. \u201cI\u2019m going to get out on parole soon, for good\nbehavior, and I just gotta know if I can go somewhere and learn the\nlinotype trade.\u201d\n\u201cGood-by, Alex White.\u201d With a quick impulse, she reached out and shook\nhis soapy, moist hand. \u201cThat\u2019s an easy name. I can remember it.\u201d\nIt was too bad about Alex. How different things were for him than for\nEric Reynolds. Yet, each boy, hardly older than herself, knew firmly\nwhat he wanted to be. She guessed Alex\u2019 name had reminded her of\nEric\u2014the names were something alike.\nShe kept thinking about Alex all the rest of the afternoon while the\nprincipal showed them over the school. They visited the classrooms and\nthen went through the shops where such things as plumbing, carpentry,\nand laundry work were being taught.\n\u201cBut no printing?\u201d Joan asked, suddenly bold.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d laughed Lefty. \u201cDrum up your own trade.\u201d\nBut the principal answered her seriously. \u201cWell, there is an\nappropriation that might be used for printing, if the boys showed enough\ninterest. But printing is different from manual labor. It takes real\nknowledge and skill. Our boys couldn\u2019t learn it, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d\nShe was sure they could, especially boys like Alex, who wanted to. But\nMr. Link was not the type of man to argue with. She was still thinking\nabout Alex when they drove home and passed the beautiful West estate\nwhich was almost next door. Wasn\u2019t there some way out for Alex? Why, she\nfelt toward him almost the way she had about Tommy. He was as bad off as\nTommy. She wanted to help him too, as they had Tommy. Maybe the\n_Journal_ would do something. Dummy seemed to like kids, and he knew the\nback office. Maybe he could get one of the linotype men to teach Alex,\nbut that did not seem probable. Besides, Dummy was a villain, even\nthough he did seem nice. Amy often remarked, \u201cHe\u2019s either just a nice\nold man or a deep-dyed villain.\u201d\n\u201cSome difference between old man West\u2019s kid and the Boyville School\nboys, isn\u2019t there?\u201d Lefty said and brought Joan out of her thoughts.\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be so terrible,\u201d Amy said, \u201cif only they didn\u2019t have to\nwear those horribly unbecoming khaki uniforms.\u201d\nCookie often said that a fire was the most exciting thing a reporter\ncould be sent to cover. Of course, Tim wasn\u2019t really sent to cover the\nfire that broke out on the West estate two nights later, but he was\nthere and so was Joan. The _Journal_ staff did not work in the evenings.\nEvery one was usually gone by five or so, but the reporters took turns\ncoming back to the office every few hours during the evening to see\nwhether anything had \u201cbroken.\u201d Tim had not yet been assigned to any of\nthis night duty. Mack had been at the office when the report of the fire\ncame in, and he had phoned for Lefty and his camera and special\nequipment to take night pictures. Lefty, driving up to the curb to pick\nup Mack, honked also for Tim.\nJoan had been sitting on the porch steps, too, with Em cuddled in the\nlap of her plaid skirt. Now, she jumped up, spilling Em, and dashed\nafter her brother. \u201cA fire! Oh, Tim, let me go, too. Mother\u2019s gone to an\nAuxiliary meeting, and I don\u2019t want to stay alone.\u201d\nThat was just an excuse so Tim\u2019d take her.\n\u201cAll right,\u201d he grunted. \u201cIf the rest don\u2019t mind, I don\u2019t.\u201d\n\u201cO.K. with me.\u201d Lefty was always nice.\nBut Mack said, \u201cWhy does that kid have to be forever hanging around?\u201d\nWas he afraid she would tell the mystery? He had not mentioned it to her\nagain. He probably wanted to solve it himself and reap the glory.\n\u201cPipe down, Mack.\u201d Lefty told him. \u201cThis happens to be my car and if you\ndon\u2019t care to go with us, you might hire a taxi and put it on your petty\ncash account. That is, if you haven\u2019t padded it too much already this\nweek.\u201d\nThat was a snub for Mack! For the _Journal_ staff rumored among\nthemselves that Mack often treated Miss Betty to sodas and candy,\ncharging it up to his expense account as car fare or stamps. He did it\nbecause he wanted Miss Betty to like him better than she did Tim. They\ndidn\u2019t know that it was true, but the remark silenced Mack, for he said\nnothing as Joan climbed into the back seat. She wished she dared ask\nthem to stop for Amy. At the corner, however, they passed Chub on his\nway to a movie on \u201cpasses.\u201d When he saw Lefty and the camera, he did not\nwait for anything. He hopped up on the running board and climbed over\nthe door into the back seat.\n\u201cGee!\u201d he said, when he heard the news. \u201cWouldn\u2019t you know it would\nhappen on _Star_ time?\u201d Since the _Journal_ came out in the afternoon,\nthe _Star_ would have the story first.\nThe town of Black Stump _was_ busy now. The big double doors of the Fire\nHall stood open, revealing dark emptiness within. Men, women, and\nchildren were running about in the road\u2014all in the direction of the\nfire. Lefty had to honk often and drive cautiously.\nNow they could see the red glare in the sky, beyond the blur of the\ntrees. At the entrance to the estate was a cluster of people. Lefty\nsteered over the rustic bridge and past the pond, now dim and dark. As\nthey approached the house, they could feel the heat of the fire, hear\nthe crackle of it and the fall of the timber under the axes of the\nVolunteers. Lefty parked the car, and the _Journal_ men hurried out, Tim\nleaving orders that Chub was to look out for Joan. Lefty swung his\ncamera over his shoulder and ran into the flickering, leaping shadows.\nChub dashed off and Joan was alone.\nPeople were all about, shouting, talking, screaming. The smoke made\nJoan\u2019s eyes blink as she peered about. She saw that the Volunteers had\nconfined the fire to one wing of the house.\nChub came darting back. \u201cSay, a bunch of kids from the Boyville School\nare helping the Volunteers. They phoned the principal and he sent about\nfifty of \u2019em down. Freed on their word of honor to go back. Trying out a\nnew honor system. They marched down here, two and two, somebody said.\nThey\u2019re hustlers. Come and watch.\u201d\nJoan followed, stepping over the bumpy, mended places in the Volunteer\nhose stretched along the ground. \u201cI know one of the boys at the home,\u201d\nshe told Chub. \u201cAlex White. I wonder if he\u2019s here.\u201d\nBy the burning wing, which was Mr. West\u2019s library, were three lines of\nboys, clad in khaki uniforms. They were passing armfuls of books from\none to another, along the lines, like a bucket brigade. Firemen working\nwithin the burning home, beat their way through the smoke and appeared\nin the long French windows with the stacks of books.\nJoan felt sure Alex was with the boys and scrutinized each face. Finally\nshe located him up near the front, and she and Chub edged up. \u201cHello,\nAlex,\u201d she said when he looked up.\n\u201c\u2019Lo,\u201d he answered, and didn\u2019t seem half so surprised to see her as she\nhad expected. Perhaps he thought that she went with Tim on all his\nassignments. She wished she did! But luck like this\u2014going with him twice\nin the same week\u2014wouldn\u2019t happen again in a long time.\nMr. West was helping to save the books, too. He was hatless and\ncoatless, and running here and there. He didn\u2019t look like a\nmillionaire\u2014this little gray-haired man who, now that his family and\nhome were in no danger, was all eagerness to save his precious books.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to help, too,\u201d announced Chub, and Alex made room for him in\nthe line.\nJoan felt a little put out. Boys had all the fun! She couldn\u2019t stay\nthere, for a Volunteer, who looked like a butcher, waved her off.\nFrom near the car she watched Lefty\u2019s silhouette as he bent over his\ntripod, snapping pictures in the light of the flames.\nPresently, the fire was out, only a wet odor of smoke in the air, the\ncharred part of the home looking like the injured wing of a great, white\nbird. Chub came through the smoke. \u201cCome on and say good-by to Alex,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cHe\u2019s a good scout.\u201d\nThey started along the winding path toward the entrance gates, where the\nboys were forming in lines to march back.\n\u201cGosh, what a tough-looking guy,\u201d Chub pressed her arm as they neared\nthe pond, where, by the water, half hidden by a clump of bushes, they\nmade out a big figure standing, with brass buttons gleaming like stars.\nHe was talking to another khaki-suited shadow, and his voice sounded\nthreatening. \u201cLissen, I\u2019m going to beat it, if I want to, and if you try\nto stop me, you\u2019ll be sorry! See?\u201d\nThe other boy raised his hand as if to strike, but as he twirled about,\nhe discovered Chub and Joan and let his hand drop. It was Alex. He\nlooked as embarrassed as he had when Joan had discovered him scrubbing\nthe floor. \u201cOh, hello,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is Charley Falls. He was just\nhaving a little joke. Weren\u2019t you, Charley?\u201d\nCharley did not answer except with a snort of disgust as he turned away.\nAt the gates the boys were already in lines, shuffling their feet,\nclouds of pale gold dust blowing up in the light of the gate lamps.\n\u201cGood-by!\u201d Alex called over his shoulder as he ran to join the others.\nThen, the tramp, tramp of their feet sounded as the boys began their\ntwo-mile march back to the school.\nChub and Joan went back and found the photographer busy taking a\nflashlight picture of the ruins and the crowds. At length, Lefty folded\nup his tripod and came to the car.\n\u201cThis Boyville stuff will make a good feature,\u201d Mack was saying. \u201cThey\nsaved the old man\u2019s books, all right. They say he\u2019s going to do\nsomething big for the Boyville boys. We\u2019ve decided to follow it up.\nDrive on up to the school and see whether all the boys return.\u201d\nLefty stepped on the starter, and in a second, the car had whizzed\naround past the smoky house and out through the gates where the boys had\nstarted their march. They did not pass the boys, though it hardly seemed\npossible that they could have reached the school before this. There were\nlights here and there in the Boyville School and it looked really pretty\nat night, like a fairy castle, so high on the hill. Even the cold stone\ngates and plain sign took on a different look in the moonlight, Joan\nthought, as they turned in and drove up to the main building.\n\u201cJust Mack and I\u2019ll go in,\u201d decided Lefty. \u201cFive of us look like a gang,\nand that principal\u2019s an old bear, anyway.\u201d\nThe ones on the back seat sat and waited. The excitement of the fire and\nthe smoke in her eyes had made Joan rather sleepy. It was silly to have\ncome on to the school. Of course, the boys had all returned. From\nwithin, they could hear the low drone of voices, rhythmic and even.\nMack rushed down the steps. \u201cWhat a wow of a story! Two of the boys\ndidn\u2019t come back. The boys came across lots by the old hospital building\nbecause it was so much shorter than all the way around by the road, and\nwhen they got here, two of them were missing!\u201d\n\u201cWhich ones?\u201d Joan hardly knew she asked the question.\nMack looked at her. Of course, he did not know that she knew any of the\nboys. He had a bit of paper in his hand, and he leaned nearer to let the\ndash light fall on it. \u201cHad to bribe one of the kids to tell me that.\nCouldn\u2019t get anything out of that clam, Link.\u201d He consulted the paper.\n\u201cCharley Falls and Alex White,\u201d he read. \u201cThat\u2019s the kids\u2019 names.\u201d\nCHAPTER XVI\nTHE HONOR SYSTEM\n\u201cGoing back to the office, Mack, to write this up?\u201d Lefty asked as he\ngot into the car.\nThe _Journal_ men had no way of knowing that the names of the two\nmissing Boyville School boys had meant anything to Joan and Chub, on the\nback seat. Joan had gasped when she heard the names and then stared out\ninto the darkness, speechless for a moment.\n\u201cNo, Lefty, please wait!\u201d She reached over and touched his sleeve.\n\u201cI\u2014we\u2014we\u2019ve just got to go in, Chub and I. We know that boy, Alex White,\nand he\u2019s _nice_, isn\u2019t he, Chub? And I\u2014I\u2019m just sure there\u2019s a mistake.\u201d\nMack slammed the door. \u201cLittle Mary Mix-up to the rescue.\u201d\nBut Chub was her champion. \u201cDon\u2019t mind the old crab,\u201d he whispered.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a big story, and he\u2019ll be glad enough to gobble it up, after we\ndig it up.\u201d Aloud, he said, \u201cThat kid Alex wasn\u2019t the kind that would\nbreak parole, and I think, too, that there\u2019s something rotten in\nDenmark. You see, we know more about this than you three do. We heard\nthat Charley boy threaten to run away, and Alex was ready to fight him.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid Alex got the worst of it\u2014\u201d began Joan.\n\u201cSay, let\u2019s leave the kids here in case anything breaks,\u201d burst out\nLefty, \u201cand let us drive over the route again, for traces of the missing\nboys.\u201d\n\u201cOh, what\u2019s the use?\u201d yawned Mack. \u201cLet\u2019s go home and get some sleep. We\ncan read all about the fire in _The Morning Star_.\u201d\nChub was already out of the car, holding the door open for Joan. Inside,\nin the bright yellow light of the big hall of the main building, they\nstood still, a bit abashed now that they were there, especially with no\nplans as to what they should do.\nTwo long lines of boys stretched along the great, bare room, shuffling\nuneasily in the \u201csneaker\u201d shoes they wore. Mr. Link was facing them, a\nlist of names in his hands and his glasses on the end of his nose. \u201cNow,\nboys, hold your places, and we\u2019ll have the roll call over again to make\nsure. Abbott!\u201d\n\u201cHere!\u201d answered one of the boys, in a droning voice.\n\u201cAnderson!\u201d\n\u201cHere!\u201d came the same singsong answer as the roll call went on. That was\nwhat the low drone had been that they had heard before. On and on hummed\nthe voice of the principal and the boys responding.\nThen, \u201cFalls!\u201d\nSilence.\n\u201cFalls!\u201d The principal looked up and glanced down the long lines as he\nrepeated the word. He hesitated a brief half second and then went on to\nthe next name.\nChub and Joan stood, scarcely breathing, waiting for Mr. Link to call\nAlex\u2019 name. Perhaps he hadn\u2019t heard it before. Perhaps he was late in\nforming in line. Perhaps he was there now, after all.\n\u201cWhite!\u201d called the principal in a loud voice.\nThere was no answer.\n\u201cWhite!\u201d This time there was a noticeable annoyance in his voice.\nStill, no answer. Again, the principal glanced down the lines, over his\nglasses, and then went on with the calling of the roll.\nOh, why didn\u2019t Tim and the others hurry? Joan pressed her face against\nthe glass of the door where they were standing, and looked out. The path\nto the stone gates was deserted. Everything looked so lonesome out here\nin the country, at night like this. The stars blinked sleepily and\npeacefully, just as though they had not looked down upon the burning of\nthe West library, and were now looking down on perhaps two runaway boys\nscuttling over the lonely, moonlit roads. No, Joan was confident that\nAlex had not deserted, had not broken the honor system. It meant too\nmuch to him, she was sure. Something must have happened to keep him from\nreporting at the school with the rest of the boys. Something terrible.\nWhat?\n\u201cDo any of you know anything about these two who are missing?\u201d asked the\nprincipal, sharply.\nA boy at the end of the row volunteered. \u201cThey was both with us till we\ngot to the old hospital. Charley thought up going home across the lots\n\u2019cause it was quicker, and Alex said all right. They marched us along\nahead of them, then, and we just kept on marching, like they told us\nto.\u201d\n\u201cPlain case of parole breaking,\u201d Mr. Link said to his weary-looking\nclerk. \u201cI told you, Bassett, that it would never do to send them alone.\nI knew that honor system wouldn\u2019t work.\u201d His mouth became a hard, thin\nline. \u201cThis\u2019ll give us a black eye with the state, I\u2019m afraid. I\u2019m not\nsurprised at Charley Falls, but I thought that White boy had good stuff\nin him. Might have known he was too innocent looking. He was the one who\nadvocated the honor system, and I fell for it.\u201d\n\u201cBut why didn\u2019t they run off on the way _to_ the fire, if they had\nplanned to desert all along?\u201d interpolated the clerk.\n\u201cNo boy could resist the thrill of helping at a real fire,\u201d replied the\nprincipal.\n\u201cWell, be a little lenient,\u201d suggested Mr. Bassett. \u201cThe boys may be\ndelayed. Perhaps they went back to help with the fire, or something.\nGive them until ten o\u2019clock to report.\u201d\nThe principal stroked his rough chin. \u201cWell, all right. That\u2019ll do for\nnow, boys. Go to your dormitories, but don\u2019t go to bed. We\u2019ll have\nanother fire drill in half an hour.\u201d\nThe boys filed out, awed and quiet.\nHalf an hour! It wasn\u2019t long, and they had to find Alex. Perhaps, after\nall, he had been tempted to go with Charley. But Joan doubted that. She\nfelt sure Alex had been hurt by that awful Charley, or he would have\nbeen here to answer to the roll call.\n\u201cCome on, Chub.\u201d She pushed against the door, and they went out. The\nprincipal had not even noticed them standing there. \u201cLet\u2019s do a bit of\nsleuthing on our own.\u201d\nLefty\u2019s car clattered up while they were on the steps. \u201cCome on, kids.\nNo use hanging around any longer,\u201d Mack said. \u201cThose boys have probably\ngot to the railroad by now and have hopped the night freight to Chicago.\nWe\u2019ve about as much chance of finding them as a needle in the well-known\nhaystack. We rode all around by that hospital building, and couldn\u2019t\nfind a sign of them.\u201d\nWhen Joan and Chub said they wanted to hunt themselves, Tim surprisingly\ntook their side. \u201cWhy not let the kids try? Maybe they\u2019ll find\nsomething.\u201d\nOn the main road, good-natured Lefty stopped the car when they saw the\ndark, unused hospital building, off by itself in the empty fields, now\nflooded with patches of moonlight.\n\u201cI wish we had a notebook, so we could be real detectives,\u201d mused Joan,\nas she and Chub started across the dew-wet grass. The others had stayed\nin the car. \u201cThe Dummy mystery is nothing compared to this.\u201d\nChub examined the ground near the clump of bushes by the hospital steps.\nThe branches were brushed back as if a group of boys had pressed against\nthem. There were bits of grass uprooted, as though with the toe or heel\nof a boy\u2019s shoe, unmistakable signs of a struggle. Joan found a shred of\ntorn khaki on the prickly bush.\n\u201cThey had a battle all right, those two,\u201d decided Chub. \u201cBut Charley\ncouldn\u2019t have carried a big kid like Alex very far. He must have _made_\nAlex go with him.\u201d\nIt did seem so. For Alex wasn\u2019t anywhere around. They peeped behind\nbushes, and walked around the hospital without finding anything. As they\nstarted to the car, they both stood still. A low moan drifted out from\nsomewhere. They both heard it.\n\u201cSome sick guy,\u201d guessed Chub.\n\u201cNo. They haven\u2019t used this hospital for a long time,\u201d Joan said.\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s some one in there, now,\u201d insisted the other. \u201cBut maybe\nit\u2019s only an animal, caught in a trap. We might hunt, anyway.\u201d\nAround the building they went, but all the doors were securely locked\nand all the windows, too. Chub climbed up to examine a window higher up\nthan the rest, through which they hoped to gain entrance. \u201cLocked!\u201d he\nsaid, with his jaws set like a real detective. How serious he looked in\nthe moonlight, almost nice-looking, too, for his freckles didn\u2019t show.\nHe jumped to the ground with a soft thud. \u201cI wish the feller\u2019d moan\nagain, so we could tell where he is.\u201d\nThen, it did come again. It sounded in a different place. Not in the\nhouse at all, as it had the first time, but\u2014_underneath the ground_!\n\u201cSpooks!\u201d Chub\u2019s plump face was sober. \u201cI heard it sort of muffled, from\nright over there, underneath the earth.\u201d\n\u201cSo did I,\u201d affirmed the girl. \u201cBut it\u2019d be no use telling the\nJournalites. They\u2019d only laugh, and call us sentimental. Besides, I\ndon\u2019t see how it _could_ come from the ground.\u201d\n\u201cNeither do I.\u201d Chub shook his head. \u201cUnless it\u2019s an animal or\u2014maybe a\nfeller buried alive.\u201d\nJoan shuddered. \u201cBut we must get into the house, some way. I think it\u2019s\nsome one awful sick, and they _must_ be in the house.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have to break the lock. It may even be Alex in there. But whoever\nit is, they need help.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose we just imagined that it came from the ground,\u201d said Joan.\n\u201cPerhaps the echo sounded along under ground, some way.\u201d It didn\u2019t seem\npossible, but this had been such a stirring, mysterious sort of night\nthat anything at all might happen.\n\u201cUm.\u201d Chub was banging away at the lock on the back door. It wasn\u2019t\nreally locked after all, just held fast with a stout stick, that had to\nbe knocked out of place. Thump, thump sounded over the clear, night air.\nThere, the door swung open, emitting a gust of damp, unused air. It took\nnerve to go through the empty place, with only the moonlight to guide\nthem\u2014especially a place that had once housed ill people. There still\nhung an unearthly, hospital smell about it. Joan kept close to Chub, who\nstalked about each room, calling, \u201cAny one here?\u201d in a voice that did\nnot quaver. There was never any reply, and finally they had been in\nevery room.\n\u201cNo use,\u201d decided the boy, and they started toward the back door. Then\nit came again, the low moan, only it sounded farther away than ever now,\nand certainly seemed to come from underneath the ground. \u201cThe cellar!\u201d\nChub led the way down the dark, narrow stairs, feeling for each step.\nBut the place was empty.\n\u201cWhy, the subway tunnel!\u201d Joan remembered. \u201cI never thought of it until\nnow.\u201d Then she explained, \u201cIt\u2019s connected with the main building.\u201d\n\u201cBut can we find the opening?\u201d\nThey began to feel around the wall of the room they were in. It was a\nsmall cellar, and had apparently at one time been used as a kitchen or\nlaboratory. By an old sunken sink, which gleamed in the dimness like a\ntooth in a darky\u2019s mouth, a part of the wall moved under their pressure\nand swung inward, into an opening.\n\u201cHot dog!\u201d cried the boy. \u201cAll the earmarks of a real detective story.\nSliding panels and everything.\u201d\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t slide, and it isn\u2019t a panel,\u201d objected Joan, as she watched\nhim step into the darkness of the aperture. \u201cOh, dear, I don\u2019t know\nwhether to go or not. If we only had a flashlight or even matches. I\nfeel like Alice in Wonderland! Oh, wouldn\u2019t this be a wonderful place\nfor a person to hide, like that bookkeeper I read of\u2014Richard Marat?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be a good place for Dummy to hide in after we prove him a spy,\u201d\nconceded Chub\u2019s voice from within the depths. Then he halloed ahead,\n\u201cAnybody here?\u201d\nThe answer was a low groan, sounding farther away than before. Joan\nstepped in, hands stretched out ahead.\nShe hurried till her hands felt the rough serge of Chub\u2019s coat\u2014at least\nthat was familiar. Nothing else was in this terrible, eerie place. Of\ncourse, having been in the tunnel before, she had some idea what it was\nlike, though she could not see. This seemed to be a smaller part of it,\nfor she could almost touch the stone wall on each side with hands\noutspread. Chub was crouching along, half stooped\u2014he did not know how\nhigh the tunnel was. Joan was walking erect, when suddenly something\nbanged into her forehead. Something hard and cold and without anything\nattached to it. It hit her whack in the middle of her forehead. The\nsurprise as much as the shock quite stunned her for a second. She\nstumbled, uttered a cry as she fell to one side, landing on the hard\ncement floor of the tunnel, her arms grasping something\u2014something solid\nand bulky. A leg! With stocking and shoe with dangling laces! Someone\nmoaned.\n\u201cS\u2019matter?\u201d\nJoan could tell from Chub\u2019s voice that he was still ahead of her. In a\nvoice weak with pain and fright, she called, \u201cCh-Chub-bb! Have I got\nahold of your leg?\u201d\n\u201cNo.\u201d His steps sounded on the stone as they came to her.\n\u201cT-then whose is it?\u201d Was it part of the hospital equipment, an\nartificial leg abandoned here in this ghostly place? Or\u2014was it a human\nleg, left from some horrible accident? Joan shivered and her whole body\nbecame icy cold. Just then, her worst doubts were eased, for the moan\ncame again and the leg in her arms stirred of its own accord. She\nloosened her hold and let it drop, whereupon the owner gave another\ngroan.\nChub was feeling with his hands where the body should be. \u201cYep, brass\nbuttons all right. It\u2019s a Boyville School kid, and not big enough for\nCharley. It\u2019s Alex.\u201d His hand had now reached Alex\u2019 head on the floor.\nHe lifted it up. \u201cAre you hurt much, old scout?\u201d\nAnother moan was the only answer.\n\u201cIt\u2019s Chub and Joan\u2014from the _Journal_,\u201d went on Chub. \u201cCan\u2019t you\nspeak?\u201d\nJoan felt Alex\u2019 hot breath upon her face as he struggled to answer.\n\u201cThat\u2014that blamed Charley\u2014he got away\u2014\u201d\n\u201cDid he beat you up and hide you in here?\u201d Chub wanted to know.\n\u201cYes,\u201d Alex\u2019s head wobbled unsteadily in the dark. \u201cCharley put me in\nthere and locked the back door. Guess he forgot about the old tunnel.\nI was trying to get to the main building that way, and I\u2014must have\nfainted. My leg\u2019s hurt. But it\u2019s not much farther, though. Think you\ncould help me?\u201d\n\u201cSure thing!\u201d Chub got to his feet to help the injured boy, when whang!\nsomething smooth and solid struck him in the back of the head, a\nterrific blow that made him wince. \u201cGosh, that Charley guy must be\naround right here in this tunnel, with an ax or something. Wish we had a\nmatch or a flash.\u201d\n\u201cI got hit, too.\u201d Joan rubbed her forehead.\n\u201cI\u2019ll fix him.\u201d Chub swung his clenched fists wildly about in the\ndarkness, ready to fight, and Joan flattened herself against the chill\nwall. But though he battled in the blackness everywhere, he succeeded\nonly in butting into the tunnel walls or against Joan or Alex. There\nseemed to be nothing there. And yet, both he and Joan had been hit, and\nhit _hard_. Could Charley have some mysterious contraption rigged up to\ntorture them? Determined not to give up, Chub still swung at the air,\nand finally his fingers touched something smooth and round, just before\nhim, about on a level with his head. Well, at least the unseen foe\nwasn\u2019t an animal. Still, it might be a bomb. No, too small for that, the\nboy decided as his stubby fingers went all over the surface of the\nthing. Then his sudden laugh filled the cave.\n\u201cI-it\u2019s an electric light bulb hanging down from the ceiling,\u201d he\nannounced. \u201cWait a minute. I\u2019ll see if it turns on.\u201d\nIt didn\u2019t, so they were still in darkness. Chub and Joan pulled Alex to\nhis feet. He could not muffle his cries. Joan\u2019s heart ached for the hurt\nboy. Then, with an arm around the neck of each, Alex managed to walk\nalong. They decided not to attempt getting him up the cellar stairs.\nBetter to go on to the main building.\n\u201cGee, I\u2019m glad it\u2019s you, Jo, and not that simp of an Amy,\u201d Chub said, as\nthey went along.\nIt was a slow and painful procedure, but as Alex had said, it was not\nvery far, and at last they reached the door that must lead to the main\nbuilding. It was barred, and she and Chub thumped mightily on it. Would\nno one ever, ever hear? Would they have to go all the way through the\ntunnel again and across the fields to the car, and the long way around?\nAlex might not be able to stand such strain. He was weak, and seemed to\nbe bleeding, for Joan felt something warm and thick trickle against her\nhand when she brushed against him. His coat felt stiff in spots, too.\nChub would not give up. He kicked and pounded on the door till finally\nthey heard a bolt being slipped on the other side. The door gave way and\nthe three of them almost tumbled out into the big hall of the main\nbuilding. The boys were lined up there again, and the principal was\ncalling the roll, in the same singsong drone as before.\n\u201cEdmonds!\u201d\n\u201cHere.\u201d\n\u201cFalls!\u201d\nAlex broke away with a painful effort and bolted weakly forward. \u201cHe got\naway! I tried\u2014I tried\u2014\u201d His voice trailed off as he toppled down into a\nkhaki heap on the bare floor.\nThe principal, himself, picked him up. \u201cMy poor boy, whatever happened?\u201d\nThe clerk went hustling out to summon the school nurse. When she arrived\nshe bandaged Alex\u2019 wounded leg. Soon the boy was revived enough to\nanswer the questions put to him by the principal. He was very pale, but\neager to tell what had happened.\n\u201cYou saved the honor system, White,\u201d Mr. Link said when he heard the\nstory, and he patted Alex\u2019 shoulder.\nJust then, \u201cthe Three Musketeers from the _Journal_,\u201d as Chub called\nthem later, appeared at the big doors across the room. All three blinked\nin the yellow light and stared at Joan and Chub and the scene before\nthem.\n\u201cHow did you get here?\u201d was written on each of their faces. And how\nMack\u2019s eyes snapped when he heard about the subway tunnel!\n\u201cWe waited and waited for you two to come back,\u201d Tim explained. \u201cThen we\nwent all through that hospital and couldn\u2019t find you. We came back here\nto telephone the police you\u2019d disappeared.\u201d\n\u201cWhat luck!\u201d Lefty was setting up his tripod. \u201cI have one more exposure\nleft.\u201d Mr. Link and Alex posed together for the picture.\n\u201cYou can say that I believe in the honor system, now, after this night,\u201d\nthe principal told Tim. \u201cFalls got away but White\u2019s behavior proves to\nme the system is worth while. We\u2019ll always use it, from now on. And I\u2019ll\nsee to it, myself, that this boy has some fitting reward.\u201d\nAlex smiled\u2014a weak grin, but a broad one.\nJoan smiled, too. She supposed that Amy would hope that the reward would\nbe pretty uniforms. Seeing that Mr. Link seemed a different person, she\nasked, \u201cDo you think that the appropriation might be used for a printing\noffice? Alex is wild to learn to run a linotype machine, and there are\nno schools in Plainfield.\u201d\nThe principal met her steady gaze, and then glanced back to the boy.\n\u201cWhy, I\u2019m sure of it. There\u2019s no reason why a fourteen-year-old boy\nshouldn\u2019t learn to run a linotype machine if he wants to! Boyville will\nhave its own printing office just as soon as possible. You\u2019ve earned it,\nAlex.\u201d\nThe _Star_ had the story of the fire, of course, but not the part about\nthe honor system and about Alex\u2019 bravery. So Joan felt she had helped\nTim again.\nCookie had said once, \u201cFires are like bananas\u2014they come in bunches!\u201d\nIt did seem so, for only a few days after the West estate fire, the\noffice, which had been placid enough a minute before, began to buzz.\n\u201cBig fire on Main Street,\u201d shouted Mr. Nixon, slamming down his desk\nphone and jumping up. \u201cAnd Mack\u2019s out to lunch.\u201d\nThere was no one to send but Tim. Lefty heard the news and came rushing\nthrough the office, from out back where he had been in his dark room. He\nwas slipping the strap of his camera over his neck as he hurried along.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to go, Martin,\u201d Mr. Nixon said. \u201cYou\u2019ve been doing better\nlately. A fire\u2019s broken out in one of the buildings on Main Street\u2014near\nthe Presbyterian Church.\u201d\nTim, grabbing his hat off the hook, started for the door on a run.\n\u201cGet details,\u201d the editor yelled after him. \u201cYou know, the origin of the\nfire, owner\u2019s name, who discovered it, loss, and amount of insurance.\nAnd, for Pete\u2019s sake, be accurate.\u201d\nGet details! Joan, propelling herself out of the office, almost upon\nTim\u2019s heels, bumped into Amy.\n\u201cAmy, there\u2019s a fire on Main Street,\u201d she gasped. \u201cAnd Tim\u2019s going to\ncover it.\u201d\n\u201cCover it?\u201d echoed Amy. \u201cWhat with?\u201d\n\u201cWrite it up, that means,\u201d explained Joan, with mock patience. \u201cCome on\nand go with me. We can watch and get details too. Oh, maybe Tim\u2019ll make\nthe front page!\u201d\nCHAPTER XVII\nTIM MAKES THE FRONT PAGE\nFrom the _Journal\u2019s_ point of view, it was a wonderful fire. It was only\na ramshackle, vacant building that was burning, but it was right in the\nheart of the downtown section of Plainfield. When Joan and Amy reached\nthe corner, they had to step over solid rounds of hose, stretched taut\nacross the street. The red and yellow street cars were stalled for\nblocks, and down the street was the blazing, leaping fire.\nThe two girls pushed their way through the throng until they were at the\nedge of the crowd, right before the burning building. The fire engines\nwere snorting at the curb. Firemen in their black rubber coats and hats\nwere shouting orders. The friendly traffic policeman from the _Journal_\ncorner had left his post and was busy waving his white-gloved hands\nabout, to keep the crowds back within a certain distance of the fire.\nJoan counted the engines and squeezed Amy\u2019s hand. \u201cAll the companies in\ntown are here.\u201d\nThe girls stood watching the fire for some time. The heat rushed out at\nthem. The crackle and roar sounded like the ocean\u2014or the way Joan\nimagined the ocean would sound. The bright flames flung flickering,\neerie shadows over drab Main Street. Now, the firemen must be getting it\nunder control, for great gobs of black smoke were oozing out of the\nbuilding. The smoke smarted their eyes and the smell of the fire filled\ntheir nostrils. They saw Lefty up in a window of a building across the\nstreet, taking pictures.\nJoan had spotted Tim now. He was standing in the gutter, where the spray\nfrom the hose occasionally spattered him with a few stray drops. He had\nhis pad and yellow pencil in his hand and was trying to ask questions of\na fireman standing in the fire engine, unwinding the hose, too busy to\ndo more than motion Tim to go away. Wasn\u2019t it a good thing he had been\nto the recent West fire and knew how to write this one up?\n\u201cEd Hutton sure is in luck to have the old place go up in smoke,\u201d Joan\nheard a man who was pressing against her in the mob, say to his\ncompanion. \u201cI guess the place is plastered with insurance. He was\nintending to build here, anyway.\u201d\nEdward Hutton was the _Journal\u2019s_ candidate for governor. Did the man\nmean that he was the owner of the building? She wondered whether Tim\nknew that. She tried to signal to him that she had found out something,\nbut he was jamming his pad and pencil into his coat pocket with a\ndisgusted thrust and was leaping over the hose to back out of the crowd.\n\u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d Amy pulled her arm. \u201cA fire isn\u2019t really exciting when it\u2019s\njust an empty building. Of course, people lived upstairs, but they\u2019re\nall out, some one said. Anyway, poor people in flats aren\u2019t\ninteresting.\u201d\n\u201cWhen something happens to a poor person, it\u2019s just as much news as\nthough it happened to a rich person. In fact, I think poor people are\nmore interesting,\u201d Joan said, heatedly. \u201cI\u2019m going to ask one of the\nfiremen whether the people did get out all right or not.\u201d\n\u201cJo, I\u2019m going home, if you\u2019re going to start up conversations with\nstrange men that you haven\u2019t been properly introduced to.\u201d Amy broke\naway. \u201cBesides, there\u2019s nothing to see, and the smoke makes my eyes red.\nI know I look a sight.\u201d\n\u201cAll right, you can go,\u201d Joan said. \u201cI\u2019m going to stick around until the\nall-out alarm is sounded.\u201d\nThen she thought of the policeman. No harm to ask him. It was always all\nright to ask a policeman anything. The crowd had thinned a bit, most of\nthe onlookers feeling like Amy that the fire wasn\u2019t much. A report was\nbuzzed around that the fire was out.\n\u201cWhat is it, sister?\u201d asked the policeman, when Joan tugged at his\nsleeve. He was a nice Irish policeman, and he talked to her out of one\nside of his mouth, while he waved his billy club, and shouted orders at\nthe crowd out of the other side of his mouth.\n\u201cOfficer,\u201d Joan felt very small as she looked up at him, for her head\nreached only to his middle button, \u201cis that building owned by Mr.\nHutton?\u201d\n\u201cIt is that,\u201d he answered.\n\u201cAnd did people live in the second floor?\u201d she raised her voice and\nstood on tiptoe.\n\u201cThey did that. But what did you want to know for?\u201d\n\u201cI have to get all the details,\u201d Joan informed him, earnestly. \u201cI\u2019m\ncovering the story for the _Journal_.\u201d\n\u201cIs that right?\u201d smiled the officer. \u201cWell, I thought you was just a\nkid, but you never can tell these days with short hair and shingled\nskirts. You must be new at the job, though.\u201d\nWhy, he thought she was grown up! It was because of the tan sweater\ncostume. Perhaps it would be just as well not to undeceive him just yet.\n\u201cI am rather new,\u201d she admitted. That was true enough. \u201cCan\u2019t you help\nme get details?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know the folk\u2019s names, myself, but why don\u2019t you ask Joe Kinney\nthere\u2014he\u2019s a brand-new fireman. It\u2019s his first fire, too. So he\u2019ll\nprobably talk. Most of the older firemen get like us police\nfellows\u2014steer clear of reporters.\u201d\n\u201cOh, thank you so much.\u201d Joan gave him a beaming smile, and followed Joe\nKinney as he came out of the burning building and went back to the fire\nengine. She hoped he wouldn\u2019t talk very fast because she had no pad or\npencil and would have to keep all the facts in her mind.\n\u201cMr. Kinney!\u201d Surely it was all right to call a fireman \u201cMister.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m\nfrom the _Journal_. Can you tell me about the fire?\u201d\nThe man merely looked at her, blinked his eyes, and then fell back\nagainst the fire engine, his rubber helmet falling off and revealing\nwavy, red hair.\nJoan had expected him to be impressed with the fact that he was about to\nbe interviewed by a young girl reporter, but she did not expect him to\nfall completely over.\n\u201cGosh, Kinney\u2019s gone out like a light,\u201d yelled another fireman.\n\u201cOvercome by smoke, that\u2019s all.\u201d He slipped his arm under the other\u2019s\nshoulder and drew him up to a sitting position against the step of the\nfire engine at the curb. \u201cStand back, folks. Give him air. Somebody get\nthe first aid kit.\u201d\nJoan clung to the edge of the crowd that the officer was shoving back\nagain. One fireman rushed up with a wet cloth and splashed Kinney\u2019s\nface. Another one held a small bottle up to his nose. After a bit,\nKinney opened his eyes. He got up to his feet. \u201cThere\u2019s something\nmoaning up there on a bed on the second floor,\u201d Joan heard him whisper.\n\u201cI\u2019m going back.\u201d\n\u201cPoor Joe thinks he\u2019s going to be a hero right off the bat,\u201d laughed the\nfireman with the bottle. He pulled at Kinney\u2019s arm. \u201cThere ain\u2019t a soul\nup there, Joe. \u2019Twas Mrs. Flattery, herself, that sent in the alarm and\nshe told us everybody was out of the building. She said her kid was\nmonkeying with the electric wiring.\u201d\nBut Fireman Kinney was not to be dissuaded.\nHe stumbled on toward the smoking building and went inside, while the\nother firemen shook their heads. \u201cPlum craziness,\u201d one said. \u201cBut I\u2019ll\ngo along,\u201d and he followed.\nJoan was almost hurled off her feet by the mob that was eagerly watching\nfor Kinney\u2019s return. They could see him as he passed at a window, his\nhair a brilliant spot through the blackness of the smoke. Then, a little\nlater, he appeared at the window for another moment, and he was carrying\nsomething in his arms. The crowd gave a gasp.\nThe firemen rushed to the building to greet Kinney and to take his\nburden from him\u2014it was a big, black dog, slightly overcome by the smoke.\nAs soon as the dog was out in the open air, he pricked up his long ears,\nthrust out his red tongue and looked around at the people.\nA boy darted out from the crowd, and threw himself upon the dog. \u201cIt\u2019s\nBlue,\u201d he blurted. \u201cMy very own Blue!\u201d And the dog covered him with\nlicks from his tongue.\n\u201cThe Flattery kid\u2019s dog,\u201d murmured the crowd, watching the scene.\nThen, there sounded, \u201cDong! Dong!\u201d That meant \u201cFire\u2019s out.\u201d\nGoodness, she\u2019d have to hurry back to the _Journal_ to tell the details\nshe\u2019d gathered to Tim, for Joan knew that the \u201cdead-line\u201d at the\n_Journal_ was one o\u2019clock. After that, it was too late for stories to\nget into the paper.\nShe arrived at the _Journal_ office in time to hear Mr. Nixon yell out\ninto the composing room, \u201cFix a streamer for the Main Street fire story,\nTom.\u201d That meant that Tim\u2019s story was going to have a headline all\nacross the front page in big letters.\nTim was trying not to be excited. He listened respectfully while Joan\ntold her story. \u201cOnly the people right up close, who stayed on, knew\nabout the rescue. It\u2019ll be a scoop,\u201d she finished up.\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know,\u201d he answered carelessly. \u201cStill, anything about dogs\nalways goes big. I got all the other details, of course. I\u2019m glad you\ngot names, though. I think I can make a good story about Kinney\u2019s\nbravery at his first fire.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I thought, too,\u201d agreed his sister.\n\u201cYou better beat it home to lunch,\u201d Tim ordered Joan. \u201cTell Mother I\u2019ve\ngot a dead-line to make; that I\u2019ll grab something later on.\u201d\nJoan ate her own lunch in a hurry, and swished through the dish-washing,\nbut even so, by the time she reached the _Journal_ office again, it was\nalmost time for the paper to be off the press. They had speeded up\nthings to get out early with the fire story.\nTim was humming to himself as he hunted through the files for the Ten\nYears Ago To-Day column. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d he whispered to Joan, when\nshe came in. \u201cNixon said that my story was fine.\u201d\nGertie from the front office came through the composing room door,\ngiggling as usual. \u201cI declare,\u201d she told Mack, \u201cthat Dummy\u2019s the\ncreepiest thing I ever saw. I just met him snooping around like a cat.\u201d\nMiss Betty and Tim expostulated, but Mack, queerly enough, chimed in\nwith Gertie\u2019s tale. \u201cI always have thought he was an impostor, somehow.\u201d\nJoan was surprised that he said that much.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve always thought he was a spy,\u201d said Chub, before Joan could stop\nhim.\n\u201cA spy,\u201d echoed Gertie. \u201cWhy should he spy on us?\u201d\n\u201cBerry. Elections,\u201d muttered Tim. Had he heard them talking or did he\njust guess it, Joan wondered. \u201cTrying to get Mr. Hutton in bad with the\npublic.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it. You\u2019re too romantic, Tim,\u201d laughed Miss Betty.\n\u201cWhy, Mack, what are you looking so funny for?\u201d\nMack ran his finger around the back of his collar. \u201cIt\u2019s this blamed\nheat. I never saw an office with such rotten ventilation.\u201d\nBut Joan thought it was because Miss Betty had told Tim he was\n\u201cromantic.\u201d Or was it because he was afraid she\u2019d give it away that he,\ntoo, thought Dummy a spy? Then she saw through the window, a stream of\nnewsboys going by, with papers under their arms.\n\u201cThe paper\u2019s out,\u201d she shouted.\n\u201cSure is.\u201d Mr. Nixon came in from the composing room, where he had been\nwrestling with the job of \u201cputting the paper to bed.\u201d He had a smile on\nhis face. \u201cHow does your brain child look to you in black and white,\nTim?\u201d\nHe held out a paper, with the headline, \u201cHUTTON BLDG. ON MAIN STREET\nBURNS.\u201d\nJoan hung over the curve of Tim\u2019s arm, despite jabs from his elbow, and\ntogether they read the story. All through the first paragraph, or\n\u201clead,\u201d that told the \u201cWho, where, what, when, and why,\u201d of the story,\nas every lead should, on through Tim\u2019s splendid description of the fire,\nand the fireman\u2019s brave rescue of the dog, to the jubilant reunion of\nthe boy and dog, which Tim had written in his best style.\n\u201cThat dog stuff was good,\u201d Cookie said. \u201cThe story wouldn\u2019t have been\nanything without that part. You were pretty smart to get that, Martin.\u201d\nJoan glowed as she bent over the story. The very last sentence puzzled\nher. \u201cWhat does that mean, Tim?\u201d She put her finger on, \u201cThe police feel\nthat the circumstances surrounding the cause of the fire are most\nsuspicious and have started an investigation.\u201d\n\u201cGosh, I never wrote that!\u201d Tim\u2019s face got white. \u201cI ended my story\nright here with, \u2018The building is owned by Edward Hutton of Cleveland,\nOhio, who is to be a candidate in the election for governor this fall.\nThe loss is unestimated at present, but it is stated that it was covered\nby insurance.\u2019\u201d\n\u201cMaybe it was printer\u2019s pi,\u201d suggested Joan.\nChub hooted. \u201cPi\u2019s when the type\u2019s upset, silly. This is a mistake.\u201d\nMr. Nixon had grabbed the paper. \u201cI read proof on this myself, and I\nswear that wasn\u2019t there\u2014but still\u2014 Why, this is terrible, casting such\nreflections at Mr. Hutton. Why couldn\u2019t you be careful, Martin? You must\nhave written it, and I let it slip.\u201d\n\u201cBut I didn\u2019t write it,\u201d protested Tim.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you see,\u201d Chub was explaining the situation in an aside to Joan,\n\u201cthat\u2019s an awful thing to say about a man, especially one running for\ngovernor. It means he set the building on fire to get rid of it, and\nthat\u2019s against the law.\u201d\n\u201cBut he didn\u2019t,\u201d reasoned Joan. \u201cThe fireman himself said it was\ndefective wiring, just what Tim said in the beginning of the story.\u201d\n\u201cIt couldn\u2019t be from another story, I tell you,\u201d Mr. Nixon was shouting\nat Tim, \u201cbecause that\u2019s the only fire story we had in the paper to-day.\u201d\nSuddenly Joan remembered that Mr. Johnson had said to come to him the\nnext time anything suspicious happened.\nShe dashed across the room to the telephone booth and dived into the\nsmoke-choked, dim little place, for she did not bother to snap on the\nswinging light. She lifted the receiver and called Mr. Johnson\u2019s number.\nShe had memorized it for just such an emergency.\n\u201cMistah Johnson not heah,\u201d the voice of a colored maid told her. \u201cHe\u2019s\ngone to Cincinnati foah a few days.\u201d\nThen she\u2019d have to work alone. The first thing to do was to get hold of\nTim\u2019s copy and see whether that final paragraph was there\u2014perhaps the\nprinter had picked it up from some other story\u2014perhaps something left\nover from the day before. She wasn\u2019t sure, but it might have happened,\nsomehow.\nWhen she came out of the phone booth, Mr. Nixon was still talking in his\nloudest tones. \u201cWe\u2019ve had just about enough of this sort of thing going\non here. Uncle or no uncle, this is too much!\u201d\nTim was being fired! Joan had never seen any one get fired before, and\nhad never dreamed it was ever done publicly and so loud as this. Poor\nTim! There wouldn\u2019t be any college for him now, if he lost the job.\nSummer jobs were scarce in Plainfield. She had to help him!\n\u201cAll right, I\u2019ll quit,\u201d Tim muttered. \u201cNo sense to work for a paper that\nlets such things happen. I tell you I never wrote that paragraph.\nWhether I can prove it or not, I never did!\u201d\nJoan wanted to rush right after him as he strode out of the office, but\nshe must work on the mystery to solve it and save him. She couldn\u2019t lose\na minute. If Dummy were a spy, she was going to find out right now and\nmake things right for Tim. Perhaps she could prove it before Tim got\nhome.\nNo need to ask Dummy anything. She wouldn\u2019t even nod to him, but just go\nright to the big hook where the copy was. The usual rumble and clatter\ncame from the pressroom, but here the linotype men had all gone home,\nand there was no one except Dummy over there in the corner. With fingers\nthat trembled, Joan flipped the pages until she came to the fire story,\nwith Tim\u2019s name up in the left-hand corner. It was a long story, and Tim\nhad pasted the sheets together in one long strip.\nThe paragraph was there, just as it had appeared in the paper. Could it\nbe that the Dummy had borrowed some one\u2019s typewriter and written it? Was\nhe really a spy? He could so easily take the story off the hook, with no\none questioning it, add that extra paragraph and get the _Journal\u2019s_\ncandidate in bad, which was more his job than proofreading, she was\nsure.\nShe\u2019d take the copy right to Mr. Nixon and tell him that no one would\nhave dared change it but Dummy.\nAs she was hurrying toward the swinging door, she heard a voice. \u201cOh,\nMiss Joan!\u201d It was a voice she had never heard before\u2014a smooth,\ncultured, middle-aged, masculine voice. \u201cI want to talk to you.\u201d\nJoan turned and stared. There was not a soul in that whole vast place\nbut Dummy over in his corner.\nCHAPTER XVIII\nDUMMY\u2019S STORY\nJoan continued to stare at Dummy. Could it have been his voice? As\nGertie had said, he was a creepy sort of person. While she was standing\nthere, the voice came again\u2014and Dummy\u2019s lips were moving!\n\u201cI hope you\u2019re not carrying off that fire story, Miss Joan,\u201d he said in\na slow sort of voice as though he were not sure of his speech. Joan\nwondered whether his voice had suddenly been restored to him, but no, he\ntalked too naturally for that. \u201cYou\u2019re not supposed to run off with copy\nthat way.\u201d\n\u201cBut\u2014\u201d Joan was embarrassed. It was hard to explain to him just why she\nhad taken the story. And hearing him speak gave her a spooky feeling all\nup and down her spine. It was queer to be talking to him. She had a\nfeeling she should shout and her voice rose without her knowing it.\n\u201cBut,\u201d she shouted, \u201cthere\u2019s something wrong with this story.\u201d\n\u201cI know it,\u201d nodded Dummy, calmly.\nYes, and she knew he knew it! But\u2014Mr. Johnson had told her not to accuse\nany one. It was hard to know what to do.\nDummy held out his hand, with bulgy blue veins. \u201cJust let me look at\nthat story, please.\u201d\nBut Joan clutched it to the front of her sweater. \u201cWhat for?\u201d she\ndemanded.\nDummy resented this. \u201cLook here, girl, you have no right to take that\noff the hook like that, and I want it.\u201d\n\u201cBut\u2014\u201d Well, she would tell him. \u201cThere\u2019s a terrible mistake in it, and\nyou let it go through.\u201d That wasn\u2019t really accusing him, she defended\nherself.\n\u201cI know it.\u201d Was that a sigh that escaped Dummy\u2019s lips? \u201cI just realized\nthat there was something phony about that story. It said the fire was\ncaused by defective wiring and then in that last paragraph, it said\nsomething different. It just struck me, now\u2014and I did let it go\nthrough.\u201d\nForgetting all about Mr. Johnson\u2019s caution about accusing, Joan gazed\nstraight into Dummy\u2019s mild, blue eyes. \u201cDidn\u2019t you put it there?\u201d she\nasked as innocently as she could.\n\u201cPut it there!\u201d Poor Dummy got red all over his face. Was it a guilty\nkind of red or a mad kind? Joan decided that if he were not showing\nrighteous indignation, then he was one of the best actors she had ever\nseen. But she knew he was a good actor. Look how he had fooled them all\ninto believing he was a deaf-mute.\nNo, he wasn\u2019t acting. He was genuinely _mad_. \u201cAre you\u2014are you\u2014\u201d his\nvoice fairly shook, \u201care you accusing me of putting that libelous\nparagraph on to that story? Why how could I, and why should I?\u201d\n\u201cWell, the hook is right there, and you might have done it.\u201d Joan wasn\u2019t\ngoing to give up without a struggle. \u201cWe\u2014Chub and I\u2014figured it all out\u2014\u201d\nshe might as well go on, \u201cthat you were a spy from the _Star_, to get\nMr. Hutton and the paper in bad.\u201d\nDummy\u2019s mouth dropped completely open, showing two gold teeth. \u201cYou\nthought that! And may I ask whether you and that red-headed imp have\nbroadcast your insinuations?\u201d he drawled.\n\u201cOh, no!\u201d began Joan, and then stopped. Chub _had_ told the office force\nthat afternoon, when Gertie was laughing about Dummy. \u201cWhy\u2014\u201d she\nfaltered.\n\u201cSo-o!\u201d Dummy glared indignantly. \u201cAnd do you know, young woman, that I\ncould have you put in jail for that?\u201d\nJoan turned scarlet. Then she clutched at straws. \u201cBut,\u201d she sputtered,\n\u201cyou did act spooky. And why did you act like a Dum\u2014like a deaf person?\u201d\nOh, my goodness, he had often heard them all call him Dummy. Oh, how\nhorrid they had been!\n\u201cGo on and say it. Call me Dummy,\u201d said the man, without a smile. \u201cI\u2019m\nused to it now.\u201d\nHe paused and seemed to be waiting for her to say something.\n\u201cWell,\u201d she began, \u201cwe saw you with Tebbets of the _Star_ at the picnic.\nIt did look suspicious\u2014because he\u2019s such an awful man, and we thought he\nhad you under his thumb\u2014because, of course, you wouldn\u2019t do such a thing\nunless you _had_ to\u2014\u201d she hardly knew what she was saying.\n\u201cAnd what else?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cThen, I found the story about the charity play. That was another clew.\nIt was stuffed behind some rolls of paper in the pressroom.\u201d\n\u201cWas it?\u201d Dummy looked innocent. \u201cI never did find it, though I hunted.\nYou thought I was a spy, did you?\u201d His eyes were glittering as they had\nthe day he and Mack had been arguing over that lost story. \u201cWell, now,\nI\u2019ll tell my story, but as long as you did your talking before the\nstaff, I want to tell my story to them all, too. I\u2019ll go tell Mr. Nixon,\nnow.\u201d\nMr. Nixon was sitting at his desk. Joan hated to meet him for he was\nreally cross, since he was thoroughly convinced that Tim had made the\nmistake in the fire story.\nTim\u2019s desk was vacant\u2014the green swinging light above it, with the cord\nknotted to make it the right length, looked mournful and lonely,\nsomehow. The desk was suspiciously clean and bare.\nJoan, having gone to trail one mystery, was completely sidetracked by\nDummy\u2019s proving such a stumblingblock to her theory. She still clutched\nTim\u2019s story in her hand. She\u2019d let Dummy tell his story, and then as\nsoon as he was through she\u2019d tell her theory just the same. After all,\nit looked more suspicious than ever, because Dummy had apparently only\nplayed deaf and dumb in order to work his misdeeds.\n[Illustration: \u201cAre you a deaf-mute or aren\u2019t you?\u201d]\n\u201cLook here, Mr. Nixon.\u201d Dummy went right up to the editor\u2019s desk.\nMr. Nixon gave one look and then yelled, \u201cHoly Moses! The Dummy can\ntalk.\u201d Then he looked embarrassed a bit, as though trying to remember\nwhat he had ever said in Dummy\u2019s presence that he shouldn\u2019t have. When\nhe got over that feeling, he demanded, \u201cWell, what\u2019s the big idea? Are\nyou a deaf-mute or aren\u2019t you?\u201d\n\u201cI pretended to be one, and I\u2019ll tell you why, if you\u2019ll only give me a\nchance. It seems that this young woman has spread a malicious report\nconcerning me\u2014\u201d\n\u201cCut it short,\u201d ordered the editor. He was used to saying that to\nreporters. It would have been natural to have him add, \u201cHold it down to\nfive hundred words.\u201d\nBut Dummy, having been silent for so long a time, found it most\nagreeable to talk, and he drawled worse than ever.\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll begin at the beginning and tell you my right name.\u201d The\nwhole office force, Miss Betty, Mack, and Cookie, clustered around and\nDummy waved them into the group. Chub ventured out from the front\noffice, but Mr. Nixon motioned him to go back to his work. \u201cIt\u2019s Richard\nMarat,\u201d stated Dummy.\nMr. Nixon looked as though the name were slightly familiar, and he\nwrinkled up his nose a bit, trying to remember. But mostly he looked\nrather bored at Dummy. He seemed to think that the _Journal_ family had\nhad enough excitement for one day without all this disturbance coming\nup.\nCookie looked a bit puzzled over the name, but Mack and Miss Betty\nshowed plainly that they had never heard of the name before, as far as\nthey could remember.\nRichard Marat! Richard Marat! The name began to burn in Joan\u2019s mind.\nWhy, it did sound familiar. She was sure she had heard it somewhere\u2014and\nnot so very long ago, either. There, she had it\u2014! She remembered the\n\u201cTen Years Ago To-Day\u201d story.\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s the bookkeeper who had such a large deficit!\u201d\nEvery one looked at her as though she were absolutely crazy, but Dummy\nleaped forward and took both her hands in his, and looked into her face.\n\u201cJust so, little maid,\u201d he said, quaintly. \u201cThe first time I noticed you\nwas when I heard you say, \u2018My brother wrote that!\u2019 the first day Tim was\non the paper. I hoped then that he appreciated his sister\u2019s great\ninterest in him. And when I realized what an inquisitive little miss you\nwere, I was actually scared that you\u2019d somehow discover I was not a\nDummy. But it\u2019s to you, perhaps that I owe my good fortune, for you were\nthe one to pick my story out of the files to reprint\u2014but I mustn\u2019t get\nahead of my story. Yes, I am Richard Marat, the bookkeeper, who thought\nhe had a deficit. I\u2019ve always been a moody and impulsive sort of person,\nand when I discovered I had\u2014or thought I had\u2014such a great mistake in my\nbooks, I took the easiest way out, and ran away.\u201d\n\u201cI remember that,\u201d said Cookie. \u201cIt was just about ten years ago, I\nguess. But you didn\u2019t have a mistake, after all.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s why he was so quick and accurate, because he was a bookkeeper,\u201d\nMiss Betty whispered to Mack.\n\u201cOh, lawsy!\u201d said a voice. Bossy had come in through the swinging door,\nand was standing there, his eyes getting larger and whiter all the time.\n\u201cDummy kin talk! There\u2019s quare goin\u2019s on around heah. Dummy kin talk!\u201d\nNo one paid any attention to Bossy.\n\u201cI was afraid of being arrested,\u201d Dummy went on, \u201cand I beat it, as the\nsaying goes. These ten years, I have been wandering, scared as a rabbit.\nI began to act hard of hearing to escape what I thought might be\nembarrassing questions, and gradually I pretended to be a Dummy.\u201d He\nsmiled around at the _Journal_ staff when he said the nickname they had\ngiven him. \u201cThat was easier and safest of all, just to be a deaf-mute.\u201d\n\u201cI got to hankering for little old Plainfield,\u201d he continued. \u201cAnd so I\ncame back. Not a soul knew me or remembered and if it hadn\u2019t been for\nthat column here, Ten Years Ago To-Day, I\u2019d probably still be thinking I\nwas guilty of a mistake that never happened. One day last week the\ncolumn told of a bookkeeper named Richard Marat, who had discovered a\ndeficit in his books, and fearing arrest, had fled\u2014no one knew where.\nThen to-day, the paper has the story that experts had gone over my\nbooks, had found no deficiency and reported that I had simply made a\nmistake. But I never knew all this until to-day. My panic cost me ten\nyears of weary wandering....\u201d\nA piercing, feminine scream sounded from the front office.\n\u201cJust like a nice murder story to break after we\u2019ve gone to press!\u201d said\nMack.\nEvery one rushed to the front office. There was Amy, in her pale orchid\nsweater, standing in front of the rear counter, her face frozen with\nhorror, her mouth open for another scream. Her hands were held, fingers\nextended stiffly, out in front of her, as though paralyzed.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s all the rumpus?\u201d asked Mr. Nixon from the doorway.\nJoan caught a glimpse of Chub\u2019s grinning face. Then she saw that Amy\u2019s\nhands were held over the counter, where Chub had been inking the\nhand-roller for the advertising stuff. The wide sheet of inky paper was\nspread there. Amy\u2019s palms were blacker than Em\u2019s fur.\n\u201cHe told me to hold my hands over it, and feel how the heat rushed out\nfrom it,\u201d sobbed Amy. \u201cAnd I did. Then he slapped \u2019em right down on to\nall that fresh ink. I\u2019ll never speak to him again\u2014\u201d\n\u201cHe was only fooling, Amy,\u201d cheered Joan.\nBut Amy\u2019s sobs rose higher. \u201cLook at my hands. I\u2019ll never get the stuff\noff. I just stopped in to see if you were here, Jo, and he stopped me\u2014\u201d\nMr. Nixon was waving his hands about like a madman. \u201cSuch an office! One\ndumb-bell reporter isn\u2019t enough. The whole force is dumb! I won\u2019t put up\nwith this. I guess I\u2019m still city editor. Clear out of here, you kids.\u201d\nHe turned from Amy to Joan. \u201cAnd you, too.\u201d\n\u201cMe?\u201d\nHe nodded.\n\u201cBut Mr. Johnson said\u2014\u201d she began.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care what Mr. Johnson said!\u201d he cut her short. \u201cI won\u2019t have\nthis office turning into a kindergarten. Where is that boy? I\u2019ll skin\nhim alive for this.\u201d But the red-haired office boy had vanished from the\nscene.\nThere was nothing to do but depart. Amy went ahead, stalking out with\ndignity, holding her inky hands aloft, her tear-wet nose high in the\nair.\nJoan gave a wild glance around, appealingly. No one dared go against the\ncity editor. Mack was scowling. Dummy looked bewildered. Cookie was\nsympathetic but helpless. Miss Betty flashed her a smile, in spite of\neverything.\n\u201cI\u2019ll see you to-morrow, Jo,\u201d she said. \u201cI may want you to pay a bill at\nthe toggery shop for me.\u201d\n\u201cSure,\u201d said Joan, weakly.\nThe editor groaned and they all filed back into the editorial room. Joan\ncouldn\u2019t follow\u2014even though Mr. Johnson had said she could stay at the\n_Journal_ as much as she liked. It was all Amy\u2019s fault, screaming like\nthat and acting so silly. Mr. Nixon had just banished her, too; because\nshe was Amy\u2019s friend. As they went past the front counter, there was\nGertie with an expression of horror on her face as great as Amy\u2019s had\nbeen over her contact with the inky roller. \u201cTo think of the things I\u2019ve\nsaid to that Dummy!\u201d she was wailing. \u201cI\u2019ve said, \u2018Oh, you dear, darling\nDummy,\u2019 and \u2018Oh, angel of light!\u2019 and all kinds of crazy things like\nthat. I have, really. And he heard me all the time!\u201d\nBut Joan went on. She had troubles of her own. She was anxious to tell\nTim about Dummy\u2019s not being a dummy. She was disappointed not to find\nhim at home\u2014he had stalked off for a walk, gloomily, mother explained.\nJoan went on up to her own room to muse over events. She had been ousted\nfrom the _Journal_, but she was still vitally interested in the office\nand its unsolved mystery. She stood by the dresser, looking down at the\nfire story she still held in her hand. The mystery of the mistakes\nhadn\u2019t been solved. She remembered now that Chub had mentioned mistakes\nto her the day Tim got the job. That proved it _wasn\u2019t_ Tim. Maybe it\nwas Dummy, after all. He hadn\u2019t explained about being with Mr. Tebbets\nat the picnic, anyway.\nFinally, she heard the front door bang and knew Tim had come in. By the\ntime she got downstairs, she found him slouched in the morris chair in\nthe living room, his long legs stretched halfway across the room, it\nseemed. He nodded sullenly and silently to her question, \u201cAre you really\nfired?\u201d\nShe had to tell him the thrilling news. \u201cTim, Dummy\u2019s not a deaf-mute.\nHe can talk.\u201d\nTim sat up. \u201cAre you stringing me?\u201d\n\u201cNo, really, it\u2019s a fact. Every one was so surprised. You should have\nseen Bossy! Dummy spoke to me, and I was so scared I nearly jumped out\nof my skin!\u201d she explained. \u201cYou see, I had gone to the composing room\nfor your fire story.\u201d She suddenly realized that she still had it in her\nhand. \u201cI wanted to look at that extra paragraph that got stuck on there,\nto see if it really was on the copy. And it was.\u201d She held it up, and\nglanced at the final paragraph to reassure herself. Then she gave a\ngasp, as she gazed at the end of the long story in her hand. \u201cWhy, Tim!\nThe commas in this last paragraph have heads!\u201d\nCHAPTER XIX\nTHE COMMA\u2019S TAIL\nTim blinked at Joan\u2019s words. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d He grabbed the paper\nand bent his dark head over it. \u201cWhy, that\u2019s true. The commas are O.K.\nThat lets me out, for this was never written on that ramshackle old\nmachine I wrote on. But old Nix can rot before I\u2019ll tell him, if he\ncouldn\u2019t believe me, when I was telling the truth.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell him\u2014\u201d began Joan and then remembered how Mr. Nixon had\nordered her out of the _Journal_ office for good and all, in spite of\nwhat Mr. Johnson had said. She was powerless to help. Just when they had\nsolved the Dummy mystery. At least, he wasn\u2019t the spy. Was there one?\nShe thought of Chub, but he, too, was in Mr. Nixon\u2019s bad graces, and\nwould probably refuse to help.\nWell, she really couldn\u2019t go back to the _Journal_, not even to save\nTim. But Tim could. He needed the job, too. How could he build up his\ncollege fund without it? Maybe Mother would have to sell the house to\nget money for Tim\u2019s education. She coaxed him to go back to the\n_Journal_, until he got peeved. He banged upstairs to his own room and\nslammed the door shut.\nDeserted Joan turned to Mother and the housework. There was always that\nto fall back on. She made a new kind of pudding out of the cookbook and\nit turned out well. Mother was pleased to have something extra nice to\ncheer Tim up over the loss of his job. Mother was sorry about that, but\nshe was glad that Joan\u2019s duties, whatever they had been at the\n_Journal_, had mysteriously come to an end\u2014though she had shown she was\nproud when Joan wrote up the Davis window.\nTim was impressed with the pudding. \u201cGee, I didn\u2019t know you could make\ndessert in three colors,\u201d he said, and Joan felt as though he had\nforgiven her for bothering him about going over to see Mr. Nixon. She\nstill wished he would, but she did not refer to the matter.\nThe next day hung wearily on Joan\u2019s hands. Amy did not even telephone.\nShe must be good and mad, for she adored to hold telephone\nconversations. Joan tried not to look at the _Journal_ windows across\nthe way. She did the marketing, and straightened out her bureau drawers.\nThen she walked to the library and got one of the latest books, but\nsomehow it did not seem half so thrilling as the mystery of the\n_Journal_ office.\nShe was half through the book by bedtime, and the next afternoon she sat\ndown on the side steps to finish it. Em rubbed against her ankles, so\nJoan stopped to fill a saucer of milk for the cat, and then she curled\nher feet under again and started to read.\nSuddenly a familiar call broke into her reading.\n\u201cYoo-whoo!\u201d A window in the _Journal_ office was pushed up and there was\nChub\u2019s red head. \u201cCome on over, you and Tim. The chief says so.\u201d\nHe meant Mr. Nixon, of course. But Joan only stared. Chub had nerve to\ntry a joke like that, right when the office was the busiest, for the\npaper was going to press about this time.\n\u201cSay!\u201d called Chub. \u201cCan\u2019t you hear? He wants you both, honest. The\npress is broken and everybody has to pitch in to get the paper out on\ntime.\u201d\nJoan rushed into the house after Tim, her heart pounding fast. Oh,\nsuppose Chub were teasing, after all! This would be a much better joke\nthan telling Amy to feel the heat from the inky roller\u2014and would have\neven more disastrous results. It took quite a few minutes to convince\nTim that it was not a joke. He went reluctantly.\nBut Chub wasn\u2019t \u201ckidding.\u201d Mr. Nixon met them at the editorial door, and\nhe never even mentioned that he had sent Joan flying from the office\nonly twenty-four hours ago. \u201cThe press has gone flooie, and we had to\nhave help,\u201d he explained simply. \u201cI thought you might do some rewrites,\nMartin, and Joan could help Betty. Everything\u2019s almost done. We\u2019ll have\nto send the forms out to be stereotyped and printed. We can\u2019t miss an\nedition even if the Goss giant is out of whack.\u201d\n\u201cNo halt in publication.\u201d That was the unspoken thought that spurred the\nstaff on. Neither Tim nor Joan referred to the circumstances surrounding\ntheir exits from the _Journal_. Every one was busy. The paper must be\ngot out, as usual.\nBecause the forms were to be carried in trucks across the town to a\nprinting office of a weekly trade paper, which had generously offered to\nhelp the _Journal_ in its trouble, the news would have to be written up\nmore quickly than if it were to be printed right here in the _Journal\u2019s_\nown pressroom.\nEvery one worked. Gertie flew about. Miss Betty showed Joan how to copy\none side of a club program and then paste the other side to save copying\nit. Tim breathed new life into the usually dead rewrites. Mack was\npounding out the day\u2019s ball scores. Cookie was doing the obits. Chub\ntrotted his legs almost off, running to the composing room with copy.\nDummy was there, directing things from his stool, above the tinkle of\nthe linotype machines. Every one seemed used to his having a voice,\nalready. Joan had no time to think of the mystery or to do more than\nwonder about Dummy, not even when Chub confided to her that he had\nsomehow discovered that it was Bossy who had hid the charity play story.\n\u201cHe knew that Miss Webb had tonsillitis because his sister washes for\nthe Webbs,\u201d Chub explained. \u201cAnd so he knew the story was wrong and hid\nit.\u201d\nWell, poor, faithful Bossy wasn\u2019t a spy. He had been trying to help. But\nJoan couldn\u2019t even think about Bossy when they were in the middle of\ngetting the paper out with the press broken.\nFinally, it was all over\u2014the truck with the locked forms had chugged\naway from the curb. Tim and Joan, now in the _Journal_ office, remained\nthere. Cookie sent Chub out for cherry ices in paper cups and treated\nthe entire staff all around. After the tension of the office for the\npast few hours, the staff was relaxing and the place took on an air of\ngayety.\nMiss Betty and Mack had their heads together over their cherry cups and\nwere laughing over their wielding of the microscopic spoons.\n\u201cOh, Jo,\u201d Miss Betty addressed Joan, \u201cdo something for me, will you?\nThat\u2019s an angel. Clear off my desk. It\u2019s such a mess, I hate to think of\ndoing it.\u201d\n\u201cSure,\u201d agreed Joan, readily, and turned to the desk. It was a mess,\ntruly, snowed in under pages of copy paper, clippings, photographs of\nbabies and of brides, and proofs of pictures.\nJoan loved tidying up when one could see the improvement like this. She\nbegan by sticking all Miss Betty\u2019s notes on the big hook on the side of\nthe desk, where she kept them for a week, and then threw them away, as\ndid all the reporters. The photographs she gave to Chub to file in the\ntall green files, where they would be taken out when the blushing brides\nor proud mothers came in to claim them.\nThen she was down to the desk top, and blew the dust off. A paper\nfluttered to the floor. Joan picked it up and could not help reading\nit\u2014a note from Mack, about a social item that some one had left during\nBetty\u2019s lunch hour. He had typed her a message about it, put down the\nphone number for her to call, and had added his name.\nThere was something awfully familiar about the typing. The capitals were\nall jumped halfway off the line. Why, so were they in that final\nparagraph in the fire story. She remembered, because since yesterday,\nshe had been studying the idiosyncrasies of that last paragraph until\nshe knew them by heart. But still she couldn\u2019t be sure, without getting\nit to compare.\nShe rushed from the _Journal_ office, and bounded home. Good thing she\nknew where she had left that story\u2014under the scarf on her dresser. Back\nin the _Journal_ office, she looked from the typed note to the last\nparagraph of the page in her hands, and then back again. Yes, both of\nthem did have capitals halfway above the line.\nAnd\u2014she bent over it more closely and wished for a magnifying glass. Her\nheart thrilled as she looked over at Tim scowling into his machine\u2014that\nwas because Miss Betty and Mack were acting so chummy\u2014and at Chub\nopening and closing the sliding drawers of the green files as he put the\nphotographs in their proper places. Tim didn\u2019t know she was saving him.\nChub didn\u2019t know she was about to solve the baffling mystery.\nShe bent closely\u2014yes, it was the same, and the commas were all perfect\nones, too. The final paragraph had no more been written on Tim\u2019s machine\nthan the note on Miss Betty\u2019s desk.\nThere was a soft noise behind her and she jumped. It was Dummy clearing\nhis throat and looking at her with his mild blue eyes.\n\u201cHave you that fire story, Miss Joan?\u201d he asked in a hoarse whisper. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t get to see it, again, and I wanted to.\u201d\nJoan glanced up. It would do no harm to trust him. He did seem nice.\nPerhaps it was because he called her Miss Joan. \u201cLook, Mr. Marat,\u201d she\nsaid, and held up the two pieces of typing. \u201cWho wrote these, would you\nsay?\u201d\nDummy smiled at her respectful use of his name and took them into his\nown hands. \u201cIt\u2019s that sport editor,\u201d he mused, motioning to the final\nparagraph in the story. \u201cI know \u2019most every one\u2019s typewriting from\ncomparing the proof sheets with the original copy, and he put this extra\nparagraph on to this story of your brother\u2019s.\u201d\nHe pointed with a crooked finger. \u201cTyping is really just as\ncharacteristic as handwriting. That fellow, Mack, is always in such a\nhurry that he never holds his shift key down when he typewrites, and the\ncapitals are always a bit above the line.\u201d The man\u2019s face wrinkled up.\n\u201cBesides, I hated to tell this until I was sure it was serious, but one\nday, I heard Mack telephoning news tips to the _Star_. The city editor\nover there, that Tebbets, is his foster uncle, I\u2019ve just discovered, and\nhe\u2019s in their employ. And that day of the picnic, I did some spying\nmyself, following the two of them while they hatched their schemes.\nDirty business, but it\u2019s sometimes done.\u201d\nJoan\u2019s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but the\nproofreader grabbed her elbow. \u201cKeep mum on this, and we\u2019ll break it to\nNixon when he comes back.\u201d\nIt seemed ages, waiting. Chub asked her a half-dozen times what she was\ndreaming about, for she hardly listened to his chatter. Her head was\ngoing round. They had thought Dummy was scheming with Tebbets at the\npicnic. Mack must have been on ahead, in front of his adopted uncle. And\nMack had told her he suspected Dummy! Was Mack the spy? It seemed\npossible. She remembered how peeved he had been that time she had\nmentioned that his machine had heads on the commas.\nFinally, Mr. Nixon came; he had stayed until the edition was safely out\nand had brought back some loose papers in his hands. The rest were on\nthe truck for the newsboys. Things began to hum again. Gertie\u2019s voice,\nbusy on the front office phone, floated out to them. She was assuring\nthe subscribers who were calling that they would get their papers soon,\nthat the delivery wasn\u2019t going to be very late, after all.\nDummy took Joan\u2019s arm and led her up to Mr. Nixon\u2019s desk.\n\u201cThis young lady has been doing a bit of sleuthing around here,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand has hit on something really big!\u201d And then they told him,\nDummy writing the important words on a pad on the desk and motioning\nwith his head toward Mack, so that the rest of the staff wouldn\u2019t know\nwhat they were talking about. Dummy told Mr. Nixon about shadowing Mack\nand Tebbets at the picnic, saying he was about to relate all this\nyesterday when his story had been so untimely interrupted by Amy\u2019s\nscreams. \u201cI couldn\u2019t explain until I was sure,\u201d Dummy stated. \u201cThen when\nthat charity play story was lost, I was sure he was up to mischief\nagain. I tried to get him to confess. We had an argument and he grabbed\nmy pencil away. But I knew then that he was not on the level.\u201d\nMr. Nixon wasn\u2019t convinced right away. He was puzzled. \u201cI\u2019ve always\nbelieved that young Martin made the mistakes and then was scared to\nadmit them. But\u2014maybe, now\u2014and if Mack is really Tebbets\u2019 ward. Tebbets\nis a hard fellow. He probably bullied Mack into doing it\u2014if he did.\u201d And\nhe fussed over the papers and stroked his chin.\nJoan said nothing. She was recalling Tebbets at the picnic\u2014how he had\nspoken to Mack, and how he had ignored cunning little Ruthie. He was\njust the type of man who could make Mack do most anything.\nSuddenly, the editor marched over to Mack with the copy in his hand.\nMack was bending over his machine with his green shade over his eyes.\n\u201cLook here Mack, did you write that extra bit on this fire story?\u201d\nMack looked up, startled, pulled off the eye shade, and stared. His face\nwas as red as the rouge Gertie used. He didn\u2019t need to say a word to\nshow that he was guilty.\nJoan could hardly help feeling sorry for him.\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d she ventured, coming over, \u201cmaybe he did it because he\nwas\u2014jealous of Tim.\u201d\nMiss Betty, who had by this time sensed what had happened, gave a little\ngasp of protest. \u201cOh, no,\u201d she cried.\nJoan suddenly realized that while Mack may have disliked her somewhat on\nthe grounds that she was his rival\u2019s sister, still, he had been afraid\nall along that she and Chub, in their investigations, might suspect him.\n\u201cJealous, nothing!\u201d shouted the editor. \u201cHe\u2019s on the staff of the\n_Star_. He\u2019s been deliberately trying to ball us up with the\nadministration.\u201d\nMack wrenched his hands away. He looked sorry and ashamed. \u201cLet go,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI\u2019m leaving anyway.\u201d\nJoan always believed that there was some story back of it that excused\nMack a little. Maybe he needed the money\u2014or something. But Mr. Nixon did\nnot share her leniency.\n\u201cYou bet you\u2019re going,\u201d he roared, and he took Mack by the collar. \u201cBut\nnot until you make a full confession to the manager.\u201d The editor marched\nhim into Uncle John\u2019s office.\nTim hardly knew what to say. He gave Joan a grateful look and murmured,\n\u201cGee, kid, I never dreamed there was a real spy.\u201d\n\u201cDidn\u2019t I say so all along?\u201d demanded Chub. \u201cI knew mistakes were\nhappening before Dummy and Tim came to work here.\u201d He acted as though he\nhad done all the detective work himself, but Joan was too happy to mind.\nTim had intimated that she had really helped him. Why, it was almost as\nif he had told her she was a good sport.\nEven Bossy added his bit. \u201cSo it was that feller, Mack, that let wrong\nstuff get in the papah. Mistakes is bad!\u201d\nIf Mack had added the paragraph to this fire story, then, Joan thought,\nhe had probably typed a new beginning to that story of the deserted\nchildren\u2014the very first mistake she had known anything about.\nWhen Mack came out of Uncle John\u2019s office, he did not say good-by to any\none, not even to Miss Betty, but just grabbed his hat and went out of\nthe office. Gertie, on seeing him go past her counter, guessed by his\nmanner that something was wrong, and rushed back into the editorial room\nto find out what, brushing past the printers and linotype men who were\nfiling out, their day\u2019s work over.\n\u201cWell, Joan was right,\u201d said Mr. Nixon, as he seated himself behind his\ndesk again. \u201cMartin, I guess your job\u2019s safe enough, now. Want it back?\u201d\nTim nodded his answer. He hardly knew what to say. Mr. Nixon opened up\nhis red date book and wrote something in it. He was giving Tim an\nassignment for the next day. \u201cMaybe we can make you sport editor around\nhere one of these days. I haven\u2019t forgotten what a cracker jack write-up\nyou did of the _Journal_ team victory over the _Star_,\u201d smiled the\neditor.\nSport editor! Tim could only grin. Joan knew he would be a good\none\u2014probably be better at that than at straight reporting. Hadn\u2019t he\nbeen the high school star in athletics? He could go on to college now,\nfor his job was safe; Mr. Nixon had said so. And with the spy, Mack,\ngone, the _Journal_ was safe now, too.\nBut the entire staff\u2014Miss Betty and Cookie and Chub\u2014were rushing up to\nJoan herself.\n\u201cGee,\u201d said Gertie, over her chewing gum, \u201cif you keep on, Jo, you\u2019ll be\nthe star reporter around here.\u201d\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d nodded the editor. \u201cThere\u2019ll be a desk waiting here for\nyou soon as you\u2019re through high school, Miss Joan.\u201d\nHe had called her Miss Joan! What did it matter that through the\n_Journal_ windows, she could see Mother at the side steps, waving for\nher to come home? Probably it was time to start dinner. Nothing\nmattered. She had a job promised her!\nTHE END\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Joan of the Journal, by Helen Diehl Olds\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOAN OF THE JOURNAL ***\n***** This file should be named 47646-0.txt or 47646-0.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\nProduced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,\nset forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to\ncopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to\nprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  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{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1925", "title": "All for Andover;", "creator": "Fuess, Claude Moore, 1885-1963", "lccn": "25008154", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST010662", "call_number": "6859198", "identifier_bib": "00020655410", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "Boston, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard co", "description": "p. cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-02-21 13:00:23", "updatedate": "2019-02-21 13:55:19", "updater": "associate-mike-saelee@archive.org", "identifier": "allforandover00fues", "uploader": "associate-mike-saelee@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-02-21 13:55:21", "operator": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "tts_version": "1.64-initial-41-g686d335", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "394", "scandate": "20190314145213", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-lelani-villaver@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190319143840", "republisher_time": "375", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/allforandover00fues", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t3tv25h1q", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "openlibrary_edition": "OL26794766M", "openlibrary_work": "OL19337181W", "curation": "[curator]associate-manuel-dennis@archive.org[/curator][date]20190508171850[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201904[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190430", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1155960622", "backup_location": "ia906808_0", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "100", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1925, "content": "The School Life of Steve Fisher and his Friends\nBy Claude M. Fuss\nIllustrated by John Goss\n\nChapter I. The School -\nGetting Acquainted\n\nHe heard a tremendous roar of sound (Page 239)\n\nChapter III. The Great Game -\nSchool Mysteries -\nThe Wiles of Women -\n\nDeep in Winter -\nSpring Term -\n\nChapter II. The Second Year -\n\nChapter IX. School Diversions -\nIn the Seats of the Mighty -\n\nChapter XI. Meeting Responsibility -\n\nChapter XII. Closing the Year -\n\nChapter XIII. Commencement Week\n\nIllustrations\nHe heard a tremendous roar of sound (Page 237)\n(Frontispiece)\nThe New Main Building at Andover - 14\nNever has there been such a game for thrills - 74\nJoe caught Nancy's cold eye fastened on him - 148\n\"Why don't you brace up and be a man?\" - 254\nThe Stately Elm Arch - \nA Commencement Day Procession coming down the Elm Arch - 356\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nI\nTHE SCHOOL\n\"Hi, Buck, how's the boy?\"\n\"What, you back again, Alec? I thought you'd gone on to Princeton.\"\nWell, if there isn't old Jess!\n\"Coming out for the team this fall, Eddie?\"\n\nOn the platform of the Andover station late one September afternoon, a crowd of fifty or more young men who had just stepped from the Boston train were being welcomed by their friends. It was a busy scene. Old boys were slapping each other on the back, shouting out favorite nicknames, and getting acquainted again after the long summer vacation.\nThirteen weeks of summer vacation. Trunks were being hauled about and mercilessly slammed down. While here and there, taxi-drivers and baggage men were trying to pick up a little trade. Nearly everybody was talking at once. There were, however, a few strange youngsters who stood gazing rather helplessly about them, uncertain just what to do next, but trying their best to look unconcerned. Against a pillar near the green post-office mailbox, one such recruit leaned for a moment, watching the proceedings and deciding what his first move should be.\n\nIn physical appearance, he had little at a first glance which seemed distinctive. Of medium height, he was stocky in build and had wide shoulders that marked him as a dangerous customer in a quarrel. His square jaw indicated obstinacy, but his clear blue eyes and pleasant expression softened his features.\nStephen Harrison Fisher certainly showed a saving sense of humor. Under his cap could be seen traces of auburn hair. Without being especially good-looking, he seemed an attractive type of normally robust boy, with a healthy tan indicating that his summer had been spent in the open. His clothes were obviously ready-made, and there was in his manner a kind of diffidence, as if he were not quite sure how to conduct himself in civilized society. He stared about him much as the raw D'Artagnan must have done in Paris, when he came for the first time upon the splendor of the King's Musketeers; and, like the hero of Dumas's romance, he had his own ambitions, which are in good time to be revealed.\n\nHis name was Stephen Harrison Fisher, and he had traveled all the way from a little town in northern Montana. He was the only child of\nA country clergyman, whose salary was not large and whose missionary spirit kept him poor. The boy could hardly remember his mother, who had died, worn out by pioneer hardships, when he was barely eight years old. He and his father had been close comrades in a little cottage on the outskirts of the village since then. This was all the home Steve had ever known, and he had never left it until he had set out for the East, four days before, to enter his father's old school. That father's name was down in the Andover records as Fisher, '83, and he had been one of the most famous athletes of his generation.\n\nFrom the time when he was old enough to listen and understand, the boy had been told about Andover. For his father, although he had not returned there for years, had nevertheless kept in touch with it and its progress. Before he had left,\nReached the sixth grade in grammar school, Steve could have told you about Andover's traditions, athletic achievements, and famous alumni like Quincy, Morse, and Holmes. He was old enough to try its entrance examinations and had absorbed an amazing amount of its history, from its foundation during the Revolutionary War. He knew, for instance, that our national hymn, \"America,\" had been written on Andover Hill, that Harriet Beecher Stowe and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps had lived and published books there, and that it had long been a center of learning. He had dreamed for months about going there, and now here he was, at last, in the Andover station, amidst Andover boys. Strange to say, his chief emotion was one of loneliness.\n\nCan you tell me where Bishop Hall is?\nSteve turned his head and saw a rather thin, wiry, sharp-eyed youngster, with quick gestures and an inquisitive air, who was looking inquiringly at him. The boy was probably not much over fourteen, but his horn spectacles gave him an owl-like appearance, and he had a precocious expression, as if he were older than his years.\n\n\"Yes, I think I can find it,\" replied Steve. \"I'm going there myself right away. Come along up the hill, and I'll try to lead you to it.\" Steve took up his heavy suitcase as if its weight were not at all burdensome and walked off. The smaller boy had evidently sent his baggage ahead, for he carried no bundles, but strode along beside Steve, adjusting his short, choppy steps to his companion's longer strides.\n\n\"This your first year?\" inquired Steve.\n\n\"Yes, I'm just entering,\" the boy replied.\n\n\"My name's Fisher. What's yours?\"\nTheodore Roosevelt Sherman answered, \"My full name is Theodore Roosevelt Sherman. I was born while Roosevelt was President, and my father, who hunted with him, named me after him. My home is in Omaha. Are you rooming in Bishop Hall? Yes, I think my room will be Number 18. That's queer. I've got Number 20. It must be right across the corridor. What class are you in, Ted? Oh, I suppose it'll be the Lower Middle. I took some exams last spring, and I don't believe I'll make any higher grade.\" I'm in the same boat. We're going to get acquainted, all right. By this time, the two, walking rapidly, had reached the top of the hill where the great school, Andover, with its many brick buildings, lay before them. There was the broad central campus, already filled with activity.\nSteve left Main Street, guiding his companion along Chapel Avenue to the Inn, then through the glorious Elm Arch. He excitedly pointed out the new Main Building with its tall pillars to the left, Brechin Hall where the school offices were, and the Memorial Tower ahead. Upon reaching the Tower, they both paused to get their bearings and read the names of the ninety Andoverians who had given their lives in the World War, carved in stone in the very center.\nSix o'clock already! Students rushed about, engaged in matters of pressing interest. As they stood contemplating the scene, the chimes above rang out.\n\nThe School No. 15\n\n\"Six o'clock already!\" said Steve. \"We'd better hurry along or we won't get any dinner.\"\n\nFortunately, Bishop Hall, their destination, was only just across the street. They soon found themselves at the doors of their respective rooms. A pleasant-faced young man with a black mustache, seeing them standing in the corridor, came up and said, \"Hello, boys, looking for anything or anybody?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" answered Steve. \"We're just trying to get acquainted with our future home.\"\n\n\"Are you going to live here?\" asked the man, smiling.\n\n\"Yes, we're on the second floor,\" answered Steve, who seemed to be the spokesman. I'm Steve.\nSteve Fisher and this is Ted Sherman with me. I'm what they call the house-professor here, explained the stranger, and I'm supposed to see that you behave yourselves. My name is Irwin. You'll get acquainted with me before very long.\n\nPerhaps you can tell us where we can get some dinner? spoke up Ted, who was hungry from his long ride.\n\nOf course. Why don't you go right over to the Beanery \u2013 that's what the boys call Dining Hall \u2013 and hand your names in? They'll fix you up there all right, and you'll see dozens of new men like yourselves, all wondering what to do next. It's right over there, just beyond the Tower and the Gymnasium. You can almost smell the food from here.\n\nThe boys needed no further advice on this subject. It took them only a moment to cover the ground between Bishop and the rather plain red building.\nA brick colonial structure, built by world-renowned architect Bulfinch, who designed the Boston State House, housed the chaos within. Rushing waiters, clashing heavy china, and numerous voices created a roar like a surging sea. Upon entering, the cry rose, \"Yea, Preps!\" They were pushed and jostled to a table in a corner where four other terrified lads nervously wielded knife and fork. In a minute or two, a boy of their age in a white coat appeared and asked, \"Well, preps, what do you want to eat?\" He seemed so belligerent and in such a hurry that even the cool-headed students were taken aback. (The School)\nTed could do little more than gasp, \"Dunno.\" The waiter, who was evidently used to such indecision, darted away and in an incredibly short time returned with two dishes of soup, two plates of baked beans, bread, milk, butter, and two huge dishes of ice-cream. They were both too hungry and too discreet to protest, and Steve began with the dessert, following with the soup, and closing with the beans and the milk. Everybody else seemed quite too busy to pay any attention to them. In fact, each boy was engaged in pushing his food down his throat in the briefest possible time, without any conversation or other distraction.\n\nHaving speedily concluded the double ceremonies of mastication and swallowing, Steve and Ted continued their meal in silence.\nTed imitated the others and rushed to the revolving door, from which they were presently hurled out onto the terrace. Here at last they had an opportunity to breathe freely. As they strolled slowly towards Bishop Hall, they could notice, now that they had leisure to inspect it, that it was a three-storied brick structure with its walls covered with a mass of ivy. Beside and behind it were more dormitories of the same general design. Others loomed up at unexpected angles as they turned around to look back, across the street. I never dreamed this place was as big as it is,' commented Ted. We'll get completely lost here if we don't watch out.\n\nBoth boys were eager to unpack their trunks and get settled; so they found their rooms, which they entered to begin their new school year.\nTwo boys, Ted and Steve, were situated side by side on the second floor corridor, arranging their things. Ted was in Steve's study, resting for a moment and marveling at the colors of the sunset, when the door was suddenly thrown open wide. A little boy, with red cheeks and a round cherubic countenance, shouted, \"Look who's here!\" adding in a second, \"Come out of there, you fresh preps!\"\n\nThe intruder, who could not have been more than fourteen, had an assurance remarkable for one of his years. He was clearly trying to assume a dignity and roughness entirely foreign to his personality. Steve unconsciously smiled; whereupon the child squeaked in a shrill tone, \"Wipe off that grin, prep,\" and, going back to the entrance, cried, \"Hi, fellows, here's a fresh one!\"\n\nThe room was packed in a second.\n\n(Note: The text appears to be complete and free of meaningless or unreadable content. No corrections or translations were necessary.)\nWith boys of all sizes, three or four with large 'A's on their sweaters, all assembled to enjoy the fun. The cherub, who by a kind of universal ironic agreement was tolerated as a ringleader, issued his orders: \"Now, prep boys, get up and turn your coats inside out.\" Steve looked for a moment as if he was prepared to resist, but Ted, who had sensed the situation perfectly, whispered to him, \"Do just what he wants.\" Then Ted, who had a whimsical note in his character, got on his knees before the youthful bully and whined, \"Please, mister, don't strike me. I'll be good.\" The crowd burst into a roar of approval at his assumed terror, and a big six-footer encouraged the cherub by saying, \"Kill the fresh prep, Buddy.\" Encouraged by this voice, Buddy boldly stepped forward with his commands, \"Now, prep boys, march off in lock-step. Lively now.\"\nSteve and Ted, chuckling inwardly at the adventure, obeyed instructions. Ted placed his hands on Steve's shoulders and followed him into the hall and downstairs, where they encountered other new students lined up for hazing. The ordeal was not at all serious and was probably as much fun for the torturers as for the tortured. Buddy, as the diminutive leader was called, had unofficially been made master of ceremonies. Barking out directions in a high-pitched voice, he marched the newcomers round and round the circle in front of the dormitory; while his victims, in pretended agony, uttered loud wails of pain. Steve was commanded to deliver a speech four times, only to be derisively howled down by his auditors. Ted patiently crowed like a duck, scrambled like an egg, and went through the traditional stunts.\nThe school and the pond were dear to the schoolboy's heart. Both were enjoying the riot enormously. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a bell began to ring out from somewhere in the half-darkness. The group began to disperse slowly, until soon only a handful were left. The bell was now swinging more rapidly, as if by way of warning. Better beat it, prep, or you'll get marked out, said an older boy to Steve. Seeing that the hazing was over, Steve ran inside, just as the bell had stopped its quick strokes and had begun striking the hour. It was the eight o'clock signal, marking like a curfew the time when every student had to be in his dormitory or receive a cut. Steve and Ted were to hear that bell for many months to come, until it became a pleasant sound in their lives; but on this night it was strange and harsh, as if it ushered in a new experience.\nThey sat up late talking about the future, the gong of Steve's enormous Big Ben alarm clock interrupting their thoughts before either could fall into dreamless sleep. Grumbling, he got up to shut it off and check the time; to his astonishment, it was seven o'clock. Hastily, he went to beat on Ted's door, and soon the two boys were leaping about with a dozen others under the cold shower. Their toilets were made quickly, and their breakfast was a matter of a few minutes. As they hurried down the Elm Arch, they saw boys in every stage of undress rushing towards the chapel, some adjusting neckties and buttoning collars as they ran. Steve and Ted\nThe boys followed each other into the building and took seats near the front. The chapel bell beat more feverishly; the bustle increased with every second. Suddenly, the organ stopped, everything became quiet, and the school rose as one man to repeat the Lord's Prayer, with the Head leading.\n\nThough their familiarity with him was personal and reputational, neither boy had seen the Head before. Tall and erect, he stood with hair almost pure white but a body as strong and lithe as if he were still in college. He exuded a native dignity that was impressive and enabled him to dominate the gathering of six hundred restless boys without effort. The habitual expression on his face was sad, and deep lines showed that he had not found life all joy. It was his.\nvoice, especially that interested Steve. Rich, deep, and musical, it throbbed with emotion as he prayed for the welfare of the school and its members. Even Ted, who was not given to sentiment, could not help having unusual quivers run up and down his spine as he listened. Certainly, the Head was a man whom everyone must respect. It was only later that Steve learned how much he was loved by graduates and boys alike. They loved to cheer him by his first name, and he was warmly greeted at alumni gatherings all over the United States.\n\nAfter a hymn, a Bible-reading, and a prayer, the Registrar made the announcements for the day, so many that it seemed as if he would never finish. One fact, however, was impressed upon Steve's mind - that the new boys were to report at once to certain personages called Class Monitors.\nOfficers, have their schedules of recitations made out and arrange work. When Steve arrived at the room of the Lower Middle Class Officer, Mr. Hewitt, he found a long line of waiting boys. In front of him was one of the biggest youths Steve had ever seen, at least six feet three inches in height, with enormous shoulders, long rangy arms, and a bull neck. His blond hair, cut pompadour, made him resemble a heavy-weight pugilist, but his face was mild in expression, and he seemed rather bewildered in his attitude. As Steve took his place in the line, the giant turned to him and asked, \"Say, do you know what to do with this thing?\" He handed Steve a blank with the name Joseph William Watson, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in sprawling handwriting across the top. It was covered with smudges and erasures where the owner had corrected errors.\nSteve had tried to revise it without knowing much what he was doing.\n\n\"Sure, I can help you,\" answered Steve. Go to the desk and get a fresh blank, and then we'll work it out together.\n\nLong before Joe's turn in the line had been reached, Steve had cleared up his problems for him. Mr. Hewitt, a tall, thin, fidgety man with a worried look on his face, read the schedules easily, placing them for the most part in the same divisions in Latin, English, Algebra, and French. As Steve walked out, Joe caught up with him, and the two went back to Bishop Hall, where it appeared Joe had a room on the top floor. It did not take Steve long to discover that Joe, with his colossal body, had no corresponding intellect. He asked the most childish questions, accepting the answers in a good-natured manner.\nHe seemed awkward and clumsy, yet even-tempered, like a Newfoundland puppy.\n\n\"You look as if you were made for a football player,\" said Steve as they walked along. \"I suppose you're going out for the team.\"\n\n\"I guess so,\" replied Joe rather indifferently. \"The coach seemed to think yesterday that I'd better try it. It's a lot of hard work though.\"\n\n\"Have you played before?\"\n\n\"Yes, I've been a guard on the High School team down in Harrisburg. But that isn't quite the same as playing on Andover. Aren't you going to sign up for football?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Do you think I would have any chance?\"\n\n\"Why not? You're big and powerful, and you look fast on your feet. Besides, I'd be willing to bet that you've got some brains, which I haven't. Come along with me this afternoon and we'll try.\"\nIt's out together. All right. What time's the practice? Two o'clock, up near the Gymnasium. I'll stop for you on my way. There were no formal recitations that morning, and Joe and Steve spent their time talking with Ted about their work and wondering about their prospective teachers. Joe was chiefly interested in discovering whether any of his courses would be \"snaps,\" for he had never yet been able to move fast or far on the royal road to learning. Steve, who had always been a faithful pupil in grammar school, was prepared to study hard, and was really eager to do well. As for Ted, it was soon evident that he was naturally the brightest of the trio, but it was equally certain that he did not propose to let himself be worn out prematurely by excessive study. He instinctively craved companionship, and was frankly social in nature.\nHis habits. Already, he had been in Andover only a few hours, yet he knew nearly every student in the dorm by his first name. He spent his spare minutes roaming about from one room to another, picking up stray bits of information regarding his profs and their peculiar traits, which he retailed in due season to his two friends. His restless, keen black eyes saw everything, and he had a dozen schemes simmering in his mind.\n\nRight after lunch, Steve and Joe hastened to the Gymnasium, where they put on football togs and ran out by the Swimming Pool and the Baseball Cage to the playing fields. Steve had never\nA great stretch of greensward, at least a dozen gridirons marked out, groups practicing on each. In the distance, a cinder running track with a background of tall pine-trees. A perfect baseball diamond, rows of bleachers for spectators, was not far off. The school football field, reached next, offered a clear view of the Memorial Tower and clock on Alumni Hall. As he looked around, Steve noticed acre after acre of ground graded solely for making sound bodies for Andover boys. Nearly a hundred sturdy figures, all candidates for the squad, lined up. Steve's heart sank as he realized the competition for places. Joe pointed out.\nSteve encountered Fred Davis, a former Yale captain, who stood silently among the recruits, occasionally snapping out orders. Davis was a massive man with a broad chest like a doorway and a jaw as hard as Gibraltar's rock. Nearby was Red Larsen, the Andover captain, known for his speed in the backfield. Steve noticed boys heavier and stronger than him, and his hopes of making the eleven cooled perceptibly.\n\nSuddenly, Steve found himself in a long line with perhaps fifty others. One by one, those ahead of him plunged at a dummy figure. Some did so awkwardly, while a few displayed skill born of practice. When Steve's turn came, he attempted to imitate the others and, running with all his might, threw himself at the padded bag and embraced it.\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\nBut he let the dummy elude his clutches. \"Cling to it tighter,\" Steve heard a voice say, and realized the Coach was talking to him. Before he had withdrawn, he saw Joe descend upon the dummy, envelop it in his long arms, and drag it desperately down, in what was the best tackle yet made. \"Step aside,\" said the Coach to Joe, who was thus lined up with a group of the more promising prospects for the squad. To Steve remained the less enviable lot of having to spend days in learning to do through observation and hard labor what Joe had apparently accomplished so easily. Within a week, Joe had a position on the regular eleven, but Steve was kept busy mastering the rudiments of the game. After practice, Joe and Steve had a bath and a plunge in the pool, and then went to dinner.\nThey ate like hungry, healthy animals. Later in the evening, the three friends sat together in Joe's large room on the third floor of Bishop, looking out through the open window towards distant Mount Monadnock. The sun was setting behind it in one of those gorgeous beds of pink and gold and purple for which Andover Hill is renowned. Steve was sore in his muscles and so stiff that he hardly cared to move, but he was happy beyond expression in what he had done and seen.\n\n\"It's a great place,\" he said, rubbing his tired legs. \"We're going to have a grand time here.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" put in Joe, whose musings were evidently all of athletic victories. \"And it looks as if the team would be a corker.\"\n\n\"We're going to have a good chance here in this dorm,\" added Ted, whose thoughts were running in another channel. \"Why, some of the boys here are real prospects.\"\nbiggest men in school are right here around us. If we don't get along, it's our own fault.\n\n\"Whether we get along or not,\" concluded Steve, with what was unmistakably the final word for the night, \"we're part of a real school. A fellow ought to grow to be a man here if he's going to be one anywhere. I'm mighty glad I came.\"\n\nThere were no audible dissenters from this opinion among those present.\n\nII\n\nGETTING ACQUAINATED\n\nSteve's next few days were very busy, for he had to get acquainted with a whole new society or civilization, in which the code was altogether different from anything he had ever known before. It was a week before he understood exactly what he was expected not to do. Imitating the other fellows whom he saw around him, he ran out one morning to chapel bareheaded, only to hear a cry.\n\nHi, prep, go back and put on your cap!\nA newcomer was forbidden from walking down Main Street to the town center but must take Bartlet Street instead. I discovered this rule when my chapel seat was assigned. I observed that I had to wait until those closer to the pulpit had left before starting out. In brief, I was part of a community with established customs and traditions, which the wise obeyed implicitly. A great school is the most conservative of institutions, and radicalism or deviation from the normal is least popular there.\n\nAs a mere \"prep,\" Steve had few rights that anyone was bound to respect. I couldn't attend class meetings, was assigned a rear place in all processions, and was warned to maintain a discreet silence during discussions.\nAmong the older men, the unpardonable sin was to be fresh. This was a realization Steve came to soon. Besides these restrictions, he was not made uncomfortable. He was, it is true, compelled to march like a convict in the time-honored prep parade on the Saturday night after his arrival; but this was really no ordeal, and the actual hazing which he underwent was negligible.\n\nSteve found that his schedule called for nineteen hours of classroom work a week, divided irregularly, with holidays on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. Most of his recitations were in the new Alumni Hall, and it took him some time to find his way around the huge building with its many corridors and doors. It pleased him particularly to hear that he could study in his own dormitory room during hours when he had no recitations, and could thus be completely self-sufficient.\nSteve discovered that the freedom at Andover was delightful but permitted only because students were treated as if they were old enough to bear responsibility. If found unable, they soon disappeared. Like many boys who came to Andover every year, Steve had been accustomed to disorder in his classrooms. In the grammar schools at home, pupils played all sorts of pranks, and punishments, even when the offense was deliberate, were not severe. He had been told enough by his father to understand that conditions in Andover were quite different and specifically counseled not to be \"smart.\" Steve made up his mind to be cautious and not let his love of practical jokes carry him into trouble.\nWith Ted as his companion, Steve went directly to his first class after chapel - an English recitation under Mr. Hobson, a brisk and dapper little man, partly bald, with a cold and cynical glance, who seemed to see everything that went on. Thirty-odd boys had assembled, some running in nervously, others sauntering in as if this were a minor phase of academic life. Mr. Hobson made a little speech, outlining the program for the fall and telling them what books to buy. When he had finished, a ferret-faced boy on the back seat raised his hand and asked, \"Please, sir, shall we pay for the books or charge them?\" Mr. Hobson, known among the students as \"Chilly\" due to his frigidity of manner, looked at the youngster and saw that he was trying to \"show off.\" He then said, \"Pay for them.\"\nWe have a bright little boy with us today. We must watch this clever little fellow to see that he doesn't go too fast for us. The fresh student, effectively squelched, turned a deep crimson and made no further attempts at wit. Steve soon perceived that, in the average Andover classroom, a few words from the lips of a sarcastic prof were as effective as a whipping would have been in many other schools. He found, of course, that he had all kinds of teachers, each with his own individual method. The universal penalty imposed for failure to prepare class-work or for disorder of any sort was the demerit, and more than eight of these on the registrar's books meant suspension from school. Some teachers gave demerits frequently; others never used them as a punishment. One or two instructors were humorous, or tried to be.\nSteve found some teachers at Andover seemed irritable but were actually lenient and kind-hearted. Chilly \"Hobson\" was good-natured towards pupils trying their best. Each teacher had peculiarities, taking Steve a week or more to get accustomed. Most teachers were well-informed and serious about their subjects.\n\nHowever, each year, there was a \"goat\" teacher - a new man unfamiliar with Andover's traditions and perhaps unsuited to stay. Mischievous boys would quickly take advantage. Steve soon heard stories about the house-professor in Dunster Hall, who couldn't seem to get things under control. Steve frequently met this professor.\nThe big, dignified-looking man, named Henry Bailey Morris but affectionately called \"Doggy\" due to his facial deficiencies, was a man who could have overpowered any two ordinary boys in a fair fight. However, he was slightly deaf, and his mind moved slowly, making him uncertain of himself.\n\nOne day, Steve was with Babe Southworth when he asked Doggy for an excuse to go down town. Doggy looked at Babe gravely for a few seconds, trying to understand his motives, and finally said in a deep, sepulchral voice, \"For how long do you desire this privilege?\" Babe commented later that it was all he could do to keep from snickering in Doggy's face. He looked as if.\nI had asked for a check for a million dollars. Did you get the excuse? \"Yes, but I believe he thinks I'm going to try to rob the bank.\" Doggy's dormitory was not the most peaceful spot on Andover Hill. One evening, about a month after school had begun, the inhabitants of Bishop heard a frightful racket in Dunster, which was not far away. Ted Sherman, who was always on the lookout for excitement, climbed quietly down the fire-escape and stole over to Dunster, where he could see that a barrel full of cans and crockery had been rolled down the stairs into the front corridor. Ted waited a moment and then, observing preparations for another exploit, retreated behind a massive elm where he could watch the proceedings. Peering out, he could see Babe Southworth and three other rascals.\nSuddenly, a box with streamers of lit paper trailing behind it like a comet's tail descended in the third story. It struck the ground with a tremendous crash and exploded, scattering stones and bricks in every direction. With unquestionable premeditation, the dormitory windows opened simultaneously, and yells of terror echoed from the occupants' throats. To anyone in Ted's strategic position, the affair seemed ridiculous, but a passerby must have thought all the fiends of hell had been unleashed.\n\nTo add to the uproar, the boys in the neighboring dormitories couldn't resist the temptation to retaliate, and soon everyone on the Hill was leaning out, blowing a horn or whistling or making some kind of noise. Meanwhile, Doggy, dressed in a short purple-green wrapper, appeared.\nwhich revealed the mysteries of a fat and bulging calf descended the steps of Dunster and inspected the smoking pile of rubbish. Someone must have dropped that, he said in his heavy, deliberate way, while the boys in the dormitory, who had gathered around him with feigned curiosity, asked him foolish questions. As they stood there, however, the form of the Head loomed up out of the darkness, and the fellows silently stole off, not without the consciousness that they had been noticed. In fifteen seconds, Doggy was left alone to explain the cause of the rumpus.\n\nJust what happened later nobody seemed to know, but it was generally understood that the Head called together Babe Southworth and some of the other conspirators, and that they emerged from the interview with faces visibly sad. The Head, when his anger was aroused, was\nNot inclined to mince words, he had made the situation clear to Dunster's residents. Mr. Morris did not appear in Andover after Christmas, and the teaching staff vacancy was filled by a less imposing but more sophisticated instructor. It took only a short time for Steve to notice that in his various classes, the students were being gradually separated. The loafers were soon detected and made to work or get out. The dumbbells, as they were called, were dropped into lower classes or given special treatment. Andover's system was to expel the delinquents ruthlessly, but to do everything to assist the slow, plodding boy who was doing his best. Steve himself had never been a scholar, but he spent long hours over his Latin.\nSteve sat next to a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy named Harold Cabot Manning in his Algebra class. Dressed neatly and seeming older than most, Harold was from Boston and attended Harvard, as his pronunciation of \"Harvard\" and \"can't\" made clear. He had traveled widely, read important classics, and received a preliminary education at home and with tutors, making his work efficient. Ted Sherman, naturally bright but indolent, received no mercy when he failed an examination.\nAt Andover, Hal seemed very easy to get acquainted with. In fact, he appeared like the aristocrat he was. With his carefully brushed hair, well-pressed trousers, stiff white collar, and immaculate shoes, he looked effeminate to some of his associates and snobbish to others. But there was something genuine about him which Steve liked. Hal, as Steve began to call him, was above all \"kid\" tricks. He viewed childish pranks with the scorn of maturity. Furthermore, he was quite willing to help Steve and Joe over knotty problems connected with the Binomial Theorem. So it was that Hal, although discussed with suspicion at first by Joe and Ted, became before many weeks had passed an intimate member of Steve's group. If Joe was like Porthos in bulk and strength and slowness of mind, Hal had the haughtiness and pride of Athos.\nTed was Aramis, and Steve was potentially D'Artagnan, the natural leader of the four. As they grew better acquainted, they explored the Hill and its surroundings with the eagerness of strange eyes. It was Ted who led them into the Grill, a dark underground room where students could invest their spare cash in steaks and chops, and, more desirably, smoke during fixed hours and still be within the law. Joe and Steve were in training and the Grill offered few real allurements to them, but Ted was a devotee of the cigarette and soon promised to become what was known in the expressive school slang as a \"Grill Hound.\" The room itself, which was paneled in dark oak and divided into small alcoves, offered a cozy atmosphere for those seeking refuge from the bustling campus life.\nTed and other prep boys had attractive dens with tables and benches, especially appealing to those who had money. Ted, like all preps, sat on the south side of the room but made acquaintances of various kinds and conditions of boys, whom he soon learned to call by their first names or nicknames. With no class during the first hour in the morning, Ted formed the habit of going to chapel without eating and then strolling to The Grill, where he filled himself with food and snatched an after-breakfast cigarette like a true club member. It was a bad practice for his health, as Steve warned him more than once; but Ted cared nothing for sports, and his chief diversion was in the society of others, as he found it in The Grill. As for Hal, he smoked continually.\nWhen he cared to do so, but he was more likely to take his cigarette to his own room, taking care to blow the smoke up the chimney so that his professor would not detect the odor and punish him with a dreaded smoking demerit. The fellows whom they met were of every kind and walk of life. Some of them, as Steve discovered later, were poor boys who were working their way through school by waiting on table in the eating-houses, running laundry agencies, or doing odd jobs around the Academy office. It interested Steve to see that nobody seemed to know or care whether a boy was doing work of this kind or not. Some of the leaders of the school were apparently waiters in the Dining Hall. It was a thorough democracy, in which everybody was ranked according to his ability and achievement.\nThere were a number of men from foreign countries, including China and Japan, and these were treated as equals, especially if they had skills in soccer or other games. Steve once counted Bishop Hall boys from California, Colorado, Texas, Mississippi, Georgia, Tennessee, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Virginia, New York, and all the New England States. It was certainly interesting to sit down in a group of such fellows and get the different points of view.\n\nOn Sunday afternoons, when there was no football practice, the four friends liked to go exploring in the surrounding countryside. Once they took canoes and went paddling on the Shawsheen, winding in and out, through marshes and meadows, in a country which seemed very wild to Steve, who had always pictured Massachusetts differently.\nas a continuous succession of factories and houses, with every foot of land under cultivation. They early came across the beautiful woodland path down to Pomp's Pond, an attractive bit of clear deep water nestling at the foot of steep hills. Once, at Ted's suggestion they started a cross-country walk to Prospect Hill, only to find themselves struggling through swamps and cranberry bogs and fighting their way through alder bushes. When they reached the summit, however, they had a glorious view for miles and miles, even as far as Salem and the ocean, and felt well repaid for their toil. In every direction there were forest paths which they used to try, even at the risk of getting out of school bounds and being expelled.\n\nIt was Founders' Day, perhaps, which brought home forcefully to the boys, even to the cynical among them, the importance of their community's history and traditions.\nIn mid-October, the school was given a full Saturday holiday. The night before, a teacher, an authority on Andover history, spoke in the Gymnasium about the traditions of the Academy using lantern slides for illustrations. Old graduates appeared in small groups early Saturday morning, wandering about and pointing out to one another the spots they once knew. At chapel, a distinguished judge, a man of international fame, told the boys about the greatness of the ancient school. Then, in a long procession with a brass band in the van, the undergraduates and alumni marched to the Memorial Tower where they dedicated a granite boulder placed on the spot where George Washington once addressed Andover students in 1789. As part of the program, a cabinet minister also attended.\nA general in the United States Army made speeches with frequent references to the spirit of the founders, the richness of our heritage, and the splendor of our constitution. If anyone else mentions our glorious tradition, I'm going to throw a brick, Hal said as the speaking program drew to a close. Forget it, answered Steve. Haven't you any sentiment at all? Wait until you're sixty and see how you feel! That's all. But you can get too much even of a good thing, Hal replied. However, the affair was really impressive to the boys and helped to reveal to them the spirit of the Hill. Even Ted had to admit that such celebrations are worth having.\n\nBut there were other matters to be considered besides dedicating boulders. Six weeks after the affair,\nThe opening of school brought the first \"rating,\" where grades were handed in by teachers, providing evidence of the intellectual ability of the boys. Steve, who had been warned by his father, understood the significance of his performance. In Andover, a boy who gained a reputation as a scholar found it difficult to lose it, while one labeled as a loafer or bonehead was branded for a long time. Steve's mind was slow but retentive, requiring him to stay up late at night studying French and Latin. However, his efforts paid off during the \"rating,\" as he passed every subject. Even Joe, who had little comprehension of what he was doing, managed to pass two out of four courses with failures.\nHal, despite his intelligence, was still eligible for football. The Andover system automatically placed any boy who failed in more than eight hours of work on the no-excuse list, colloquially known as Non-Ex. Once on Non-Ex, the delinquent could not represent the school on any athletic team and was allowed no excuses out of his dormitory during study periods until he had reduced his failures below eight hours.\n\nHal, as expected from one of his intelligent peers, had honors in all his subjects. Without exerting much effort, he had focused on the essential things and had encountered no difficulties whatsoever. However, with the subtle Ted, things were different. Ignoring the warnings of his friends, he had done very little, trusting to get through by bluffing. On the morning after the rating, he had planned for a final night of \"cramming.\"\nannouncements were made. He turned up in Steve's room with a disgusted expression on his face.\n\n\"Isn't it a mess?\" he asked bitterly. \"They've put me on Non-Ex.\"\n\n\"What else did you expect?\" Steve replied. \"You haven't cracked a book since you came here.\"\n\n\"Bosh!\" Ted grunted. \"I thought I could get through all right. The trouble is these profs here are too darned stiff. I always passed in Omaha High School. As far as that's concerned, I guess I'm just as smart as you are.\"\n\n\"Of course you are, and a good deal brighter,\" Steve said paternally. \"That's why you have no kick at all coming. You thought that you could get away with murder. Now maybe you'll learn that these profs here know exactly how to handle young fellows like you.\"\n\n\"I'll put it over on them next time,\" Ted threatened.\n\n\"Better not try, my boy,\" Steve said.\nThe odds are all against you. The best thing that could happen to you is a heavy jolt. If you would keep away from the Grill, settle down to business, and stop trying to be a tin-horn sport, there's some hope for you. Just remember that if you're still down at the next rating, you'll be put on probation. The next thing you know, you'll be fired. Omaha will go into mourning for her favorite son.\n\nI don't care much now whether I'm fired or not, responded Ted. I'm sick of a place where you have to grind all the time.\n\nOh, stop the whining, Ted, interpolated Steve. Won't you ever learn that this is one place where you can't beat the game?\n\nIt was this incident, combined with another episode which he saw, that persuaded Ted eventually to see the wisdom of reform. In his Al-\nA giant named \"Big Pete\" Russell played left guard on the eleven and was considered an important factor in the annual game against Exeter. With his long arms, shaggy hair, and flattened nose, Pete resembled a gorilla. He had been at Andover for two years, knew all the ropes, and felt safe in whatever he did. Ted had observed Pete using a \"crib\" in class on multiple occasions and had even considered adopting a similar practice himself. No one paid much attention to Pete, who, among the undergraduates, was considered a privileged character due to his athletic prowess.\n\nThe Algebra teacher, a gruff, rather sleepy-looking stout person named \"Bull\" Churchill, had happy moments of inspiration when he taught.\nHis subject was almost oblivious to Pete's practices and accordingly was tempted to become more open in his cheating. Sometimes he carefully prepared answers to the problems and carried them into the recitation room, confident that he was in no danger of being detected. The sentiment of the class would have been one of disapproval, but no one was likely to call attention to the matter, and certainly not a boy would have reported it. School chivalry in such cases follows a very definite code. If he wants to do it and can do it without getting caught, it's none of my affair.\n\nOn the morning of the final examination for the Andover School.\nTed sat diagonally behind Pete, observing the situation. When the paper was handed to him, Pete took it, glanced it over hastily, scratched his head in despair, and then began looking at his cuffs. Here, as Ted could see, Pete had a wealth of assistance, which he stealthily commenced to copy on the blank sheets of paper before him. Meanwhile, old Bull was sitting at his desk on the platform, busily engaged in correcting examinations and apparently quite indifferent to what was going on in front of him. Suddenly, he stood up and, with an almost incredible rapidity, descended upon Pete, lifted up his arm, pulled back the coat-sleeves, and then said abruptly, \"Leave the room.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" stammered Pete, \"I -- I - \"\n\n\"We'll have no argument, young man; just go.\"\n\nPete, quite speechless, took up his hat and left the room.\nSlunk out the door. What could he say? He had been caught at his little game, and the school code of honor could offer him no satisfaction. Before the day was over, everybody was talking about the incident, including the four friends, who had had no first-hand experience with the inexorability of Andover discipline.\n\n\"Do you suppose that he'll be 'fired'?\" asked Joe, more to make conversation than because he had any hope.\n\n\"Sure he will,\" replied Steve. \"They never let a man stay here when he's been caught cheating.\"\n\n\"But it will smash the team into smithereens,\" wailed Joe, who, having played tackle for the two previous games, knew what he was talking about.\n\n\"Much the faculty care about that,\" muttered Ted. \"Most of them don't care whether we win or lose. Any decent sport could see that Pete's a good player.\"\nA good sort who doesn't mean to be a criminal might at least consider the reputation of the school. You certainly have a lot to learn, was Steve's retort. I'm mighty glad this school doesn't stand for that sort of thing. If we lose the game, it won't be the faculty's fault, but Pete's. He knew what he was doing and the risk he took, just as a man does when he steals from the till or sets fire to a house. If he had been a good Anchorite, he wouldn't have taken such a chance.\n\nRight or wrong, the faculty did not hesitate, and within a week Pete had packed up his goods and chattels and departed for his home. Retribution followed quickly upon wrong-doing, and Pete's extraordinary football ability had made no difference whatever in his fate. It was strict justice, promptly carried out. When Pete was gone,\nThe Head spoke to the school one morning in chapel, and the entire six hundred boys sat spellbound. He used understandable speech.\n\nYoung men, he said, there must be standards of honor in any great school like this, or else it will become demoralized. One of your number has broken a long-established regulation, and has paid the price. The rules here at Andover are well-known to every boy who enters. Furthermore, cheating is cheating, whether it is done in the classroom or on the stock exchange. Sooner or later, every cheater is discovered, and pays the penalty for his offense. Life is like that. Always remember that it is better in the end to fail honorably than it is to prosper for a brief period by lies. The boy who cheats in an examination is deceiving himself. He, whether he succeeds or fails, is false to himself.\nThe true victim is revealed at once or not. Here in Andover, we aim to train young men who are not ashamed to confess their ignorance and prepared to endure punishment if they fail to study. We want our boys to pass, but we would rather have them flunk than pass through deception. Eager as I am to win the game with Exeter, I would rather lose than win through the work of an untrustworthy boy. I don't need to add more.\n\nAs the Head sat down, the school applauded him, and few dared to defend the absent Pete. This incident, combined with others, showed Steve that school is like a cross-section of life.\nAmong the six hundred boys in the school, there were representatives of every grade of society. In this environment, one must eventually choose associates who are most congenial in tastes and ideals. Some boys were tricky or vicious. Steve was not a prig. He was aware that there were boys who took pride in breaking rules, went out at night when they thought they might not be detected, and played bridge and other games for stakes. But he learned very soon that the sentiment of the best men, the school leaders, did not sanction such conduct. Steve never reasoned much on these matters. Instinctively, he knew that some things were right and others wrong, and he preferred to be among the decent, law-abiding citizens. A fellow could go bad in Andover, too.\nMost boys were kept busy with work and play, leaving no spare time for dissipation. The boy who wished to lead the sporting life had to seek out opportunities for debauchery. None were ever placed at his door. By the end of six or eight weeks, Steve and his friends in Bishop Hall had begun to get their bearings. They observed certain things that were \"not done,\" which was sufficient. Each one of the four in the secret places of his heart was pondering on what he had seen and heard, and making up his mind to act accordingly.\n\nThe supreme event of the Fall Term at Andover has always been the football game with Exeter, its traditional rival, a school of about the same size and founded by the same Phillips family.\nAndover and Exeter, thirty miles apart, share much in common. Easy to travel between them, they annually compete in football, hockey, basketball, tennis, track athletics, and baseball. Contests are fierce and exciting, with mutual respect for each other's prowess and joy in victories. In post-college years, Andover and Exeter men become the best of friends, forgetting past competition that once kept them friendly enemies.\n\nFrom the moment Steve stepped off at Andover station, he began to hear gossip about the upcoming football game - prospects of each team, new players' reputations, and records of past elevens. He was kept on Andover's squad and given a substitute place.\nIn the backfield, but there were old men who were much heavier and faster than he. He played for two minutes in the game with the Dartmouth Freshmen, and he knew very well that he had little chance of making the team. Joe, however, was placed at right tackle, where it seemed clear that he would not easily be superseded. Weighing about one hundred and eighty-five pounds of bone and muscle, he played football with instinctive genius and seemed by instinct to know what to do at critical moments. The brain which was sluggish in Latin became alert on the gridiron. He was indeed a tower of strength in the line. Before Pete Russell was dropped, it was thought that Andover would have the strongest defense in years, but his loss at left guard was irreparable. The coach, however, said not a word when Pete disappeared; a lighter replacement took his place.\nCruit was called up from the second team and assigned to the vacant guard position. Joe soon found that training on an Andover team was a different process from anything he had ever undertaken before. The men on the squad went out at two o'clock every afternoon and spent an hour and a half in hard drill, often with vigorous scrimmages. They were usually called together in the evening for signal practice or a brief lecture by the Coach. If a man on the regular eleven failed in a crisis, he was sometimes thrown ignominiously back to the second team. There was no favoritism, no indulgence or excuse for weakness or failure. Nor was any player allowed to go his own way. Everything was systematic. Each man supposedly knew his proper position in each formation, and if he was not there, the blame fell on him. The Coach himself.\nSeldom uttered a word of praise or censure. To Joe and Steve, it all seemed like admirable discipline. They recognized that they were being trained in manhood and had no inclination to rebel against the orders they received.\n\nThe captain, Red Larsen, who played right halfback, was probably the best-known man in school. Although he was not the most brilliant performer on the eleven, he was astonishingly steady. On the defense, he could be trusted to bring down his man nine times out of ten; and, if he was a bit slow on end runs, he seldom fumbled the ball. The quarterback, Rib Potter, was also thoroughly reliable, although he had never been tested in an Exeter game. In general, it was evident at the beginning that Andover would have a good average team, with few star players. Sometimes, however, an eleven of this caliber would surprise everyone.\nA properly trained and functioning team is more efficient than one built around one man, no matter how good he may be. The earlier games on the schedule are practice contests, their chief value being the help they provide the Coach in selecting the best men. Different candidates were tried out for various positions until, with the arrival of the Yale Freshmen's game, it was possible to get a fairly good idea of how the team would be constituted. Fat Simonds, a tubby youth weighing one hundred and ninety-five pounds, held the center position against all competitors. The guards were Heinie Foote and Lefty Heywood. Joe had the right tackle position, with a big Swede named Bergstrom on the other side of the line; while the two ends were covered by Muggsy Hawkins and Tug.\nWilson. From end to end, they averaged one hundred and seventy-three pounds, no small weight for a school eleven. In the backfield, besides Rib Potter and Red, were Lou Hammond at left half-back and \"Venus\" Burns at fullback. Burns had received his name, not because he was a paragon of youthful beauty, but rather through a rough irony, not uncommon among boys. A fellow six feet, six inches tall was known as \"Shorty\" Boutwell; while another with an expression habitually ungracious answered to the title of Sweetie Pierce. Undergraduate wit in nicknames is likely to be more violent and cruel than subtle. Although the team lost to the Yale Freshmen, 10-0, and to the Harvard Freshmen, 6-3, it seemed to be steadily gaining in confidence. Dartmouth Freshmen were beaten by a single drop-kick, which Venus Burns, when everything else failed, would attempt.\nThe team seemed to have lost ground, managing to put the ball over from the thirty-yard line. In the last of the preliminary contests, the one with Worcester Academy, Andover won handily, with a score of 18-0. It was not a season to boast about, but neither was it disheartening.\n\nDuring the week of the Exeter game, little else was discussed on Andover Hill. Beginning on Monday morning, every member of the eleven was applauded as he entered chapel, and the period before the service started was a continuous round of clapping, with the younger boys particularly noisy.\n\nTHE GREAT GAME\n\nOn Thursday afternoon, the entire student body marched in column of fours to the playing fields, headed by two muscular youths carrying an Andover banner. The cheer-leaders, acting as marshals, carried huge blue megaphones bearing a white flag which they raised and lowered in unison.\nRhythmical in unison, the boys chant \"A-N-D-O-V-E-R, Rah! Rah! Rah!\" keeping time with their marching feet. It is assumed that every fellow with any school spirit will turn out for these processions and yell until he is on the verge of tonsilitis. Once in a while, a school freak defies convention and refuses to participate, but he invariably is penalized by ostracism.\n\nOn the night before the game comes the mass meeting in the Gymnasium, carefully planned to arouse enthusiasm to the highest point. At seven o'clock, the undergraduates gather to sing songs and cheer. The head cheerleader, as master of ceremonies, then calls for a long yell for the Coach. He is brought forward, escorted by two stalwart cheerleaders, one on each arm.\n\nOn this occasion, Coach Fred Davis, who had gone through six years with but one defeat.\nExeter had little to say, \"We've just got a good average team, fellows, but they'll fight hard. Get behind them, show them that you're with them, and they'll make good. Remember, it's All for Andover!\" Cheers for the captain and each of the eleven followed, who were forbidden to speak at this time. The Manager, Bub Atwater, was then called for and looked business-like as he read from a sheaf of telegrams, \"We'll all be broke if you lose.\" (Signed), Andover Men at Princeton. \"We're all with you to the finish.\" (Signed), Andover Men at Yale. \"Best of wishes.\" (Signed), Girls at Abbot Academy. All these, and others, were received with deafening applause, as authentic messages. Only a few of the initiated knew that most of them were apocryphal, having been composed only a few hours prior.\nminutes before, in accordance with honored tradition, the resourceful manager called for popular teachers. Each one, advised beforehand, stood nervously in the gallery awaiting his turn. To the outsider, it all seemed beautifully spontaneous when the boys began their loud chant, \"We want Mac! We want Mac!\" Old Mac himself then came forward, escorted by two cheerleaders. The Nestor of the faculty, once one of the most popular teachers but now retired, had white hair and bent shoulders, but his eye still sparkled. He had not missed an Andover-Exeter game for forty years. Everyone was fond of him and liked to hear his voice; everyone listened as he told some humorous anecdote and closed, as he had done at countless such gatherings.\nMeetings were held, with the prophet announcing victory for Andover. For many generations of boys, he had been a part of Andover's atmosphere, and no gathering of students would have been complete without him. When he stepped down from the platform, the boys cheered him again and again. Tears were in the old gentleman's eyes when he returned to his seat.\n\nNext on the program was Charlie \"Foster. He was likely the most beloved instructor, who read some verses he had composed specifically for the occasion \u2013 a poem with a refrain that the crowd soon learned and roared out with gusto after each stanza.\n\n62\nAll for Andover\nQuack, quack, quackity quack, the goose is hanging high;\nQuack, quack, quackity quack, the Blue can never die.\n\nThe Gymnasium seemed filled to bursting with noise, sounding like the pounding of surf on a rockbound shore.\nThe boys demanded the Head, who was young in spirit as in the days when he was captain of Andover teams, thirty years prior. He spoke simply but eloquently of the school's athletic record, emphasizing its reputation for square and fair play, and pointing out that only a clean victory was worthwhile. He praised the coach, the captain, and the players, told one or two stories of former contests, and ended with the hope that the morrow might be a perfect day.\n\nSaturday dawned clear and cool \u2014 ideal football conditions. The game was to be in Andover, and the boys spent their free hours during the morning hanging up blue pennants and decorating the outside of the dormitories with enormous As, constructed hastily out of blue banners against a background of white sheets pinned together. Recitations were not very well prepared.\nAnd the more tolerant and kindly teachers spent the hour in something outside the assigned work. Chilly Hobson read one of Stephen Leacock\u2019s burlesques to his English class. The \"preps,\" most of whom had never seen an Andover-Exeter contest, were on edge with excitement. Steve could barely sit still at his desk, and even Hal, who had a naturally cool temperament, was fidgety.\n\nAs for Joe, who was actually to play, he seemed the calmest of all, and sat during his vacant periods perusing the Boston morning papers and grunting over their prognostications, which obviously favored Exeter. The Exeter eleven had won most of its preliminary contests and was considered one of the strongest in years.\n\nWise sportsmen, however, remembered that the favorite in an Andover-Exeter game is frequently the loser, and that the newspaper dope is very inaccurate.\nLuncheon was hastily consumed, and the entire school assembled on Main Street, awaiting the arrival of the Exeter special train, due at one-thirty. At about quarter to two, the approaching rival clans could be heard marching up the hill, spelling out the letters, E-X-E-T-E-R, in measured rhythm. Their leaders carried a large red banner with the name of the school, \"ALL FOR ANDOVER,\" in white letters. As the procession came to the spot where the Andover boys were gathered, the Andover cheer leaders called for a long yell for Exeter, and it was given lustily. On marched the Exeter supporters in what seemed an unending line, and for the moment, a thrill of friendly hatred ran up and down Ted's backbone.\n\n\"Don't they look like big men?\" spoke up Ted, as he watched the parade pass.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" replied Hal, who liked to feel himself unmoved by such displays.\nThe Andover cohorts were more sophisticated and looked confident. They weren't bigger, on average, than us. Just then, Pop \"Cory, the head cheerleader,\" gave the order to fall in. With the local brass band at the head, the Andover team started off, in the usual column of fours. Quickly, the musicians struck up \"Andover Rah!\" and the procession was in motion, singing the song they never seemed to tire of. There is nothing like the sound of brass and tinkling cymbals for providing inspiration, and soon Steve felt that nothing could stop the Andover team. The Andover playing fields were famous for their extent and beauty, and they never appeared finer than on the afternoon of a big game. As Steve marched in through the gateway, he could see the fields.\nExeter banner floating over the stands on the opposite side of the gridiron, and could catch the echo of Exeter cheers. Approximately eight thousand people were there as spectators, and every seat was taken.\n\n\"It's wonderful, isn't it, Hal?\" cried Ted, with unwonted enthusiasm as they sat down in the Andover cheering section, after a rapid scramble for positions.\n\n\"Well, it isn't as big a crowd as they get in the Stadium, but they certainly seem excited,\" replied the supercilious Hal, who had no intention of admitting too much.\n\nLook here, you iceberg, can't you warm up a bit? At that moment, the Exeter eleven rushed onto the field, looking huge in their red sweaters and stockings. Their supporters across the way rose as one man to cheer them. And then came the blue team, Red Larsen at their head, and the Andover crowd was on its feet. The band played.\nThe cheerleaders flung sticks and megaphones in the air, and everyone seemed to be yelling. The two captains met in the center of the field and solemnly shook hands. A coin was tossed by the referee. Red Larsen looked at it and tested the wind with a moistened hand. Andover had won the toss and would receive the ball. The referee blew his whistle. The Andover men took their places in their territory, and the Exeter players spread out in a line to follow the kick. Another whistle! The red fullback ran at the pigskin, sent it high in the air towards the blue goal, and the game was on.\n\nStraight into the waiting arms of Red Larsen it fell. He caught it, hugged it fast, and, glancing to the left and right, started diagonally to the left, with his own men forming in front of him for support.\nFive, ten, fifteen yards he covered before being thrown. It was a fine gain, and the Andover stands gave him a short yell. The ball was on Andover\u2019s thirty-yard line. Rib Potter's voice can be heard calling out signals: 3-8-4-7. The ball is snapped to Lou Hammond, who skirts left end for four yards. The Andover bleachers are ecstatic. Then Red plunges at the opposing tackle for two yards more. The Andover eleven line up again. Rib surveys the situation and goes back for a punt. He kicks with unerring precision, low and to the right, and the ends, Hawkins and Wilson, are down under the ball, tackling the Exeter captain, Charlie Bingham, before he can move from his tracks. Now it is Exeter's turn to reveal her strength. Crack, \u2014 three yards through Heinie Foote, the weak Andover guard! Crack, \u2014 four yards more.\nExeter pushes slowly but steadily down the field, past one white line and up to another, driving again and again at the weak spot in the opposing team. At last, the visiting eleven reaches the Andover forty-yard line. Heinie Foote can scarcely stand, but fights doggedly on, resolved to use his every ounce of force in stopping the onslaught. Once more a play is aimed at him; he holds with all his might, but when the pile of players is torn apart by the referee, Heinie still lies there. Time is called. The Exeter team gives a cheer for Foote, and the Andover boys applaud.\nPlaud the courtesy. Heinie finally staggers to his feet, but can barely stand. The Andover Coach beckons to Bevo Blackwell, the substitute guard, a powerful but inexperienced youngster, who dashes madly onto the field, reports to the referee, and takes his place in the line. Meanwhile, Heinie, supported by strong arms, staggers to the benches, while the Andover boys cheer him heartily.\n\nBevo Blackwell had never before played in a big game of football. A new student at Andover that fall, he had been considered a kind of overgrown child, who might become a good linesman when he had rubbed off some of his awkwardness. His heart beats like a trip-hammer, for he knows that it is his duty to fill that gap in the left side of the line. The Exeter signals ring sharply out; straight, as might have been expected.\nExpected, the drive comes at Bevo. Charlie Stuart starts with terrific speed and hits the line hard; it yields slightly and seems to give. No! It is resisting. Slowly, the Exeter men are being forced back. Bevo has thrown the Exeter team for a loss of two yards, and the Andover banners are flying frantically. In the stands, Ted and Hal have shouted until their throats are raw. The tension seems almost too great to bear.\n\nOnce again, the Exeter team prepares. Signals are called, and a halfback shoots unexpectedly around right end. Get him, Muggsy,\u201d yell the crowd. Muggsy waits a moment. Then, with his red head, he dives into the midst of a moving group of men and lays the Exeter back low. It is the third down, with twelve yards to gain. The Exeter men now fall back for consultation, arms on each other's shoulders, they gather in a huddle.\ncircle. A whispered order passes from mouth to mouth. Then they come back and line up. Apparently, the Exeter captain is to try a drop kick from the fifty-yard line \u2014 an almost hopeless effort. The ball is snapped back; the kick is made, a beautiful attempt, but it falls short and rolls between the goal posts. When it is brought back, Andover has the ball on her own twenty-yard line, and the home stands can breathe freely once more.\n\nThe first quarter is called, with Andover's ball in the center of the field. The rest of one minute passes quickly, and the game is resumed. Back and forth, the ball goes, neither side being able to seize and hold a decisive advantage. Again and again, the powerful Exeter backs drive at Bevo, but he holds like a stone wall. His opportunity has come, and he has measured up to the challenge.\nHis responsibility is not lessened. The Andover backs, Red and Rib, cannot break free for the long runs they have made against weaker teams. It is obvious to the spectators that the two elevens are evenly matched, and no one can predict the outcome.\n\nThe first half is over, and the players run from the field to the Gymnasium for a badly-needed rub-down and talks from their respective coaches. In the interim, the schools sing their favorite songs, each applauding the other with courteous rivalry.\n\nCan we make it, Hal? Ted inquired.\n\nGee, I don't know,\" Hal replied, for once roused from his Boston imperturbability. But Bevo is certainly a wonder. He stands up as if he had played in a dozen Exeter games.\n\nYou bet he is. And maybe Red can tear loose this last half and make a touchdown. If he can only get some interference around that end, he'll manage it.\nThe Andover team rushed out at top speed, resolved to smash their opponents' defense. The game was on once more. Exeter received the ball and ran it back ten yards. They made one first down but had to punt, and it was Andover's ball on their twenty-yard line. Joe took the ball for the first time, making five yards through left tackle. Then, almost before the crowd realized it, the signal was shouted. Red Larsen's tall figure was seen standing high, ready to throw a forward pass. The ball went twenty yards to the left into Tug Wilson's expectant hands. He sped on with only two Exeter men between him and the goal. Every spectator was on their feet shouting madly. The Head was seen clutching.\nA woman's shoulders were in front of him, dancing in delight. Tug moved on. The first Exeter man threw himself at the flying figure, but Tug swerved sharply to the right and continued with only slightly diminished speed. All that lay between him and a touchdown was the Exeter fullback, Phil Edwards, a deadly tackler. On the Exeter fifteen-yard line, Edwards hurled himself at Tug, clutched desperately at one leg, and held on like grim death. Squirming and wriggling, Tug was eventually brought to the ground.\n\nNow was the critical moment. Twelve yards to go for a touchdown, but every inch of the road would be disputed by eleven men. Rib called a signal. A straight through tackle was the play. Second down, eight yards to gain. Around right end, but Lou Hammond slipped, fell.\nAnd now the ball lay directly in front of the goal posts. Rib hardly hesitated. Venus Burns stood back on the twenty-yard line for a drop kick. Fat made a perfect pass from center. For a fraction of a second, Venus held the pigskin. Then, with barely an effort, he kicked, and the ball went sailing between the supports. Three to nothing! Hats went flying through the air on the Andover side. The cheerleaders waved frantically their wands, while the ribbons gleamed in the sun. One even stood on his head and kicked his heels in a spasm of joy. Meanwhile, on the Exeter side, the boys were also shouting, bidding their players take heart. Fight, fight, fight, fight! came in ringing chant from the stands, as the Exeter team took their positions for the kickoff. Not yet, by any means, was the game won.\nMany an Andover contest has been settled in the last few minutes of play. As the ball descends, Lou Hammond takes it and makes a glorious run of twenty yards. But when he is tackled, he fumbles, and it rolls into the hands of an Exeter player. It is Andover's first hard luck in the game. Now it is the Exeter team that puts all its power into action. Irresistibly, by small but sure gains, the Exeter backs force their way on to the forty-yard line, and then to the thirty-yard mark. Here time is called for the third quarter, and once more the two teams get a needed rest.\n\nThe final quarter opens. Thirty yards to go for Exeter! The captain shoots through center for four yards. A double pass gives six more, and it is first down. A forward pass fails. Another succeeds and brings twelve yards. Only eight yards remain.\nAndover's men yell \" yards to go! Hold it! Hold it!\" as Charlie Bingham buckles through Bevo, but is thrown for a loss. A plunge at the center also fails. On third down, the goal line to go! Exeter's team huddles. The ball is at the side of the field, making a goal difficult to make. Moreover, a successful kick would only tie the score. Exeter's captain decides to go for the touchdown. A tricky end play deceives Tug Wilson, but he drags down the Exeter captain just three yards from the goal line. Now for the last trial! Red Larsen rushes from man to man, slapping them on the back and calling out words of encouragement. Deep silence falls in the stands. It is growing dark on the field, but Exeter's backs can be seen bunching together for a new play. When the signals are given.\nThe whole line heaves as if from an earthquake. Twenty-two figures are piled in a heap near the goal line, and the referee can hardly disentangle them. When he does, there lies the ball just two feet from the last white line. It is Andover\u2019s ball on downs. Again the blue flags wave and the songs ring out. Never on Andover playing fields has there been such a game for thrills.\n\nActually, the contest, as impartial spectators realize, is over. Nothing but a miracle can save Exeter now. Andover tries three plays and then punts. Exeter utilizes forward passes, aiming them in every direction, but most of them are intercepted, and those which do go through net only small gains. Suddenly, Ted clutches Hal\u2019s arm, excitedly saying, \"Look, there\u2019s Steve warming up! I believe that he is really going to get his letter.\" \"Yeay, Steve!\"\nNever has there been such a game for thrills (Page 74)\nTHE GREAT GAME\nDo you suppose he'll get in? I certainly hope so.\n\"The coach is telling him something. There he goes.\" Steve was running on the field, reporting to the referee. In came Venus Burns, who had played so brilliantly, and Steve was taking his place. Pop Cory calls for a cheer for Fisher, in which Ted and Hal almost burst their throats. Two more forward passes fail, the last one being blocked by Steve himself. Then, as they line up for another attempt, the whistle blows and the game is over. Final score, three to nothing, in Andover's favor!\nThe more enthusiastic Andover rooters pour out on the field, seize Red Larsen and Bevo, and carry them to the Gymnasium on their shoulders. Meanwhile, the others have been forming lines for the snake dance. The band, still unwearied, takes the field.\nIts place in the van; then follows the big blue banner, the emblem of hard-earned victory, and after that, row upon row of madmen, dancing up and down and throwing their arms about in wild contortions. Ted and Hal found themselves, as befitted preps, somewhere in the rear of the procession, but this did not prevent them from producing their proper share of noise. Even the sedate Hal kept yelling \u201cYea! Yea!\u201d all the while leaping intermittently into the air; while Ted's feet went through a species of intricate war dance. To a spectator from a foreign land, the sight must have seemed like a revival of the Indian revels recorded by early travelers in America.\n\nThe remainder of that day was devoted, by common consent, to jubilation. While the Exeter men retreated quietly and unnoticed down to their quarters.\nThe bells in the Memorial Tower rang exultantly. Dr. Schleiermacher, the Musical Director, who was passionate about Beethoven, successfully played Andover Royal Blue on the chimes. Energetic hands were busy collecting wood for the bonfire. Everyone in the town, including each one of scores of small boys, was happy.\n\nShortly after dinner, when darkness had fallen on Andover Hill, the boys began to appear near the Tower, looking like ghosts assembling for some devil's frolic. Each one wore white pajamas and carried a lit kerosene torch of the kind once used in political parades forty years ago. Seen through the trees, they presented a weird spectacle. Soon the brass band appeared to furnish the necessary music for the occasion. At last, the members of the eleven seated.\nThemselves in an old-fashioned barge with two long benches along the sides were drawn by the willing hands of prep boys instead of by the customary four-footed beasts. This barge had been employed for this purpose for at least thirty years, and no celebration would have been complete without it.\n\nBy seven-thirty, the parade was formed. Hal and Ted were among those permitted to draw the car of victory in which Joe and Steve sat enthroned. Tomorrow the four friends might be on an even basis; tonight, the football heroes were among the kings of earth. Steve had been in only three plays, but he had won his A just as surely as Red Larsen, the captain.\n\nDown Main Street crept the parade, following the formation of the afternoon except that the boys danced from side to side across the highway with their torches bobbing up and down like fireballs.\nFlies in the darkness. Turning down School Street, they halted at Abbot Academy, the famous old school for young ladies. Here they marched through the brick gateway and around the circular driveway, stopping under the windows of the main dormitory. They gave vigorous cheers for Abbot Academy. The girls responded in genteel fashion by waving handkerchiefs and producing a feeble but still audible imitation of the lustier shouts of the boys.\n\nThe celebration parade invariably follows a long-established route, which no one ever wishes to change. Leaving Abbot Academy, it continued on to the center of the village and then back up Bartlet Street, stopping at the house of old Mac. The boys bunched together to join in the familiar chant, \"We want Mac! We want Mac!\" And soon that gentleman himself appeared.\nIt makes little difference what an orator says on such an occasion, as he is certain to be applauded if his sentiments are orthodox. A speech like Mac's, for instance, reported properly, might read:\n\nWell, fellows, it's fine to see another Andover victory. (Great applause.) It looked bad for a few moments, but our men had the true fighting spirit. (Loud cheering.) We owe everything to our gallant Coach, Fred Davis (great enthusiasm), and to our sturdy captain. Red Larsen (continuous yelling), but even more than that, to the spirit which drove our boys on in the face of heavy odds to bring success to our banners. (Unrestrained shouts of approval.)\n\nIt was the kind of talk every boy liked, and the cheer for Mac was given with redoubled force as he concluded. From there, the route\nThe home of the Head was filled with townspeople and motorists, all gathered in a great throng. The shouting, which had never subsided, grew louder still as the Head stepped out to greet his boys and congratulate them on their team's victory. His voice, which could be heard for many rods even amidst the tumult of purring engines and chattering conversationalists, rang out clearly. \"Fellows,\" he concluded, \"there's nothing finer than holding on like grim death when defeat seems unavoidable\u2014and that's what your eleven did today.\" The parade made two more stops: one at the house of Georgy, where the popular instructor, an authority on Andover's athletic exploits, told them two or three humorous stories of bygone years; the other at Percy \"Fitts's home on the corner.\nHad to endure the teacher's lengthy poem recital. By this point, voices grew hoarse and feet weary. Yet spirits brightened as we approached the towering pile of wood and rubbish on Old Campus. Around the pyre, the procession moved in stately dignity. Pop Cory touched a match to the beacon, and it flared up in flickering tongues of red, shining amidst heavy black smoke from tar barrels. Undergraduates, like bacchic revelers, increased their fury. Suits of pajamas were ripped off and thrown on the flames as sacrifices to the God of Victory. Those who did not do this voluntarily soon found their night-wear being torn from their backs. Dimly-discerned figures in various stages of undress could be observed rolling on the pyre.\n\n80 ALL FOR ANDOVER.\nThe boys clustered around the barge or stood ground together or played leap-frog. As the conflagration rose higher and higher, they still had strength enough to hear the speeches of the players and give a final cheer for each. The remarks of the team were, as a rule, short and unstudied. All Red Larsen could say was, \"Well, fellows, we licked 'em, and I'm mighty happy tonight, and I'm only sorry that I can't be back to help do it again next year.\" Poor Joe, who had never spoken in public in his life, managed to stammer out, \"Gosh, I wish I could be like William J. Bryan just now, but I can't. All I can say is that you gave us wonderful support by your cheering.\" The coach praised the captain; the captain lauded the coach; and the others praised both of them.\n\nThe last player, who happened to be Steve, was\nNow up and saying, \"I haven't any business here, really. I'm just a prep, and you don't want to hear me. But I will say that this is the biggest moment of my life.\" When he had finished, the boys gave one last hoarse yell for the team. The flames, dying down, dropped lower and lower until little was left except a dull glow near the ground. Tired little groups of students limped off to report to their house officers and then crawl to their rooms. Ted and Hal waited in Bishop until Joe and Steve appeared, and then they all sat around for a few last words before they went to bed.\n\n\"My, Joe, you certainly played a great game!\" said Hal, with more enthusiasm in his voice than he had ever displayed before.\n\n\"Well, I'm glad it's all over,\" replied the hero. \"I was more scared than any man ever was on that field.\"\n\n\"Don't you believe that,\" put in Steve.\nWhen Fred Davis motioned me to go in, my knees knocked together like a pair of clappers, and I didn\u2019t think for a second that I could move at all.\n\n\"And you both looked to me as cool as a couple of ice-cream cones,\" said Ted. \"That's where you had us all fooled.\"\n\n\"All I could think of,\" concluded Joe, \"was something my father told me when I was a little shaver and got into a fight. He said, \u2018My boy, always remember that the other fellow is just as scared as you are, and maybe a little more.\u2019 I kept saying to myself when that great heavy \u2018Rhino\u2019 Jordan lined up opposite me, \u2018Well, old top. I\u2019m scared, but maybe you\u2019re worse,\u2019 and it helped a lot.\n\nOn the next morning, the four were shouting in the shower-bath as if nothing unusual had been going on. After breakfast, they sauntered, with no further mention of the previous night's events.\neasy-going Sunday, over to the Old Campus where blackened logs and pieces of timber were still smoking. The ground was covered with remnants of white cloth; the grass was cut up by the trampling of many feet; and the whole scene of the previous evening\u2019s revelry looked like a place of desolation.\n\nTHE GREAT GAME\nI suppose there\u2019s nothing to do but work from now until Christmas, said Joe somewhat plainly.\n\nDon\u2019t you understand, big fellow, that schools were built for educational purposes? replied Hal.\n\nWell, I guess there was some education in that game yesterday, suggested Steve.\n\nThe silence which ensued as they hastened to get to the morning church service on time was evidence that the others agreed with Steve.\n\nIV\nSCHOOL MYSTERIES\nFor weeks Steve\u2019s high school frat emblem of which he had once been so proud had lain ignored in his room.\ndesk drawer with a jumble of discarded pens, stumpy pencils, and other accumulated rubbish which he did not know exactly how to dispose of. When he first arrived in Andover, he had pinned it openly on his vest, as a cherished possession. Soon, however, he noticed that such ornaments were not worn by his acquaintances on the football squad, and he put it away. He now was wise enough to keep discreetly silent about secret societies. Through various channels he picked up some information regarding the fraternities which flourished in the student body. On his walks about the hill, he saw frequently the homes of these \"hush\" organizations, mysterious-looking structures with closed windows and curtains carefully drawn, from which once or twice he had seen fellows whom he knew emerge stealthily, as if engaged on some illicit mission.\n\nSchool Mysteries.\nSteve and Joe occasionally encountered on campus a ridiculous figure, dressed in a green hat or old frock coat, maintaining a slow gait, and never speaking to anyone. Instinctively, Steve felt this youth was being initiated into one of the various societies. Occasionally, someone at Steve's table made a jocular reference to the matter, but no one seemed inclined to pursue the subject, and it was always soon dropped. Even in the privacy of their rooms, Steve and Joe did not often refer to the question of societies, except in moments of extreme confidentiality. Nevertheless, it was frequently in their minds. After all, the best men in school usually formed societies, and both were aware of this fact. Deep in their hearts, each hoped that he might some day wear one of those distinctions.\nOne evening in early December, while Steve was poring over an exceptionally difficult problem in algebra, Joe came in visibly excited.\n\n\"Did you know,\" he almost shouted, \"that Duke Evans has gone T.N.T.?\"\n\n\"What's that?\" queried Steve, as his mind emerged from the mathematical haze in which it had been wandering.\n\n\"Duke's gone T.N.T., and he's running this week. I saw him rolling a hoop down the stone steps of the Gymnasium this afternoon,\" Joe repeated.\n\nDuke Evans was one of their intimate friends in Bishop - a tall, attractive youth with a pleasant manner about him and apparently unlimited potential.\nSteve was impressed by Duke's funds at his disposal. He was generous with his money and had often invited Steve and Joe to dinners in the Grill. Steve admired Duke less, however, as he was a natural loafer, always hanging around the rooms of his friends and disturbing them at their work. But Duke was popular, and he had no enemies in the dormitory.\n\n\"Well, I'm stumped,\" said Steve. \"He's the man who told me when I first met him that he would never get caught by any of this secret stuff.\"\n\n\"Sooner or later, they all go if they get a chance,\" replied Joe.\n\n\"Perhaps that's true,\" reflected Steve. \"I'm willing to admit that I should like to have an offer. But you've got to do something worthwhile before you're even considered.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" responded Joe. \"Look at Shifty Perkins! What did he ever do for anybody except cause trouble?\"\nHold down a bench at the Grill and go \"fussing\" at Abbot Academy? Name a single thing he's done to help Andover. Yet K. T. C. took him in as soon as the six weeks' limit was over.\n\nYes, I know, and yet there's something to Shifty. He's lazy and footless and all that, but he's amusing, and fellows like to have him around. I must admit that I prefer him myself to Bunny Bergstrom, who just plays tackle and never speaks to anybody on the street. Shifty always has a smile for every one and he would lend you the shirt off his back.\n\nRight, and that's the one reason why he could have any crowd he wanted. People know that he's sincere, and that's the kind they want to sit around with.\n\nWell, I'm glad that Duke is really in. I've always felt that it would do him good to have a friend.\nA group of fellows expect something of him. He's \"All For Andover\" and clever enough to make the nine in the spring if we can only get him to work. I hope he won't stop dropping in here now that he's with the T.N.T. gang. Of course, he won't. Duke never was like that, and making a society isn't going to turn him into a snob. I'll bet he'll be here as usual on Sunday after all his fireworks are over.\n\nIn accordance with this prediction, Duke dropped in on Sunday morning, a trifle chastened in spirit, but otherwise unaltered. Not a word did he say about societies or initiations; he just settled down in the Morris chair as if nothing had happened. The others didn't dare congratulate him, and, if they had done so, he certainly would have been embarrassed. Under the circumstances.\nIn the circumstances, it was best all around to leave well enough alone, and the friendly relations continued unchanged. On Saturday evening, however, Duke disappeared right after dinner, and it was after eleven before he finally slipped back to his room. Steve happened to meet him for a minute, and Duke betrayed no evidence of any unusual experience except a remarkably strong odor of tobacco. Evidently, societies legalized smoking within their sacred precincts, if they did nothing else.\n\nSteve's connection with the football squad naturally threw him into contact with some of the biggest men in school \u2013 with Red Larsen, for instance, and with Mike Aldrich, the President of the Senior Class. These were the ones who chiefly guided undergraduate opinion, and friends.\nA ship with them was highly prized. One day, while he was walking down to the bookstore, Steve was joined by Mike. Mike was a mature and sophisticated person, much older than the average Senior. In fact, Mike had been a successful drummer before coming to Andover, and had been through experiences most boys in school knew nothing about. He was a clever talker, and it was well known that he was a favorite of the Head's.\n\nOnce in a confidential mood, Mike told Steve how he was persuaded to come to Andover. He had been on the road selling shoes and happened to be drawn one night into a poker game at the hotel which he made his headquarters. As he sat at the table, he somehow found himself observing his companions more closely than usual. They were all middle-aged and, in a sense, prosperous.\nThey had no ideals or ambitions, except to make money. Their faces were coarse and hard. Suddenly, the thought came to Mike. Twenty years from now, and I'll be exactly like these men. Nothing can save me but an education. He turned in his chips, paid what he had lost, and took the next train to New Haven, where he made inquiries at the Yale University office as to how he could get into college. He soon found that his education had not been sufficient to enable him to pass entrance examinations, and the authorities advised him to go to Andover for two years. He at once resigned his salesman's position and came to Andover, where the Head recognized his dilemma and allowed him to enter the school. He found the studying fearfully difficult at first, but he persevered, and was now a good scholar. His income, which had been $_______, was now insufficient to meet his expenses.\nA man, who spent over three thousand dollars a year and reduced it to nothing, worked his way by doing typewriting for faculty members. He was the most respected person in the school, and his influence among the student body was great. It was this friend, a man rather than a boy, who approached Steve.\n\nSchool Mysteries 91\n\nFor a minute or two, Mike discussed school topics, such as basketball prospects and the Senior Promenade, scheduled for Washington's Birthday. Then, quite casually, as if making a commonplace remark, Mike asked, Steve, have you ever thought of joining a crowd?\n\nSteve's heart was beating very fast as he answered, with as unconcerned a tone as he could muster, \"Sure, a little.\"\n\nWhat do you think of my bunch, PGK? IP is a good crowd, with some fellows in it you know, like Wallie 'Booth, the track manager.\nFred Brewster, the hockey captain. What do you say to coming in with us? It was a hard moment for Steve. He was fully aware that PGK was considered a \"sporty\" gang, most of whose members were not congenial to Steve. Some of them were undeniably in bad reputation, and there were stories abroad which had caught Steve's ear. And yet it was considered a good society, and he might not receive another offer. It's not easy for older sons to sympathize with Steve's reasoning processes at that particular moment. Outwardly, he was walking rather rapidly past the garage at the foot of the long hill. Inwardly, he was being torn by a conflict of emotions \u2013 exultation at the opportunity which had seemingly arrived at last, wonder that it should have come so simply, regret that he should have to decline it. In the end, he\nI'm afraid I can't accept right now, Mike. What does that mean, you're turning us down? Yes, that's what I have to do. Well, if that isn't the limit. Maybe you think we're not good enough for you? You know it isn't that, Mike. It's just that I can't feel that I would fit in there. Going anything else, Steve? Not just now, anyway. Remember you may not get another chance, my boy. I'll have to risk that, I guess. Much obliged, anyway, for inviting me. Don't mention it, retorted Mike ironically, crossing over to meet Fred Brewster, who was on his way to the bank. So this episode ended. I suppose I've queered myself for good, mused Steve, as he walked on. There was in his soul not a trace of self-righteousness or pride. What he had done had been in sincerity.\nSteve's decision was impulsive, not carefully thought out. Some instinct, possibly from earlier training at home, made him reject what for the moment appeared like a great opportunity. Once he made his decision, he didn't let worry trouble him for long. He said casually to Joe that evening, \"Mike Aldrich tried to get me to go with him, didn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, you took him up, didn't you?\" inquired Joe, in a tone which implied that nothing else was to be expected.\n\n\"No, I turned it down,\" was the laconic reply.\n\n\"Good Heavens, what will the man do next?\" blurted out the amazed Joe. \"What are you, a fool?\"\n\n\"Maybe I am,\" answered Steve, half apologetically. \"But I just didn't feel like going that way.\"\n\nThat is all that was said in connection with what was actually a vital moral issue, which would have given Canon Farrar a text for pages.\nSteve Fisher gained a reputation for courage in school by refusing P.G.K. He was respected for his independence, and his prestige rose among the students. Dubbed an ass by some, he was generally respected. This trivial act marked him as a leader rather than a follower, and the gulf between these two types in an American school is immense and well-defined. After this was brought to his attention, Steve began to look more carefully at the different societies and form opinions on their merits. Each one seemed:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be in good shape and does not require extensive cleaning. Only minor corrections for typos and formatting were made.)\nOne always had advantages in the fraternity system. One had a high rank in scholarship, another included a large portion of the best athletes, and a third had three or four influential faculty members. Three at least held positions of leadership because they were the oldest and had the strongest alumni support. These did not always have the best men in school, but they had to be reckoned with. Among the newer fraternities, one or two stood out because of their fine membership. P.G.K., Mike Aldrich\u2019s crowd, was one of the oldest, but Steve came more and more to discover how wise he had been to remove it from the list of possibilities. His own preference, after he had spent a good many hours in deliberation, was in favor of.\nK.P.N., one of the oldest societies, which, as far as he could discover, had ideals and stood by them. The fellows in that crowd were not always the prominent athletes or managers, but they were usually respected. Unfortunately, Steve had no intimate friends among the members, and the two who lived in Bishop were very quiet, hardly ever saying more to him than \"Hello\" or \"Morning.\"\n\nSteve kept his own counsel and went strictly about his business. One afternoon just before the Christmas holidays, he was met after class by Lefty Heywood, the heavy, bull-necked shot-putter, who said to him rather gruffly, \"Hi, Steve, going to be in this evening?\"\n\n\"Sure, come over. Lefty.\"\n\n\"I'll try to if I can.\"\n\nHeywood was one of the most interesting men in school. Without father or mother, he had made his way in Andover, waiting on tables at first.\nIn the Dining Hall, managing a laundry agency, all for Andover, and winning big scholarships through persistence in his studies - for he was naturally sluggish of mind, and German andGeometry were difficult for him. In track athletics he had been a great success, and he had played guard on the school eleven, where Lefty had come to like his blunt manner and direct method of speech. He was a member of K.P.N., and there were few elective offices in school which he could not have had if he had desired them.\n\nWhen Lefty walked in that evening, Joe, with a tact that was intuitive, found an errand back in his own quarters, and Steve was left together with the caller. \"Look here, Steve,\" began Lefty, without any preliminaries, \"we've made up our minds down in K.P.N. that you're a man we want. You may\"\nNot knowing many of us well, but we've been observing you for a good while, and we're convinced that you're our type. Don't make a decision tonight. Consider it over until the morning, and then make an answer. I'm not going to argue with you about it. You know where K.P.N stands, and what it aims to do in the school. Nothing I can say can add to the reasons for us approaching you.\n\nSchool Mysteries 97\n\nWith these words, he said \"So long,\" and went out.\n\nThat night was a sleepless one for Steve. He tossed on his bed until the alarm clock rang with a shrill sound in the gray dawn, and he dressed with his mind filled with strange, conflicting ideas. But all the while, he had no doubt what his answer would be. When the moment arrived a little later in the morning, Steve found himself quivering with a peculiar excitement.\nSteve went into another Exeter game, but he maintained an outward coolness which must have deceived everyone. At last Lefty came up, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, \"Well, what about it?\" Steve could just manage to stammer, \"I'll go K.P.N. if you really want me.\" It was all simple enough, but he was mighty glad that his decision was irrevocable.\n\nThat evening Steve dropped into Joe's room as if by accident and said, in the course of the talk, \"By the way, old top, I told Lefty today that I would go K.P.N.\"\n\n\"I rather thought you would,\" was Joe's reply.\n\n\"Why, what did you know about it?\" inquired Steve.\n\n\"I've been watching you ever since Lefty was in your room last night, and you've looked like a man in a haze. All anybody had to do was put two and two together.\"\n\n\"You're clever, all right,\" commented Steve.\n\"Got any more news?\" asked Steve sarcastically.\n\"Nothing, except that I'm going to T.N.T.,\" replied Joe.\n\"What's that?\" Steve almost jumped out of his chair. \"You're going to T.N.T.?\"\n\"Yes, I am. I have two friends at home who are members, and Duke Evans pledged me. I wanted to wait until you were certain yourself before I spoke up.\"\n\"So now we'll both get initiated around the same time. But isn't it a shame that we can't both belong to the same one?\"\n\"I don't think so,\" answered Joe reflectively. \"They're both good societies, and it'll do us good to have different interests for some hours in the week. You're the best friend I have, and always will be, but that doesn't mean you've got to stand by me all the time. We'll be better off as it is.\"\n\nLuckily for both Steve and Joe, they were both members of different societies.\nThe faculty were confident in approving the names of students who had been pledged by a society, as every fellow required approval. However, there were some men in school whose names had been presented to the faculty without success. It was not until early in the winter term that they had to face the ordeal of initiation, referred to locally as \"running.\" One January morning, Steve received a peremptory command to present himself that evening at a certain room, and his week's schedule was filled. He brought morning papers to the rooms of the members, shined their shoes, called them \"Mister,\" and tipped his hat to them on the street. Having been forbidden to speak to anyone not a member of K.P.N., Steve found his intimacy with Joe somewhat embarrassing.\nSteve and the latter, who wasn't to \"run\" until the following week, had smiles on his round face most of the time. Steve appeared on the street in an unconventional costume \u2013 one day in a clown's tall pointed hat, another in a battered derby too large for his head. The crowning incident was a stroke of genius. In one side of Dunster Hall lived an instructor named \"Goat\" Maxwell. After the sudden departure of Doggy Morris, he took Morris's unenviable place as the butt of student humor. \"Goat\" was stocky and bald, and wore spectacles from behind which he peered like a bat at those who spoke to him. On Friday evening, Steve, under specific instructions from his mentors, knocked violently at \"Goat's\" door. When the teacher, with flushed countenance and angry expression, opened it inquiringly, Steve presented him with a large, empty pot.\ningly,  Steve  said  in  a  most  innocent  way,  \u201c  I  want \na  thousand  excuses,  sir,  if  you  please.\u201d \nWhat\u2019s  that?  \u201d  said  the  Goat,\u201d  hardly  able \nto  believe  his  ears. \nPlease,  sir,  I  need  a  thousand  excuses  to  go \nto  the  circus  in  Lawrence.\u201d \nYoung  man,  you  are  intoxicated.  Are  you  a \nmember  of  the  undergraduate  body  of  this \nacademy?  \u201d \nYes,  sir.\u201d \nWhat  is  the  name?  Tell  me  instantly.\u201d \n\u201c  My  name,  sir,  is  Willie,  the  Fish.  Haven\u2019t \nyou  heard  of  me  before  at  my  room  in  the \naquarium?  \u201d \nThis  was  too  much  for  the  \u201c  Goat,\u201d  who  made \na  wild  grab  at  the  offending  youngster;  but  the \nlatter  evaded  his  grasp,  and,  from  all  quarters  of \nthe  hall  sounded  the  faint  cachinnations  of  con\u00ac \ncealed  listeners.  The  ''  Goat,\u201d  unwilling  to  toler\u00ac \nate  such  open  badgering,  called  later  that  evening \nI \nSCHOOL  MYSTERIES  101 \non  the  Head  and  explained  the  circumstances  of \nThe enormity, and then the Head, who had been visited only a few minutes before by some anxious members of K.P.N., told the irate instructor not to take the affair too seriously. The Goat returned mollified, but convinced that he could never endure another year in a place like Andover.\n\nOn Saturday, Steve left his room early in the day and did not come back until the bells in the Memorial Tower were striking midnight. What his experiences were, it is not permitted here to reveal. Society initiations at Andover are not without their rough moments, and Steve had reason to respect the strong right arms of his associates; but spiritually, he was jubilant because of what he had seen and heard. As he walked home meditatively, he was full of noble resolutions for the future. Like every young man with any stuff.\nSteve was an idealist with a vision to make the world better. Under the winter moonlight, with memories of a solemn evening behind him, it seemed easy to be heroic. The society had already done much for Steve and his friends.\n\nFortunately, Hal Manning, whose fine qualities were not always visible on the surface, entered the crowds at the same time. He became a society mate of Steve's. Joe was initiated only a week after Steve, and Steve delighted in teasing him. Ted Sherman had made a name for himself in school by heeling for the academy newspaper, the Phillipian, and being elected to the editorial board. Before the fall term closed, he had been approached by several crowds.\nHe eventually took Q.M.C., a society of excellent standing, composed of rather quiet fellows who usually carried off the inter-society cup for high scholarship. Ted seemed very happy with his friends, and the society was undoubtedly a help to him. Once in a while, the topic of societies would be brought up among the four and discussed with some frankness.\n\n\"Dad wrote me,\" said Steve one snowy Sunday afternoon, \"that in his day all the societies here were prohibited by the faculty, and had to meet secretly.\"\n\n\"I suppose the profs felt that they were a bad influence in the school, don't you?\" commented Ted.\n\n\"They surely couldn't claim that now,\" spoke Steve.\nI believe Joe helps keep some men in line. They do and they don't, it depends on the men in charge. PGK is bad today because of a few bad men stirring up the others. If they could be fired, everything would clear up. My father thinks societies are undemocratic, creating cliques and making a kind of aristocracy in a school. Agreed, there are always cliques in any group of six hundred people. The best way is to control the thing as they do here and see that societies are run in accordance with stated rules. Then they can't do any harm. I wonder how we should feel about them if we didn't all happen to belong. (Hal)\nBut this was a question which no one cared to answer.\n\nTHE WILES OF WOMEN\n\nSteve and Ted lived too far away to go home for Christmas, and just before the holidays, they received kindly little notes from Hal\u2019s mother inviting them to spend a week with the Manning family in Boston. There, accordingly, they went as soon as their last exams were finished, and there they were drawn into what seemed to Steve an unending round of diversion. Neither of the two Western boys had ever visited Boston before, and they went as unashamed sightseers to all the historic spots, even to Bunker Hill Monument, which, as it turned out, even Hal himself had never climbed. There were, of course, many theatre parties and dances, and Steve actually became quite a fusser. The more sophisticated Ted and Hal assumed the airs of men of the world, indifferent to female charms.\nIt was Hal's sister, Jane, who took charge of Steve's education. She was a pretty black-haired, black-eyed girl, perhaps twenty years old, who had been a debutante not long before. Her charming assumption of complete innocence was calculated to deceive even more critical observers than Steve.\n\nWhen Steve came down to dinner on the evening of his arrival, Hal said indifferently, \"Jane, this is Steve Fisher. Try to be decent to him, will you?\"\n\n\"Isn't this nice of you to visit us, Mr. Fisher,\" said Jane, turning the full glow of her lustrous eyes upon him in such a way that Steve could only blush and stammer, \"Pleased to meet you. Miss Manning.\"\n\nAt the dinner table, she was placed at his side, and at once began, \"Don't you think I ought to call you Steve, as long as you are Hal's best friend?\"\nI'd be glad to have you do it, Miss Manning.\nWhy do you keep calling me Miss Manning? My name is Jane. All my friends call me that.\nWhy, why, I I didn't dare -\nOf course you do. And we're going to be mighty good friends, aren't we?\nYou just bet! replied the stupefied Steve, now turned to a deep crimson, but resolved that he would be forever her slave.\nWhat's the matter, Steve? said Mr. Manning, who was a shrewd aristocratic-looking gentleman, with gray hair and a gray mustache, and a decided twinkle in his eyes. Is Jane trying her tricks on you?\nWhy, Dad, said Jane protestingly; and Steve felt as if he would like to be her cavalier, to draw his sword in her defense.\nLook out for her, Steve, said Hal, or she'll be adding your scalp to her belt.\nI think you're both just as mean as you can be.\n\"But we don't care, do we, Steve?\" protested Jane with a charming hint of a quiver in her lip.\n\n\"I should say not,\" Steve replied chivalrously. \"I'll beat that brother of yours up if he says another word to you.\"\n\nMrs. Manning, with a mother's protective tact, saved the situation with a remark about some new musical comedy. Steve and Jane were left to talk together without further interruption.\n\nLater in the evening they all planned to go to a ball, at which Steve resolved that Jane should be his partner as long as he could hold her. In her pink gown trimmed with silver, she appeared to him like some Grecian nymph in modern costume. He longed to do some heroic deed in her behalf. As he sat by her side in the taxicab going to the Copley-Plaza Hotel, it seemed incredible to him that any one so wonderful as she was.\nSteve should be by his side. Steve was rejoicing in the possession of a new Tuxedo suit, which his father had allowed him to purchase ready-made as soon as the invitation to the Mannings came. Considering that Steve had never worn such attire before, he managed rather well, but he spent at least half an hour making his black bow tie look even and brushing his refractory hair so that it would stay down flat on his head. In the unaccustomed stiff shirt and collar, he was very uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassed, but the sight of Janet and her whispered words, \"My, how nice you look!\" reassured him for the moment.\n\nAs they crossed the floor to bow before the patronesses, Steve felt very red and clumsy, but he passed safely through that ordeal and started off with his arm loosely thrown around Janet's waist, in the mazes of the fox-trot. Steve was not an awkward dancer.\nA professional or expert dancer, in a sense, he was self-taught. Balls in Montana had been rare events, and his knowledge of modern steps was primarily the result of Hal's instruction in their room at Andover. Consequently, his routine consisted of a sort of promenade around the floor, with no turns or variations, and an occasional pressing of a heavy foot on a partner's slippered toes. Now and then Steve's guiding was poor, and the two collided sharply with other couples. Jane was usually the suffering victim.\n\nAs they passed a line of \"stags\" at one end of the room, Jane cast an appealing glance at some of her friends, and three started at once to bring relief. Before he had finished another circumnavigation of the hall, a strong hand was pressed on Steve's shoulder, and a deep-voiced \"Permit me.\"\nPlease, a sound in his ear, and an athletic young man of thirty or thereabouts slipped his arm about Jane and was off before Steve could realize what had occurred. Disconsolate and annoyed, Steve made his way, not without one or two more collisions, to the side of the room, where he was standing wrapped in gloom when Ted suddenly loomed up.\n\n\"What's the label on for, Steve?\" he inquired, in the bantering tone which Steve knew so well.\n\n\"Oh, shut up, you fool,\" Steve rejoined vigorously.\n\n\"Is somebody going to give a prize for the right number?\" Ted asked again.\n\nMeanwhile, Steve heard some subdued titters not far away, and turning around, noticed several boys and girls apparently laughing at him.\n\n\"What's the matter, you idiot?\" Steve growled. \"What have I done?\"\n\n\"Why, look here,\" responded Ted, pointing to the label on Steve's chest.\n\n(From \"The Wiles of Women\" by Ellis Parker Butler)\nA great paper label number 36 was still sewn on the shoulder of Steve's dinner coat. It had not been removed since the suit came from Filene's. \"Great Scott!,\" said Steve, and he fled precipitately into the corridor, amid the only half-concealed laughter of those who had been looking at him. When he went into the dressing-room to investigate, he discovered that he had actually been dancing with three such tags conspicuously displayed on his coat. As he viciously cut the threads apart, he knew that Fate had played an unkind trick on him. In complete despair, he went to the cigar counter, bought a pack of Lucky Strikes, and lighting one with the casual ease of the society habitue, blew clouds of smoke into the air as if women's love were no more for him. It was here that Mr. Manning met him. Steve would gladly have chosen any method to escape his current predicament.\n\"escape if one had offered itself, but the eagle eye of his friend's father fastened upon him. All for Andover. Hello, Romeo, why this isolation? You should be in the midst of the revelry. Oh, I just got a little tired of dancing, that's all. Well, don't keep the girls waiting too long. There'll be a lot of feeling if you don't let them enjoy you. I'll come pretty soon, Mr. Manning, replied Steve, stealing off as unobtrusively as possible to the basement floor, where he hoped at last to be undisturbed. So here you are, were the words which greeted him at the foot of the stairs from Hal and Ted. The girls are looking all over for you, and the orchestra has threatened to stop playing unless you'll come back. You're spoiling little Jane's evening.\"\nSteve groaned, \"Leave me alone, I'm trying to rest.\"\n\n\"Can't do it,\" Hal insisted. \"Mother sent us to find you, and back you've got to go.\"\n\nThere was no escape for Steve. Escorted by his watchful friends, he returned to the ballroom in time for refreshments. In The Wiles of Women, page 111, Jane was kind to him and smiled sympathetically, helping him recover his spirits. When the saxophones struck up once more, he asked her for another dance and succeeded in circling the hall twice before one of her other admirers \"cut in.\" This time, he sat down under the maternal care of Mrs. Manning, confiding before the ball was over most of the story of his life. By the time the ball was closing, Steve had recovered.\nIt was Janet's instinctive kindness and inability to resist a flirtation that prompted her, on the next day, to take Steve in hand and teach him to dance. One or two private morning lessons under her instruction made her pupil a credit to her; Steve was naturally graceful enough, and before the week's visit was over, he was entirely at ease in any ballroom. Fostered by the intimacy which developed, Steve's passion grew, until he seemed moonstruck. At meals, he would gaze rapturously at Jane until recalled to his surroundings by the rude jests of his friends. He was even discovered by Ted in the act of composing a series of verses \"To Jane,\" in which bliss rhymed most originally with kiss, and love.\nWith a dove, he remembered his English teacher had told the class about Browning's marriage to a woman six years older than himself. What possible objection could there be to his marrying Jane, who was only four years his senior? With the ardor and optimism of youth, he planned a program of three years at Andover, four years at college, and then Jane. If only she would wait the few short years until he could support her in the style to which she was accustomed!\n\nOn the evening before Steve had to go back to Andover, his two friends mercifully went out to the theatre with Mrs. Manning. Jane had seen the play before, and Steve begged her to let him stay at home with her. It was a cold, blustery night, and the log fire in the library was very warm.\nThe two sat comfortably on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. Steve smoked a new pipe with a large silver \"A\" on the bowl, feeling very much like a man of the world. The atmosphere was charged with sentimentality; all but one or two lights had been turned out, and Jane was not one to let such a situation be lost.\n\n\"I'll be terribly lonely when I get back to Andover,\" Steve ventured, with an approach to a sigh as near as he could produce with the pipe still in his lips.\n\n\"But you men have so many things to do,\" Jane replied in soft tones. The word men made Steve's heart flutter; after all, had he not his great love transformed him in a day from a boy into a man?\n\n\"But I shall miss you every minute,\" Steve declared, trembling at his own daring.\n\"Shall you really? How nice of you! Of course I'm sorry to have you go. You have made my holiday very happy.\"\n\n\"Do you think you could come to Andover in February and go to our Prom with me?\" asked Steve, staking his all on one venture.\n\n\"Oh, I couldn't possibly,\" she replied, smiling at him with a woman's cruelty, \"because the New Haven man, Ed Hopkins, to whom I am engaged, is coming on to Boston for Washington's Birthday.\"\n\nEngaged! Jane engaged! Steve's face became white.\n\n\"Are you engaged?\" he managed to stammer.\n\n\"Of course. Didn't Hal tell you that Ed had gone to Bermuda for Christmas and couldn't get here? I thought you knew all about it. Ed's one of the biggest men at Yale, on the baseball team, and Skull and Bones, and all that.\"\n\n\"Nobody ever said a word to me,\" answered she.\nSteve's countenance suddenly grew pathetic in its despair.\n\n\"You must meet him sometime,\" the siren's voice continued.\n\n\"I guess I'd rather not,\" Steve muttered, with tragic gloominess.\n\n\"Why not, you dear boy?\" Jane asked, putting her soft hand on his.\n\n\"Boy? He who had just been called a man by those same lips! Boy? He who was enduring the pangs of unrequited affection! He threw off her hand almost roughly, rose, and walked with determination to the door.\n\n\"You women have no hearts,\" he burst out, and rushed from the room, slamming the door behind him with a crash that shook the house.\n\nThat night was a memorable one for Steve. Tossing on his bed, sleepless from too much smoking - although he himself would have called it love - he swore a solemn oath to forget the fickle maiden who had failed to respond to his affection.\nNever again would he yield to his emotions. Henceforth he would be hard \u2014 hard as nails \u2014 and the gentler sex should be his victims. Even the sweetest face could hide deception. As for Jane, he would forgive her. It would be better so. And then he saw in his imagination a time fifteen years distant, when he, rich and famous, would meet at a reception Mrs. Edward J. Hopkins \u2014 the Jane whom he had once known \u2014 but then poor and shabbily clothed. And he would smile on her benignly and listen while she said, \u201cOh, Stephen, how much better it would have been if I had only returned your love on that night when we sat before the fire in mother\u2019s house.\u201d And he, the prosperous banker, would say gently, \"Well, Jane, if I can ever help you, call on me,\" and would put a thousand-dollar bill in her outstretched hand.\nended suddenly with a shock, and he found himself on the floor with bedclothes lying all about. Ted and Hal were rolling in convulsions of laughter. It was difficult for Steve to maintain the appearance of complete despair, but Mr. Manning was so amusing that he could not help smiling occasionally. He had resolved to show Jane that he was a disillusioned man, who had tried the pleasures of this world and found them empty. But she looked up at him so prettily that he could not long remain dejected. Before the taxicab came to take him and Ted to the station, he was joking with the others, much to his inward disgust. He really wished to be considered a Byronic hero, and he succeeded only in this.\nWhen I was a schoolboy, returning from a happy holiday. Upon my return to Bishop Hall, however, the mood I had so earnestly desired actually descended upon me. I devoted myself to my studies and lived as a recluse. It was during this period of real melancholy, partly a reaction after my gay week, that I found my friends making out cards for the winter Promenade - the most picturesque festivity of the long winter term. One night Hal and Joe reached my room together.\n\n\"Look here, you old hermit, when are you going to shake the grouch?\" began Hal. \"Buck up and take a girl to the Prom. You look as if you were going to have the mumps.\"\n\n\"Leave a fellow alone, won't you?\" growled Steve, not at all amiably. \"Can't you see I'm studying?\"\n\n\"Come out of the trance, Steve,\" put in Joe.\nLet me bring you my sister over to Haddon Hall, and you can give her a good time. At that moment, an idea came to Steve. He would take a girl to the Prom and break her heart, as his had been broken by Janet. It would be a beautiful way to get his revenge on the whole sex.\n\nI'll do it,\" he said suddenly, in a tone of resolved decision.\n\nWhen, on the fateful day of the dance, he met Marge Watson for the first time, he saw at once that she would be no disagreeable companion. Blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, and slender, she had a face which was almost angelic. It was only a moment before Steve was hers, heart and soul.\n\nWith masculine fickleness, he immediately forgot the black-eyed Janet. His ideal was now a blonde. What a fool he had been when he had fancied himself in love with Janet! It had been mere infatuation.\n\"As for Marge, she had heard all about Steve and was prepared to test her charms on him. Her languishing eyes looked seductively up at him from behind silken lashes, until his heart went thump, thump, thump. There could be no doubt about it \u2014 this was love! Steve sat through his afternoon class in a daze. When his English \"prof\" recited the famous soliloquy of Juliet:\n\n\"O gentle Romeo,\nIf thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully, ^ ^\n\nSteve listened with an expression almost imbecilic, from which the cynical remarks of the teacher could hardly rouse him. With an audacity of which he would once have been incapable, he had put his own name down for nearly half the dances on Marge's card, including one block of six in a row, which he intended to utilize.\"\"\nSteve was educated in the Dame School of Experience. The young ladies from Haddon Hall went to the Prom in a body, under the charge of Miss Thompson, an attractive teacher who seemed hardly older than the girls under her charge. She took her place among the patronesses in the corner, and Marge was allowed to walk off with Steve.\n\n\"How lovely all these college banners and pennants are,\" she commented, as they sat down as far from the chaperone as possible.\n\n\"Not half as lovely as you are in that dress,\" Steve ventured, with a temerity that astonished even himself.\n\n\"Why, Steve, is that your regular Prom line?\" Marge replied, a dear! Tell me more soft nothings while I listen.\"\n\nBut Steve had gone his limit for the present.\nEven Marge's encouraging words did not overcome his shyness, and he could not resist a suspicion, moreover, that he was being jollied. Fortunate for him, the orchestra struck up at just that moment, and the two were out on the floor in the Grand March which traditionally opens Andover Proms. Soon the music changed into a fox-trot, and Marge and he were off in time to a merry tune. Heaven had come for Steve! He felt as if he were treading on air.\n\nOuch! cried Marge. Don't step on my new slippers.\n\nOh, I'm so sorry, responded Steve. I was thinking of something else.\n\n\"Well,\" answered she, a trifle coldly, please think of me just a little, at least while you're compelled to dance with me.\"\n\nAll I do is think of you, whether I'm dancing or not, returned Steve.\n\nOh, how nice! Do keep it up. Joe has told me...\nme: How rough are you with unprotected girls, telling them things you don't mean and breaking their hearts? I'm really afraid of you.\n\nSteve stammered some reply; but how he wished he could get at Joe just for a moment. Was this blue-eyed girl making fun of him? It certainly looked that way. And all the time her face was as innocent as a nun's.\n\nAt the end of the first dance, Steve had to resign Marge to Hal, who had come stag and who danced like a Greek god - or at least as a Greek god might have danced if there had been \"jazz\" music on Mount Olympus. Steve had a twinge of jealousy as he watched her glide off in his friend's arms, and almost cut the next dance, only recovering his spirits just in time to save his reputation with his next partner.\n\nThe series of dances which Steve had so sagely navigated left him feeling both triumphant and exhausted.\nSteve began with number 8 on the program. It was a mild February night, and he had bribed Bill \"Jones, whose family had a car outside, to let him use the Packard limousine for a determined period. Once he could get Marge alone in the car, Steve was sure he could muster the courage to tell her his love. All his plans had been made, and when the seventh dance was over, he started out to search for Marge. Nowhere was she to be found. He looked among the Haddon girls; he cautiously investigated in the vicinity of Miss Thompson; he strolled out in the corridors; but she had apparently vanished without a trace. When the music struck up, he was sure that he would see her on the floor, and he took a strategic position among the stags, ready to swoop down upon her as she went by. But she was not among the dancers.\nSteve felt desperate. He inquired here and there for Marge but no one had seen her. The dance ended, and another began, but she did not appear. Perhaps she was ill! Once again, he made the rounds of the Gymnasium, glancing into every corner. Finally, he walked outside into the snow and stood gloomily under a tree. There, not far off, was the Jones limousine, which had been destined to be the scene of his declaration.\n\nIn a sad mood, he strolled under the branching elms, whose limbs creaked dismally, over to the car. He opened the door and\u2014a shriek, a girl's voice, a man's protestation. Then Hal stepped out and saw Steve.\n\n\"Why, Steve, what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"Just looking for Marge Watson, that's all. Have you seen her?\"\n\n\"Why, here I am, Steve,\" a voice from within replied, and Marge herself appeared in the door.\nI should say it was time for our dance. You've been gone for hours. Hal and I just stepped over here for a moment so that he could smoke a cigarette. We stayed longer than we thought.\n\nI rather guess you did, replied Steve, casting a side glance of withering scorn on Hal, who stood all the time with a Satanic grin upon his aristocratic countenance.\n\nI suppose we'd better go back to the floor now and finish this dance, suggested Marge.\n\n\"Not on my account, Miss Watson,\" answered Steve with exaggerated courtesy. \"Please stay here and let Hal smoke a whole pack of Lucky Strikes. It won't ruin my good time.\"\n\n\"Oh, Steve,\" said Marge with pathos in her voice, \"don't throw a grouch. I didn't mean anything.\"\n\nNo, I suppose you didn't, but you're in Hal's way.\nSteve walked off, filled with righteous indignation, and quite unconsciously gained more in Marge's estimation than he could have done by a continuous flow of flattery. In the end, he had his reward. Later in the evening, when the spirits of the dancers had dropped just a trifle, Hal came up, looking somewhat shamefaced, and said, \"Look here, aren't you going to take Marge for any of your dances with her? She wants you to come and make up.\"\n\n\"Not on your life, you wife-stealer,\" chuckled Steve. \"You carried her away from me, and now she's yours, to have and to hold.\"\n\n\"But I don't want her,\" complained Hal. \"She's too mushy for me. Besides, didn't you invite her?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did, but you captured her from me. When the time comes to go home, I'll do my part.\"\nUntil then, she was completely and totally yours. And she was. Hal, who had been fascinated by the sport of the chase, found that the pleasure had lessened when he had the clinging Marge for his own. Dance after dance. From shadowy corners of the hall, Steve glowered upon them, imagining himself Don Juan or Mephistopheles.\n\nWhen the hour arrived for the Haddon girls to seek out Miss Thompson and depart, Steve appeared from somewhere, took his place coolly beside Marge, and said his \"Good-bye\" as if nothing had happened. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, but he was obdurate. When he got back to his room, he summed up the results of his experience with Ted, \"Stung twice, by George, and each time by the sister of one of my friends. From this night on, I'm a woman-hater. Don't let anybody try to get me to go to any more.\"\nI'm done with dances. I'm choosing the studious life.\n\nTHE WILES OF WOMEN\n\nSay, Ted, don't you have a sister hidden anywhere, haven't you?\n\n\"No, I'm afraid not. The best I can do for you is a beautiful first cousin in Wellesley.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't want to see her if she's as lovely as Cleopatra.\"\n\nFor some days, Steve and Hal were not on intimate terms. When they happened to meet in the same room, Steve ostentatiously said, \"So long,\" and went elsewhere. But it couldn't continue that way. One afternoon before recitations, Hal dropped in on Steve and said, \"Look here, old man, let's drop this feud. I was just having a bit of fun. I haven't any interest in Marge, and I shall never interfere between you again.\"\n\n\"I have no interest in her either,\" confessed Steve.\n\n\"Well, why not forget it? No silly girl ought to break up our friendship.\"\n\"All right, I'm with you,\" said Steve, and they solemnly shook hands. A week or two later, Steve received in his mail an envelope of light blue, addressed to him in a straggly feminine hand and perfumed with some very strong scent. He opened it and read:\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nDear Steve,\n\n\"Won't you give me a chance to apologize for my disgraceful conduct at the Promenade? Please come over to call as soon as you can, and I'll explain all about it.\n\nAs ever yours,\nMarge.\"\n\nOver this communication, Steve pondered long, uncertain exactly how to answer. Although he was not a Noah Webster, he was at least sufficiently acquainted with the elementary rules of spelling to be a trifle disturbed over Marge's liberties with her native tongue. At last, after much trouble, he evolved the following:\n\n\"Dear Marge,\n\nI will give you the opportunity to explain your behavior at the Promenade. Please come over at your earliest convenience.\n\nSincerely,\nSteve.\"\n\"My dear Miss Watson, In view of your feelings towards me as manifested the other evening, I feel that no relationship between us can be continued. I beg leave, therefore, to excuse myself from calling again, and sign myself, Respectfully yours, Stephen Harrison Fisher. With this letter and its extraordinary signature, the episode terminated for the time being. But it is worth chronicling that Marge harassed her brother Joe with the request that he invite Steve home for a visit very soon.\n\nVI\n\nDEEP IN WINTER\n\nThe boys returned after New Year's to find Andover Hill shrouded in snow and deep drifts hiding familiar landmarks. The playing fields where Steve and Joe had spent so many happy hours in the autumn were now a broad level expanse of white, marked here and there by the tracks of adventurous snowshoers. Here and there...\"\nthere across the campus ran zigzag paths from hall to hall, where the snow-plow had broken an irregular way and obedient feet had followed. On the night when Steve arrived, the trees everywhere were covered with a coating of ice, on which the electric lights shone as if in a fairy land. Lilac bushes and hydrangeas were bent over by the weight, and the branches of pines and hemlocks actually swept the ground. As Steve walked along towards the Inn, he noticed that Rabbit\u2019s Pond was frozen over, and he could see small figures skating about on its surface. Everywhere the New England winter had descended with its magic power of transformation, changing the landscape so that it was hardly recognizable.\n\nFor the average Andover boy, the fall term is consecrated to football. In the winter, however, the activities become much more varied. There are ice hockey games, skiing trips, and sledding parties. The campus transforms into a winter wonderland, with snow-covered paths and frozen ponds. Despite the harsh weather, spirits remain high, and the students find joy in the seasonal activities.\nOutdoor sports such as hockey, played on the school rink, and skiing on the hills surrounding Pomp's Pond, still attract a considerable number of students. Favorable weather brings out attempts at skiing, but it has never become genuinely popular. When the road is sufficiently worn down, societies bring out their long bob-sleds, some holding as many as thirty people, and coast down Phillips Street, singing as they go. Indoors, the Gymnasium is usually filled, with basketball and swimming taking the time of those out for the teams. Wrestling, boxing, and fencing offer opportunities for those whose gifts lie in those directions. However, no single activity dominates the others. Those who participate in each one get excited, just as some students are stirred up over the Glee Club or the Dramatics. But the school does not solely focus on these activities.\nRises as a unit, as it does when an Exeter football game is imminent. The winter term is a time for study, when teachers push ahead with speed and expect to get real work done. It is in January and February that boys sit up late before a wood fire, discussing the great problems of life and the universe. Any intelligent young man of seventeen or eighteen has his philosophy, primitive though it may be, and his religion, which is not always conventional or orthodox. Both he carefully conceals from his parents and his teachers. Fledgling atheists dwell in every school dormitory \u2013 audacious radicals, who have skimmed a little in Haeckel or Leslie Stephen, and who dare to say \"I do not.\"\ncynical agnostics, who criticize the Sunday sermons and the morning prayers, and look with scorn on church members. Ted Sherman, quick of mind and sharp of tongue, had read Keble\u2019s Paradise Lost at an impressionable time, and, convinced that he was now a skeptic, lost no chance to expound his views. Church was a useless formality; prayer was vain babbling; religion itself was a delusion \u2014 these were Ted's views, expressed in a loud voice when the subject was brought up. Against him, in defense of orthodoxy, Steve and Joe would argue for long hours, but without pronounced success. Both of them had joined the Society of Inquiry, an undergraduate religious organization, and both took some part in its proceedings. As a matter of fact, Ted,\nA favorite topic among the four friends was the matter of compulsory chapel. \"It's a shame to make us fellows go to morning chapel when we don't want to,\" Ted would say, starting a discussion.\n\n\"Don't you realize, young fellow, that six hundred boys in a place like this ought to be brought up in a Christian community?\" Steve replied.\n\n\"Well, forcing them to go to prayers simply makes them wish to stay away,\" continued Ted.\n\n\"A lot you'd go if they didn't compel you to do it!\" commented Joe.\n\nBesides, \"how could you get the fellows together for announcements and class meetings if you didn't herd them up at least once?\" added Steve.\nI don't see why anyone should want to get them together, especially at this time of year, when there are so many coughs around. The place is a regular breeding-place of disease. We'd all be better off if they simply started with the recitations.\n\nHow ridiculous! interposed Hal, who had not yet spoken. That's what makes school spirit, those prayers by the Head, those talks on all sorts of topics, those hymns which we all sing together. It wouldn't be the same school if we didn't all meet for those fifteen minutes in the morning. As for germs, the fellows would get colds in their classrooms if they didn't in chapel.\n\nWell, if I had my way, all this prayer stuff and hymn singing wouldn't last long, Ted concluded.\n\nI guess that some day you'll grow up, Ted, and then things will look different, said the conservative Steve.\nSix hundred boys back from vacations in every section of the United States inevitably bring back diseases of various kinds. For two or three weeks, the Infirmary is full of suspicious cases, a few moderately serious, but most of them unimportant. As the winter drags along and the strain of study becomes more intense, lazy students are likely to develop pinkeye symptoms, brought on by a skilled insertion of a small bit of tobacco under the eyelid. 'Shysters' afflicted by a tired feeling retire to the Infirmary for a day's rest before being found out. The School Physician is kept busy distinguishing real invalids from those who are merely shamming. Ted more than once had tried to escape examinations by feigning illness, and had been discovered by \"Doc\" Rogers, who had each time perceived the deception.\nThe employer summoned him back to his dormitory. When he presented himself at the rear of the chapel one February morning before the mid-term examination, the physician gave him a cold look.\n\n\"But, Dr. Rogers, I have an awful headache, and my throat is sore.\"\n\n\"Young man, you've been caught faking twice, and I'm not going to be taken in again.\"\n\n\"Doctor, I'm really sick and can't walk around. Please let me go to the Infirmary, or I'll get worse.\"\n\n\"All right. I'll fix you up; but if you're fooling me this time, you'll catch it.\"\n\nSo, Ted trudged down to the Infirmary, where the Matron greeted him with distrust but told him to go up to the ward where those with minor bruises and colds were gathered. Once safely tucked in bed, Ted began to contemplate plans for amusement. A game of bridge which he intended to play.\nTed promptly started with his neighbors, but it was broken up by the nurse in charge. A pillow fight ended in a reprimand from the Matron, and with his resources almost exhausted, he settled down with a battered copy of the Saturday Evening Post. Just then his eye lighted on his friend, Crab Wallace, who had just woken from sleep in a corner cot.\n\n\"Hi, Crab, come on over,\" he cried.\n\nCrab, nothing loth, emerged from under his sheet, clad in bright yellow pajamas, and came over to Ted's bedside. He was a mischievous imp, short and stocky, with twinkling eyes set in a chubby and freckled face.\n\n\"Why, hello, Ted, what have you got?\"\n\n\"Nothing, just tired. Say, can't we start something? It's as dull as a math recipe.\"\n\n\"I don't know. I'm game for anything. What's on your mind?\"\n\nThen Ted unfolded to him his big idea. The\nTwo talked in whispers for a while. In a few minutes, Ted, in slippers and bath-robe, stole softly out. The boys began wandering about here and there through the room, scattering unseen material on beds and chairs. The ward was used only for cases in the last stages of convalescence or for those, like Ted, who seemed to have no particular ailment.\n\nSuddenly, one patient sneezed, and then another. Soon, an epidemic seemed to seize the inmates, and the ward was full of gasping, sneezing boys, some almost doubled up with alarm. The Matron appeared, only to be greeted by \"Ker-chew,\" and beat a hasty retreat. Meanwhile, one of the victims discovered the red pepper that Ted had scattered, and after a little investigation, apprehended the culprit. With a simultaneous roar, the room flung itself upon him. He was smothered.\nDr. Rogers appeared, glowering like a God of Wrath, among the pillows, mattresses, blankets, and clothes. Someone saw him and subsided. Another looked up and slunk away to his bed. Lastly, the battered and disconsolate Ted emerged from underneath the pile, blinking and disgusted. Upon him, with unerring eye, the Doc pounced. \"It's you, young rascal,\" he said. \"Deep in winter, you started this rough-house.\"\n\n\"Oh, Dr. Rogers, they all picked on me,\" Ted replied.\n\n\"I know all about that,\" Rogers said, leading Ted into the next room and across to a private ward. \"Nurse,\" he called to the pretty young lady who appeared, \"here's a sick youngster. Keep him in bed here, and give him two large doses.\"\ntablespoons of this prescription. \"Very well, sir,\" she answered. Shall I administer the dose now? Yes, you'd better let him take it while I'm here. And he waited while the nauseous mixture was brought, then watched Ted put it down to the last drop, protesting vigorously every second. He was then put to bed, and the nurse was instructed to watch him vigilantly so that he couldn't possibly escape into the adjacent rooms.\n\nOn the following morning after his Latin class, Steve walked to the Infirmary to see how Ted was getting on. With some reluctance, the nurse finally allowed him to go to the upper room where Ted had been isolated. There was the patient, pale, restless, and clearly disturbed in his mind \u2014 quite different from the lively Ted who usually kept things moving in any company.\nHow goes it, Teddy, my lad? asked Steve.\nOh, oh, groaned Ted, I'm awful sick.\nWhat's the matter? Got a fever?\nOh, no, no, whined Ted. I just want to get out of here and home before I die. Say, what do you suppose'll happen to me if I die? I've been a regular atheist, and I want a chance to do better.\nBosh, you're not going to die. Forget it. The good are the ones who die young. You're too hard a nut to be cracked at your age.\nDo you really think I can get well, Steve?\nI know it.\nSay, Steve, do you think praying would do any good?\nSteve turned to the window to conceal his smile. I guess that's good any time, he managed to reply.\nWell, I'm going to try it \u2014 and, say, Steve, I've been an awful fool.\nEverybody will admit that, my boy. But just now you spend your time getting well.\nThe nurse came in and ordered Steve to go, but before he left, he had a word with her. Surely, he'll be as well as ever this afternoon. He's just a little weak and exhausted, that's all. I rather think, though, that he's had a lesson which he won't forget in a hurry. I don't believe that he'll come near this Infirmary again unless he's really ill.\n\nThe nurse was right. About three o'clock that afternoon, Ted, a trifle the worse for wear but otherwise intact, sauntered into Joe's room, where Hal and Steve were reading over Macaulay's \"Essay on Johnson.\" As Ted came in, Hal read aloud.\n\nHe was sick of life, but he was afraid of death.\n\n\"Ah,\" commented Steve. \"That's Ted all over. 'Sick of life!' 'Afraid of death!' Guess you're another Sam Johnson, eh, Bo?\"\n\n\"Say, give me a rest, Steve. Can't you see?\"\nWhen is a fellow all in? You are in, way in. The Infirmary's a nice little winter resort, isn't it? And say, Ted, when are you going to take over that Sunday-school class down in the Episcopal Church? I wish I were strong enough, I'd show you, you devil.\nWhy, why, hear the little one talk! He didn't speak that way this morning,\" said Steve to the others.\nThat was all the ragging Ted was given. It was noticeable, however, that he ceased his attacks on church and chapel, and that he never again that year aired his views on philosophy.\nAfter his experience, Ted was a better and manlier boy.\nThe routine of the winter term had by this time become well established for them all. Steve, for instance, slept in the morning until the alarm clock went off with a whirr at seven o'clock.\nIt was still fairly dark. He dressed with practiced speed and reached the Dining Hall by seven-twenty-five, finishing his breakfast in time for chapel at quarter past eight. After chapel, he went to recitations until one, returning to his own room for study during the hours he was not in the classroom. Then came luncheon, and after that, hockey practice which lasted until half-past three. At four, he was once more at recitations which continued until six. After dinner, he sometimes strolled down-town on an errand, but more often dropped in at some friend's room for a chat. At eight o'clock, he had to be in his dormitory room, where he usually spent the evening in study. There were hockey games on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, and on Saturday night, there were movies in the Gymnasium for the students.\nThe students at the school followed the same general program, with Joe practicing shots in the cage, Ted trying fencing, and Hal taking regular exercise in the Gymnasium. Every student undergoes a series of physical tests at Andover, including minimum requirements in running, jumping, rope-climbing, and other strength trials. Steve and Joe passed these easily, while Ted had little difficulty. However, Hal was not very strong and failed twice in the examination. As a result, he was placed in the ranks of the so-called P.W.'s (Physical Wrecks) who were obliged to take regular elementary exercises under the Gymnasium instructor. Among his comrades in misfortune, Hal found very fat and very thin boys.\nHal had weak arms and some weak legs, and a few with organic troubles of one kind or another. His friends would occasionally drop in at the proper time to watch him perform during the \"All for Andover\" tests. He became so ashamed that he took special daily tests in his own room. Finally, in late January, he succeeded in passing the tests and triumphantly announced the result to Steve. It was an immense relief to Hal, as he had been obliged to endure the cruel taunts of his friends since the \"P.W.'s\" had been organized. The winter term often becomes tedious. The pent-up spirits of over six hundred boys cannot always be restrained, and sometimes burst out in harmless fun - a kind of blood-letting, which injures no one and is followed by a period of peace. Nancy Irwin, called so because of his initials N.C., standing for Newell Crossman.\nIrwin, who was their house-master, and one of the squarest men. When the boys got acquainted with him, they soon learned that he always played the game with them in a straightforward way. The boys responded in kind, never trying to evade a punishment for a misdemeanor. Andover boys are normally quick to respond when they are treated fairly.\n\nBy school regulation, smoking was forbidden in any school dormitory. However, there were always one or two boys who tried to ignore the rule. Those daring spirits who wanted a cigarette had to resort to subterfuge. A favorite device was to lie on one's back and puff up the fireplace, or to sit on the window ledge and blow the smoke into the night air. Joe and Steve, being in training, did not smoke. However, Hal, who had some ambitions as a Beau Brummel, owned his own pipe and alley.\nHal went to the dorm unguarded in the morning during Nancy Irwin's chapel and recitation. He returned to his quarters, lit his morning pipe, and opened the windows after enjoying it. The risk of discovery was minimal with bribes given to the janitor.\n\nOne Monday morning, Hal returned to Bishop's room as usual, lit his pipe, and sat cheerfully reading Vanity Fair when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was one of the gang, he called out, \"Come in, you!\"\nIn walked Nancy, a cynical smile on his face. Hal happened to have his feet on the table and was blowing enormous smoke rings into the already thick atmosphere. As he recognized Nancy, his jaw visibly dropped an inch or two; his face colored a beautiful beet-red, and he rose like a somnambulist from his chair, dropping his pipe as he got up.\n\n\"Ah, Manning,\" Nancy said, in the cutting tone for which he was famous. \"I see that Old Home Week has begun. How charmingly comfortable! And is this the smoking-den for all the gay boys of the dormitory?\"\n\n\"Uh-uh-really, sir,\" Hal stammered. \"What mixture do you use?\"\n\n\"Ah, Dill's - very good - very good,\" Nancy replied. \"And when are you going to make arrangements to move out your furniture?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir.\"\n\n\"Better go over to the office now, my boy.\"\nBut I don't want to leave, sir. You'll have to, Hal. Rules were made to be obeyed. I had to come back here for a book and the whole hall was full of smoke. It's too bad, but I'm put here to enforce law and order. Hal knew this well enough, but that did not soften the unfortunate fact that he would now have to leave his friends and take a room in some private house. It was a very despondent lad who sat for half an hour in the Head's office, waiting for a dreaded interview. Finally, Hal was admitted to the inner office, where the Head, looking up from his papers, said, \"Well, Manning, what have you to say for yourself?\" Nothing at all, sir. I've just been an ass. I know it, and I'm sorry. I'll take my punishment.\nI'm glad you have a positive view of me. Manning. When you arrived, I believed you would make an impressive record. I know your family well, and you come from distinguished stock. Your father is one of the most capable lawyers I have ever met. However, you have not yet made a significant impact. At the first rating, you received honors in every subject, but by the end of the term, you were barely passing. This term, you have spent too much time in the Grill, and your teachers are far from satisfied. Don't you think it's time for a change?\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Hal replied. I suppose you're right, but I didn't realize you knew anything about me.\n\nThere's very little that isn't discovered in this school sooner or later. When a fellow starts something new, word spreads quickly.\nHe advertises himself as downhill. \"Can't you give me another chance, sir?\" That's what you'll have. You'll be put out in the Chandler House, a good way from all your old associates. There you'll be almost alone, and you can start fresh. You can study without anyone bothering you. Why not see how well you can do? I'll do it, sir. You just watch me. All right. I want to write your father a different kind of letter when this term closes. It was not a happy Hal who followed his household Lares and Penates out of the dormitory that afternoon. But he did effect a complete change in his habits. Perhaps because there were no temptations to idleness near at hand, or perhaps because he really had a desire to distinguish himself as a scholar, he ended the term on the first Honor Roll, besides taking a second prize in the Draper.\nSpeaking Contest. With his pals, he seemed just as nonchalant and indifferent as ever; but once in his room, he settled down to business and burned a good deal of midnight electricity. The jolt which he had received had been a lesson, and nothing more was needed to make him a man.\n\nHaas' enforced departure did not make Bishop Hall a haven of saints. Nancy Irwin, who was very popular with his colleagues on the faculty, was frequently out of his dormitory in the evening, and the boys had learned to estimate the hour of his probable home-coming with some accuracy. Sometimes, after he had made his inspection and had left, a rough-house would start for apparently no reason at all. About nine-thirty when most of the studying for the morrow's lessons had been done, somebody would dump a pail of water on a \"fresh prep.\" A row would ensue.\nThe boys on other floors would gather to watch the wrestling matches. Within five minutes, all spectators would be drawn into the row. Fifteen minutes of wrestling, sweating humanity! A quarter of an hour of torn pajamas and twisted neckties! And then the excitement would die down, the yelling would stop, and the participants would throw themselves on their beds, exhausted. When Nancy returned, there would be puddles of water in low spots on the floor and a kind of psychic tension in the atmosphere. But he was too shrewd to protest without other evidence, and he usually contented himself with veiled sarcasm, which some of the fellows were not too dense to understand \u2013 and fear.\n\nOne evening in early March, Steve entered Ted's room just before ten o'clock and asked, \"Where's Nancy tonight?\"\nI have cleaned the text as follows:\n\nGone to Boston to the theatre; went off right after dinner. How do you know? Heard him tell Charlie Foster he couldn't go out there to play bridge. He won't be back till tomorrow morning, I guess. Good. Let's go in and put Joe on the blink. He ducked me night before last and I've got to get even.\n\n\"You're on,\" responded Ted, who had never been known to refuse an invitation of that sort. In a few moments, the conspirators, watching in the corridor, saw Joe leave his room to take his customary pre-Morphean shower-bath. As soon as he had gone out, the two paijama-clad figures entered. With a swiftness and dexterity almost inconceivable, they stacked his furniture in the middle of the room, removed the pictures and piled them on top, and covered the mass with the rug. They then hid in the little adjacent bed.\nJoe entered the room, aglow from his rubdown and caroling in a loud voice, \"The Son of God goes forth to war.\" Great Scott! he burst out, followed by a string of objurgations and imprecations worthy of a pirate captain. If language could have slain, the hiding culprits would have been corpses in thirty seconds. Joe, certain of his responsibility, began hunting for the criminals. He searched under the desk and in the closets. Finally, passing into the bedroom, he saw the two dim forms and rushed at them. In a twinkling, there was a wild scrimmage on the floor. Pajamas were ripped from neck to waist.\nIn one sweeping stroke, the naked bodies gleamed in the half-darkness, to the intense delight of the crowd, attracted by the noise, who had come in to see the fight. Sick 'im, Steve! shouted one faction. After him, Joe! cheered the other side. Every now and then some outsider helped the battle along by pushing a friend into the fray. Crash! Down went a desk lamp, shattered into a hundred pieces. Bang! The footboard of the bed fell off, making a sound as if the dormitory were falling apart. And then, just as everybody was on tiptoe with excitement, watching Joe as he sat triumphantly on Steve's stomach, brandishing a fire-shovel, in sauntered Nancy, impeccably clad in a dinner coat. Characteristically calm, he stood for a few seconds before anyone noticed him, so intent was everyone on the struggle.\nThen a small boy in the outer circle saw him, with horror. The news spread rapidly. One by one the spectators realized the situation, and slunk shamefacedly to one side, all except Steve and Joe, who remained quite unconscious of the state of things. At last Joe caught Steve around the neck and said, \"There, you long-eared mess-up of rooms, \u2014 beg my pardon, or I'll put you down on Nancy's bed and let him find you there when he gets back tomorrow morning.\" The dramatic irony of the situation was so irresistibly comical that the spectators burst into peals of laughter; and then, looking up to see what was going on, Joe caught Nancy's cold eye fastened on him. His grin weakened, his grasp relaxed.\n\nDeep in winter grew feebler, and he looked like a dog who has been left out in the cold.\nSomeone had been caught in a forbidden act, such as chewing up his master's slipper. Slowly, he tottered to his feet, his pajamas hanging in shreds about him, his face bleeding from a cut in the cheek \u2013 a most disreputable looking object. Steve followed his example, looking even more sheepish. Either would gladly have sunk through the floor and taken his chances of breaking a leg.\n\nYou others had better go back to your rooms now, said Nancy, with the ring of authority in his voice. Steve, Joe, and Ted can stay here a while with me.\n\nWhen the group of spectators had vanished, Nancy sat down on the window-seat, the only object in the room which had not been disturbed by the vandals, and said, \"Well, children, is the diversion over?\"\n\nAs the boys well knew, Nancy in a sarcastic mood was especially dangerous.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Ted, whose mind was quick in emergencies.\n\"Oh, yes, sir,\" added Steve.\n\"Of course, sir,\" contributed Joe.\n\"Well, suppose you all get some chairs out of this rubbish. Then go and clean up, and we\u2019ll have a little fireside talk. I\u2019ll wait here,\" said the speaker.\nTen minutes later, the three guilty parties to the row came quietly in, clothed with some degree of neatness, but each looking as if he had been caught stealing sheep.\nStains all washed off? asked Nancy mildly.\n\"Yes, sir,\" was the simultaneous response.\nPeace of mind all regained?\n\"Yes, sir,\" came three voices almost in unison.\nVery well. Now let's get down to business. I suppose you and Steve started this thing, didn't you, Ted?\n\"Yes, sir.\"\nAnyone else to put the blame on?\n\"No, sir.\"\nSo I surmised. But I\u2019m not putting Joe among the angels just yet. He may be innocent.\n\"cent victim to-night, but it hasn't always been that way, eh, Joe? \"Joe grinned horribly, a ghastly smile of a very expressive kind. I guess I deserve all the punishment you give them, sir,\u201d he answered.\n\n\"Well, boys, I haven't very much to say this time. You thought I was out, and you promptly took advantage of my absence. I've always treated you fairly, haven't I? I never spy on you. I never hide in corners to watch for misdeeds.\u201d\n\n\"Yes,\" admitted Steve, \"you certainly have been a decent 'house-prof.' \"\n\nAnd look what you do to me in return! What do you think I ought to give you for punishment?\u201d\n\n\"We certainly deserve all you put on us,\" replied Steve cheerfully. \"Only don't count Joe in with us. We pitched on him, and he had nothing else to do but fight back.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Nancy reflectively but ironically.\nHe's innocence personified. Before long, he'll be sprouting wings. His virtue is almost appalling, it's so obvious.\n\"Please, sir,\" muttered Joe, visibly embarrassed. I don't want to be let off from anything the others get. I'm as much responsible as they are.\n\"That's true enough, I imagine,\" chuckled the teacher, who seemed to be enjoying the situation enormously. He sat meditating for a brief period while the three boys wriggled about in their seats, wondering what would happen next. Finally, Steve broke the silence.\nLook here, Nan \u2014 Mr. Irwin, we've been a regular pack of kids. I'm ashamed of myself, for one. You've treated us like men, and we've acted like babies. I don't care how many demerits you pile up on us; I'm through with this kind of thing.\n\"So am I,\" followed Joe.\n\"Count me in,\" added Ted.\n152 ALL FOR ANDOVER\nThis is reform indeed,\" observed Nancy, still suspicious. But I'm willing to take one more chance. I'll let you fellows off without any demerits this time.\n\n\"You certainly are a square prof, Mr. Irwin,\" said Steve. I'm for you from now on.\n\n\"Me too,\" continued Joe.\n\n\"And you can bet I'm with you, sir,\" finished Ted, in the manner of Sir Andrew Aguecheek.\n\nSo it was that the three friends took their stand for law and order. In a certain degree, they were weary of wrong-doing. Furthermore, they had noticed that in Andover, the best fellows, the leaders of the school, kept out of rough-houses. The members of the Student Council spent their evenings studying, trying to keep up in their scholarship. Responsibility had made them outgrow the puppy stage. And Steve, Joe, and Ted, despite\nSome obvious faults among the leaders were rampant during the remaining few days of the winter term. The dorm was as quiet as a hospital, with Nancy seldom making inspections more than once an evening. His visits were perfunctory, yet noises were seldom heard by passersby, and the hall after eight o'clock had an almost funereal aspect. The explanation was simple. Steve, Joe, and Ted had previously provided much of the energy for the house; now that they were quiet, the inspiration had gone for the others. Furthermore, the three friends made it known they were opposed to anything unfair to Nancy. When one youngster with sporting ambitions openly boasted of having lit a cigar while Nancy was out, Joe and Steve carried him to the tennis courts, rolled him in the snow, and made him go to Nancy.\nevening with a memorized apology. Nancy merely smiled and said nothing. He was fully master of the situation. Why shouldn't he smile? It was a time of year when the faculty dropped a few boys for poor scholarship or disorder. One of them, Ike \"Saunders, had been getting steadily worse in his work. He had no gift for study, and his befuddled brain never functioned when quickness was needed. As a consequence, and for his own good, the powers of the school ordered his withdrawal. He sang in the choir on Sundays, and, as no instructions had yet come from his parents, he was still in Andover on the Sunday morning following his dismissal.\n\nTo the mirth of the teachers, and of a good many boys who were in on the secret, Ike proceeded.\nTo sing as a solo the hymn, I'm nearer my home today, today, than I have been before. The Head had to conceal a smile as he heard the words and realized their significance for Ike. As the term drew to a close, lessons grew harder, recreation periods felt shorter, and examinations came fast and furiously. Once in a while, Hal dropped in on the trio, and they could see that he was headed for a high record. The others could not hope to equal him, but they developed a kind of rivalry, and even slow Joe had ambitions. When the last examination was over, the three hastened to their rooms to finish packing. The others were going home, and Steve, who felt that he had left his father long enough, would have been glad to do likewise, but he had in mind the slender family income. Deep in winter. Steve's desire to go home was overshadowed by the family's financial situation.\nthey emerged from the \u2018dorm\u2019 on their way to the train, a few scattered snowflakes began to fall, \u2014 the last storm of the winter. I certainly am glad that spring is coming so that we can get out on the field,\u2019\u2019 said Joe. You bet. I\u2019ve worked myself like a slave for that History, and now I\u2019m ready for a little outdoors,\u201d added Steve. Well, I\u2019m going to have a good time next term,\u201d concluded Ted. As for Hal, he said nothing at that moment. But he was glad that he had found the right way for himself.\n\nVII\nSPRING TERM\n\nSpring on Andover Hill is a time of infinite variety. It usually opens in a slough of mud and slush, against which rubber boots offer the only effective protection. Then the April sun gradually dries the ground and warms the air. Forsythias burst into yellow blossom, followed by white and purple lilacs, with their rich and perfumed fragrance.\nThe meeting fragrance. As May turns into June, the weeks fly by on happy wings. On hot nights, the boys can sit at their windows and watch the countless lights twinkling around the campus; on dewy mornings, they could get up early for a walk before breakfast, through a forest filled with the music of birds. Even the stolid Joe could be heard under the shower singing his favorite and only hymn, \"The Son of God goes forth to War,\u201d in a voice more distinguished by volume than by sweetness. Poetry is in the atmosphere on Andover Hill in June, and it is then that even dull boys learn to love the school.\n\nSpring Term\nAll four of the boys came back satisfied. Of course, Perry had had the best report. He was on the First Honor Roll, and his proud father had promised him a new five-cylinder for the summer vacation. No one of his friends was as fortunate.\ntonished by what he had done, for everyone recognized his cleverness. It was more remarkable that Steve should have had no failures, and that Joe, the \"dumb-bell,\" should have passed all his courses but one. The really unexpected thing was that Ted, who mocked at study, should have come very near to equaling Hal's high standing.\n\n\"What's the matter, Ted?\" inquired Steve, after the first salutations had been exchanged and the essential questions asked. \"Going to become a plugger?\"\n\nNo, I guess not. I just wanted to give a little exhibition. I've made my reputation now, and all the profs will pass me this term no matter what I do. I'm going to have a long, long loaf.\n\nWatch out that you don't get punctured, smart Aleck,\" was Steve's answer. It's my hunch that it's a wise plan here not to run too close to the rocks.\nSteve had all that he wanted to do from the very opening of the term. In his own gang, at All for Andover, he had always been the pitcher on the nine. It was perfectly natural that he should report to the squad when the first call was made. He found himself grouped with some eight or ten others, among whom was \"Bo Swift, the veteran twirler of two Exeter games, all of whom were candidates for pitcher. With the instinct of the athlete, Steve \"sized up his rivals, concluding that most of them were no better than he. Bo, of course, was in a class by himself. Tall, rangy, and powerful, he had a brain that beautifully controlled his body, and he never lost his courage in a crisis. With him in the box, the entire team had confidence, and they played like a unit. Steve soon made up his mind that he must try to outperform Bo.\nSteve learned from Bo. Fortunately, the latter took a liking to him, invited him to his eating joint, and even gave him private instruction about pitches. Before long, Steve was doing things with a baseball that he had never thought possible. Bo was a born baseball pitcher who knew instinctively what less favored players spent years learning. Under his tutelage, Steve, who was in muscles and physique good material, made remarkable improvement.\n\nSpring Term\n\n\"You're coming, kid,\" said Bo approvingly one day as he watched Steve strike out the captain of the Andover nine. \"All you need now is experience, and you'll get that before very long.\"\n\nThe others were also outdoors every afternoon, as the Andover system made athletics compulsory for all who were not crippled. Joe was among them.\nA promising candidate for the shot put and hammer throw, where his weight and strength were bound to count. Through the winter, he had put on flesh and now tipped the scales stripped at over 190 pounds. Ted played on the tennis team, where his speed enabled him to work up to the second position, just under Sid Thayer, the captain. When he was really interested, Ted could accomplish wonders, and he actually took the pains to stop smoking and settle down to hard training. Hal was too light for any team, but he went faithfully through his work in club baseball, and then devoted himself to \"heeling\" for the Phillipian, the school paper, of which Ted was already an editor.\n\nHal's reporting kept him hustling around, but he enjoyed the competition, and soon disclosed a knack of writing which made him a successful editor.\njournalist. He had an originality and aggressiveness quite unusual in schoolboys, and could find news in the most trivial incidents. Before he had been \"heeling\" a month, he had outdistanced every rival, and this without any assistance from Ted. Hal was easily elected to the editorial board late in April.\n\nHal's ingenuity in journalism did not stop at trifles, and occasionally got him into trouble. In early May, there was a period of two or three weeks when news seemed lacking, and \"Morry\" Gould, the Managing Editor, groaned in dismay over the dearth of material. For one especial issue, he cribbed several short articles from current newspapers, only to hear himself denounced by undergraduate opinion as \"too lazy to do the job himself.\" It was then that Hal had an inspiration. One afternoon he appeared at Morry's office.\nRoom with several sheets of theme paper closely written. The two conferred together for a few minutes and then made their way down to the Andover Press, where the Phillipian was printed.\n\nOn the next day, at noon, the Phillipian was distributed. Its first two columns were headed by a wide black border. Interested at once in this unusual sight, the boys hastened to read:\n\nSPRING TERM\nANDOVER\u2019S RICHEST ALUMNUS DEAD\nFAMOUS OLD-TIME FOOTBALL PLAYER\nSUCCUMBS TO PNEUMONIA\n\nAt his home in Dunkirk, New York, George W. Merwin, known to football enthusiasts of forty years ago as Kid Merwin, lies dead.\n\nMr. Merwin was a graduate of Andover Academy, where he spent four years, for three of which he was captain of the eleven. Many stories have been handed down of his skill and prowess.\n\nIt is probable that his vast fortune, made in business, was inherited from his father.\nin the ice business in Buffalo, bequeathed to his old school, as he has no living relatives. Wealth is estimated at between four and five million dollars. The undergraduates read this item, covering at least half of the front page, because of many exciting anecdotes told of the famous \"Kid\" in renowned games at Andover and later at Yale. There was speculation as to how the money could best be expended.\n\n\"A stadium's what we need. Let's call it the Merwin Bowl, after the old boy himself,\" suggested Joe.\n\n\"Why not a library?\" ventured Ted, to keep up the discussion.\n\n\"We don't need any more books. Not even for Andover. Charlie Foster has read all we've got up there. Just let me take the money and spend it.\" Meanwhile, Hal sat quietly, chuckling.\nThey were loafing in Hal's room after lunch, waiting to go to the field. Suddenly, there was a bang on the door, and in walked \"Dad\" Warner, the oldest active member of the faculty, looking as if he had seen a ghost.\n\n\"Is this Manning's room?\" he asked, without stopping to say Good-afternoon.\n\n\"Yes, here I am, sir,\" answered Hal.\n\n\"Look here,\" said Dad, pointing his finger at the first page of the Phillipian, a copy of which he held in his hand. \"Can you tell me who wrote that?\"\n\nHal was plainly embarrassed. He took the sheet, looked at it for a second, and then replied, \"I wrote it, sir. There was a big space to fill up \u2013 and \u2013 and \u2013 well, I didn't think it would do any harm.\"\n\nBut we never had a man on our rolls named George W. Merwin. Where did you get all the information?\n\"I just made it up, sir,\" the boy admitted.\n\nSpring Term 163\n\n\"You made up all those dates and stories?\" the man asked in disbelief.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" the boy replied.\n\n\"Bless my soul, what a boy,\" Dad exclaimed, and threw himself down in a chair, shaking with laughter. As secretary of the alumni association, he knew nearly every graduate of the school for the past fifty years, and the audacity of the young heeler impressed him as irresistibly ridiculous.\n\nBut, look here,\" he said, recovering, \"what are people going to say? The school will never hear the last of this. It will disgrace us forever. You must go out and suppress every copy that has been printed. Start right out now and tear up every one you see. And, in Heaven's name, don't let any get mailed to out-of-town subscribers.\"\n\nIt was too late. The mailed papers had already left the Post-Office, and those distributed in the city.\nDover was difficult to discover as the secret had leaked out, and every boy hoarded his copy like a precious coin. Dad rushed over to explain to the Head what had happened, and that gentleman was obliged to make an excuse for going out in order to conceal his smiles. The next morning, however, he spoke in chapel, condemning the Phillipian article and its author in no feeble terms, and Hal received a summons to appear before him at ten o'clock. Hal was no coward, but his knees knocked together as he sat waiting for his second formal interview with the Head. He was not cheered up by the remarks made to him by some of his friends as he walked up, such as \"Pack your trunk, Hally, my boy,\" or \"Get ready to transfer to Lawrenceville, old top,\" or \"Don't I wish I were in your shoes, Mr. Hearst.\"\nThe Head was ready for him as soon as the door closed behind him. \"Well, Manning, this time you've gotten us into a nice mess. Here are telegrams from all over the United States wanting to know who this George W. Merwin is. The Mayor of Dunkirk has wired me. So has the President of Yale. Look here, \u2014 \u2018Please verify name of George W. Merwin of Dunkirk, Yale man reported dead. No such name on our alumni list.\u2019 Four reporters are out here from Boston trying to trace the source of the report. As for Warner, he's been almost insane. I don't know what I'm going to do.\"\n\n\"I'm awfully sorry, sir,\" said Hal, looking very pathetic. \"I really didn't know what trouble I would cause. I just was told that we didn't have any news for this Wednesday's Phillipian; so I sat down and tried to scribble off something that might pass.\"\n\nSpring Term 165.\nI would be of interest to the boys. I'll do anything I can to make up for it.\n\n\"Too late, now, Manning. The mischief's done. Look here, young man, I'm not altogether sure but that you're too smart for this school. Don't you think another climate would suit you better? \"\"\n\nOh, sir, please don't fire me. Put me under any form of discipline there is, but let me stay. I do want a chance to make good.\n\nWell,\" replied the Head, \"there's just one thing in your favor, and that's your high scholarship standing. If you were low and had done this, the faculty would insist that you go out. As it is, I think I can persuade them to let you remain on probation for the rest of the year. Now, get out. If you're called up before me again this year, I'll have no mercy on you.\"\n\nIt is probably a fortunate thing that no boys overheard the Head and Dad Warner talking.\nThe Head commented, \"What a plucky little fellow, Manning is. The boldest thing that's happened since I took charge here.\" Dad agreed, reflectively, without considering there was a world beyond Hill - Dunkirk, New York for instance. The Head concluded, \"One day he'll be editing the New York Tribune or the San Francisco Examiner, and I'll be sending in my card to him, reminding him of his obituary for 'Kid Merwin.' That's the beauty of a teacher's life; watching boys grow into men.\" Meanwhile, Steve and Joe were training regularly. From the start, Joe was the best shot-putter in school. His huge bulk was aided by the quickness acquired in football, and he needed only a few suggestions.\nIn the spring term of 167, they aimed to turn him into a first-class weight man. Early in the season, he broke the school record in practice and won his event straight through the dual meets. However, it was a poor year for Andover in track athletics, and the sprinters and hurdlers were worse than mediocre. The boys cheered lustily for the team; the mass meeting was not notably lacking in enthusiasm; but nobody had any confidence that a victory could be pulled out. The actual meet revealed Andover fighting desperately but hopelessly to the end. The mile runner, though stimulated by the hoarse cries from six hundred throats, could do no better than come in a bad third. And the pole-vaulters tried futilely to crawl over the mark of ten feet, six inches. Joe won handily, but the shot-put is not an event in which he participated.\nThe competition was spectacular. When he set a new mark for the dual contests, the stands gave him a cheer, but it didn't win the meet for Andover. The Exeter stands had their time for jubilation, and the joyful hearts that evening were in New Hampshire, not in Massachusetts. There was every reason, then, why the Andover boys should be looking forward with eagerness to the baseball game at Exeter on the following Saturday. The nine had developed slowly through the preliminary season, showing flashes of brilliance but also disclosing at times a tendency to get rattled in emergencies. Steve had been steadily improving, and in the two games in which he had been given a chance, he had managed at least not to disgrace himself. He worked faithfully day after day, throwing up balls to batsmen, learning what he could from Bo. All for Andover.\nSwift, serving his apprenticeship as an athlete in Andover, had to do as pirates for athletic honors. Steve was getting very popular with his associates, for he never tried to escape work and was always cheerful when called upon to do anything. The defeat on the track left Andover craving revenge. Every morning the members of the nine were applauded in chapel; every afternoon the school marched to the field to cheer and practice songs. The cheerleaders, with desperate expressions on their faces, pleaded, railed, and commanded. There was undisguised excitement in the air, and the younger boys had difficulty keeping their minds on their studies. It was quite different, however, with a veteran like Bo Swift, who was about to pitch his third championship game for Andover. Bo Swift, outwardly as calm as if he had nothing on his mind.\nHow can you settle down to study algebra? asked Steve on Thursday evening as the two sat together in Bo's room.\n\nEasy enough, was the reply. It's got to be done, or I can't graduate, and graduating is the most important thing for me right now. I've been here four years, and my father expects me to make Yale next fall. All I have to do is focus on the Binomial Theorem.\n\nBut how can you help having thoughts about the game creep in? I\u2019m not even going to be in it, and yet I\u2019m dreaming about it every minute.\n\nWell, I just have to forget all about it or I would get all on edge and be too nervous to pitch well. And so speaking, Bo would turn to his desk again and start studying as if he had never seen a baseball. Steve admired this kind of spirit.\nAnd he deliberately attempted to imitate it, but with difficulty. He did not realize then that a good part of Bo's calmness was the result of the confidence which every veteran player has in his own ability.\n\nSaturday morning was warm and bright, as it should be when a baseball game is to be played. \"It's a bully day, old top,\" shouted Joe, as he pulled Steve out of bed onto the floor. Wake up and get your pitching arm into shape. You may need it.\"\n\n\"I guess not,\" grunted Steve. No such luck.\n\n\"Bo looks good to me for thirty-one innings. Unless he has a stroke of apoplexy or gets appendicitis, I'll hold down a soft place on the bench this afternoon.\"\n\n\"Your time will come, young 'un,\" answered Joe. \"Don't be so impatient. You can't expect to be the world's greatest pitcher at seventeen.\"\nAt the chapel that morning, the Head made brief announcements regarding the conduct of students in Exeter. He urged them to remember they were gentlemen and expected courtesy towards the enemy. He gave final instructions on what to do in case of victory or defeat. Classes were cut short, and after lunch, the boys in groups of two or three made their way to the Andover railway station, each carrying a large megaphone with a white A against a blue background. The special train slowly pulled in, and the boys boarded \u2013 all except a few fortunate ones invited to ride in faculty members' or their own families' automobiles.\nThe journey to Exeter by train took just over an hour. The boys entertained themselves with singing and incessant chatter about prospects for the game.\n\nSpring Term 171\n\nThey say Bo is speedier than he was last year. Well, if he isn't, Steve Fisher is better than any man Exeter has got.\n\nHow's Soapy's leg this morning? He said yesterday that he'd have to have a runner on the bases.\n\nHave you heard about Exeter's young 'Babe Ruth'? His name is Kelly, and he has knocked a home run in every game this season.\n\nWhen are we getting there, anyway? This train's a regular snail.\n\nSomehow the locomotive puffed its way through Haverhill and Powwow Village and at last into Exeter station. The Andover boys dismounted, formed into the traditional column of squads, and, with the cheer-leaders marching.\nofficers by the side invaded the town. Not an Exeter follower was at the station, there being an agreement between the two schools. As the Andoverites marched on, they could see in the windows and on the walls of houses countless red flags and pennants, all bearing the huge \"E\" of the rival institution. It was the first time that Joe and Ted had been in the enemy's territory, and they enjoyed the experience. It was thrilling to be tramping along these streets, keeping step to the familiar ANDOVER, and feeling inside a passionate longing to sacrifice one's all for the school. Soon they were entering the bounds of Plimpton Playing Fields, near the beautiful Exeter Gymnasium, and could see ahead the great crowd of spectators, six or seven thousand at least, who were waiting for the game.\nHad come near and far to see the game. The opposing nines were already on the field, and the Andover team was having its infield practice. Joe looked across the diamond and could see Steve pitching to Crab Wallace, the substitute catcher. When the Andover followers rushed the bleachers to get good seats, Joe was lucky enough to find himself near Ted and Hal, who had trailed in his wake. Every one was pushing and shouting, trying to get room to move and breathe. At last they were all settled, and the cheerleaders took their places in front of the stands, each one in a white shirt and white flannels. Then as the comforting Andover cheer rang out, each boy in the stand felt a renewed confidence in the skill of his representatives.\n\nSpring Term 173\nThe opening moment in an Andover-Exeter game\nThe game is always thrilling, even for the most hardened fan. Every spectator is uneasy in his seat; every player is nervous. And then the first ball is pitched, and the struggle begins. Andover was in the field, and Bo Swift, a well-known figure to the Exeter rooters, took his place in the pitcher's box, looking formidable as he studied the opposing batter. In the catcher's position was Dick Wright, another veteran of many grueling battles. At short-stop stood Captain George Mason, and at second was tall Jack Reilly, with Soapy Wilson on third. All but Jack Reilly were old men on Andover's team and had won their As the previous year. Each one had confidence in the others and knew how to act as a unit.\n\nA bulky-looking umpire with a stentorian voice called the game and announced the batteries: For Exeter, Camp and Bowman; for Andover, Andover's batteries were unspecified in the text.\nSwift and Wright. The names of these players received loud acclaim from their supporters. With a glance around him at his teammates, Bo slowly wound up, shot a swift, straight ball at the batsman, and watched it sail over the plate, ignored by the Exeter player. One strike!'' cried the umpire, and the occupants of the Andover stands gave a simultaneous yell. It was first blood for the Blue. Once more Bo coolly surveyed his antagonist, shaking his head in disapproval of the catcher's signal, and then, when another signal had been given, nodding his approval. The ball was a wide out-curve, which lured the batter into reaching for it and missing it. Next came a high one, which the Exeter man gazed at contemptuously. When the umpire motioned to indicate one ball, it was Exeter's turn.\nTo cheer. That's waiting for them! \"Attaboy, Murph!\" and similar exclamations floated across the diamond. Now Bo seemed to prepare a little more carefully. With an odd underhand swing, he sent the ball flying towards Murphy, who struck wildly at it, in vain. \"Out!\" cried the umpire, with an authoritative gesture, and the Andover boys gave Bo a long yell.\n\nExeter went out that inning without a score, the last man being eliminated by the capture of a long fly to left field. It was Andover's turn at bat. The first man up was A1 Look, the first baseman, and the best hitter on the team. More than once he had faced Chick Camp, the Exeter pitcher, and he was not afraid of him. Chick was very tall and very thin, and seemed to take an abnormally long time to throw the ball. The delay sometimes flustered batters who were uncertain.\nAl caught the first ball perfectly, making a low drive over the second baseman's head for a beautiful single. As he sped on to first, blue banners waved, the Andover stands rose to their feet, and Joe found himself pounding the back of the man in front of him with all his might.\n\n\"Don't mind me, young fellow,\" said the victim, turning around for a second. \"But save some of that strength for later in the game.\"\n\nThe next man up was Bill Sikes, the right fielder, a stout, good-natured boy with a broad grin on his face. He waited patiently until two balls had been called, then he smote lustily at his favorite out-drop, and the ball sailed directly over first base, luckily landing fair. Down the line he went, while Al continued to play.\nLooked to second and then to third, stopping there as the coaches warned him to take no chances. Things certainly looked good for Andover. The next man up, Tom Joyce, who played in center field, was an excellent hitter but was a trifle too eager. As a result, he knocked a pop fly short. Stop, and was easily put out. Then came Soapy Wilson, short and stocky, with a shape not unlike that of a barrel. As he stepped to the plate, the Exeter fielders moved back, for Soapy had won a reputation as a long hitter. One strike, the umpire announced, as the first ball flew by. Two strikes, came his voice, as Soapy started to hit and then altered his intention. Everybody on the Andover side was anxiously awaiting the issue, and for once, the bleachers were still. Chick Camp, with excessive demeanor, approached the plate.\nThe ball, hit with terrific force, rose higher and higher, out over the left fielder's head until it reached the canvas enclosing the field and rolled under it. Two Exeter men dove after it, but by the time it could be thrown back to the diamond, all three Andover men had crossed the home plate. It was a perfect home run!\n\nNow indeed pandemonium reigns in the stands. The cheerleaders leap up and down, turning occasionally a handspring. The Head waves both arms in the air, and Dad Warner breaks his new straw hat over the head of a colleague at his side. Never before in an Exeter game had such a decisive lead been secured in the first inning, with only one man out!\n\nUsually in an Andover-Exeter contest, the side plays more evenly.\nAndover took the lead with five runs in the first inning, a significant advantage in baseball. Exeter's team made frantic efforts to overcome this handicap, but Andover's players batted like big leaguers. Even tiny Chauncey Peters in left field managed a three-base hit. The game was so one-sided that non-partisan spectators lost interest. During several successive innings, starting with the sixth, Exeter's cheerleaders called upon the school to rise and start a rally. However, cheering and singing were of no avail. Bo Swift struck out man after man, and those who did hit the ball on Exeter's team usually knocked it into the hands of a waiting Andover fielder. In the eighth inning, through unclear circumstances.\nTwo ludicrous errors on Soapy Wilson resulted in Exeter scoring two runs, preventing the ignominy of a shut-out. At the opening of the ninth inning, the score was fifteen to two in Andover's favor, and Exeter had one more chance to act. As the players were about to rush onto the field, the Coach and Bo Swift had a whispered conference, to which Captain George Mason was called in. Then the Coach motioned to Steve, who lost no time in running up.\n\n\"Are you ready to go in?\" asked the Coach.\n\n\"I should say I am,\" answered Steve, without hesitation.\n\n\"You take Bo's place, and don't let them get a batting streak,\" the Coach instructed.\n\nSteve's heart took a big jump, and his knees felt wobbly, but he merely said, \"I'll certainly do my best.\" Bo stepped over to him, slapped him on the back, and encouraged him, \"Go to it.\"\nAs Steve walked out towards the pitcher's box, he could hear the cheerleaders shouting, \"Long live Fisher, are you ready? One! Two! Three!\" But the noise reached him from afar off. Everything seemed blurred before his eyes. Then he reached his position, waited a moment to steady his nerves, and looked towards Dick Wright to get his signal. The sight of Dick's familiar countenance reassured him. He quickly regained his composure. He could feel the support of his teammates as they talked to him, \"Get the big fellow, Steve. We're all behind you, kiddo.\" It's going to be easy, Steve.\" Promptly he forgot that it was a game against Exeter; he forgot that he was about to win his baseball game and focus only on the man in front of him.\nSteve faced the man swinging the bat viciously with two hands. The ball left his fingers, and the Exeter player struck at it, missing by inches. Another throw! This time, the curve was too wide, and the umpire called \"One ball!\" The curve shot to the left of the plate. Two balls!\n\nSteve tried again, but the ball took an unexpected rise and passed over the catcher's head. Three balls!\n\nThe critical moment for Steve had arrived. Dick Wright, calm and cool as usual, came forward to talk to him. Brace up, Steve, he said; all this chap needs is a swift straight one. You don't need to practice tricky stuff on him.\n\nAll right, Dick, Steve replied.\n\nBoth Steve and the team were well aware that he was facing the first real test of the day. The crowd awaited the next throw.\n180 ALL FOR ANDOVER\nIt came, strong and true in aim, right over the plate, and the Exeter batter let it pass with a kind of contemptuous smile. Two strikes and three balls!\n\nOnce more Steve braced himself. He tried to imagine that he was pitching to Dick Wright in practice, with nothing to disturb him. With an easy motion, he put all his effort into his throw.\n\nThe batter struck \u2013 how he did strike! \u2013 but the ball passed untouched into the catcher\u2019s mitt.\n\nThe Andover stands burst into another tumultuous cheer. Here was a new pitcher worthy of Bo's shoes! Even the hoarsest prep recovered sufficiently to put his whole soul into a yell.\n\nPsychology, as every old player knows, is a very important factor in baseball. Steve's striking out the first man to face him in a championship game undoubtedly had a decisive influence on his confidence.\nSteve, as a pitcher, had the assurance necessary for success in any trade or art. Knowing he could strike out a man, he quickly acquired the deliberation of a veteran. The second Exeter batter fouled twice. Then, by a dexterous and shrewdly placed inshoot, Steve deceived him completely, and he was called out. The third man stepped to the plate. Many spectators, certain that the game was virtually over, had begun to leave the field, and there was some confusion in the bleachers. Steve kept saying to himself, \"Don't get careless. Don't get careless.\" He pitched just as carefully as if the game had just begun and the score were nothing to nothing. \"One strike!\" cried the umpire, as the ball cut the corner of the plate. \"Two strikes!\" The player had reached rather helplessly for an out-drop. Then Steve...\nA ball pitched, appearing as if it might clear the batter's head, but it dropped rapidly. Passed just below his shoulders, and the umpire declared, \"Three strikes and you're out.\" The game was over!\n\nA mob of hooting, roaring wild men rushed the diamond. One deputation of exultant barbarians tore up the scoreboard and carried it off in triumph. A procession of dancing lunatics circumnavigated the bases, ending up in front of the Exeter stands, where the Andover contingent gave a last raucous cheer. Then everybody made their way to the station, to board the special train.\n\nThis pulled out of Exeter around five-thirty, reaching Andover at seven. It was a noisy crowd that filled the cars, giving school yells as they passed through each little country village and town.\n\n182. ALL FOR ANDOVER.\nThe players discussed each play from beginning to end of the game. Upon reaching Andover, bells rang out from the Tower and Alumni Hall, drawing a good portion of the town's floating population. The players were transported in automobiles to their eating places, where they consumed a well-deserved supper ravenously. Afterwards, Steve awaited his second celebration with eagerness. He had made his A in both football and baseball; Joe had made his in football and track. They were the only two preps with such a record.\n\nIt was a warm evening, and everybody from the town was out to watch the proceedings. Automobiles filled every available parking space near Main Street. The marching lines of boys, their torches waving above their heads, made a beautiful picture in the twilight.\nThis is the inevitable brass band, and it may be understood that Andover Hill was no haven of rest that night. Once again, Steve, as he had done in the fall, listened to addresses from popular members of the faculty; once again, he watched the fire mount high towards heaven. Once again, he himself made his little speech to the throng of boys clustered around the barge. Then came a walk home under the rising moon, and the long quiet sleep that follows victory.\n\nOne more week passed by, and then Baccalaureate Sunday arrived. Although they were underclassmen, Steve and his friends were interested in the proceedings. From the campus, he watched the seniors assemble at the head of the Elm Arch, near Brechin Hall, and then march to the chapel, guided by their marshals. The sermon that afternoon was by an old favorite, the Reverend Mr. Stoddard.\nReverend Nehemiah Thornton, voted the most popular visiting preacher each year, began with some wonderful lines Steve had never heard before:\n\n'When all the world is young, lad,\nAnd all the trees are green;\nAnd every goose a swan, lad,\nAnd every lass a queen;\nThen hey for boot and horse, lad,\nAnd round the world away;\nYoung blood must have its course, lad,\nAnd every dog his day.'\n\nHe was evidently a man full of the joy of life, rich in optimism and hope - an ideal person to appeal to young men and understand their dreams. Youth, he said, was the time of opportunity. Then, when the blood flowed warm and glowing, was the period when faith was inculcated and noble deeds were planned. As he listened, Steve felt capable of anything, like Sir Galahad riding forth to battle for the right.\n\"At the close of the service came an inspiring moment for Steve, when the congregation joined in singing America, the stirring national anthem written nearly a century before on Andover Hill.\n\n\"My country, 'tis of thee.\nSweet land of liberty.\nOf thee I sing.''\n\nThe next three days were filled with final examinations, and the four friends were very busy. They would not see the Commencement festivities, as the rule at Andover was that lower classmen should leave for their homes as soon as their work was over. All available rooms on the Hill are needed for returning alumni, and the boys would simply have been in the way. Thus, on Tuesday evening, the four sat together in Steve's room for a last talk before they separated for the summer.\n\n''It won't be very long before we'll be getting reunited.''\"\nOur 'dips' like Bo Swift and the rest of them, said Hal, looking across the campus to where the Seniors were sitting, singing school songs and making the most of their last days at Andover. Some of you will. I wish I were sure of getting mine, replied Joe soberly. What do you care? \"Here you are on two teams and you aren't satisfied,\" broke in Ted. \"Look here, Ted,\" replied Joe more slowly than usual. You may have brains, but it looks to me as if you hadn't grown up yet. I'd rather have a dip from this place than get my letter in every sport from football down to halma. Just being an athlete isn't everything.\n\nThat's easy for you to say, of course,\" was Ted's response. It looks like nothing to you because you don't have to work for it, any more than Hal does to make the Honor Roll.\n\"Why do you suppose I spent all spring afternoons tossing a ball of lead instead of paddling a canoe or lying under a tree, shrimp? It was drudgery. I'd rather have been doing that than plugging away at pitching with almost none of the excitement of the real games, Hal. Why did you and Steve just keep at it? I don't know, I was pondering that the other day. It's partly ambition to make the nine someday and partly because I couldn't help it. I had to do what I could for the good of the school. That's it,\" Hal summarized, \"the old place gets you. It's partly because it goes back to the Revolution, and partly because so many fine men have come here. But most of all, it's because it's a place worth striving for.\"\nwhere  boys  have  to  become  men  or  else  get  out. \nReally  if  we  weren\u2019t  so  darned  afraid  of  becoming \nsentimental,  we  would  speak  out  and  say  that  we \nlove  every  blade  of  grass  on  Andover  Hill.\u201d  And \nwith  this  outburst  of  unusual  emotion,  the  year \nclosed  for  the  four  friends,  and  they  went  each \nhis  own  way  until  the  fall,  and  the  beginning  of \na  new  year. \nTHE  MEMOIIIAL  TOWER. \nBuilt  in  tribute  to  the  nineiy  Andover  men  who  gave  their  lives  in  the  World  War. \nStTv\u2019Vj.  '  ^ \npK- ,-,  hiVim-  i'/S \nVIII \nTHE  SECOND  YEAR \nThe  four  boys  spent  the  three  months  of  the \nsummer  vacation  in  varied  and  characteristic \nways.  Hal  went  with  his  family  to  their  home \nat  Magnolia,  on  the  famous  Massachusetts  North \nShore,  where  he  played  tennis  and  golf,  lounged \nabout  in  flannels,  swam  and  danced,  and  lived  the \nluxurious  existence  of  the  idle  rich.  Ted  sailed \nFor Europe and his mother, he roamed through the French chateaux, eagerly anticipating the reopening of school. Joe embarked on a lengthy fishing trip with his uncle through the Maine Woods and into the wilds of Canada. As for Steve, he worked on a Montana ranch, managing cattle and horses like a cowboy, and learning essential lessons in democracy. From such pastimes and professions, they returned to Andover, each with unique experiences to share. Andover welcomed them back in September, a well-known home where they were acquainted with every local custom and certain to find loyal friends. As Steve disembarked from the train, he greeted all the taxi-drivers and baggage men.\nby their first names, they stopped to chat with each. Walking up the hill to the town, he saw someone he knew along the route, and his progress from there up to the school was a series of hearty salutations.\n\nHi, Steve, where did you come from?\nWell, when did you blow in?\nThere's some good material this fall, Steve.\nSay, I'll bet you've put on ten pounds.\nYou're in great condition. And wait until you see Joe Watson.\n\nSteve went right to Day Hall, the dormitory to which the four friends had been assigned. Steve and Joe living together, Ted and Hal having each a single room. Ted was already there unpacking his clothes and hanging pictures of foreign cathedrals on his walls. He almost fell on Steve's neck with joy; and, while they were talking away about their adventures, Joe appeared, brown as an old suitcase and looking strong as a Hercules. When\nThe second year, Joe took Ted's hand in his brawny grasp. Ted winced with pain and said, \"What's the matter? Are you trying to show off how powerful you are? Try your stunts on someone else.\" Joe laughing apologized, \"Too bad, Ted. I've been dealing with woods guides all summer, and they're not tender plants like you. I'll be gentle with you after this.\"\n\nBefore evening, Hal had driven out from Boston in the family Packard, and the four friends were reunited. They sat up until a very late hour reminiscing and laying plans for the fall. Their house-prof, Mr. Theodore Walker, was a man whom they all knew and liked. He was a tall, sandy-haired, rather saturnine-looking person, who, in spite of what seemed like an air of morbid despondency, had really a deep sympathy with boys and their problems and liked nothing better.\nPat, nicknamed so by his students, had a dry wit that was disturbing to those incurring his displeasure. He was not a master boys often chose to defy. It was Steve who proposed their attempt to get into Day Hall, and they had adopted his proposal - a sure evidence of his growing power of leadership.\n\nFortunately, for the continuance of their relationship, all four had been promoted and were now members of the Upper Middle Class. Conscious of their new dignity, they looked down on all the green preps with condescension, and even did some hazing, especially Ted, who found in this pastime an outlet for his wit. They talked a great deal about the maintenance of the old traditions.\ntraditions and customs, and Hal was heard to say that the new boys looked very young. These were merely symptoms that they were growing up in the school. Each one went directly to his own task in school life. Steve and Joe were, of course, out for football, and practice began immediately. Hal and Ted were both on the Phillipian board, and Ted, in addition, was trying for football manager. At the class elections, Joe was nominated for president and won easily, chiefly because of his athletic achievements, which had made him a well-known figure on the campus. It was obvious at once that the four friends were to take an influential place among their fellows. In their classes they had mainly the same subjects, but with different instructors. Often they would compare notes and talk over the methods.\n\nThe Second Year.\nBoys have an uncanny discernment regarding their teachers' weaknesses. They quickly discover which one can be deceived and which cannot. Ted, despite his lessons from the previous year, still prided himself on his ability to outwit his teachers. He had saved all his back English themes, intending to use them again if the opportunity permitted. At the first exercise of the term, Hook \"Edwards, his English teacher, who was also a poet of considerable reputation, announced a 400-word theme on one of several assigned subjects, among which was The Character of a Great Man. That evening, Ted examined his assortment of essays, resurrected one.\non \"Hannibal\" which he had used the year before, and, hastily recopying it, handed it in proudly. Proudly because it had received the mark of a passing grade the year before. In due course, this particular group of themes was graded and handed back. And to Ted's discomfiture, he found himself presented with a large red \"F,\" symbolizing a failure. Great Scott! he exclaimed, as he displayed the paper to the others. \"What kind of English teachers do we get here? They don't follow the same system at all. One man gives you an A; another flunks you with an F.\" And they're both in the same department.\n\nWhy don't you tell Hook all about it? suggested Hal gently. He's a good sport, and he might think it was funny.\n\n\"Yes, it would be funny all right for you and for him, but not exactly for me. It would strike me as rather unfortunate.\"\nMr. Edwards began commenting on some themes at his eleven o'clock reception the next morning. Some of them are excellent, indicating much promise. Others are not so good. One curious case I can't help speaking about. One of these themes I had read before, in fact, last year. Just before Christmas, Mr. Hobson, who teaches Lower Middle English, was ill for a few days and asked me to correct some of his themes in time for the term ratings. I did it for him with pleasure and interest, and as it happened, read them with a good deal of care. One of them, dealing with a great Carthaginian hero, began with a rather striking sentence, \u2014 'Hannibal, the bright star of Carthaginian military genius.'\nHannibal, the brilliant Carthaginian military leader, was hanging by a single thread. I had never forgotten this unusual image. Startled, I went through the last installment of my compositions and came across a theme with an opening sentence that read, \"Hannibal, the bright star of Carthaginian military prowess, was hanging at the moment by a single thread.\" I recalled this masterpiece but couldn't place where I had encountered it before. Suddenly, it dawned on me. I put two and two together, went over the evidence, investigated Mr. Hobson\u2019s records, and concluded that one of you enterprising young men had been trying, as the school slang has it, \"to put something over on me.\" I determined not to be the simple victim of a conspiracy. I therefore bestowed a large red \"E\" on this year's version, without indicating in any way my discovery.\nThe reasons for assigning a low grade to the gentle man. The rewarded man, I imagine, is among you, thinking himself much abused. If he is wise, he will write me another theme of twice the length originally assigned, and make an apology to me this evening.\n\nDuring this little talk, Ted, unabashed though he ordinarily was, felt himself turning a deeper and deeper crimson. As Hook went on, Ted's heart began to thump at a rapid rate, and shivered at the exposure which was inevitable. Gradually, however, he saw that Hook was probably not going to reveal his infamy, and he attempted to assume an expression of complete ignorance. It was of no avail. He had told of the episode to many of his friends, and glances were cast in his direction, followed by smiles and a universal titter. Ted wished himself a thousand miles.\nMr. Edwards, naturally of a kindly position, shifted the subject after Ted had resolved not to be caught in that disgraceful fashion. At shortly after eight that evening, Ted was standing in the corridor leading to Mr. Edwards\u2019 room. \"Come in,\" said the teacher in response to Ted's timid knock. \"Ah, good-evening, Sherman. I had an idea it might be you. Sit down, won't you?\"\n\nI don't believe, I don't think - Better take a seat, Sherman. I never knew you to be tongue-tied before. You usually can talk well enough.\n\nI'm sorry about that theme.\n\nOh, yes, you're the man that tried to crib from himself. I remember now. You're a mighty clever young chap, all right.\n\nI guess not, sir. I'm the world's biggest fool.\n\"But I'm really awfully sorry. I don't know what made me do it. Just because I'm naturally dumb, I suppose. Oh, no, not as bad as that. You just forgot that I'm an old Andover man myself and know most of the tricks. You certainly caught me beautifully. Look here, Sherman, do you want me to preach to you a little? I wish you would. Maybe I could learn something. Well, here goes. I've watched you off and on for some time, and I know more about you than you think. You're bright enough, and often get honors in your subjects when you're willing to buckle down to them. The only trouble is that you can't help trying to beat the game. Why don't you try for a while to play on the square? It's just as easy for you, and a good deal less trouble. It wouldn't have taken you much longer to write me a brand new theme than\"\nIt didn't copy that old one. You're a friend of Steve Fisher. Look how he acts. He hasn't half your head for books, and yet he has a better reputation with the faculty than you. You want to succeed here and turn out to be a leader. You'll never do it by trickery. I know Andover and Andover men, and I never yet saw a fellow who gained the honest respect of his classmates through crookedness. You may get away with it for a while, but you'll lose in the end. Now what do you think of this doctrine you have just heard?\n\nIt's a lot better than a good many sermons I hear in chapel, that's sure, sir. I'm ashamed of myself, and I'll try to make good with you yet.\n\nAll right, we'll let it go at that. And now tell me about your plans for the Phillipian this fall.\n\nTed left, half an hour later after a pleasant conversation.\nchatted with relief in his heart. When he dropped in for a moment to see how Joe was getting along, the latter inquired, \"Well, did he give it to you right?\"\n\n\"Not very much. Say, Joe, that man's a square \u2013 professor,\"  Quinn inquired, \"What, aren't you going to be suspended or put on probation?\"\n\n\"No, but I'm going to cut out being smart,\" Quinn answered, grinning sheepishly. \"Complete and total reform. Learned your lesson, haven't you?\"\n\n\"You bet,\" answered Ted. \"Good! We'll make a man of you yet.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact, the trouble for the friends came from another source \u2013 from that very Steve whom Mr. Edwards had praised so highly. Absorbed in athletics, Steve had unconsciously neglected his studies. Confident that the faculty would not annoy such a brilliant halfback as he was proving to be, he did not hand in his written assignments.\nWork regularly and soon fell behind. His life was lived out on the playing fields, and he spent his study hours running through imaginary plays or picturing himself as he dashed ninety yards on the kick-off for a touchdown. Two or three of his instructors warned him, but he was indifferent to their advice. Then came the first fall rating, when the grades of all the students were handed in.\n\n198 ALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nHal and Ted had done well. Even Joe had passed in all his courses. But Steve found himself with failures in every subject.\n\n\"Isn't it terrible?\" he asked Joe, as he read the fatal record of his deficiencies. \"What am I to do? Of course, I shall be on 'non-ex,' and maybe they'll put me on probation.\"\n\nIt should be explained here that every student who fails in more than eight hours of work is automatically placed on academic probation.\nmathematically placed on the no-excuse list, and hence debarred from taking part on any school team until he makes up his conditions. In special cases, the faculty can put a student on \u201c probation \u201d; then he is forbidden to represent the school not only until he is removed but also for the following term. To be on non-ex is, for an athlete, not at all pleasant, but he can reinstate himself by attention to his duties; to be on \u201c probation \u201d is much worse, for he cannot then play on a team until the ensuing term has gone by.\n\nOn the next day, the faculty met. It is not discreet to unveil the secrets of that tribunal, but this much may be disclosed. When Steve's name was brought up, there was much discussion by his teachers. Finally, the Head remarked, \"I've watched Fisher for a good while now, and I am convinced.\" (The Second Year)\nBut there's no hope for him unless he's brought up with a sharp jolt. If we let him think that he can neglect his work because he's an athlete, we'll never make anything out of him. He has failed in every course; he has no excuse but too much football. I don't see what we can do except to put him on probation. Some of the teachers interested in sports winced, but the logic was unquestionable. Steve was accordingly voted on \"pro,\" and was out of the game for the season.\n\n\"It's an outrage!\" shouted Joe when the sad news arrived the next morning. \"I'm going to see the Head about it.\"\n\n\"Better not,\" replied Steve. \"It won't do any good. I'm going to take my punishment and say nothing.\"\n\nThat evening, after Joe had gone to bed and was peacefully snoring, Steve sat up in his study.\nWith his Trigonometry book open in front of him, he had much to ponder. He knew better than anyone else how foolish he had been to spend all his time on football. He realized that his loss in the backfield would cripple the team, and that the responsibility for defeat, if it came, would rest largely on him. But he had too much sense to blame anyone but himself. His chief regret was for his father, who expected him to keep his record clean and would be broken-hearted. Altogether, Steve was more despondent than he had ever been before.\n\nAt his formal interview with the Head the next day, Steve made no attempt to plead for leniency, and the Head was too wise to lecture him. He said merely, \"Well, Fisher, it's a bit of hard luck, such as everybody has to face once in a while.\"\nI know you'll now demonstrate how a real man deals with trouble. Through Steve's mind ran the lines from As You Like It they had discussed that morning:\n\n'Sweet are the uses of adversity,\nWhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous,\nWears yet a precious jewel in his head.'\n\nHis resolve was made, and he didn't need any further inducement to confirm his resolution. For the next few weeks, Steve toiled more than ever before. He still put on his football togs every afternoon and went out to practice with the team, and his powerful charging with the scrubs made them formidable opponents.\n\nTHE SECOND YEAR\n\nBut he did this solely from loyalty to the school; he was much more interested in showing his teachers that he had a mind and was not just a \"mere athlete.\" Steve found unexpected enlightenment.\nSteve met Colonel Pitman, a Latin instructor with a reputation for severity and thoroughness, on the street one day as he was making an effort to learn Cicero. Mr. Pitman offered to help Steve at his house that night. Surprised and embarrassed, Steve agreed but felt uncertain as he didn't know Mr. Pitman well and had no extra money for tutoring. With some natural trepidation, Steve approached Mr. Pitman's house and was welcomed warmly upon ringing the bell. Sit down, Steve was ushered into a study filled with books and pictures, and Mr. Pitman would be with him momentarily.\nUtterly, as soon as I finish this letter. In a short time he was free, and, turning around in his chair, said, \"Did you bring your Cicero?\"\n\n\"Yes, but Mr. Pitman, I forgot to tell you that I must do the work myself. I can't afford a tutor.\"\n\n\"Bosh,\" said Mr. Pitman in a gruff voice. \"Stuff and nonsense! Who said anything about tutoring? I'm just going to see if I can't show you how to study.\"\n\nThe next two hours were a revelation to Steve. Without telling him the meaning of words, Mr. Pitman put him through a set of questions that made him think. Why? Why? the teacher kept saying, and Steve began to see in the text things that had never occurred to him before. For the first time in his life, he was in intimate contact with a trained mind, and it was like a cold bath on a warm day \u2014 it gave him a new perspective.\nWhen he left Mr. Pitman's house at 10 o'clock, Steve was a changed boy. For a week, he spent a few minutes with Mr. Pitman each evening, not going over his lesson but simply learning methods of work. Meanwhile, he was getting results. It was a great day for Steve when his Latin instructor, Mr. Symonds, called him up to the desk and said, \"Fisher, I want to congratulate you on the improvement you have made.\" And when he received an A in English for the first time, he was as happy as when he won the A on his blue sweater. Steve was in no danger of becoming either a prig or a plugger. He was merely learning the lesson that every worthwhile boy has to learn at some point - that brains are better than brawn.\n\nThe eleven, without Steve, was having a hard time. It played a tie game with Lawrenceville.\nBut Andover was badly beaten by the Harvard Freshmen. By the week of the Exeter contest, however, the undergraduates had developed renewed confidence in their representatives. Andover was reported as hopeful. If this were the traditional school story, Steve would be taken off probation at the last moment and would come dashing on the field just in time to save the old school from defeat. But unfortunately, things do not often go like that at Andover. The old-time school yarn would give Andover a victory over Exeter by one point in the last minute of play, and then Steve would cry, \u201cThank Heaven, the boys won the game without me.\u201d But even this did not happen. What did occur was that Exeter produced a team which, even with Steve playing halfback, would probably have beaten Andover, and which overwhelmed the eleven without him.\nby a score of 26 to 0. It was unquestionably a triumph for Exeter. Andover fought to the finish, but to no avail. Joe blocked every play through right guard and tried desperately to cover most of the other positions, but he was helpless. The school came home on the special train despondent and weary. But within a week, the whole disaster was forgotten, and the boys were talking about prospects in basketball and hockey. The unfortunate football season was a matter of history. Steve meanwhile had not relaxed his efforts. As he sat on the bench at Exeter watching the game, his muscles had fairly twinged with a longing to be in the scrimmage; but that same night, when every one else was wandering restlessly about making the usual \"post mortem\" comments, he was at his desk finishing up some back problems in Mathematics.\n\"Say, can't you cut out that study for one evening and come over for a game of bridge?\" asked Hal.\n\n\"I can't tonight. Sorry. If I don't get these things done before Monday, I'll be in a hole.\"\n\n\"What are you trying to do \u2014 turn into a 'prof'?\"\n\nThe second year, page 205\n\n\"Not so bad as that, I hope. I'm just trying to get even with the game.\"\n\n\"All right, all right,\" grumbled Hal, \"only don't go so far that you kick all your old friends outdoors.\"\n\nThe fall term drew slowly to a close, in the customary riot of examinations and tests of all kinds, and Steve redoubled his zeal. He had now something of the confidence which comes from knowledge, and which is of immense help to any boy in a recitation-room. At last the long ordeal was over, and Steve went to Boston for another visit with Hal's family. Here it was that his report reached him:\n\nLatin A\nEnglish: B, French: A, History: B, Trigonometry: C\n\nFather's letter: I have never in my long career as a teacher known a case where a boy has so markedly improved in his work in such a short time. Your son has really high intellectual gifts and should have a fine record in scholarship before he leaves. All for Andover. My problem now is to see that he properly adjusts his athletics to his studies; for he is such a good athlete that we cannot afford to let him be lost to our teams.\n\nAs a matter of fact, Steve had been punished sufficiently, and had resolved that in the future he would never let himself fall below a good average in his work. As soon as the winter term began, he took his father's advice and called on the Head, who welcomed him warmly. As they sat:\n\n(No further text provided)\nBefore the fire discussing matters of school life, the subject of Steve\u2019s delinquency naturally arose. I can see now,\" said Steve, \"that being put on probation was the best thing that could have happened to me. I was certainly hot at first, and wanted to leave it all and start in work. But that would have been quitting, of course.\"\n\n\"Did you ever read Kipling\u2019s 'If'?\" asked the Head, as if turning the subject.\n\n\"No, I don't think so,\" replied Steve. \"I know the 'Jungle Books,' but not much else of his.\"\n\nHere,\" continued the Head, reaching up to a shelf and taking down a volume, \"take this copy and try it. It isn't great poetry, they tell me, but it's good stuff just the same; and I think you'll see what he's trying to drive at.\"\n\nWhen Steve found the lines, he caught the apperance.\nApplication at once, and there was something about the poem which fascinated him. He had not memorized any verses since the days when he used to recite:\n\n\"Tell me not in mournful numbers,\nLife is but an empty dream,\n\nor\n\nBlessings on thee, little man.\nBarefoot boy with cheeks of tan.\"\n\nBut the swing of \"If\" seized his imagination and he would sometimes astonish Joe and Hal by reciting dramatically:\n\n\"If you can keep your head when all about you\nAre losing theirs and blaming it on you.\"\n\nTed took an ignoble revenge by calling Steve \"Virgil\" and \"Byron,\" but Steve was immune to insult. His education was progressing at a rapid rate.\n\nOne feature of Andover life is the Sunday morning sermon, sometimes given by the Head, but more often by some visiting clergyman of wide reputation. Most of these men know how to preach.\nA Western bishop, inexperienced in Andover, addressed the student body on one Sunday morning in January, using a high-pitched nasal voice and condescending tone. \"My dear young friends,\" he began, \"let me speak to you this morning as one older and perhaps wiser than yourselves. I wish to talk briefly with you about the sweetness of life \u2013 the sweetness of life. What an exquisite phrase! The sweetness of life! My dear boys, life is rich, life is clean, life is precious, life is sweet, and nowhere is it more so than here.\"\nBy this time, the school had formed its estimate of the speaker, and smiles were passing from mouth to mouth. But, with the instinctive courtesy which Andover boys always display when they know that the Head is looking at them grimly, they managed to twist their faces into a semblance of seriousness. The bishop concluded his sermon in peace.\n\nAfter the morning service, the Head, at the bishop's request, showed him about the school and took him to see one or two boys\u2019 rooms. With a hope that Steve and Joe might have their quarters decently picked up, he escorted his guest to Day Hall, climbed the stairs, knocked on the door, and then opened it carefully. To his dismay, there floated out, in a voice which was a perfect reproduction of the clergyman's rather nasal tones, Steve.\nAnd finally, my dear friends, boys who are so rich in hope and all the dear things of life\" \u2014 Hal, who had a remarkable gift of mimicry, was quite obviously entertaining a group of friends with a parody of the morning sermon. The Head closed the door with a Bang! and fled precipitately, hardly daring to trust himself to look at his visitor.\n\nAmong Steve's best friends in Andover were fellows from other countries, including Chinese and Japanese. Some of them made the soccer team, and most of them did very well in their studies. Indeed, it was during this very year that a Chinese won a fifty-dollar prize in American History, and another was second in the Means speaking contest. Often boys from Japan and from Holland, from Cuba, and from Mexico, could be found in the school.\nOf the same class were very few negroes. But there was one who lived in Steve's dormitory. His name was Burton, and he was almost white in color, with very few Ethiopian characteristics. He was always quiet in manner and tended strictly to business.\n\nDuring the Christmas holidays, Steve came back to Andover after spending a week with Hal, and one day found under his door an invitation to take Sunday dinner with Jack Foote, one of the Senior English instructors. When Steve appeared at one-thirty, he found Burton there in the Foote library, and naturally greeted him cordially. As they sat down to dinner, Mrs. Foote, who was famous for her hospitality, asked, \"Where is your home, Mr. Burton?\"\n\n\"In Birmingham, Alabama,\" he replied, with a faint suggestion of a Southern drawl.\n\nOh, yes, I should have known by your accent.\nSteve, who knew Burton's background, was taken aback. Mrs. Foote inquired, \"And how do your people interact with the negroes, given their numbers?\"\n\n\"Really, Mr. Burton,\" she asked, \"are there any respectable negroes among you?\"\n\nShocked, Steve asked politely for the salt. Mrs. Foote's curiosity piqued, she pressed on, \"Yes, there are many who are my friends.\"\n\n\"But,\" Mrs. Foote persisted, and Steve broke etiquette by knocking over a vase of flowers with his sleeve, spilling water on the tablecloth. Mrs. Foote appeared troubled, but Steve had achieved his goal. He apologized.\nThe problems in the text are minimal. Here's the cleaned text:\n\nGies were profuse and lengthy, and then the subject turned in another direction and was not resumed. A day or two later, Steve happened to meet Mr. Foote on the street and explained to him the motive for his strange conduct.\n\n\"Fisher,\u201d said Mr. Foote when the story was over, \"you're a genius, and I'll recommend you to any diplomat I know for a job as his secretary. I never knew a fellow who had so much native tact.\u201d\n\n\"I guess it wasn't tact, Mr. Foote,\u201d responded Steve. \"I was just scared for fear Mrs. Foote might get in wrong.\u201d\n\n\"If that isn't tact, then I never saw a dictionary,\u201d was Mr. Foote's answer. Anyhow, you saved Mrs. Foote a good deal of embarrassment, and I'm very grateful.\"\n\nTwo of the most picturesque figures in school that year were the Romanoff boys, sons of a Russian nobleman who had fallen from his high estate.\nThe two young Romanoff brothers, having fled their estate during World War II and become refugees in Constantinople, were discovered by a wealthy American who pledged to educate them. He consequently brought them to the United States and enrolled them at Andover. Neither brother had previously engaged in any manual or mental labor and showed no inclination to take their studies seriously. Instead, they spent their time loitering in the dormitory, disturbing their fellow students and accepting without question all the bizarre tales told to them.\n\nA senior class student named Fat Stillman, known for his laziness and mischievousness, took great pleasure in tormenting the Romanoff brothers. One evening, Ivan, the older brother, visited Ted's room for a discussion.\nThat evening, Ted arrived at Fat's quarters bearing a large document sealed with wax, resembling a government communication.\n\n\"What's this?\" Fat asked suspiciously.\n\n\"Read it,\" Ted replied laconically.\n\nFat waded through several layers of paper and eventually reached a letter, written in a heavy ornate hand. Upon deciphering it, the contents read:\n\n\"Mr. Stillman, Sir:\nYou have insulted me, and I must reply. If you are a gentleman, you will answer by the sword. The porter will make arrangements, please.\n\nWith the respect, your slave,\n\"Ivan Romanoff.\"\n\n\"What are you trying to do? Trying to make a goat out of me?\"\n\n\"I don't think so. This Romanoff is a gentleman, and I am his second. He's challenging you to a duel, and you'll have to accept or be called a coward.\"\nWho's a coward? I don't want to fight this infernal foreigner. How are you going to get out of it? Roman- ALL FOR ANDOVER off was brought up around the Czar's court, and he'll think it's mighty strange if you try to escape his challenge. Look here, Fat, this is a matter of national honor. You've got to meet him. What does he want to fight with? Swords, of course. What else would gentlemen use? You seem to think this is an ordinary street brawl. I tell you this is the real thing. You'll have to fight him or be run out of Anover.\n\nFat was terrified. He had never dreamed of anything like this. He would have been brave enough in a boxing match, but a fight with swords made him shiver with fear. At the same time, he had no wish to be made the laughingstock of the school.\n\nWhen does he want to fight? he stammered.\n\"To-morrow, at dawn, just north of the cemetery,\" Fat gasped. \"The cemetery!\"\n\n\"Of course. That's the best place. There'll be nobody to disturb us there,\" Fat replied, trying to appear courageous but inwardly growing more and more alarmed.\n\nThe Second Year\n\n\"You'd better get a second right away. Maybe Steve Fisher will help you out. Shall I tell my man that you'll be there?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'll be there,\" whispered Fat; and Ted went chuckling back to the Romanoffs to settle further details.\n\nJust after six o'clock the next morning, in the cold and damp March air, several figures might have been seen stealing out of Day Hall. Among them was Fat Stillman, with Steve on one side and Joe on the other \u2013 for both had generously agreed to be his seconds.\nBrace up, Fat, said Joe. Remember, you're fighting this morning for your country's honor. Yes, added Steve, even if you're wounded or killed, you'll never be forgotten.\n\nAt the rendezvous, the two Romanoffs and Ted had already gathered. Ted carried two heavy sabres, ostentatiously, richly ornamented with silver and evidently the property of some Russian officer. Ted handed one to Ivan Romanoff, who promptly swung it through the air with the dexterity of a practiced swordsman.\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\n\"Look here, Joe,\" said Steve loudly enough for Fat to hear. \"This is going to be murder, that's all. Can't we stop it?\"\n\nNo, replied Joe grimly. Even if Fat is slain, he must go through with it.\n\n\"Murder! Slain!\" The dread words reached Fat's ears. For a moment, he wavered. Then, throwing his weapon to the ground, he said,\nRomanoff: I'm going to apologize if I insulted you. What does he mean? asked Ivan. He says he's sorry for injuring your feelings. And won't he fight? demanded Ivan. No, I won't, burst out the irate Fat. I'll fight any man in a stand-up boxing match, but I'm not going to let myself get killed by a wild foreigner. \"Oh, very well,\" smiled Ivan, throwing a glance of contempt at Fat. If my enemy won't fight, I cannot make him. Come on, Sergius. The two brothers, followed by Ted, stalked majestically off the field of combat. \"A nice American you are!\" said Steve to Fat. This'll be a fine story to tell your friends,\" added Joe.\n\nThe Second Year 217\n\n\"You're not going to tell anybody about this, are you?\" asked Fat pleadingly. \"Why, it'll be all around school in half an hour.\"\nEverybody knew about the duel by hour. Before the day was over, Fat began to wish he had fought, even if he had been killed. He realized the truth of the oratorical axiom, \"But there is something worse than Death.\" Within a week, the Romanoffs had packed up their goods and departed for unknown regions. Their benefactor had grown weary of paying their expenses at what they seemed to think was an excellent club. Last heard of, they were working in a mill in Fall River. The memory of the great combat lingered behind them, and old boys still point out to \"preps\" the spot where the Russian made Fat apologize. As for Ted, he said very little, but his thoughts were \"long, long thoughts.\"\n\nAfter January first, the school settles frankly.\nAndover is a place where snow falls early and often, with drifts piling high along roads. In early February, the wind shifted to the south, bringing a light drizzle that made it seem like April. Small boys in rubber boots waded through the slush as little rivulets ran down the gutters. Towards evening, the breeze turned colder, although the rain still continued to fall, and by nightfall it had grown so chilly that few ventured out. In the very early morning, Steve was aroused by a succession of thunderous noises and stepped to the window. He had never seen such a spectacle. The great elms along the Arch were masses of ice: their limbs encased as if in crystal.\nWith armor and branches breaking all around, he sat watching the sight for a long time. It was hard for him to get to sleep again once the problems began. When he peered out into the daylight at seven o'clock, he was horrified by the destruction that seemed spread about. Everywhere on the campus were broken branches and sometimes whole trees; it looked like a battlefield after a bombardment. Wires were down along the streets; trolley cars had ceased to run; and people were picking their way carefully among the debris. As he was on his way to breakfast, a falling elm branch struck him on the shoulder and knocked him down. He soon learned that he could walk under the trees only at the risk of his life.\nAs the day brightened and the sun came out clear, eyes were dazzled by the shining particles. It was still cold \u2013 well below the freezing point \u2013 and nothing was melting. One boy was hit in the head by a flying limb, and then the Head sent notices to the dormitories declaring a vacation for the remainder of the day. For many hours, the telephones would not function, and the electric lighting system was out of order. Ted \"220 ALL FOR ANDOVER\" and Hal spent the morning taking photographs of the damage wrought, but most of the students remained under cover, obeying orders and reading or playing cards. In the afternoon, it grew slightly warmer, and at night, the melting process was well started. On the following day, most of the ice had vanished, but relics of the devastation were scattered about the campus for a month or more. The expense of\nrepairing the damage was more than eight thousand dollars. Except for this temporary thaw, however, there was very little warm weather that winter. One snowfall followed another, until the fields were covered to a depth of two or three feet. Then it was that Steve, born and bred in the West, brought out his skis and showed the others a new form of sport. Around Pomp\u2019s Pond were many hills, down which he would slide at a terrific speed, describing great curves and sometimes executing a beautiful Telemark swing. Then Joe would try, and would go head over heels into the deep drifts, unable to retain his balance on the treacherous shoes. After they had learned the rudiments of the sport, Steve constructed a low jump and dared them to follow him. Many an afternoon ended with sore bodies and scraped legs, and Steve would win every time.\nJoe and the others scoffed as they limped about or rubbed bruises with arnica. The climax came when they all climbed Prospect Hill and came flying down the steep road, never stopping until they had gone a mile or more. It was glorious sport, and the boys hardly regretted the fact that the deep snow made skating impossible anywhere except on the hockey rink.\n\nThe term ended in a blinding whirling snowstorm, which seemed to bury everything just as Nature had determined to reassert her rights. During the Easter vacation, Steve remained in Andover, making his way through sloughs of mud and spending his afternoons in the baseball cage, practicing new curves. In the evening, he read or went to the movies, occasionally venturing out for a call on some member of the faculty - always diffidently, for, like every other student, he was hesitant.\nA young man, he didn't want to be suspected as a sycophant. At that time, he was introduced to books on Antarctic exploration, including Scott\u2019s Last Expedition, Cherry-Garrard's The Worst Journey in the World, and Shackleton\u2019s South. These thrilled him so much that he sat up until late hours. Their heroism was a kind he could thoroughly appreciate.\n\nOn the day when the spring term opened, the sun burst out once more through the clouds, and the mud on the campus was rapidly drying up. It was a strange transition Steve watched in Day Hall. On Monday evening, the corridors were silent as an Egyptian tomb, and his whistle echoed in the empty spaces; not a light was burning except in his own room; and outside there was almost no noise except the purring of motors.\nOn Main Street and the striking of the chimes at regular intervals. Twenty-four hours later, the dormitory was a seething flood of human life, with trunks being hurled hither and thither, voices roaring in loud protests or stormy greetings, and a general rush from one spot to another. The Hill was a center of energy. Life had returned to the dead bones of the school. Once started in the term, Steve found himself in the midst of baseball practice. It was the game he really liked best. Football was often just hard labor, but he never grew weary of pitching, and a game was for him a time of complete physical delight. It filled most of his spare hours, except on Sunday afternoons, when he sometimes went with Hal, Ted, and one of their friends among the instructors on a canoeing trip up the river.\nShawsheen River, the little stream that flowed through Andover into the wide Merrimac. On warm May afternoons, there was no more pleasant pastime than paddling through the forests and marshes. It was an easy method of getting temporarily out of civilization into a region that had at least the superficial appearance of primitiveness.\n\nOn one such seductive afternoon, Hal and Ted, having secured the necessary excuses, went off by themselves, with Joe for ballast in the bottom of the canoe. Steve also took a canoe with Dave \"Church,\" one of the younger teachers. They were following along behind. About a mile or two upstream, the river, ordinarily rather narrow, widens out into a kind of lagoon, nearly a quarter of a mile wide. Here the boys in the front canoe were having a kind of combat, splashing water on each other, when suddenly\nIt shifted and turned over, dumping the three occupants into the water.\n\"Help! Help!\" cried Hal in imploring tones. \"I'm drowning! I'm drowning!\" And he sank below the surface.\n224 ALL FOR ANDOVER\nIt happened that both Joe and Ted knew that Hal had never learned to swim. They were therefore very much alarmed. With sweeping strokes, Joe rounded the bow of the canoe, just in time to see Hal's head, crowned with eel-grass, emerge, and to watch him stand erect, only breast-high in the water. Joe, who had never thought of letting his feet down, quickly discovered that he could touch bottom, and then Ted, who was on the other side, gave a loud laugh as he called out:\n\"We're on some kind of a sand-bar. It isn't over three or four feet deep.\"\nMeanwhile, several other boats, including the one occupied by Steve, drew nearer.\nThe three boys, covered with mud and slime up to their waists in water, presented a ludicrous appearance as they stood there. Without delay, the boys turned the canoe over, bailed it out, and crawled in. The spectators made scoffing remarks as the boys recovered sufficiently to paddle off.\n\n\"That was a real heroic rescue you made, Joe,\" Ted commented.\n\n\"Shut up!\" Joe retorted, in no angelic humor. \"Don't you know we won't hear the last of this? Steve was in one of the canoes with Dave Church, and he'll tell it all over school.\"\n\n\"I know I did,\" Hal put in.\n\n\"I honestly thought I was going to drown,\" Joe responded. \"That's the trouble.\"\n\nThe boys returned to the Hill as unostentatiously as possible, but not without some stares and comments on their damp clothes.\nIn the deepest part of the Shawsheen, where the water in that mighty stream is nearly waist-high, a canoe containing three well-known Andover men was tipped over last Sunday, throwing into the water Theodore Roosevelt Sherman.\n\n(Heralded as) The Heroic Rescue of Theodore Roosevelt Sherman\n\nTwo weeks after the incident, the May issue of the Mirror, the alleged literary \"magazine of the school,\" was released. Joe, who seldom read the periodical, was glancing through his copy preparatory to tossing it into the waste basket, when his eye fell on something of interest. The following item appeared in the publication:\n\nHeroic Rescue of a Drowning Man by Andover Football Hero\n\nIn the deepest part of the Shawsheen, where the water in that mighty stream is nearly waist-deep, a canoe containing three well-known Andover men capsized last Sunday, plunging Theodore Roosevelt Sherman into the water.\nHarold Manning and Joseph Watson, both Andover students. Unfortunately, Manning couldn't swim, and a sad accident was averted only by Watson's promptness. He reached Manning's side just as he was going down for the third time, lifted him out, and threw him half-conscious into the canoe. The application of restoratives by Sherman brought Manning back from the grave. It is expected that Watson will be awarded a Carnegie medal for bravery.\n\nWith fierce execrations, Joe rushed over to Steve, who was sitting at his desk, and said, waving the paper before his eyes, \"Look here, have you seen this?\"\n\nOf course. It's a wonderful tribute to you, isn't it? I remember now seeing you make the rescue, but I had forgotten about it.\n\nBy heck, Steve, I can't stand much of this. If you start kidding me about that, I'll dump you.\n\"All right, Joe, you old warrior; but you can't fight everybody who teases you. Better take your medicine like a man. Grin, and don't try to scrap over it. I guess you're right, as usual, answered Joe, after a moment's reflection, but I certainly would like to beat up some of these court jesters who can't let a thing alone. Joe had plenty of burdens to bear. When he went to dinner that evening, his path was a triumphal progress. Fellows whom he had never spoken to came up and congratulated him, many of them having taken the article quite seriously. His intimate friends grinned sardonically and occasionally asked, \"How's the champion diver to-night? \" or similar idiotic questions. Joe only smiled blandly back, as if he had no interest.\"\nDuring this spring, Steve first truly met Shylock \u2013 Renfrew, a classmate known for his uniqueness. Renfrew was a short, stocky, freckled man, unattractive personally and quiet in his conduct. His features resembled a fox, and his eyes were sly and shifty. He always took a conspicuous position in the classroom and regularly passed with minimal effort, never failing a course. Shylock was a natural financial genius. Upon arriving at Andover, he told Steve he had exactly\nA generous patron gave him seven cents, the exact sum needed to take him to school from his home in New Jersey. Once arrived on the ground, he was quite capable of handling himself. He secured a room and a position as a waiter in one of the boarding houses, and started out on his speculative career. He established a shoe-shining parlor in his dormitory; he became a broker for English themes, buying and selling them at a reasonable rate; he became the agent for a laundry hitherto unknown and succeeded in acquiring most of its trade on the Hill. As a lower middleman, he devised a scheme by which each student, on leaving the swimming pool, received, for a small sum paid each term, a towel and a cake of soap, neatly wrapped in a little bundle; and before long he had a small group of subordinates managing the system.\nSteve discovered that Shylock was a wealthy man when he met him. From his room in Day Hall, Shylock directed his lieutenants, making them perform labor while he reaped the rewards. He had a monopoly, such as the candy trade of the undergraduates, and could drive out any outsider attempting to encroach on his territory. His latest scheme was the establishment of a loan office, where impecunious students could borrow small sums at exorbitant interest rates. In this capacity, he conducted business for several weeks. However, the Head eventually became suspicious and summoned him to the office. A little cross-questioning soon revealed the situation, and the Head kindly but firmly ordered Shylock to leave.\n\n\"You're just a bit too wise for us, Renfrew,\" said the Head.\nHead, in passing sentence. A school isn't a commercial institution. You belong on the Stock Exchange or in the oil business. We haven't got enough opportunities for you here in Andover. Some day you will probably be a millionaire and will be glad to build us a library or a chemical laboratory; but at this moment your genius needs other outlets. I shall watch your career with interest to see whether you land in jail or in the Union League Club.\n\nShylock naturally posed as a much-abused citizen, and complained to Steve of his treatment.\n\nAll for Andover.\n\nI haven't done a thing to hurt anybody. Why, I've helped a whole lot of fellows out when they needed a little money and couldn't get it anywhere else. And I have never broken a single school regulation.\n\nYes, I don't know what the school is going to do without you, Shylock. You've been a public benefactor.\nI don't suppose you've grown poor because of it? I guess not. I've put away over two thousand dollars this year in the bank already. That's good business. It's going to be a little hard to find another place where there are as good pickings as there are here, isn't it? Oh, no. I'll go now to a tutoring school and make Yale in the fall. I can work my way through there. I've got all sorts of plans in my head. Well, I'm glad I don't owe you any money. Do you know, you're almost the only one in the dorm that doesn't. Don't you want to collect my loans for me, for a commission of ten percent? I don't think I'd be a success in high finance. Shylock. You'll have to find somebody without a conscience.\n\nTwo days later Shylock had departed.\nHe didn't sell his monopoly control or harass debtors before graduating from Yale in the summer, possessing a considerable bank account. His final address was a small town in Oklahoma's oil fields. The spring term progressed swiftly, with games on Wednesdays and Saturdays, ensuring constant activity for both spectators and players. Some men played tennis, baseball had a large squad, and an entire army seemed dedicated to track athletics. However, Andover suffered a defeat at Exeter's track meet, leaving disappointed rooters. Coach Shepley was an exceptional coach, but he had poor material. It took time to transform novices into runners and weight men. Once again, Joe proved to be the most significant point-winner.\nThe athlete took first place in the hammer-throw and shot-put, and second place in the javelin-throw. However, one man cannot do it all, as he had to admit. As for sports, everything centered around the nine. The team itself was not strong, and nothing gave it unity. Repeatedly, a game seemingly won would be thrown away by ludicrous errors. In one contest, a catcher's throw over the third baseman's head brought in three runs for the opponents and lost the match for Andover. Steve, who pitched most of the preliminary games, felt himself improving and occasionally showed brilliance, but he sometimes found himself so nervous that he could hardly throw a ball straight. There was something wrong with the psychology of the players, and no one seemed able to diagnose it.\n\nOn the morning of the eventful day, Coach\nDavis called Steve over to his room for a talk. \"See here,\" he said, I'm going to put you in at the beginning of the game. You aren't as brilliant as Duke Evans, but you're much steadier. Remember, this is your first real test. The one thing that is vital is to keep your head. No matter what happens, no matter how things seem to be going wrong, be cool. If you can do this, we may win. But I'm going to be honest with you and say that it all depends on the kind of confidence you can inspire in those boys.\"\n\n\"I'll do my best,\" replied Steve laconically.\n\n'That's all anyone can ask. Go to it.'\n\nNothing more was said. When Steve stepped out on the diamond that afternoon and faced the great throng of spectators, he had no instructions whatever beyond what the coach had told him. Concealing his nervousness under an outward calm.\nSerenity, he tried his best to maintain an easy manner, as Bo Swift had taught him. The Exeter team, however, was made up of seasoned veterans who were not to be frightened by appearances. They were burning, moreover, to avenge the slaughter of the preceding year.\n\nThe battle which followed is one which those who saw it will never forget. The sky was cloudless, and the light breeze which occasionally floated across the playing fields was just enough to cool the air. Conditions were perfect for a great game. Just as the chimes from the Tower rang out two o'clock, Steve pitched the first ball; Swede Larsen, the Exeter batter, hit it to right field for a perfect single. Never was a game begun more unfortunately for Andover. Swede ran down to second, to the accompaniment of a wild throw from Van Jackson, the Andover catcher.\nWho was obviously excited. The second man, \"Stew\" Berrill, swung twice at the ball and then knocked a grounder to second base, which was so sluggishly fielded that he managed to reach first safely. Two men on bases\u2014one of them on third\u2014and nobody out! Had any pitcher ever faced such odds? Stew ran down to second on the next ball thrown. The third batter, Ducky Pond, was a famous hitter.\n\nAs he faced Pond, Steve could hear the roar from the Exeter stands, sounding like the cries of the Roman populace in the Coliseum, demanding a sacrifice. He could see Coach Davis on the bench, chewing viciously at a blade of grass but otherwise making no sign. Steve's mind was not abnormally active; but over and over again in his head were the words, \"Keep cool!\" which he recited as a disciple of Cou\u00e9 reiterates.\nHis well-known formula. The next ball was a foul, to the left of third base. Then came a wild swing by Ducky at a beautiful out-drop. Two and one! Steve cunningly molded the ball in his hands and then, with a strange twist which he had never experimented with before in an important game, threw an upshoot. It caught Ducky unprepared. He hesitated, let it fly by, and the umpire shouted, \"Strike out!\" The Andover stands encouraged Steve. He caught the echoes of the long yell with his name on the end. But he never glanced away from the diamond. His mind was concentrated on just one thing. He knew the next batter, Sid Freeman, very well indeed, and felt that he could out-guess him. A slow out-drop tempted Sid, who lunged helplessly at it. Then he waited.\nWhile a high ball suddenly dropped below his shoulders and was called a strike. Steve, with his plan well conceived, next sent a swift straight one directly over the plate. Sid, expecting another curve, waited; the ominous words rang out: \"Strike three!\" Two men out. Steve thought a long fly would not let in a run. As he was winding up for the next throw, he saw a figure make a quick spring from third to home. With a rapid motion, he threw the ball wide to the catcher, and the runner, Swede Larsen, was caught between two enemies. It was only a question of time before he was touched, and the inning was over. Steve attempted to conceal his sigh of relief. It was nothing to him that the stands were wildly shouting his name, and his teammates were patting him on the back. All\nAndover wanted only to quench his thirst and take his seat by the Coach, listening to his advice. He recognized that he had narrowly escaped and might not always be so fortunate. The game continued. Andover failed to score, and Exeter placed men on bases repeatedly, only for Steve to tighten and strike out the following batters. The spectators were on edge every second, anticipating the next thrill. Thrills came one after another until Mr. Gordon, the Andover Professor of Chemistry, exclaimed to his companions, \"I can't endure this any longer. If it continues like this, I'll have a stroke. You'll find me in the car after the game.\"\n\nInning followed inning, and the \"lucky seventh\" arrived. Once more, Steve, with only:\nA man was gone, and two remained on bases. He struck out the next two batters. Then Andover came to bat, and the school, stimulated by the cheerleaders, rose for a rally. The first man up was tall Van Jackson, the aggressive Andover catcher, who, having fanned twice before, was now eager to redeem himself. This time he waited patiently until two balls had been called, and then hit the next one for a long fly along the third-base line. He easily reached second base, and Andover now had its first real opportunity for scoring. Pa McCormick, the next batter, sent a hard grounder to the first baseman, who fumbled it for a second, thus allowing Van to make third. Steve was next on the list. We shall not attempt to analyze his sensations as he stood facing the pitcher, realizing that the fate of the game might hang on his next move.\nSteve depended on what he did. Intuitively, he waited while the first ball shot by, but it was an inshoot, a perfect strike. The Exeter howled derisively. Then, in quick succession, came two balls. \"Good eye, Steve!\" shouted the Andover contingent. The next one Steve diagnosed as a drop. When he saw that it was coming straight for the plate, he gripped his bat and struck. He felt the resulting crash and, as he had been taught, put his head down and ran for first without even looking to see where the ball had gone. He heard a tremendous roar of sound, but did not dare to glance around until he heard the coach at first say, \"Hold up! Hold up!\" Then he glanced around to see that Van had just crossed home plate well ahead of the ball. Steve had hit a liner over the short-stop's head, and even slow-moving Van had managed to score.\nWhat happened after that was hazy in Stevens mind. He watched the next two Andover men strike out, leaving him on first. He knew that, when he took his place once in the box, the school was standing up, cheering as one unit for their pitcher. For a moment he felt a touch of the old nervousness. And then there came to him the feeling that the team could not lose. Once in the lead, they acquired a kind of confidence which is the natural product of success. The Andover short-stop made a one-hand catch which thrilled the bleachers. Bill Jones, in center field, seized a long fly which looked as if it might be good for three bases. They played as if inspired. So also in the final inning, Steve distinguished himself. A high foul ball near first was easily captured. Then a grounder, beautifully fielded by the third baseman.\nman accounted for a second opponent. The next was Steve's old friend, Swede, who had made Exeter's first hit in the game. Remembering that hit, Steve studied Swede with particular care and had a second's conference with Van Jackson. Then he wound up slowly and threw. It was a high ball, but directly over the plate, and Swede swung viciously at it. \"One strike!\" Swede then struck with fury at the next offering, which ended as a wide out-drop, quite beyond his reach. The next ball was of the underhand variety. Once more Swede used all his might in trying to knock a home-run, but he missed the ball by inches. The game was over. The one thought in Steve's mind as he evaded those who tried to hoist him on their shoulders and ran off to the Gymnasium was that he had made amends to the school for his conduct during\nThe football season. He had won his own baseball game \u2014 an achievement seldom accorded even to the best pitchers. Nothing touched him more than when the coach, in the locker room, came up, shook him by the hand, and said, \"Steve, that was a perfect game. I never saw better courage anywhere than you showed in critical moments.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact, Steve could hardly believe it when he was told that he had struck out seventeen Exeter men.\n\nThe demonstration that evening was unusually vociferous, for it was the first one of the year. The new boys had never seen a celebration, and they were full of joy in the event. With the accustomed ceremonies, the coach and the nine were drawn through the streets by a mob of preps, the lighted torches waving above their heads. The same old speeches were made.\n\n240. ALL FOR ANDOVER.\nSteve was slightly bored by the school traditions, despite the same old fervor. He wondered what caused the excitement, tired from continuous training and the game's strain. Being more sophisticated than the previous year, he made his speech at the fire, acknowledging the coach and the school's support. \"Fellows, we owe this victory to our wonderful coach and the marvelous way the school stood behind us. I'm glad we came through. We'll try to do it again next year, and I hope I'll be here to help.\"\n\nEveryone else who spoke referred to Steve's remarkable pitching and gave him credit for the victory. The Head spoke about this at his house.\nIn my thirty years of baseball experience, I have never seen a pitcher extract himself from so many difficult situations as Steve Fisher. He was solely responsible for winning the game. On the following Monday, Steve was unanimously chosen as captain of the nine for the next season.\n\n\"Bully!\" shouted Joe an hour later. \"The Fighting Four are proud of you, Steve.\"\n\n\"Why, here's the school hero!\" cried the always satiric Ted, as he caught sight of Steve.\n\n\"If you don't shut up, I'll just toss you straight out the window,\" Steve spoke up.\n\n\"All right, Hercules,\" responded Ted, with assumed humility and fear. \"But you wouldn't strike a man smaller than yourself, would you?\"\n\n\"You bet I would, Cupid,\" answered Steve.\n\"And mash him to a jelly. I'm a bad man today.\" Just then in came Hal. \"Hello,\" he began. \"Why, if here isn't our little hero - \" He had barely reached this point when Steve was upon him, and the rough-house had begun. Steve pinioned Hal's arms until the latter howled for mercy. \"Now, will you keep still?\" asked Steve. \"Yes, yes, you - \" gurgled Hal, hardly able to get a syllable out. Let me up, you big lummox. I'll be good.\" \"Am I a hero?\" insisted Steve. \"No, no, no,\" responded Hal. I should say not. You aren't, and you never will be.\" All right. Get up. Hal rose and brushed his clothes. Say, you've got a mean arm. You ought to go on the stage as a strong man. What's that? asked Steve, making a mock threatening gesture. Help! Help! I didn't mean anything, protested Hal.\nAfter that, Steve was left alone, untroubled by the compliments of his friends.\n\nIn the Seats of the Mighty\n\nPhillips and Bartlet Halls are the oldest dormitories on Andover Hill. Built originally for the use of students in the once powerful Theological Seminary, they have been standing for more than a century. Their location is so convenient and their rooms so large and comfortable that they have become very popular with seniors. And it was in Bartlet that Steve, Joe, and Ted had arranged to have a suite of rooms together on the second floor during their Senior year.\n\nHal had planned to live in Phillips, where, as he said, he could be away from the confounded den of noise \"which Steve and Joe seemed always to gather about them.\"\n\nWhen Steve stepped into his new quarters on Tuesday afternoon of the first week, he found Joe.\n\"Hi, Jumbo,\" he shouted, as he crossed the threshold.\n\"Oh, there you are,\u201d exclaimed Joe joyfully, nearly knocking down two or three lesser men in his rush to get to Steve and shake his hand.\n\"How's your muscle?\"\n\"Good enough, I guess. You don't look as if you had been fading away, either.\"\n\"No, I\u2019m too fat,\" complained Joe. \"The family made me go up in the country with them, and all I could do for exercise was to play golf and fish. Feel of that arm.\" And he elevated a mighty mass of flesh and sinew for Steve's inspection.\n\"Oh, that's all right,\" said Steve encouragingly. \"Fred Davis will have that off inside of two weeks.\"\nJust then Ted appeared, looking thinner after an operation for appendicitis, but with his spirits high.\nas high as usual. Hal did not come in until right after dinner, having motored out from Boston. He was considerably tanned, but his Harvard accent was evidently unmodified. The four sat talking during the evening, and it seemed as if a good part of the Senior Class found their way to that room. It was quite evident that Steve and Joe were to be leaders, and their opinions were accepted on most subjects. In American schools, it is usually the athlete who is most respected by his mates. Skill in games is a kind of ability which every boy can appreciate and admire. A quick, clever lad like Ted Sherman could exert some influence, and his election as football manager had made him a conspicuous figure in school. Everyone liked him, but there was a feeling that Joe and Steve were more reliable. The truth is:\n\nas high as usual. Hal came in late after dinner, having driven from Boston. He was tanned but his Harvard accent remained unchanged. The four spent the evening in conversation, and it seemed that a significant portion of the Senior Class had joined them. It was clear that Steve and Joe would be leaders, and their opinions carried weight on most topics. In American schools, athletes are often the most respected members of the student body. The ability to excel in sports is a talent that all boys can understand and admire. A quick, intelligent lad like Ted Sherman held sway and his appointment as football manager had made him a prominent figure at school. Everyone admired him, but there was a sense that Joe and Steve were more dependable. The truth is:\nTed was an inveterate politician. He had a smile ready to greet each newcomer and his shrewd eyes were watching every turn of events. He could be seen in corners, discussing school politics with prominent society men and arranging slates for the fall elections. More than once, he gained his ends by using either Joe or Steve as a stalking-horse and inducing them to support plans which he himself had concocted. Hardly a day went by without a new scheme from Ted, destined to affect the future of the school and, in his eyes, that of the nation.\n\nThe three roommates were finding their quarters exceedingly pleasant, and were looking forward to a delightful term when all their expectations were apparently blighted. Two or three days after school began, it happened that Steve was sauntering up the Elm Arch rather vaguely, all for Andover.\nConscious of the beauty around him, Steve was halted by the Head.\n\n\"Good-morning, Steve,\" he said, shaking his hand. \"I'm glad to see you back in such good condition. I imagine that you're going to play some fine football this season.\"\n\n\"I don't know how that will be, sir,\" answered Steve modestly. \"Besides, I may not be able to play. Don't you remember what happened a year ago?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" the Head replied. \"But, if you'll let me say so, you've grown up a bit since then. By the way, can't you drop in for a moment at my house tonight? There's a little matter I want to see you about.\"\n\n\"I'll be glad to, sir,\" answered Steve, a little amazed at receiving a casual invitation like this from the Head. Steve had not yet fully comprehended how important he was looked upon in school affairs. Nor was he yet aware of the extent to which the Head studied his boys,\nSteve, adorned for once with a white stiff collar and a rather newer necktie than usual, rang the bell at the Head's house with a good deal of trepidation. All his anxiety quickly vanished, however, with the gracious reception which was accorded him. For a few minutes they chatted about school affairs, the Head showing Steve an astounding knowledge of what was going on in the student body. They discussed football prospects, possibilities as school leaders, conditions in the dormitories, and other interesting topics; then the Head brought the conversation around to his real business.\n\nSteve, I'd rather like to put a real job up to you \u2014 something that I wouldn't ask another fellow in school to do. Do you remember Thornike Hamlin last year?\nWho is the little boy with old clothes and long hair? Yes, that's him. He's the son of an old friend of mine, and he didn't do well last year. I shouldn't say that. He was a bad egg, wasn't he? He gambled a lot and spent his time with a fast crowd. He never looked very healthy to me. No, he didn't get started right. But he has good stuff in him, I think, if he could only have a little help. How would you like to room with him?\n\nRoom with Dyke Hamlin! What do you mean, sir?\n\n\"Just what I say, Steve. The boy's back here again and wants to be readmitted. I can't take him unless he's going to be in good hands and go straight. Unless you're willing to help. I'll have to refuse to let him come back and I honestly rather hate to turn him down.\"\n\nThat's a tough proposition, sir. I guess...\n\nWho is the little boy with old clothes and long hair? He's the son of an old friend of mine, and he didn't do well last year. I should not have said that he was a bad egg. He gambled a lot and spent his time with a fast crowd. He never looked very healthy to me. No, he didn't get started right. But he has good stuff in him, I think, if he could only have a little help. How would you like to room with him?\n\nRoom with Dyke Hamlin! What do you mean, sir?\n\n\"Just what I say, Steve. The boy's back here again and wants to be readmitted. I can't take him unless he's going to be in good hands and go straight. Unless you're willing to help. I'll have to refuse to let him come back and I honestly rather hate to turn him down.\"\n\nThis is a tough proposition, sir. I guess...\nMaybe you don't know Dyke Hamlin, besides that I'm rooming in Bartlet now with Joe Watson and Ted Sherman.\n\n\"Yes, I've heard that. But they don't need you and Dyke does. If you're willing, I can give you a double room on the top floor, and you can take Dyke in with you there. That'll leave Joe and Ted by themselves on the second floor, where you can see them as often as you like. But don't decide now. I can let you have until tomorrow morning to think it over.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir. If you want me to do it, I will. It was just a bit sudden, that's all. I don't believe I should ever have thought of it myself.\"\n\n\"I imagine not,\" said the Head, with an amused air. \"And don't think that I want you to preach to this chap. All you need to do is be a bit friendly to him. I suspect he'll do the rest himself.\"\nSteve responded, \"I'll give it a try.\" The Head then asked him about his summer hunting trip. In a few minutes, Steve recounted his encounter with a large grizzly bear in the Rockies.\n\nAs they approached the door a half hour later, the Head said, \"I'll inform young Hamlin tomorrow morning, and he can come to see you then. Feel free to move your belongings whenever you wish. Much obliged, Steve. I can't express enough my gratitude for your assistance.\"\n\nSteve walked across campus in an unpleasant mood, thinking about living with Dyke Hamlin. He recalled him as a thin, untidy boy with a pimply face and furtive eyes, as if he knew himself to be guilty of mean deeds. How could he possibly get along with a rat of that sort? He was certain in for a poor year. Upon reaching his room,\n\"room, however, he made an effort to conceal his emotions.\n\n\"Back again, Steve? Have a good time?\" asked Joe.\n\"Yes, pretty good,\" replied Steve.\n\"What's the matter? Someone steal your pocketbook?\"\n\"No. It's just that I'm going to leave you and Ted, and move up to the top floor.\"\n\"Good Heavens, what have we done?\" inquired Ted.\n\"Nothing. Not a thing. It's just that the Head wants me to room with Dyke Hamlin.\"\n\"Dyke Hamlin. That tin-horn sport who lived down in Draper last year and used to go over to Lawrence every night?\"\n\"That's the fellow. You've got him sized up right.\"\n\"But, Steve - \"\n\"Yes, I know all you\u2019re going to say, and I don't blame you. I\u2019m not doing it because I want to. It's just because the Head asked me.\"\n\"Well, I must say that you're an easy mark. What are we going to do?\"\"\n\"Do go right along as if it had never happened. I'll be down here often enough; don't worry. Now that the news was broken, Steve felt a little easier, but he had some unhappy wakeful hours that night wondering how it would all turn out. All his instincts revolted against living in the same room with anyone with a reputation like that of Dyke Hamlin. Finally, he consoled himself with the thought that Dyke would probably be fired inside of a month, and the cheerfulness of this idea sent him off to sleep.\n\nSure enough, directly after chapel, Dyke came up to him and said in his fresh way, \"Hello, Steve. The Head says I\u2019m going to be put in with you. I\u2019m the Prodigal Son just returned, see. We\u2019ll have some high larks, all right. I guess he thinks you\u2019ll hold me down, but - Say, wait a minute, will you?\"\n\nIf you\u2019re going to put me in the same room with you, I won\u2019t stand for it. I\u2019ll see to it that you\u2019re expelled before the month is out.\"\nTo the room with me, remember I\u2019m not going to have any rough stuff. If you think I\u2019m going to let you play any of your dirty games, you\u2019re mistaken.\n\n\"All right, old man.\" Steve shuddered as the phrase of comradeship slipped out.\n\nWe might as well go up to the room now, suggested Steve, and see what we can do to fix it up.\n\nI\u2019m ready, replied Dyke. And so the two went over to Bartlet and up to the front room on the top floor, which had been assigned to them. Dyke had his trunks all open on the floor and started to unpack at once. First of all, he uncovered a huge photograph of a musical comedy singer, clad for the ballet.\n\nSome picture, eh, Steve? Look at it. I guess she'll decorate the room, all right. I\u2019ve got about a dozen just like that.\n\nSteve took a look at this work of art.\n\"disgusted, turned to Dyke. Let me tell you right now, that picture is never going to hang here. You're a fine sporting character, you are. You can either burn it or sell it, but it won't be put in this room.\n\nWhat's the matter, Steve? Going to pose as the virtuous youth?\n\nYes, I am, and you\u2019re going to follow me. You can take that daub, and any more that you\u2019ve got in your trunk, and sell the whole lot to the junkman. This is no harem.\n\nSay, Steve -\n\nOh, shut up, will you? said Steve, his patience nearly exhausted. I mean exactly what I say. If you don't get rid of that right off. I'll burn it up.\n\nAll right. All right. Don't get huffy about it. I didn't know you were such a Sunday-school leader.\n\nYou\u2019ll find out in a hurry just what kind of Sunday-school leader I am. The right sort of\"\nfellows in this place haven't any use for things of your type, and you might as well learn it now as later. That particular incident was closed. But Steve soon found that Dyke was fully equipped with dice, poker chips, and other instruments of depravity. When they were fully settled, Dyke one evening reached in his desk, brought out two enormous dice, and said:\n\nWant to roll the bones, Steve? I'll shoot you for a dime.\n\nThis time Steve was thoroughly hot. Reaching over, he caught the unsuspecting Dyke by the neck and threw him on the rug. Now, you young reprobate, give me those dice.\n\nDyke, for once really alarmed, tried to mutter something, but could not get his breath. Steve took the dice from his unresisting hand and threw them in the wood fire. Then he let Dyke up.\n\n\"You nearly strangled me. I can't breathe,\" he whined.\n\"You'll be alright. Fellows of your kind don't die easily. Sit down there and let me tell you something. Last year, when you roomed in Draper, you could do exactly as you pleased. It was none of my business whether you were a fool or not. But now you're my roommate, and you've got to obey the rules. I don't gamble here, and you're not going to. If I find you shooting dice or playing poker around here, I'll beat you within an inch of your worthless life. Furthermore, I'll give you some sound advice. There's nothing wrong about smoking for anybody who can stand it. But look at yourself. Look at your skinny body and little muscles. You're a poor, miserable invalid, without any strength at all. Why don't you brace up and be a man? I'll help you if you need it.\"\n\"you'll work at it, but I'm not going to let this room become a hangout for all the worthless dubs in school.\" Say, you're strong,\" answered Dyke, rather irrelevantly. I can feel your clutch yet. I didn't realize that you felt that way about dice. I was just amusing myself. If you don't like it, I'd just as soon stop playing.\n\n\"You'll stop, all right,\" was Steve's grim reply. See here, why don't you swear off smoking and gambling for a while and try to make a man of yourself?\n\n\"Why don't you brace up and be a man?\"\u2014 Pa/ye 25-7 IN SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 255\n\nMaybe I will turn over a new leaf responded Dyke, \"if you'll just let me alone.\"\n\nFrom that moment Steve was master of the situation. Dyke gradually became his abject follower, always ready to do his will. One morning when Steve jumped out of bed to go through some papers.\nDyke turned over and asked, \"Do you think those exercises would do me any good, Steve? If you would keep at them and stop eating so much candy.\"\n\n\"I'm going to give them a try,\" answered Dyke. From that morning on, Bartlet presented the strange spectacle of one extremely muscular and energetic youth and one emaciated and languid youngster going through contortions together. Following Steve's example, Dyke even adopted the habit of plunging into a cold bath \u2013 an act of heroism which he had never before attempted. Little by little, he became neater in his dress. He managed to shave every other day, and his hands were visibly cleaner.\n\n\"That young cub of yours is sprucing up a bit, isn't he?\" Joe asked one morning in December.\nI should say he was. He'll be a regular man before I get through with him. I bet he's put three inches on his biceps in a month.\n\nHumph! I can see him playing halfback on the eleven, can't you?\n\nThat's all right, talk away. But his build isn't half bad. Give him a year and he'll be able to toss you over his shoulder.\n\nIf he ever does, you ought to get a leather medal as his trainer.\n\nEarly in the fall, Steve, Joe, and Ted had all been made members of the Senior Council, a little group of seven representative fellows who virtually directed the affairs of the school so far as undergraduate sentiment was concerned. From time to time they met with the Head to talk over problems, and they often, with his permission, took the discipline in minor matters into their own hands. Steve had been elected President.\nThe Senior Class chose him as Chairman when the Council met. Naturally, his position among the students was prominent. When it was rumored that he was rooming with Dyke Hamlin, there was gossip, but it soon died down, and everyone accepted the situation as fact. Steve himself said nothing about the arrangement, but let his friends make their own inferences.\n\nJust after Thanksgiving, Joe came up to Steve's room before dinner and said, \"Steve, the Head has sent over an invitation for us to attend a Senior Council meeting right after dinner. Better put on a clean shirt.\" As soon as they finished eating, the two went directly to the Head's house, where they were soon joined by Larry Williams, the Senior Council member.\nBaseball managers Ed Green, Bart Hayes, and Jimmy Gould, all looking solemn. \"Must be something up,\" whispered Bart, as they filed into the library. The Head was as genial as usual, greeted them warmly, and provided comfortable chairs.\n\n\"Boys, I've got a nasty job for you,\" he said, without any preliminaries, as they settled down in their chairs. \"Ikey Rosenburg, the tailor from New York who has been coming here for fifteen years, has just been in to tell me that a mob of men went into his place this afternoon, got him in a corner on some pretext, and then walked off with about thirty sweaters and vests. So far as I can find out, each man stuffed something under his coat and went out. This is pretty serious. It's a criminal offense, and any fellow who is caught can be put in jail.\"\nI if want done. It\u2019s just plain thievery. I know boys did for fun, probably didn\u2019t stop think were doing, but it\u2019s no joke school. Now can you handle it yourselves, or shall I take it up?\n\nI think we can manage it, sir, replied Steve on behalf of himself and his colleagues. Can you give us two days to straighten it out?\n\nCertainly. Only I want all culprits caught and made to return what they have taken. Then I can take up matter their punishment with faculty.\n\nWe\u2019ll catch them all right, sir, said Jimmy. Then the seven members left and gathered in Joe\u2019s room for consultation. After hour two of debate, they finally produced what seemed workable plan, and Steve went upstairs. As entered room, noticed that.\nDyke was attired in a brand-new, gorgeously colored sweater, so brilliant that it was the most conspicuous object in sight.\n\n\"Hi, Dyke, where did you get the decoration?\"\n\n\"Oh, this sweater? It just came today. How do you like it?\"\n\nWell, everybody will know when you're in Seats of the Mighty 259, answered Steve noncommittally. You won't be any shrinking soul. Where did you buy it?\"\n\n\"Oh, I got it this afternoon,\" replied Dyke, manifestly unwilling to name the source. Steve did not wish to push the matter then, but, as he crawled into bed, he was convinced that Dyke had stolen the sweater at Rosenburg's, and his disappointment was keen. It was exactly the kind of act which Dyke would have rejoiced in the year before, but Steve had believed him capable of better things. Now he was reluctantly forced to admit that Dyke's reformation had been only partial.\nAfter the chapel the next morning, when the faculty and visitors had left the church, Steve, as President of the school, stepped to the front and made his first long speech in public:\n\nFellows, there are some mighty mean skunks here in school. A bunch of them went down to Ikey Rosenburg\u2019s place yesterday and took a lot of his stuff. Now we know a good many of the men who did it, and unless the goods are brought back immediately, there will be trouble. I want every single article that was taken handed in at Joe Watson\u2019s room, number 3, before ALL FOR ANDOVER at eight o'clock to-night. Any one who doesn\u2019t do this will have to take the consequences. That\u2019s all I have to say now; but I am sure that the opinion of all decent men in school will back up what the Senior Council has done.\n\nAll day long boys were knocking at Joe\u2019s door.\nAnd by eight o'clock, nineteen fellows had handed in their names. The Council had presumably a complete list of culprits. They went over these names one by one, discussing each individually. When this business was concluded, Joe said, \"I don't see Dyke Hamlin's name here.\"\n\n\"No, he hasn't been in today,\" Bart Hayes asked. \"Do you think he was mixed up in this mess?\"\n\n\"All I know is that he's been wearing Rosenburg's sweater. I saw the label this afternoon. And Ikey told me he didn't buy any yesterday.\"\n\nWhat about it, Steve? asked Bart.\n\n\"I don't know, but I'll soon find out if Dyke's upstairs,\" and he rushed from the room.\n\n\"Hi, Steve,\" said Dyke, innocently enough, as his chum entered.\n\n\"Hello,\" responded Steve, curtly enough.\nDyke wore the questionable gaudy garment, in Seats of the Mighty number 261. His temper was not smooth. \"Say, Dyke, could you tell me where you got that sweater?\"\n\n\"This sweater? Why \u2014 why -\n\n\"Why don't you tell me? You stole that from Ikey, and now I know it.\"\n\n\"I stole this sweater? You don't mean to say that you think I - \"\n\n\"It's a Rosenburg sweater, isn't it? Take it off.\" Sure enough, there were the tell-tale words, \"Isaac Rosenberg, Clothier, New York City,\" on a label just inside the neck.\n\nDyke had grown as crimson as the rug on which he stood. He was visibly much embarrassed and could hardly stammer a syllable. Finally, regaining courage, he said in a manly tone, \"Steve, bad as I am, I didn't suppose that you would suspect me of theft. This sweater was sent to me by a girl I know in New York who really thinks I'm a gentleman.\"\nI didn't want you to know about her until I had made a decent record. She must have bought it at Ikey's store on Fifth Avenue. Steve hesitated. Could this story be true? Dyke was looking him straight in the eye, his voice no longer trembled, and his whole bearing was that of an innocent person. There was a transformation in this boy. Steve was certain that Dyke was telling the truth.\n\n\"Look here, Dyke, I'm sorry, and ashamed, too. I've been thinking all day that you were one of that wild bunch who raided Ikey's place, and it has worried me nearly sick. I should have known, of course, that if you had been a big enough fool to do it, you would have owned up. I owe you an apology.\" Steve gripped the boy's hand until the youngster winced.\nIkey confirmed every article had been returned next morning and thanked the Council profusely. At chapel, Steve announced every implicated fellow would apologize before the student body or leave. One by one, culprits stepped to the platform and mumbled apologies. Two sturdy football linemen checked for levity. No smiles; everybody took the ceremony seriously. It was impressively demonstrative of student government. When it ended, the Head spoke to Steve, \"Thank you very much, Fisher. You've done a good job. Now all that remains is for the faculty to have a final word.\" Please don't be too hard on them, sir. Most have been well-punished already.\nI have learned a lesson. I ought to tell you that I almost made a mistake about Dyke Hamlin. Steve told the whole story. Isn't that fine! exclaimed the Head. I'm glad to hear he was out of it. If he had two more years here, he would end up being a regular leader, said Steve. The Head could do nothing but smile. His experiment had been a great success.\n\nOne event which always made a deep impression on Steve was the observance of Armistice Day, on November 11. Too young himself to remember much of the World War, he had enough imagination to picture to himself what the school was like in those stirring days. He had read something of Andover's part in the war and liked to think that it had been the first to send an Ambulance Unit overseas; that it had taken part in the Meuse-Argonne offensive.\nUp military training while other institutions were still debating the question, and the record of its sons was one of patriotic sacrifice. At chapel 264, THE HEAD ALWAYS READ the long list of the heroic dead, pausing for a moment over a name here and there to point out some particular exploit. He had known all the boys on the list and spoke of them in a voice throbbing with emotion. Steve never failed after this ceremony to walk up close to the Memorial Tower to look again at those names carved in the stone \u2014 Schuyler Lee, Jack Morris Wright, William Henry Taylor, Harold Eadie, and the others who had died so splendidly. They represented the very best the school had to give.\n\nAll these events, each of which left its mark on Steve's character, happened in the midst of the football season, when most of his energies were focused on the game.\nHe spent his time on the playing fields. He took good care to keep up with his studies and avoid any catastrophe like the one that had once wrecked his hopes. But he had now systematized his work, and found that by concentration, he could accomplish more in one hour than he had formerly done in two. Under the circumstances, he was not sorry that he had changed his room, as Joe and Ted had no qualms about interrupting him, while he could squelch \"Dyke\" without any difficulty.\n\nThis year Steve had been started at halfback. Joe played right guard, and the captain, Walt Bradford, was at end. In the earlier contests, Steve had shown, in addition to his other qualities, some marked kicking ability, and the Coach, Fred Davis, had come to rely upon him for all the punting and goal kicking. Furthermore,\nSteve was unquestionably the best ground-gainer on the eleven. He was stocky, weighing now about 180 pounds, and with any kind of interference, he could be counted upon for a gain. The exhilaration of the final week of the football season can never be quite forgotten by an Andover man, especially if he happened to be on the eleven. The team had played through its difficult schedule without a defeat, having tied with the Harvard Freshmen and beaten Worcester, 7-0. The Exeter team had apparently been equally successful, and one of its men, Happy Luman, was reputed to be exceptionally speedy. Andover scouts brought back terrifying reports of his prowess, and he was heralded as a formidable personage. However, the Andover eleven was not likely to be over-confident with its Coach warning the men repeatedly against that.\nA Exeter team is never defeated until the whistle blows. Remember that, Fred Davis repeated at least three or four times every afternoon. Thus, the final few days found every player on edge, prepared for battle.\n\nEarly that week, a heavy snowstorm hit, such as sometimes comes in New England long before the appointed time. By Saturday morning, it was melting, and the field was covered with a kind of muddy slush, very wet and slippery, which made long runs and good kicks look impossible.\n\nAs Steve made his way from class to class, he could see clearly that conditions would be unfavorable for the game. However, neither side would suffer more than the other, except possibly for Andover\u2019s supposed superiority in kicking, which could not be displayed to advantage. Steve did not worry excessively.\nThe situation did not concern him, but he set his mind to finding the best way through the mud. Before he knew it, he was in the locker-room dressing for the game. When he emerged on the field, he found that the sun was shining once more, but the surface had not improved. The ball quickly became heavy, and punts of any length were clearly impossible.\n\nIn Seats of the Mighty 267\n\nThe preliminary details were soon settled by the respective captains, and the Exeter eleven ran to their places to receive the kick-off. No matter how many contests a player may have been in, there is always a nervous second or two before the action starts. He usually relieved the tension, as Steve did, by running up and down a few yards each way and shouting to those near by, \u201cLet\u2019s go, Walt,\u201d and \"Nail their man. Chuck.\" At last the whistle blew.\nThere was a little pause; then the ball, which was dry at the opening of the game, went high and far into the expectant arms of the redoubtable Happy Luman, who clutched it tightly and ran diagonally to the right, gaining speed as he went. But he had progressed only ten yards before Walt Bradford had dragged him down. In a moment, the players were covered with mud and soaked with water. Everything was slippery, especially the pigskin, and fumbling might be expected on any play.\n\nAfter the first rush, Steve felt perfectly calm and cool. The run down the field had steadied his nerves, and he studied the formation of the opposing team with much care. He was playing back on the defense, where he could watch developments.\n\n\"Smash!\" came a plunge through Andover\u2019s right tackle, Bill Serat, but the line held.\nThe Exeter fullback stood firm and there was no gain. The Exeter fullback now took position for a kick. Under the conditions, it was a beautiful punt, but Steve was placed just right to catch it. What he thought as the ball descended upon him can probably never be told. What he did was to grip it tightly in his arms and start off, having first given a hasty glance to either side. Chuck Ellis, the Andover quarterback, was at hand to block the Exeter end, and Steve escaped another tackle by a sharp swerve of his body, which made him slip and almost fall. In a flash, however, he was up again and off, but he could see that the delay had permitted the opposing tacklers to reach a point directly in front of him. Ten, twenty, thirty, thirty-five yards he covered, then he could continue no farther. Happy Luman dragged him down.\nNot before he had reached Exeter's thirty-yard line, having run the ball back forty yards. It was a glorious achievement, which the stands were quick to recognize. The Andover cheerleaders danced up and down, waving their arms in mad delight. Then came a sudden silence, for the teams were lining up again. Andover's ball was in seats of the mighty 269, with the coveted goal-line only a short distance away!\n\nJack Hamilton, Andover's left halfback, made three yards through the guard. Then Steve fell back as if for a drop kick. He received the ball from center, held it a moment, and then hurled a perfect forward pass to Walt Bradford, who was far to the left of the line. With nobody in front of him, Walt easily covered the distance for a touchdown. It was a beautifully coordinated exhibition of skilful strategy. Within two minutes of the play, Andover scored another touchdown.\nThe battle opened with Andover scoring, not by luck but through intelligent work. Steve kicked an easy placement for the extra point, and the score was seven to nothing. The tension in his mind was much relieved. It is always discouraging to a team when its opponents score readily early in the contest. Undoubtedly Exeter must have felt this, for the remainder of the first half was decidedly in favor of Andover. Despite the mud, Steve repeatedly broke loose for gains of ten and fifteen yards around the ends. His punts, although they were low, seemed to roll incredible distances and were responsible for steady advances. When time was called for the half, Andover had made three touchdowns and was on its way to a fourth. The score was twenty to nothing.\n\nDuring the intermission, the band played.\nThe favorite songs of Andover were \"The Royal Blue\" and \"Andover Rah!\" as the spectators stood up and sang, kicking their feet to keep warm. The Head had with him that day a distinguished English novelist, Mr. Hugh Warren, who had come to lecture to the boys. The British, who was an Eton and Cambridge man, was intensely interested in all that he saw and heard. I cannot understand, he said, how your boys keep up their enthusiasm for such long hours. Last night at the mass meeting they were like wild hyenas in the jungle; this morning in your chapel they shouted until I thought some of the smaller boys would break blood vessels; and now here they are, after an hour's continuous yelling, apparently as fresh as when they started.\n\nIt's really a kind of tradition, answered the Head. Boys are naturally Tories at heart.\nLike I prefer to maintain old customs. They hate having anything like this abolished. Thirty years ago, when I was a student in Andover, they did the same. Our American boys are more nervous and highstrung than your British youngsters.\n\nIn Seats of the Mighty 271, our boys are more nervous and highstrung than your British youngsters.\n\n\"That's true enough,\" said Mr. Warren, pointing to where Dyke Hamlin was dancing up and down like a jumping jack, his arms coming down like flails on the head of a fat boy in front of him, and his face contorted with excitement.\n\n\"What, can that cannibal be Dyke Hamlin?\" The Head took another look and then, with a sense of inward satisfaction, told the Englishman the story of Dyke and Steve. Even though it came between the halves of an Andover-Exeter game, the great author was much impressed by it.\nThe story focused on Steve as he ran onto the field for the second half.\n\n\"By Jove!\" he exclaimed. \"That's a real romance. Some day I should like to meet those boys.\"\n\n\"I'll have them in for dinner tomorrow,\" responded the Head, and then the attention of both was diverted by the game itself.\n\nThe Exeter team returned to the field determined to fight to the finish. They fought with valiant courage, which won the admiration of their adversaries. Again and again, they hurled themselves at the Andover line, only to be thrown back for heavy losses. But Steve, on one of those inspired days which sometimes come to players, was a whole host of men in himself. Never had Brothers' Field seen such running back of punts, such kicking, such progress through a line.\nThe broken field. Wet and heavy though the ball was, he never fumbled it, and he had an uncanny way of picking out the few dry spots on the gridiron. The Andover team made three more touchdowns, leaving the final score at forty to nothing. It was not merely a defeat but a riot, and Steve had his revenge for the game of the year before. A very happy youngster lay down quietly on the bench in the Gymnasium and let the trainer rub his tired muscles. The reaction after the excitement of one of these gridiron battles ought to be severe, but Steve was in the pink of condition, and, after a plunge in the tank, he dressed and walked off with only a slight limp. Three or four of his teammates had bruises, but no one was seriously hurt. Andover and Exeter play hard games, but they are invariably clean.\nAnd it is seldom that anyone is badly injured. Steve's appearance on campus was a kind of triumphal progress, which he tried unsuccessfully to avoid by taking a roundabout path to his boarding-house. Fortunately, he was too sensible to be much spoiled by adulation. The praise of our fellows is gratifying to all of us, I suppose, and Steve had his share of human weakness, but he was in no danger of becoming conceited. At the celebration in the evening, he had to sit and listen while his greatness was sung by everyone, from the Head down to the last substitute sent in during the final moment of play. When he walked back to Bartlet after it was all over, the echoes of \"A long Steve! Make it good now! One, two, three!\" rang in his ears. But his sleep, for all that, was dreamless.\nAnd when he awakened the next morning, it was ten o'clock, and the sun shone in through the windows. As Stevens' biographer, I ought to regret the fact that he \"cut\" church that Sunday morning and spent the hour assigned to divine service in reading the accounts of the game in the Boston Sunday papers. But considering that most of them printed Stevens' photograph and his name in big black letters at the top of the sports page, I think he can be forgiven. At a regular rate, Dyke Hamlin, who was now Steve's faithful servant, came in with an armful of Sunday editions for Steve's benefit and then ran off to church. An hour later, he dashed in and shouted, \"Gee whiz, Steve, the Head wants us to have dinner with him this noon.\" \"Why don't you try me with an easy one?\" replied Steve, rather skeptical about the invitation.\nThe President and his cabinet are coming. Steve, he asked me where you were before church. I told him you were tired and had slept over, and then he wanted to know if we both could come to dinner at one o'clock. I told him if you couldn't, I would call instead; otherwise, he'll be expecting us. I don't believe I've got a clean stiff collar. Well, I'll have to make it somehow. There was the usual running about from room to room, hunting for articles of wearing apparel, but both boys finally managed to make themselves presentable. At five minutes of one, Steve and Dyke, the latter looking ridiculously dressed-up in a serge suit and high collar, were ushered into the library where the Head stood talking with a tall, aristocratic-looking man.\nA stranger stood in front of the fireplace smoking a pipe.\n\n\"Hello, Steve. Hello, Dyke,\" said the Head. \"I'm glad to see you. Boys, this is Mr. Hugh Warren, our English guest.\"\n\n\"Good-morning, young gentlemen,\" said Mr. Warren. \"I suppose we're all a bit embarrassed. I am, at any rate.\"\n\n\"Why - why - I am a bit fussed,\" Steve managed to answer, noticing the twinkle in Mr. Warren's eye. \"But I didn't suppose a great man like you could ever be embarrassed.\"\n\n\"Good for you, Steve,\" interjected the Head. \"I never dreamed you were so much of a diplomat.\"\n\n\"You're certainly tactful, anyhow,\" put in Mr. Warren. \"But, after reading the morning papers, I'm not sure that you aren't the greatest man in New England. I know all about you. But how do you know anything about me?\"\n\n\"Everybody knows about you, sir. Besides, I do.\"\nI have read four or five of your books. One called \"Courage\" I shall never forget. It's wonderful.\n\nI'm certainly flattered, Mr. Warren. But we've paid each other enough compliments for a while. Let's talk about the game.\n\nFor the next two hours, at the dinner itself and afterwards around the fire, the talk ran on games and on school life in general. Replying to Mr. Warren's questions, Steve explained that football was not really so rough and dangerous as it looked. Of course you get some hard knocks once in a while, he admitted, but if you're in condition, there's little danger of getting hurt. I've played here three years, and have never had anything worse than a bruised limb and a cut cheek. The fellows who are injured \u2014 and there aren't many of them \u2014 are usually not in good condition.\nMr. Warren told the boys about the English \"fagging\" system and caning. Both Steve and Dyke agreed that it could never be introduced into American schools. But it would be beneficial in some cases, the Head remarked. There are always some boys who cannot be affected by anything short of corporal punishment. I remember one bully a year or two ago whose chief delight was wandering around his dormitory throwing pails of water over fellows who were about half his size. A sound thrashing would have worked well with him.\n\nWere you thinking of Fat Stillman, sir? asked Steve.\n\nYes, he's the one I had in mind, the Head replied.\n\nI rather guess he didn't escape exactly scot-free, Steve chuckled.\nMr. Warren asked, \"How is that?\" Steve replied, \"I lived in Bishop Hall with him, and the smaller boys often complained about him, which I found unnecessary. One night, I gathered about a dozen of them in my room and organized them into a company. The next night, Fat dressed up to call on a girl at Abbot Academy. He returned about quarter to ten, stopped to talk in the downstairs vestibule, and then started up. He hadn't gone five feet before he was drenched by water in every form: two hoses played on him, several buckets were dropped, and gallons were poured out of paper bags and buckets.\nHe looked exactly like a drowned rat. I had never seen a wetter, madder fellow in all my life. He picked himself up, shook himself like a dog, and then ran up, breathing fire and vowing vengeance. When he reached the landing, he found at least twelve small boys armed with barrel staves and pokers, all ready to greet him. The rest of us older ones were hiding behind doors, ready to take a hand if necessary. Fat could have tackled any two of them together, but the odds were too great. He was just like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. All he did was pass by with a kind of a growl and go to his room. After that, he never bullied a little fellow again.\n\n\"That's the way to handle one of those bullies,\" commented Mr. Warren. \"When one of them gets a taste of his own medicine, the whole community is usually pleased.\"\n\n\"Nobody can be a bully very long in this community.\"\nDyke: \"This place, it's where he'll have a fall, sooner or later. Don't you remember Fat's duel with Ivan Romanoff? Mr. Warren and I did.\n\nThe Head: \"What was that?\" He had never heard the story. \"I'm sure it sounds interesting enough.\"\n\nDyke: \"Well, I'll tell you. The details of the famous combat.\"\n\nOther stories followed, with the Head sharing one of his favorites about a certain teacher a few years prior. He wore a doctor's gown and hood ostentatiously to show off his Ph.D. degree. At commencement, he was the only teacher to do so. When some older alumni saw him, they gave three cheers for the President of the Board of Trustees.\"\nThe tense was one of amusement for everyone present. When the bell struck three, Steve and Dyke rose simultaneously and explained that they had to leave. Both had been warned by Hal, their social mentor, not to stay beyond an hour after the dinner was over. Politely, they expressed their thanks for the Head's hospitality and then made their way out. It had been a delightful afternoon for them both, and they both proceeded to write letters home about it.\n\nAfter they had left, the Head and his guest sat for some time talking about them. \"They are really remarkable types,\" said Mr. Warren. \"Fisher is as fine a specimen of young manhood as I ever saw, and the way the other fellow, Hamlin, idolizes him is a joy to behold.\" \"Yes, Steve is probably as good a type as we have, and his influence has made a man out of Hamlin.\"\nI. Slater is a hospitable and tactful man who entertains boys in his home. One winter Sunday, he invited two new boys, friends of his, to dinner. They ate a large meal and then sat around. When it was time for the vesper service, Mrs. Slater asked the boys if they wished to go, and Mr. Slater accompanied them to his pew after the service.\nwas over, there seemed nothing for him to do but ask them to supper; thus he reappeared at six o'clock, much to his good wife's astonishment, with the same two guests. They ate a refreshing supper, and then settled down for the evening. By this time, the topics of conversation were getting exhausted, even for an experienced host. At last, Mr. Slater rose, excused himself and went upstairs, where he telephoned the boys' officer, asking him to call up a few minutes later and ask the boys to come home. In about five minutes, then, the telephone rang, and the maid reported that one of the boys was wanted. Mr. Slater could hear the boy protesting that he had not finished his call; but soon he returned to say that he must leave at once. So at nine o'clock, after a session of eight hours, the guests departed.\nguests departed and the Slaters retired for a much-needed rest. I should think that they would be chary about inviting boys again. Oh, no. Besides, they've learned how to manage it better now. They realize that the boy wants to go, but doesn't know how. So, after he has stayed as long as he ought, Mrs. Slater gets up and says, 'Well, boys, I'm afraid that I'm keeping you too long. I mustn't impose upon your unselfishness,' and so gradually ushers them out. The boys are more relieved than she is.\n\n282 ALL FOR ANDOVER\n\n\"I certainly am indebted to you for letting me see the school as it is,\" said Mr. Warren. \"I feel as if I had really discovered some of its secrets. And now I'm going upstairs to my room for a nap before I outstay my own welcome. I'm as bad as any one of the boys.\"\nIt was through talks like this and with some of the faculty that Steve came to realize more than he had ever done before the greatness of the school. He could see now what his father had loved about Andover \u2013 its unbroken history, its soundness of heart, its past and future. From his bedroom in Bartlet Hall, he could look out towards the new Main Building, the gift of nearly three thousand graduates to the school. One evening in mid-December, after a fall of more than three inches of snow, he sat looking towards the pillared portico, which was then lit up by a full moon. It was a glorious night, and the great building stood out a thing of stupendous beauty against the silver background. Steve was no sentimentalist. His mind was essentially practical and direct. But he did have thoughts that approached the poetical.\nThat will be there,\u201d he thought, long after I have left here, probably long after I am dead and buried. Thousands of boys like me will sit in its classrooms and wander down its corridors, and each one of us will add something to the spirit of this place. My job is to make sure that what I contribute is worthwhile.\n\nThe moon was slowly sinking below the horizon; the gleam around the building and its white portico died out, but for Steve that night remained a splendid memory of \"The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration and the poet's dream.\"\n\nXI\nMEETING RESPONSIBILITY\n\nThe Andover system, while it may not be ideal for everybody, does produce a kind of individuality in those who flourish under it. Once a boy has become accustomed to responsibility, even the most mundane tasks take on new meaning.\nHe usually makes rapid progress in self-confidence and may even display considerable capacity for leadership. This was true for all four friends. Steve, who when he came to Andover was a raw country boy, had developed into an independent and influential personage in two years. His football ability had, of course, opened the way, but it was his personality that led others to trust him. Now, as president of the school and chairman of the Senior Council, he was a conspicuous figure who had won the respect of his comrades. It was difficult to explain how he managed to escape self-conceit, but he was wholly without any sign of that fault. He took himself seriously and kept out of \"rough-houses\" because he thought them beneath his dignity.\nThe man assumed an attitude of superiority and still had a shyness that kept him from excessive speech. Joe belonged to another type \u2014 the good-natured, slow-moving athlete, prominent solely because of his brawn and strength. Without these physical characteristics, he would have been just an ordinary cog in the undergraduate wheel. But schoolboys pay unswerving homage to athletic prowess, and Joe profited by their instinctive tendency to idolize his work on the gridiron and the track. Without any natural gifts for leadership, he nevertheless was elected to important positions, in which he was usually a silent member, following in the wake of Steve. Ted, in a certain sense, was better adapted for responsibility. In spite of his aversion for games, he had managed to impress himself on the student body \u2014 no small feat. His election as a leader was:\n\n\"His election as [important position]\"\nFootball Manager was a tribute to his skill in organizing others. He had a remarkably persuasive tongue, which was seldom silent, and his judgment of character was almost infallible. In many respects, he was the most mature of the four, yet he had childish propensities which were frequently dragging him into trouble. Intellectually, Hal was superior to the others, but his was a bookish rather than a practical mind. It was hard for him to mix with the crowd. As Managing Editor of the Phillipian, he was a decided success, for he could sit alone in his study and write editorials which really attracted the attention of sophisticated seniors; but he was not fitted to mingle with the common herd. Among them, the four had a voice in nearly every school activity, and each one complemented the others. In the long winter term, each one participated in:\n\nFootball Manager had the ability to rally and lead others. His tongue was persuasive and rarely silent. His judgment of character was nearly infallible. He was the most mature of the four, but his childish tendencies often landed him in trouble. Hal, on the other hand, was intellectually superior but had a bookish mind that struggled to mix with the crowd. As Managing Editor of the Phillipian, Hal was successful in writing editorials that attracted the attention of the sophisticated seniors, but he was not suited for mingling with the general population. Together, the four had a significant influence on nearly every school activity, with each one complementing the others during the long winter term.\nSteve took up his own athletic pastime. He signed up for hockey and had little difficulty making the team. Joe spent long hours in the Cage, putting in work on the shot and learning a new twist for the javelin throw. Even Hal displayed rather unexpected skill in swimming and won some points as a diver. Only Ted remained aloof from all forms of strenuous recreation and insisted on staying indoors when the others were outside or in the Gymnasium. In the evenings, they often got together when their studying was done, usually taking Joe and Ted's room for a gathering place. On Saturday nights, each went to his society house and did not come back ordinarily until eleven o'clock. There was a good deal of good-natured \"joshing\" about societies, each one claiming superiority for his own gang; but there was no animosity.\nAmong no jealousies, everybody seemed satisfied with the one to which he belonged. Among the regular diversions of the winter were the movies, which were operated on Saturday nights in the Gymnasium. The censor for the pictures was Dr. Clarkson, the School Minister, whose taste was refined to a high degree. He objected to all but the educational films and frequently prevented the exhibition of some popular favorites. It was all the more delightful then, when on a certain evening when the Head and most of the faculty and their wives were present, the picture happened to be, by some mistake, a lurid \u201cthriller,\u201d opening in a frontier saloon where ladies of dubious standing mingled with \u201ctoughs,\u201d and where the richest humor consisted of the villain's stepping on a large piece of gum and trying desperately to free himself.\nboys were soon wrought up to a point of ecstasy; while Dr. Clarkson literally writhed in complete despair. Another side of Steve's character began to show itself in the increasing delight he began to take in books. On the recommendation of Mr. Martin and Mr. Foote, he took up biographies. While Joe and Ted were planning political campaigns or criticizing teachers, Steve would be buried in Charnwood's Lincoln or Roosevelt\u2019s Autobiography, trying to learn the secret of their mastery over men. There had been a period when \"Snappy Stories\" and the \"Motion Picture Magazine\" were his favorites, but that had now gone by. Oddly enough, Dyke Hamlin had begun to reveal a newly-formed and perfectly honest delight in literature. He would go to the library and bring home some tale of adventure like Conrad\u2019s.\nAfter going through the story of Antarctic exploration, Scott turned to Tennyson's \"Ulysses\" and learned the poem by heart. He would walk about his room spouting: \"That which we are, we are, One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.\" He even went so far as to write a yarn of the Spanish Main and gold doubloons for the Mirror, where it was published to the amazement of the four friends, transforming him was almost a miracle.\n\nBy this time, Dyke had become a vigorous and healthy-looking youth, with clear eyes and an erect bearing. When the winter term opened, he signed up for basketball, and before many days had passed, it turned out that he was a real player.\nHe was retained on the squad after the first cut, and Dyke soon drew attention to his promising qualities. \"Come on, let's go up to the game tonight,\" said Steve to Hal, on the evening when the first outside contest was scheduled. \"I shouldn't be surprised if Dyke got in.\" Sure enough, when they looked down from the gallery, there was Dyke practicing, looking as robust as if he had always been an athlete.\n\n\"Gaze at the boy's build, will you,\" commented Hal. I had always thought that he was just bones. He looks like a prize-fighter.\n\nOh, he's been getting in condition,\" said Steve. He used to be quite a player on his high school team. The trouble was that he never kept training until last fall. Now that he's steadied down, he'll be all right.\n\nIn the game which followed, Dyke played for:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be complete and does not contain any meaningless or unreadable content, line breaks, or other meaningless characters. No translation is required as the text is in standard English. No OCR errors were detected.)\nSteve warded off the ball and moved swiftly around the floor, making baskets from impossible angles. His agility and quickness were a significant contribution to Andover's score of 38 against their opponents' 15. During the game, Steve was near the Head when he turned to him and asked, \"Isn't that your roommate, Dyke Hamlin, doing so well down there?\" Steve grinned and replied, \"Yes, that's him. He's a regular weakling, isn't he, sir?\" The Head agreed, commenting, \"Yes, he certainly looks feeble. He's the freshest man on the floor. I should judge that your prescriptions had improved him.\" Steve responded, \"He's done it all himself, sir. I'm not responsible.\"\nI wish I could give you a few more encouraging specimens. Unfortunately, Dyke couldn't play long on the team. One evening in early February, he came back from his five o'clock class complaining of feeling feverish. The next morning, he didn't get up, and the School Physician ordered him to the Infirmary. Within twenty-four hours, it was known that he had a well-marked case of scarlet fever. It was sad news to Steve, who had gradually grown very fond of his roommate who had been forced upon him.\n\nThe next day, Dyke's mother appeared at Phillips Inn. She was a meek, pretty young woman, who seemed utterly helpless in the face of catastrophe. Dyke's father had been killed in France during the World War, and he was the only family she had left.\nSteve was the only child. For the next two weeks, his chief business was to assist Mrs. Hamlin. He sat with her for hours during the period when the fever was at its height, and on one terrible night when it seemed a toss-up as to whether Dyke would live or die, Steve never went to sleep, but waited in the Infirmary to see what he could do. For three days, Dyke was critically ill; indeed, the physician told Steve that the patient would have died if he had not been in such excellent physical condition. Meanwhile, the entire student body was disturbed. The Dyke Hamlin of a year before, whom nobody had liked and most decent fellows had despised, had now become a popular character, whose name was in everybody's mouth. At last, after two weeks had gone by, Steve returned one Wednesday afternoon to Joe's.\nI believe the kid is going to pull through, the nurse said, in a tired voice. Is he still delirious? No, he came back to his senses this morning, and the crisis is probably over. He must be frightfully weak. The nurse says he's lost thirty pounds, but he has a good constitution, and he'll get along. Not until the term was almost over was Dyke in a condition to be moved, and even then, the doctors ordered him and his mother to Bermuda, stipulating that he should not return to Andover that year. Before he left, Steve was allowed to see him for fifteen minutes. When the two boys were alone, Dyke said, Steve, I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what you have done for me. Oh, forget it, Steve brushed off brusquely, with the hatred of sentimentalism inbred in any normal boy.\n\"Look here, Steve, I'm not going to weep on your shoulder and make a mushy scene, the way they do in Eric or Little by Little. All I want to say is this, and then I'll shut up. You've turned me from a crawling worm into a human being. You've changed my whole point of view and let me see what decency is. Now I can't come back to Andover this spring, and when I do return in September, you'll be gone. I want you to understand that I'm not going to fall back - that's all.\n\nI know you won't, was Steve's reply, and the conversation turned to other less dangerous topics.\n\nBefore Mrs. Hamlin departed, she asked Steve to come up to her room for a minute. Then she handed him a little package, saying, Steve, I want to give you just a little something which will help to say what I think of what you have done.\"\nSteve found a beautiful gold watch in the packet opened by Mrs. Hamlin. But, \"I can't take this \u2013 I haven't done anything,\" Steve stammered.\n\n\"If you don't take that right off without another word, I'll have a crying fit, and you wouldn't want me to do that, would you?\" Mrs. Hamlin protested, with tears in her eyes.\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" Steve confessed, with a vigor that made Mrs. Hamlin smile. All right. I'll take it, and I certainly am glad to have such a fine watch. But I didn't deserve it, just the same.\n\nSo ended the first epoch in Dyke Hamlin's history.\nA Yale Freshman, Steve returned to Andover a few months later and found Dyke one of the most respected leaders in the school. The reform had been permanent. Thus, Steve was left alone on the top floor of Bartlet during the remainder of the year. He could have gone back to his old quarters with Ted and Joe, but he really preferred to live by himself for a time. Much as he liked his friends, he found pleasure in spending an evening undisturbed by school gossip. The fact that Ted called him the Hermit and that Hal accused him of snobbery did not worry him in the slightest.\n\nSome of the most intense excitement of the winter for the four friends came when Hal and Ted both went out for the Means Speaking Contest, and were both chosen among the final eight.\nHal had always enjoyed oratory and had won a prize each year in the Draper contest. His essay on The Futility of War was, in the opinion of his friends, of high merit. Stylistically, it was modeled on Webster, and it had a tone that made Steve say, \"Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea.\" Ted's production, on the other hand, was colloquial. Writing on Free Verse, he touched on Amy Lowell, Ezra Pound, John Gould Fletcher, and other masters of modern poetry, putting in an occasional dash of cynicism to add spice to his writing. The two rivals practiced their speeches in public, to the annoyance of their friends, and they were hailed as nuisances. Adopting the advice of his instructor in speaking, Hal used to stroll in the early morning to the banks of Rabbit's Pond, where he made the trees resonate with his practiced elocution.\nSteve heard Hal denouncing militarism and phrases like \"blood-stained battlefield,\" \"gory limbs,\" and \"useless carnage.\" Hal believed destiny intended him to be the great American orator, surpassing Beveridge and Bryan. Ted adopted a less formal style, speaking persuasively to win hearts. He was confident of victory and urged friends to bet on him. \"I'll get first prize,\" he answered when asked about chances. \"All Hal can do is roar and belittle. He has no technique.\"\nBoth boys were excited on the day of the contest, and Joe and Steve made the ordeal no easier for Hal. When Hal muttered to himself, they nudged each other and pointed suggestively to their heads, as if to say, \"Poor fellow. It's too bad he's not all there.\" In the evening, they collected a large crowd of their friends, resulting in the Chapel being nearly full. The audience was larger than a Means Contest had drawn in years. Hal was the second speaker on the program. When he stepped to the platform, he was greeted by thunderous applause, which seemed to momentarily disconcert him and led the presiding officer to look suspiciously at the front seats. Then Hal recovered and launched into his oration.\nSteve was amazed. Hal, who had seemed indifferent, reticent, and undemonstrative, was transformed. As he portrayed the horrors of the trenches, he actually made Steve shiver, and the audience were obviously carried along with the speaker. The fools who had come to scoff remained, if not to pray, at least to applaud. He sat down amid a clapping even louder than that which had welcomed him, but this time the noise indicated honest recognition of his achievement. There could be no doubt that he was a distinct success.\n\nLast on the program was Ted, who mounted the rostrum with a self-assured manner that was laughable. Making no attempt at elocution, he began addressing the audience in a semi-confidential way, as if he were telling a secret to a group of dinner table companions. In a minute or two, he was chatting away about \"the New England bard.\"\n\"Robert Frost. I shall never forget, he said, the words of that remarkable poem. I shall never forget \u2014 I shall never forget the words of that remarkable poem. All for Andover. Silence followed. He's overdoing it, Steve thought. For a second it was impressive; then it was oppressive. Ted wiped his brow, clenched his hands, and began again resolutely, I shall never forget the words of that remarkable poem, \u2014 er, er \u2014 Then came the voice of a prompter in a sing-song tone from one of the front benches, Something there is that doesn't love a wall. Ah! muttered Ted, evidently relieved. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, and then stopped again. By this time Steve and Joe were in physical and mental agony. They wanted to laugh, but they did not dare.\"\nPoor Ted could not show his pity for Joe and Steve as Ted sympathized with him. \"Er -- er -- er --\" Ted continued, and then, with a wild dash of despair, he rushed from the platform and fled out the rear door without returning to his original seat. The presiding officer rose, asked the judges to retire, and the tragic scene was over. Eventually, Hal was awarded the first prize, and the decision had the complete approval of the audience.\n\nPoor Ted got no pity from Joe and Steve. He had been implicated in practical jokes on others too often to receive mercy himself. They found him in his room, sitting disconsolately at his desk. Simultaneously, they shouted, \"I shall never forget the words of that remarkable poem. 'Oh, shut up, will you?' groaned Ted. 'Got your prize with you, Ted?' asked Steve in an unctuous voice. Look here, what'll you feel like doing with it?\"\nTed asked, \"Why must we move on? It seemed difficult at that moment.\" But Ted didn't hear the last of the affair for many days.\n\nThe fact that Steve Fisher had put away childish things didn't mean the other boys in the school had become angels. One teacher, Llewellyn Coggeshall Bacon, was still viewed as legitimate prey. His full name, as recorded in the catalog, was Llewellyn Coggeshall Bacon, and he was recorded as a graduate of Kingfisher College, Kingfisher, Oklahoma. After a week's fair trial by the boys in his dormitory, he was unanimously christened \"Tiptoe.\" Having been found listening at a boy's room keyhole to detect evidence of turpitude. Tiptoe was big and powerful, but his mind was slow-moving, and he allowed himself to be drawn into this situation.\nSteve was walking along the rear of the Main Building one afternoon before the Christmas holidays when he saw boy after boy appear at a certain classroom window, jump down over the ledge, and walk away towards Rabbit's Pond. At last, Steve recognized Ted Sherman and asked, \"Hi, Ted, what's all the commotion?\"\n\n\"Ha, ha,\" laughed Ted. \"I'm in Tiptoe's French class. When we settled down at the opening of the hour, Chuck Ellis raised his hand and asked Tiptoe if he wouldn't give us a cut. And then the whole class began to whisper \u2013 you know the way they do \u2013 and say 'Give us a cut! Give us a cut!' Finally, Tiptoe said, 'All right, boys. I'll do the white thing by you as long as you have...' \"\n\"You asked for it decently, but you can't go down the corridor because it would make too much noise. You'll have to jump out the window and depart quietly.' So here I am.\n\n\"You're a fine member of the Senior Council, you are,\" commented Steve.\n\n\"Don't be a prig, Steve,\" said Ted. It was such easy money that I just couldn't resist. You'd have done the same thing yourself under the same conditions.\"\n\nAfter that experience, it seemed as if Steve was hearing things every day about Tiptoe and his eccentricities. One of the most charming young ladies in Andover was Mollie Colgate, whose home was a place where the boys liked to gather when they could secure permission. One evening, Tiptoe had been invited to dinner at the Colgate home and had been placed by Mollie's side, with the result that he became violently enamored.\"\nAfter that, Tiptoe appeared in the guise of Mollie's inseparable swain. It cannot be denied that Mollie practiced her wiles upon him, to the infinite satisfaction of the boys, who naturally watched the progress of the affair with eagerness undisguised. When Tiptoe asked Mollie to go sleigh-riding with him, nearly every fellow in school heard of the invitation, and when the precise hour had been disclosed, at least a hundred excited boys gathered at the appointed time on the corner near the Colgate house. Precisely at three o'clock, Tip toe appeared alone on the front seat of a double sleigh. He drove a rather wobbly horse to the front door, carefully ushered Miss Mollie into the rear seat, and then started off. This was almost too much. The spectacle of Tiptoe on the front seat with Mollie on the seat behind him was too enticing for the boys to ignore.\nThe boys were so absurd that they hardly knew how to act. They gave one convulsive cheer to which the abashed Mollie responded by waving her handkerchief at them. But they could do no more. Any man who would take a pretty girl to ride under such circumstances! The undergraduate verdict was unanimous that Tiptoe should be in the asylum.\n\nIt was Tiptoe, as Steve later learned from Mr. Foote, who had marked his entrance into Andover society by sending to each of the faculty wives in turn a bouquet of flowers\u2014violets to one, rosebuds to another, carnations to a third\u2014following out a suggestion made to him by a jocular colleague. The first lady to receive this unexpected tribute was naturally much elated and boasted of her conquest to her friends. When the second bouquet arrived, the new recipient was similarly pleased.\nBefore long, several ladies congratulated themselves on their good fortune. But the secret was soon revealed, much to the embarrassment of all concerned. Steve had an occasion during the winter to call on Tiptoe for information regarding a French course. As he entered the dormitory, he heard a weird medley of howls and whistles and found an indoor football contest going on in the first-floor corridor. Boys were rushing up and down, plaster was falling from the walls, and the place looked like a madhouse. Steve, supposing of course that Tiptoe was out, knocked perfunctorily on his door only to receive a hearty invitation to enter. There was Mr. Bacon, sitting comfortably at his desk, apparently busy correcting examination papers. \"Ah, how do you do,\" he said.\nFisher, he said, rising to shake hands with his visitor. I hope that my boys do not seem too noisy. I permitted them to indulge in some sports this evening, feeling that they might study better after some physical exercise. As he spoke, a snowball, round and hard, came through the open window, narrowly missing Steve's head. \"Aha! Some one is getting playful,\" said Mr. Bacon, without, however, stirring to investigate the source.\n\nIt took Steve but a moment to transact his business, but in the meantime two more snowballs had been thrown into the room, one of them knocking a photograph off the mantelpiece.\n\n\"Don't you want me to stop that, Mr. Bacon?\" asked Steve.\n\n\"Certainly, if you can do it, Fisher,\" answered the instructor, still unperturbed.\n\nArmed with this permission, Steve went out the rear door of the dormitory, made his way\nThrough some trees to the other side and concealed himself behind some shrubs. Within a minute, a small, active figure emerged from a lilac bush, took careful aim, and let a snowball fly straight for the teacher\u2019s open window. In a twinkling, Steve was upon him, bore him to the ground, and proceeded to wash his face in the cool snow.\n\nHelp! Help!\u2019 wailed the youngster in doleful tones, not knowing who his assailant was. I won't do it again. I won't do it again.\n\nNo, I don't think you will, answered Steve, as he hauled the little fellow to his feet. Who are you? What's your name?\n\n\"Layton, sir,\" replied the frightened boy, thinking he was in the hands of the enemy.\n\nWell, Layton, you go to your room as fast as you can, and if I catch you at this kind of business again, I'll skin you alive. Now, beat it.\nThe boy trotted off as fast as his legs could carry him, and Steve walked slowly back to Bartlet. In Andover, the power of the teachers is so great and discipline is so quickly and firmly administered that it ought to be easy for an instructor to keep order. Indeed, the spirit of the school is law-abiding; classrooms are usually very peaceful places, and when disorder develops, it is in nine cases out of ten the fault of the teacher. For this reason, Steve did not like the situation in Mr. Bacon\u2019s dormitory.\n\nHe talked the matter over with his friends, and eventually called a meeting of the Senior Council, at which each member had some story of disorder which Tiptoe had been unable to suppress. The Council agreed that it was their business to do something about it.\nSteve called on the Head at his office, explained carefully what he proposed to do, and was given free rein by that wise gentleman. He next organized his plans for reform.\n\nOn the following Saturday, as Steve surmised, there would be an excellent opportunity for a rough-house. The members of the Senior Council, including at least four of the most powerful athletes in school, were joined by ten other members of major teams, and gathered in the neighborhood of Tiptoe\u2019s dormitory about nine o'clock. Sure enough, a regular riot was in progress, in the course of which fire extinguishers were apparently favorite weapons. As soon as the vigilantes were assembled, Steve and his posse entered the hall and rushed up-stairs. Without delay, they seized the ringleaders and tied them hand and foot.\nAnd he led a footman with ropes, and after bidding the other participants to go to their rooms, carried the prisoners to Mr. Bacon\u2019s suite. There the eight selected victims, trussed and terrified, were distributed around on sofas and chairs. Steve said, Mr. Bacon, the Senior Council has decided to help you stop the disorder in your dormitory. We\u2019ll do anything you say with these ruffians.\n\n\"Why,\" said Tiptoe reflectively, \"I don't know that you ought to hurt them. They are good boys, you know.\"\n\nThey'll be hurt, sir, before we've finished with them. But what shall we do about demerits? Shall I report them to the Head?\n\n\"No, I don't know that you had better do that, Fisher,\" replied Mr. Bacon. I don't want to get them into trouble.\n\n\"Very well, sir, just as you say,\" responded Steve, astounded by Tiptoe's indifference. Steve.\nThe head collected all boys in the dormitory and told them that Mr. Bacon had been exceptionally lenient and announced summary punishment for anyone trying to take advantage of his kind heart. With this vigorous warning, Steve and his cohorts returned to their rooms, satisfied with their night's work. The head gathered particulars from other sources but never asked Steve what had happened. Steve himself called a meeting of the undergraduates the following morning, explained what the Senior Council had done, and asked for their approval. The answer was round after round of applause. There was no more trouble in Mr. Bacon's dormitory that year.\nMr. Bacon left Andover at the end of the year and went to a university for graduate work. His doctorate thesis on The Sources of the Humor in Mark Twain\u2019s 'Huckleberry Finn' aroused much interest in scholarly circles. He now reads a paper each year before the Modern Language Association of America.\n\nClosing the Year\nSpring returns in Andover once more! It doesn't mean smiling skies or dry ground right away, or that every day dawns pleasant. But it does mean that for a week or two, the heavy, dirty-looking snowdrifts melt slowly, sending rapid torrents of water down the sidewalks and gutters. Maple buds then begin to show, and tulips peek above the soil. As early May comes in, the air gets soft and warm, apple and peach blossoms shine in the orchards, and there is a new joy in the blood of young men.\nOlder people forget the delight in living that throbs in youthful hearts as soon as south winds blow. Steve felt it when he stepped out of Bartlet one April morning and scented the fragrant air. He wanted to leap up and down, turn a few handsprings, climb a tree. The light turf reminded him that the first baseball game was coming that Saturday.\n\n\"Hi, you loafers,\" he shouted at Joe and Ted, \"arise and greet the dawn.\" And he walked off to breakfast whistling Old PA with all his might, trying to get rid of the poetry in his soul by keeping his body moving.\n\nOn such days, it's not easy for ardent spirits like Steve to sit quietly in the classroom. Nature was calling outside, urging her children into the open.\nSteve learned that few of his teachers were eager to linger near the blackboard and chalk and examination papers. But life, as Steve had reasoned out, is a combination of duty and pleasure. If the duty is neglected, the pleasure also vanishes. This is a simple philosophy, the survival of some primitive New England conscience, but it is quite adequate for most of our daily emergencies. Steve followed it implicitly. That is why he puzzled his brain trying to master some complicated lines of Cicero's De Amicitia that morning, and forgot the sunshine in working out a puzzle in Trigonometry. He was glad to notice that he could now concentrate his mental energies on a painful task. At twelve o'clock, thanks to his foresight, he was free, and able all the better to appreciate his liberty.\n\n310 ALL FOR ANDover.\nDuring the spring term, Steve, as baseball captain and pitcher, was the unquestioned king of the school. It amused him to see the smaller boys gazing at him with obvious admiration on their faces. He could well remember how he had felt when, as a young cub on the nine, he had first had a talk with the famous Bo Swift. To these youngsters, Steve was a giant among pigmies, and therefore worthy of adulation. The leaders in a school like Andover have a heavier responsibility than most realize, for they can, in a sense, raise or lower the standard of the undergraduate body. It was the consciousness of this fact that had more than once restrained Steve from some childish prank or thoughtless violation of the rules.\n\nSpring was a period when every hour was occupied. Each afternoon, Steve was out on the field.\nAfter dinner at night, he had committee meetings or conferences with the Coach. And when the eight o'clock bell began to ring, he was always glad enough to settle down at his desk to do the lessons for the next day. Over his desk was a card on which he had made out a daily schedule, his time being divided as carefully as that of a business executive; and even then he had hardly minutes enough for keeping his appointments. Only on Sunday mornings could he lie late in bed and forget his cares, going without breakfast gladly in order to revel in the luxury of rolling over for an extra snooze. Rooming alone as he now did, he could carry out his plans without having them disturbed by the revelries of some less conscientious roommate.\n\nLife, however, was not all \"dull care\" and\nIn May came the annual society reunions, when the graduate brothers of the various fraternities returned to Andover to renew friendships and revive loyalty. Nothing was more interesting to Steve than to sit with open ears while these older men told of their days in the school. In the K.P.N. house, where Steve and Hal belonged, there were always graduates who were willing to talk about the \"good old times\" when the Commons buildings were the only dormitories. Perhaps it would be Sanderson, '83, who was talking:\n\nYou boys with your luxurious dormitories and bathrooms and steam heat and rugs on your floors haven't any idea of the way we old-timers used to live. Back in my day, most of the fellows roomed in the Commons \u2013 the worst-looking wooden buildings you ever saw, three stories high.\nwith narrow winding staircases. We didn't have any steam heat. Every room had a stove in it, and each fellow had to chop his own wood and empty his own ashes. If we wanted to wash our faces, we had to go down with a bucket to the Commons pump. No such exciting luxury as hot water! And I wish you could see the furniture; it was all scarred up and battered with the use of fifty years. Of course, we didn't have any electricity or gas. The only light was oil lamps, which used to run over and get on fire.\n\n\"What could you do then?\" inquired Hal.\nOh, just throw them right through the window to the ground and let them burn out. Most of the glass in the windows was broken out, anyway, during snowball season, and we had to stuff the holes with shirts and old socks. There wasn't any insulation.\nThe old barracks held much esthetic beauty, yet were infested with mice and rats, unlike anything I had seen even along the docks in Hoboken. Why didn't the Commons burn down was a natural query from Steve. I believe one or two did, but I don't know why they all didn't go. The boys used to dump their ashes, with glowing coals in them, right over the stairs down to the cellar.\n\nWeren't there any teachers in those buildings, as we have house-profs now? Once in a while, the faculty would place an instructor in one of the rooms, but he never stayed very long. It wasn't a very healthy atmosphere for teachers. In my day, a teacher used to come around about twice a term on what was called 'inspection.' But he never found anything to report. I rather suspect he was glad to get back unwounded.\nIt must have been pretty hard, living that way, said Hal. In a sense it was, I suppose, answered Mr. Sanderson, but we never seemed to mind it. I have an idea that the rough life was rather good for most of us. We got to be self-reliant; we had to be. Nobody was ever sick, even though we didn't have an Infirmary. And the fellows we turned out were a good lot. It's mostly their money which has given you youngsters all the comforts you enjoy. I'd like to live long enough to see whether your generation does as well as ours did.\n\nAll for Andover. We try to do our best, anyhow, ventured Steve.\n\nYes, and your wonderful athletic system gives you something which we didn't really have. Back in my time, a few fellows played on the teams, but the others just loafed around. Now I understand that everybody has to exercise his muscles.\nSteve understood what made Andover great through this talk. He could now comprehend the classical story of the lit torch passed down from generation to generation, keeping it burning from century to century. Andover brought alumni and students together to maintain its prestige. The spring ozone affected some lawless souls with slight intoxication, but it wasn't beneficial for all. Some couldn't resist the temptation to steal out at night and visit neighboring towns, which were contrary to school rules, and every normal boy had such desires.\nAt moments, an impulse to break a rule led Joe to visit the forbidden city of Lawrence. He explained to Steve that he had never wished to go there until he learned of its off-limits status. One evening, he sneaked out, took a trolley to the city, and looked it over. He returned in two hours undetected. Although he hadn't enjoyed himself much, he had defied the regulations and never did it again. It is impossible for a teacher in any school to keep a close watch on every boy in his charge. A boy who deliberately plans to sneak out of his room at midnight for a lark may initially escape detection, as Joe did. However, these night-walkers usually get caught in the end, and then the great axe falls relentlessly. They either grow too bold and are discovered in some carelessness.\nLess moment, or they fell off in their studies and paid the penalty in another way. There was little Vern Lucas, for instance, who lived just across the hall from Steve. When the warm nights arrived, he used to go down the fire-escape and slip over to the cemetery, where, peacefully seated on a tombstone, he would enjoy a cigarette under the stars and meditate on the mutability of human affairs \u2014 nothing more vicious. For a time all went well. Then one evening about ten-thirty, Charlie \"Palmer, the house-professor,\" who had been out at dinner, came up to the top-floor with a telegram for Vern. Knocking at Vern's door, he got no response. Then he came to Steve's room. \"Good-evening, Fisher,\" he said. \"Do you happen to know whether Lucas has gone to bed?\" \"He was here half an hour ago,\" answered Steve.\nMr. Palmer, evasively as he was not without his suspicions, said, \"I'll try his door. This telegram is important.\" When he found that the knob would not turn, Mr. Palmer drew out his master key and entered. No Lucas! The bed was unoccupied, but there were evidences that someone had been there not long before. Then Mr. Palmer went systematically through the dormitory, looking in every room, but Vern was obviously not there. About an hour later, while Steve was still poring over his Idylls of the King, there was a light knock on his door and Vern glided in.\n\n\"Hi, Steve, any trouble about me?\"\n\nClosing the Year\n\nI should say there was. Charlie had been looking all over for you, trying to give you a telegram. I guess you're in for it. Where in the world have you been?\nJust out for a walk with Archie Quarrier. We went up Highland Road a bit and just got back. It's likely to be something more than wonderful for you. What had I better do, Steve? I don't know. If you wake Charlie up now, he'll murder you for sure. And if you don't, he'll think you were out all night. You're in a sweet mess, all right. Don't I know it? I think, though, that I'll wait until morning and then tell him that you were in at eleven-thirty. He always believes you. Perhaps he will, but I'd spend the morning packing my trunks if I were you. Haven't you got seven cuts already? Yes, worse luck. But then I may escape.\n\nBefore Vern could see Mr. Palmer the next morning, that gentleman had gone to breakfast. At ten o'clock, the boy received a summons from 318 All For Andover.\nIn the brief interview that followed, Vern confessed his delinquencies and was formally suspended for the rest of the year. Before night fell, he was on his way to Pittsburgh to receive his father's blessing. Before he left, he had a parting conversation with Steve.\n\n\"My, I certainly was a fool, wasn't I?\" Vern said. \"But I never thought they'd get me for a little thing like that.\"\n\n\"Have you been here nearly three years without finding out that you can't always pull the wool over the faculty's eyes?\" Steve asked.\n\n\"I guess I thought I could get away with it,\" Vern admitted. \"And now won't I catch it! Wait until the old gentleman sees me coming! I'll be annihilated.\"\n\n\"The best way is to tell him exactly what happened, Vern,\" Steve suggested. \"You'll have another chance next year to make good.\"\n\nI guess you don't know the Honorable George...\nF. Lucas will put me to work this summer shoveling coal in one of his mines. That won't do you any harm, I imagine. A few weeks of manual labor will teach you a lot.\n\nThe sudden departure of any unknown boy always causes a sensation in Andover. The boys discuss the matter seriously, and habitual sinners at once resolve to reform. Vein's fate made a considerable impression in the dormitory. Even Ted Sherman, who was every whit as guilty as Vein, announced publicly his intention of changing his habits.\n\nWith the work on the Pot-Pourri ahead of me, I can't afford to be fired. There's no use talking. I'll have to lead the virtuous life for the next few weeks.\n\nPhilosophers who do not believe in the fear of punishment as a deterrent against evil.\nWrong-doing should have watched Ted that spring. He was the model youth, always in at eight o'clock, always sound asleep at eleven, and invariably the first to protest when the dorm started a rough-house. It was a conflict of motives and desires in his soul, and for once good overcame evil. Ted obtained by some accident a photograph of Barnard's statue called \"I Feel Two Natures Struggling Within Me,\" which is in the Metropolitan Museum, and nailed it up over his desk. It was a sufficient comment on his situation.\n\nFor the first time in three years, there seemed to be a chance for the track team to win an Exeter meet. \"Things are going all right,\" Joe said to Steve. I'm getting at least three feet more with the shot than I did a year ago. John Fitchen is doing well in the mile, too, and he'll break a record.\nrecord if he keeps improving. The only man I'm worried about is Len Whitney. He simply won't keep training. There he is, the best hurdler we have, sure to win the high and low both if he doesn't blow up; and I know that he's smoking right along. Why don't you drop him off the squad, Joe? It would pay in the end.\n\nReplied Steve. But Shop's the Coach, and he hates to put him off. Besides, the school would go wild if Len weren't in the meet.\n\nThat evening Steve dropped in at the Head's house, as he had come to do quite often. Apparentely Steve had no motive in mind except friendly talk. At one point, however, the Head asked, \"By the way, how is Joe getting along with his track team?\"\n\n\"All right, I think,\" answered Steve, \"if only I could be sure of Len Whitney.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" inquired the Head.\n\nClosing the Year 321.\n\"Isn't Whitney following Coach Shepley's instructions? I don't believe so, sir. Why don't you ask Joe? No, I think I'll have a little talk with Len myself. About a week later, when the subject came up again, Joe said quite unexpectedly to Steve, By the way, what did you do to Len Whitney to make him take such a brace? I didn't do anything. In fact, I've hardly seen him since we were talking his case over. Why do you ask? Is he keeping training now? He certainly is, and his time gets faster every day. If he keeps it up, he'll smash the world's interscholastic record in the low hurdles. I certainly am glad of that, but I'm not responsible. Some other good angel must have gotten busy. Whoever did it deserves a vote of thanks.\" Steve did not wish to betray the Head.\nThe gentleman had an interview with Len Whitney. What was said in their conversation will probably never be disclosed, but there was no more trouble with Len that year. A few words during the track season had prevented disaster for the team and a promising young athlete. After a very satisfactory preliminary record, the final track meet with Exeter was held on the afternoon of Memorial Day. It was a gorgeous spectacle. The stands, in the brilliant sunlight, gleamed with variegated colors, the ladies' dresses and hats sparkling like rainbow stuff brought down to earth. The turf on the playing-fields was never greener, against a background of white houses, tall pine-trees, and a rich blue sky beyond. It was so warm that coats were not needed, and the spectators basked in the sun.\nA track meet is not as exciting as a football contest, but there are thrills here and there which send shivers up and down one's spine. In the first event, the hammer-throw, carried on in a remote spot so that no one might be injured by a careless throw, Joe astonished himself and the small group of rooters by making a cast of 168 feet, breaking his own record and that of the Academy. As the Exeter star was unfortunate enough to foul on each trial, Andover accumulated five points to Exeter's four \u2013 an unexpected gain for the blue.\n\nClosing the year,\n\nIn the quarter-mile run, which was next on the program, the spectators were gratified by a close finish. Sturdy blond Phil Allen, the Andover sprinter, won from his opponent by the traditional hair. Then came the low hurdles, with\nLen Whitney broke the world's interscholastic record and came in five yards ahead of his nearest competitor. Exeter's turn came next in the hundred-yard dash, earning first and second places, and the mile run added more points to their total. The scoreboard, set up in the middle of the field, showed the schools running neck and neck. Andover went into the lead after the javelin throw was over, but was overtaken when the results of the two-hundred-yard dash and the high jump were announced. Len Whitney once more validated himself by winning the high hurdles, and Exeter's captain, \"Si\" Beeson, took first in the high jump with a spectacular leap of five feet ten inches. The light bar trembled as he brushed it slightly, but stayed upright, and the spectators had another outbreak.\nFor the time being, it looked like anybody's meet, with two events yet to come - the half-mile run and the shot-put. Phil Allen had beaten two minutes for the half-mile in practice, but he had already run a fast quarter. Furthermore, he had a doughty opponent in Charlie Sawyer, the Exeter runner. The pace from the start was fast, and the two were neck and neck at the end of the first lap, with the others more than ten yards behind.\n\n\"Go it, Phil,\u201d \u201cSpeed her up, Charlie,\u201d howled the frantic rooters as the rivals swept by the stands. On the back stretch, Phil began gradually to pull away, and the Andover cheers increased in volume. Then fifty yards from the finish, Sawyer sprinted. Little by little he crept up, until the two were almost abreast. At this point, Phil Allen could not resist glancing back.\nThe thing he had been coached never to do cost him the race. Sawyer plunged forward five yards from the tape and crossed the line just a bare three inches ahead. Time: 1 minute, 59.6 seconds! Phil's curiosity seemed likely to cost his school the meet.\n\nThe score, recorded by huge white chalk figures on the blackboard, was now 56-55, in favor of Exeter, with the shot-put yet to be heard from. This event is not ordinarily very exciting, and few people pay much attention to it until the result is announced. But now every one had their eyes fixed on the ten or twelve stalwart forms in the center of the field. Joe, his huge bulk towering above the others, stepped to the circle and, with what seemed to be no effort at all, tossed the shot.\nThe leaden sphere. The measurers put down the tape. Then the announcer took up his megaphone and shouted through it, \"Watson of Andover puts the shot at 45 feet, 6 inches! The cheer-leaders called for a long Andover.\" It was certain that no Exeter man could equal this throw. But could Andover get second or third, and win? If Exeter should get both places, the meet would be a tie. The only Andover competitor who really had a chance was \"Spider\" Drummond, a short, stocky lad, with glasses and a rather scholarly look, whom nobody seemed to know much about. Joe had, of course, seen him on the squad, but had not taken him seriously. In making his first trial, he slipped and registered only 37 feet, 2 inches, and two Exeter men were ahead of him when the first round was over. On his second attempt, Joe went 46 feet, 8 inches \u2014 a dual meet record.\nThe unfortunate Spider scored only 39 feet in the two previous rounds, leaving Exeter's athletes ahead. Joe approached Spider for a whispered conversation. Ignorant of the noise and excitement, Spider removed his spectacles, stepped to his place, and prepared to throw. A hush fell over the field as everyone sensed the crisis. With all his muscles coordinated, Spider made the throw of his life. The measurers reported the result, and the Andover men danced about, shook hands with Spider, and performed handsprings in their ecstasy. The announcer's voice rang out from the stands.\nHeard, Drummond of Andover puts the shot 44 feet, 2 inches. It was three feet farther than Spider had ever gone before, and what was more important, it was two feet beyond the nearest Exeter man! The meet was really now all over. The Exeter contestants strained hopelessly to better their records, and one by one dropped out. As the last one looked appealingly at the measurers, the Andover boys swept on the field, seized Joe, Spider, and the others, and bore them off on their shoulders around the track. A celebration that night was assured. While they stood panting under the shower bath in the Gymnasium, Joe said to Spider, That was wonderful, old man! How in blazes did you do it? You never did anything like that before. I\u2019ve been trying to find out, myself. I guess you cheered me up a good deal when you told me that.\nI could do it. All I kept saying to myself, Drummond, you'll never dare show yourself in public again if you don't beat those Exeter fellows, and the old shot seemed to take wings.\n\nYou won the meet for us. If it hadn't been for you, the score would have been a tie, and that would have been as good as a victory for Exeter.\n\nI'm glad I have been able to do something. I've been here four years and so far have never raised a ripple. I haven't even made the chess team or gotten on the second Honor Roll. My father will never believe that I have won an A in athletics.\n\nI'll tell him a few things when I see him, said Joe. And he did.\n\nAll for Andover\n\nJoe's great night had come at last, after three years of waiting. The torches danced gaily about the streets and the band played with the same old joy.\nSteve, as he led the cheering and watched the proceedings, wondered what the next week would bring. But the boys were occupied in the present, rejoicing over the bird that was in their hands. All they knew or cared about was that another victory was theirs.\n\nThe time drew near for Steve's last appearance in an Andover uniform. In spite of all the power of his will, he lay awake for several hours on Friday evening, thinking over those other great games in which he had taken part \u2013 the one in his first year, when he was put into the box in the ninth inning, and that contest of the previous June, when his pitching had brought Andover once more out ahead. Could he do it once more before he left? Could he leave the school with a spotless record?\n\nSteve enjoyed to the full the familiar rewards.\nThe Reverend Mr. Fisher had left his parish in Montana to come to Andover for a two-week vacation, and had arrived late on the evening before. He had breakfast with his son, walked around the Hill for a glimpse of his old haunts, and then boarded the train for Exeter. It had been thirty years since Jim Fisher had seen New England, and memories of the past crowded in on his mind. Above all, he was conscious that it was his son, his tall and muscular boy, who was to lead the Andover nine that day. Steve sat with his father on the way up, and the two renewed their acquaintance. \"I suppose you're scared way down to your toes, son?\"\nI am Dad, but I didn't think I showed it. How did you guess my knees knock together? Just because you find me trying to look so unconcerned. I went through something similar myself back in '83. Yes, but it's strange that, after playing in so many Exeter games, I can't keep more calm. You'll be cool enough in the box; never fear. You've got to be mighty frightened now if you're going to be keen later. It's a good sign to have your heart beat faster and your hands tremble a little.\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nAt the Exeter station, the father and son separated, and did not see each other again until Steve, who was, of course, on the players\u2019 bench, noticed his father waving to him from the stands, where he had a seat beside the Head.\n\n\"You ought to be proud of a son like that,\"\nThe Head spoke when Reverend James introduced himself. \"I am, you know. But it's like meeting a stranger again. We've always been good pals, for his mother died long ago and we've been thrown together a great deal. But in the last two years, he has grown up to be a man.\"\n\nThe Head shared stories about Steve's leadership qualities during preliminary practice. Reverend James straightened in his back as he heard the recital, most of which was new to him, as Steve had always been reluctant to talk about himself. The Head paused, and Jimmy Gould stepped out front, demanding \"a long 'Andover' for 'Cap'.\" Mr. Fisher joined in the cheer, and from that moment, he was oblivious to everything except what was going on before him.\nOnce the game started, it quickly became a test of a pitcher's stamina and nerve. In the first half inning, Andover scored two runs with a base on balls, a single, and a double. The prospects looked rosy for Steve. However, in the third inning, a series of careless errors by the shortstop, left fielder, and catcher gave Exeter three runs, despite Steve's best efforts. The situation had altered dramatically, as it often does in such contests. Psychologically, the advantage was now with Exeter, and the Reverend James, whose countenance had been glowing with satisfaction, now looked disconsolate. Old hands, who had participated in many such games, did not lose hope, as they had seen similar shifts before.\nSteve was disappointed as he watched his teammates commit blunders during the game, but he tried to appear contented. \"We'll get them yet, fellows. Keep a stiff upper lip,\" he said as he sat down. The game continued with Steve pitching excellent ball until the seventh inning. A single by Steve, an error by Exeter's first baseman, and a long fly to center field brought in two runs for Andover, amidst continuous roars from the stands. The Reverend James revived and cheered loudly with the boys near him. As the second run, which placed Andover in the lead, was made, he was seen wringing the Head's hand with both of his and dancing up and down in a way that would have scandalized his parishioners.\nSteve thought, \"Now we ought to have them.\" The Andover nine was suffering from over-confidence, a dangerous disease in baseball. Steve struck out the first Exeter man in the next inning with ease, allowing pleasant anticipations. However, the second batter, after two strikes and three balls had been called on him, hit a speedy grounder to third base, where Ikey Randall fumbled. When he had finally grasped the ball in his fingers, he threw it at least five feet over the first baseman's head. It was a deplorable exhibition; there had been no chance of Ikey getting the ball to first in time, and he might just as well have held it. As it was, the Exeter runner sprinted around to third, and Steve was in for another period of agony. The next batter hit a liner right into the infield.\nSteve's hands were ready and he stepped up to the plate. Big Jim Neale, whom every Andover fielder had been taught to fear, stepped nonchalantly to the plate. When the catcher signaled for an out-drop, Steve pondered a moment and then nodded. But the ball did not drop soon enough. Neale caught it squarely on the end of his bat, and it sailed off towards right field, apparently right into the fielder's hands. Unluckily, he had been dreaming, and started too late. In vain he put all his energies into trying to reach the ball; it fell just beyond his outstretched fingers and rolled on and on. For the next minute or two, there was confusion everywhere. Neale, who was a fast runner, slid to home plate in a cloud of dust, and the score was 5-4 in Exeter's favor. This time Steve was really discouraged. He struck the next pitch.\nbatter out with three vicious balls, then walked to the bench with his eyes on the ground. As he came in, he heard a voice from the crowd. \"Head up, Steve!\" he recognized his father's warning tone. At once he straightened himself. What a fool I had been! All was not yet lost! After all, there was still another inning. The simple phrase which his father had used made him realize that he had almost been a quitter.\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\nCome on now, fellows, we'll pull this out yet, he said as he drew near the bench. Every man was on his toes now and dug in. We've got to bring home a victory. The throng in the Andover bleachers were standing up, and cheer after cheer rang out as the first batter walked out, swinging two bats in the traditional fashion. He was begged, implored, and commanded to hit her out. It was Bill Jones, a youngster from Tennessee.\nBill waited patiently for two balls and then hit the third for a clean drive over the second-baseman's head, but it was quickly fielded and he couldn't advance beyond first. Then came Carl Malone, long and lean, with legs like pipe-stems, who bunted along the third baseline, making a beautiful sacrifice. Things were growing exciting. Waddy Hunt fouled out, and two men were out. It was a tense moment when Dave Williams, the shortstop, slowly took his place. Smash! He hit the first ball directly over the third baseman. Bill Jones, on second, had started as Dave swung and was on his way home. As he touched third, he could hear the coaches cry, \"Go on, you can make it!\" and he tore along without hesitating. He could dimly see the Exeter catcher standing ready.\nTo receive a throw, but he forged on, plunging at the end for a long slide. The ball was there, but Dave's dive had disconcerted the catcher, who muffed the throw. The umpire signaled that he was safe, and simultaneously all five of the Andover cheerleaders stood on their heads, kicking their legs into the air. Megaphones went flying, and the Reverend James Fisher's derby hat received a dent which effectively damaged its symmetry.\n\nFive to five! Two out! And Dave Williams was on second base! In a kind of daze, Steve watched Van Jackson, the catcher, who had been with him through so many contests, and was both a reliable hitter and a cool-headed player.\n\n\"You've got to do it. Van!\" he shouted, and then sat on the edge of the bench, quivering with tension. The Reverend James Fisher was sitting back with his eyes closed, afraid to see what was coming next.\nOne strike occurred. Van had let a straight one go by. \"One ball!\" It was a curve far out, which the Exeter catcher almost missed. Suddenly, a great cry came from around Mr. Fisher. He opened his eyes just in time to see Dave Williams tearing from second to third with all the power of his stocky little legs. But he had no need to hurry. Van had hit a grounder to the left of first base, just where it couldn't be reached, and the right fielder in his haste had fumbled and lost the ball. Dave was safe at home! The score was 6-5.\n\nThe next Andover man was so elated that he could hardly hold his bat, and his pop fly into the pitcher's mitt closed the inning for his side. Exeter now had one more chance to score. Strangely enough, Steve felt little doubt about the issue.\nHe stepped into the box, his last effort for his school. His mind went back two years to the same field where he pitched his first ball for an Andover nine. He tried not to be in a hurry and assumed a deliberation he didn't altogether feel. It was destined to be a quick inning.\n\nThe first man hit a high foul, which Van Jackson readily caught. The second, after fanning twice at straight balls, hit a slow grounder to second base, which was quickly fielded and thrown to first ahead of the runner. The third, the redoubtable Jim Neale, had two strikes almost before he comprehended the situation, and then swung desperately at a wild ball.\n\nThe game was over! Once again, the mob of Andover rooters swarmed down on Steve to carry him off.\nHim led to the dressing-room, and he was too joyful even to protest. Meanwhile, the Reverend James tried to adjust a twisted necktie, knock and bend his battered derby into shape, and accept the congratulations of the Head, all in the same moment. He was a supremely happy man, happier than he had been in many years. Almost forgotten memories of similar throngs and victories surged through his mind. He could catch the boy's point of view, so essential for a father to regain if he is to understand his son. He could now see what, in Montana, he had not been able fully to comprehend\u2014why this muscular son of his should be so much devoted to athletic sports and should be willing to spend so much valuable time becoming proficient in them. After all, he reflected, it was just as important to win an Andover-Exeter game.\nSteve prepared an article on Saint Chrysostom for a local religious society. He longed to be a boy again with dreams, realities, and ideals. Suddenly, he found himself on Plimpton Playfield, running with a mob of hysterical boys, keeping time to an absurd song, and shouting absurd sounds. He even helped hold aloft a scoreboard with the mystic chalked figures, 6-5.\n\nAfter a bath and rub-down, Steve found himself tired but mentally relieved. At the train station, he found his father, looking disreputable but still alive. Three team members offered him a seat in the car, and they all sat together. Mr. Fisher sat near the window and one of the players.\ner's on the arm at the aisle. \"This is my dad,\" said Steve. \"He played on the nine in '83.\" Glad to meet you, sir,\" answered the boys one after another as they shook the clergyman's hand. Before many minutes passed, he was telling them about the rules of forty years before and describing some close matches in which he had taken part. He told them the story, dear to every old Andover man, of the game in which Pi Yuk, a Chinese boy, played center field. When he came to bat, \"the Exeter crowd kept yelling 'Washee-washee' and 'Chink-chinky,' but all that the Chinaman did was to grin from ear to ear. And then, with two men on bases, he hit that ball. How he did hit it! It just seemed to soar out of sight, and the marvel is that the fielder ever got it back in time to prevent a home run.\nThe Exeter boys never made fun of him again. But he added, \"we never had a game so exciting as this one to-day.\" And Van Jackson put in, \"And we never shall again.\" Stevens commented, \"When we do, I want to be here to see it.\" The best wish I can have for you, young fellow,\" continued Mr. Fisher, \"is that your own son may be pitching the game.\"\n\nOne celebration on Andover Hill is very like another, but what was old and familiar to Steve was a revelation to the Reverend James. He had dinner with the Head, around a table where alumni from many different school generations were swapping yarns; and he contributed his share with a gusto that sometimes aroused a smile. When he heard the band playing outside, he put his coffee-cup down, excused himself, and went out. Delighted as any small-town boy, he followed.\nSteve allowed the procession to pass, not missing a single speech. At the bonfire, when Steve, standing on the steps of the barge, declared \"ALL FOR ANDOVER,\" his last words as an Andover captain, Reverend Janies found that tears were streaming down his face.\n\n\"Fellows, Steve shouted hoarsely, I'm mighty glad to have everybody here to-night so happy. I've been in three baseball victories over Exeter, and that's as much as anybody can really expect. I want to say now, because I may never get another chance, that it's a wonderful school which we belong to, and we ought to be thankful that we're here. I've got to leave it, and I'm mighty sorry; but you fellows next year will get together in just the same way, with the same fighting spirit, and win again for old Andover.\"\n\nThere's not much to a speech like that, of course.\nIt is sincere, straight from the heart, and the boy who spoke it could be trusted. The excitement over an Andover-Exeter contest soon subsides. Everybody naturally sleeps as late as they can on the morning after, and the usual Sunday papers are purchased by the dozens. For a few hours, there is gossip about poor and good plays, and some talk about the prospects for the following year. But on Monday, the students are back in their classes as if nothing had happened to disturb the customary routine. Such a game is like a little blood-letting, from which the victim emerges with a calmer mind and a less oppressed body. Before he knew it, Steve was in the midst of examinations, sitting up late.\nInto the night to compensate for the hours spent on baseball the week before. He was conscious that study seemed much easier and probably did not appreciate how much more readily he was concentrating his mind on the subject at hand and discriminating between important and unimportant details. On Tuesday noon of Commencement Week all his tests were over, and he walked out of the Greek examination room with a light heart, proud that his athletics had not prevented him from securing an honor in his Homer. He was glad that he could meet his father with a cheerful smile, and with the knowledge that his diploma would be forthcoming.\n\nCommencement Week at Andover, as at all such institutions, is a mad whirl of activities, many of them apparently aimless, from which the visitor usually emerges with a store of memories.\nBut with an audible sense of relief, Steve, as a lower and upper middle, had not been permitted to remain through these festivities and therefore looked forward with some curiosity to what was coming. It was a time, of course, when old graduates returned in large numbers. Steve's father, for instance, was back for his fortieth reunion, at which at least a score of his classmates had promised to be present.\n\nBaccalaureate Sunday was one of those rare June days which our New England climate, in a gracious mood, can sometimes produce. Cloudless skies and a gentle southern breeze tempted everybody outdoors, and the Reverend James could not resist the impulse to start on a walk with one of his old school friends. Before long, they found themselves on the grass-grown woodland path marking the route of the old railroad.\nThe clergyman and his companion walked through the Ballardvale plains towards Wilmington. When he checked his watch, the clergyman was horrified to find it was eleven o'clock, past church time.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said his companion, a renowned lawyer, \"didn't some poet say that 'the groves were God's first temples'? We can worship here in the open as well as in any church pew.\" The Reverend James, being distant from the Academy chapel, was forced to agree with this doctrine, but his conscience was restless during the remainder of the walk.\n\nAt Sunday dinner, Steve asked his father, \"How did you like the sermon?\"\n\n\"I didn't go, Steve. It's the first time in years I've missed a Sunday morning service. But we spent the morning under the pines, with a warm sun and everything.\"\nBefore I realized it, we were so far off that I couldn't possibly have reached the church in season.\n\n\"Good for you, Dad,\" replied Steve. \"It shows what a good time you had. We heard a lot about the Prodigal Son, and you didn't miss anything.\"\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nThe Reverend James made up for his dereliction by going early to the Baccalaureate service in the afternoon. The chimes played hymns at three o'clock, and at four, the one hundred and fifty boys in the Senior Class gathered at Brechin Hall, where they were given instructions by the Marshal, \"Jove\" Bannard, the popular Professor of Greek. The procession formed in columns of two, Mr. Bannard in front with a baton, the two assistant marshals, Steve and Sam Barker, following him. To Mr. Fisher, who stood outside.\nThe church watched them from a distance. The boys looked impressive in their white fiannel trousers and blue coats. Inside, the congregation stood to receive them, and they proceeded down the long aisle, trying to keep time to slow music from the organ. Each fellow displayed his own peculiar brand of miserable self-consciousness on his face.\n\nFor some reason, Steve couldn't keep his mind on the sermon. Now and then, words like loyalty, service, and faith caught his attention for a moment, but soon he was back in his reverie, living over again some of his experiences of the past three years. Almost before he realized it, he was nudged by his neighbor, and found his classmates standing up, listening to the last injunctions of the preacher. What he enjoyed most, perhaps, was the noble hymn of Oliver.\nWendell, a graduate of Andover in 1825, joined in the words: \"Wake in our breasts the living fires. The holy faith that warmed our sires: Thy hand hath made our nation free; To die for her is serving thee.\" With these lines ringing in his ears, he marched out of chapel into the late afternoon sunlight. It seemed even now incredible that he must get ready to leave the school.\n\nOn Wednesday morning came the traditional ceremonies connected with last chapel. After the regular program, Steve, as President of the school, stepped to the front and called for cheers for each member of the teaching staff, beginning with the Head and coming down to the youngest, Levi Snyder, who was barely a year out of college. With an irreverence which astounded the Reverend James Fisher, each teacher was cheered by his nickname, which sometimes aroused laughter.\nAmong the boys, this was especially the case when it was whispered around that some instructor did not like the name assigned to him. After this feature was concluded, each class in turn, beginning with the Seniors, cheered all the other classes. It was amusing to see the Juniors, mere children as compared with the upper classmen, fall into line and imitate their elders. It is thus, of course, that customs are preserved at Andover. The exercises closed with a long and raucous cheer for the Head and the school. It was a marvel that any one could speak aloud after the ordeal. That evening everybody turned out for the Potter Prize speaking in the chapel, a contest in which boys spoke orations which they themselves had written. Unfortunately, it is necessary to record the fact that Steve had thus far disappointed in this regard.\nHal played little skill in public speaking and was not able to gratify his father's secret hope that he might become another Bishop Brooks. However, Hal was one of the contestants and delighted Mr. and Mrs. Manning by winning first prize with an essay on Democracy in Our Schools.\n\n\"I didn't know,\" said Mrs. Manning to Mr. Fisher, \"that Hal knew anything about democracy. He comes from Boston where the Lowells speak only with Cabots, and the Cabots speak only with God.\" Evidently he has been learning something here.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Manning,\" replied Mr. Fisher with unusual earnestness, \"it's impossible for a fellow with any intelligence to stay here in Andover three months and be what you call a snob.\"\nThursday afternoon is the time set apart for the Class Day exercises, which are always held on the lawn under the elms in front of the Gymnasium, beneath the shadow of the Memorial Tower. Steve, as Class President, introduced in succession the Poet, the Orator, the Historian, and the Prophet, each of whom delivered a production which had usually been prepared hastily on the previous afternoon. Nobody cared what was being said, and the audience, made up chiefly of proud mothers and fathers, applauded.\n\nSimply isn\u2019t in the atmosphere of the place; that\u2019s all.\nWell, Hal knows what he is talking about, all right, put in Mr. Manning. He sounds to me like an embryonic Congressman.\nPerhaps, commented Mr. Fisher drily, but he strikes me as being somewhat too intelligent for that kind of a career.\nMr. Fisher went to Steve's room and found a copy of the school annual, the Pot-Pourri, on the table. He casually flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures, several of which featured Steve in various athletic costumes. His interest was piqued when he came across the class votes. Under the headings \"Most Conceited,\" \"Handsome,\" and \"Neatest,\" Steve's name appeared prominently.\nSteve's name, mentioned less frequently than that of Fisher, was leading the way for \"Most Modest, Most Popular,\" and \"Most Respected\" in the competition. Ted Sherman had a considerable majority for \"Class Wire-Puller,\" titled \"Most Capable\" and \"Busiest.\" Joe was high up in the competition for \"Best Athlete,\" \"Best-Natured,\" and \"Most Popular.\" Hal Manning stood first among the \"Brightest\" and \"Wittiest,\" and was also the leader of the \"Best-Dressed.\" Mr. Fisher was most pleased to see Steve's name highest among the \"Most Promising.\" A boy must indeed have sterling qualities to be rated so highly by his fellows, who have known him day in and day out over a period of many months.\nWhile he was engaged in this pleasant occupation, Mr. Fisher heard the door open and saw Steve standing there.\n\n\"Hello, Dad. I see you've got your hands on the new Pot-Pourri.\"\n\n\"Yes. You seem to figure in it a good deal.\"\n\n\"Oh, those votes don't really mean very much. I guess I must have had them fooled at the time when the ballots were taken.\"\n\n\"Well, keep on fooling them, as you call it, if this is the result. I'm proud of you, anyway, even if you do hate yourself.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about, Dad? Of course I'm proud to have the fellows like me, but don't take the thing too seriously. I may turn out to be a worthless investment. School popularity isn't the final test by any means. I know that.\"\n\nA few minutes later, the two strolled over to the Head's reception on the broad lawn around it.\nMr. Fisher found himself at Steve's house among returning alumni, parents of graduating boys, teachers, and Trustees, all paying their respects to the Head. Mr. Fisher was introduced everywhere as Steve's father, and he enjoyed hearing what people had to say about his son. He found himself in a corner with Joe Watson's calm, slow-moving mother, proud of her boy's achievements. Joe's father had been dead for many years. They chatted for twenty minutes, comparing notes on what they had seen and heard. Their conversation would have horrified either Steve or Joe, as it consisted mainly of lavish compliments paid to them both.\n\nBefore the afternoon was over, Mr. Fisher met Ted's family: a stunning-looking mother, rather flashily dressed; a father who exuded prosperity.\nMr. Fisher, with a large diamond horseshoe in his necktie, a big cigar in the corner of his mouth, and a suit of clothes resembling a checkerboard pattern, joined the Sherman family as they admired Steve. Mr. Sherman was not quite at ease, but lost his aloofness when they all expressed their admiration for his son.\n\n\"I have tried that boy in five schools, Mr. Fisher,\" Mr. Sherman confessed. \"He was fired from most of them. It took Andover to make a man out of him.\"\n\nMr. Sherman was the same kind of man himself, interjected his spouse. \"I guess there aren't many schools in this country that he didn't try.\"\n\n\"I came out all right, didn't I, my dear?\"\npostulated she her husband, a trifle embarrassed having his past thus resurrected. Anyhow, Ted has a fine record, and I\u2019m going to recognize it by giving him a Stutz Roadster for his birthday next week. That's very generous, sir,\u201d replied Mr. Fisher, who had been wondering whether he would have money enough left to buy Steve a new suit when they got back to Montana. Surely, he thought, life has strange contrasts. And yet he would have rather had Steve grow up as the boy had done, without luxuries and compelled to be economic, than have granted his every wish. It was at the reception that Steve once more saw Marge Watson, who was there with her mother. After one of the dances on the canvas floor, he saw her glancing at him shyly, and he went up to speak to her.\n\nHello, Steve,\u2019\u2019 she said. I thought you were going to cut me.\nHe answered, \"Oh, no, I just didn't want to interfere with Hal Manning's courting.\"\n\n\"Hal! I haven't seen him since the Prom, two years ago, when you treated me so badly and wrote that impolite note.\"\n\nSteve, despite his avowed scorn for the other sex, was not unsusceptible. He noticed that Marge had decidedly grown up and was now a beautiful young lady. His memory of the past, when she had treated him so cavalierly, faded with every passing minute, and soon he was dancing with her. The great Steve, who had refused to attend the Prom in his Senior year, was on the way to being captivated. When his father discovered them a half hour later, the two were seated on a bench in a remote section of the shrubbery, evidently making up for two lost years, and Steve had engaged eight dances for the Prom.\non the next evening, she was going to the Peabody House with her brother, Joe. That night, the returning classes had their dinners, while other visitors entertained themselves by patronizing the performances of the Dramatic Club and the Glee Club in the Gymnasium. Mr. Fisher naturally went to the Peabody House, where fourteen gray-haired gentlemen sat together, all members of the class of 1883. Their talk was mainly of bygone times. Some had sons who had been to Andover and graduated; one actually had a grandson who was to enter the next autumn. But Mr. Fisher was the only father whose son was in the graduating class. When the tables were cleared and the cigars were lit, he was asked by the others to give impressions of the school as he had seen it during the previous ten days.\n\n\"I'll tell you, gentlemen,\" he concluded, after...\nHe had presented some account of the baseball game and other interesting events. It's a better place than it was in our day. These boys are cleaner and manlier than we were forty years ago. Furthermore, they're getting more sensible in construction, under better teachers. Nowadays they send them all out into athletics just as soon as their luncheon is digested, and they can use up a good part of their animal energy in games. When they come in at night, they\u2019re just comfortably tired, perfectly willing to settle down at a desk and study. There's a lot of talk to-day about overdoing athletics. These youngsters, as I see them, are just following out the natural impulses of their kind, and they end their school-days a good deal better off because of the health they have been building up here. As for drinking.\nand other forms of vice, there's much less of it now than there used to be. The whole spirit of the institution, even among the boys, seems to be against that sort of thing. If a young man deliberately makes up his mind to go to the devil, he can do that anywhere; but in Andover now he must simply go out and hunt up opportunities to be dissipated. They won't be brought directly to him very often. Of course these boys are not angels, and nobody in his right mind expects them to be; however, their fun is usually clean and wholesome. They're still allowed plenty of freedom, but there's always somebody looking out for them. I've watched the whole system, and I want to declare here and now that I'm for it. It may not be perfect, but it gets results. Furthermore, it's American in the best sense of that word, and the young men are allowed to develop character and independence in a healthy and supportive environment.\nMr. Fisher's speech was loudly applauded, and he was asked many questions by the little group of graduates at the table. Little by little, various reminiscences came out in the course of the conversation. One of the men, a most respectable-looking businessman with a head almost completely destitute of hair and fully his share of avoirdupois, said, as the talk came in his direction, I heard a young chap not long ago say to me at the club, 'Oh, you lived in the Age of Innocence, of course,' with a kind of sneer on his face. Well, perhaps we did; but when I remember some of those keg parties at Pomp's Pond and contemplate the orgies which some of the fellows used to have in the old Commons, I'm glad that my grandchildren won't have to go through what we did.\nI did. We survived, but I don't know how some of us did it. If ours was the Age of Innocence, I don't want to live in any really sophisticated time.\n\n\"Yes,\" added a New York banker, \"we had better not do any boasting about the 'good old days.' If we do, someone sometime will tell the truth, and then we'll be exposed.\"\n\nIt was two o'clock before the Reverend James, staying up long beyond his usual retiring hour, finally went to bed, well satisfied with his day. The next morning he was up almost with the sun for a stroll through the woods around Rabbit's Pond. It was to be, he felt, a notable occasion both for himself and Steve.\n\nAt half-past nine, the alumni began to assemble in front of the Archaeology Building, on the very spot where the ancient school had opened in 1778, in a renovated carpenter's shop.\nThe shop had been torn down, and the surroundings had greatly changed, but a tablet marked the place where Andover had its beginnings. A band assisted in bringing visitors together, and before long, the gathering was of respectable size. Then a procession was formed in the traditional way, faculty and distinguished guests in the van, alumni following by classes, the oldest in front. The twenty-five-year class carried banners, indicating their proud status. Across Main Street and up the Campus they marched, keeping step to the music of \"Old PA,\" until they reached Brechin Hall. Trustees took their place in line. Then the parade took a route down the Elm Arch almost to the Chapel, where the Senior Class opened up.\nTwo rows allowed the remainder of the procession to pass between them. The spectacle was extremely impressive to Steve as he watched men who had been out of Andover for sixty years coming marching down as if they were boys again. Among the distinguished personages who were there that day were a United States Senator, a Major-General, a college president, a member of the cabinet, and a famous banker, all linked together in their affection for the school.\n\nInside the Chapel, after all had been seated, was held the Exhibition\u2014the one hundred and forty-fifth, it said on the program\u2014which had been an annual feature since the eighteenth century.\n\nAfter an opening prayer by the Head, came ceremonies initiating the high scholars of the class\u2014Hal Manning being one\u2014into the Cum Laude society. As a part of the initiation, the President presented them with a silver cup.\nOf Dartmouth College spoke briefly on the significance of the organization. Once the applause had subsided, the Head stepped forward to read the long prize list for the year.\n\nSteve had never been much concerned about the matter of prizes. Naturally, there were some in which he was interested, but usually because he hoped that some of his friends might win them. He himself had no remarkably high standing in any subject and could not hope to receive any of the rewards for special proficiency in Latin, History, or English.\n\nThe Chapel was now crowded, with many persons standing in the rear, for everyone reaches there at least in time to hear the prize list read. As the winner's name was called out, he proceeded down one of the three long aisles to the platform, where the prize was formally presented.\nHis progress was always accompanied by clapping. The length and volume varied with the personal popularity of the recipient and the importance of the prize itself. As the Head moved down the list, Hal's name was read again and again, and he went to the front six times for awards in scholarship competitions. There were moments when Steve was close to envying him, but after all, Steve was incapable of any spiteful feeling. He applauded longer and more loudly than the others.\n\nFinally, the Head, reaching two or three prizes of more than ordinary significance, paused for a few seconds before proceeding. The Faculty Prize, presented to the highest ranking scholar of the class, went to Charlie Clough, one of Steve's best friends, who, through a constitutional infirmity, had been debarred from athletics, but had excelled in academics.\nThe Head held up the Yale Club Cup, saying, \"This year, we have an ideal candidate for this prize. A young man who, while playing on three teams and serving as captain of one, has maintained an honor grade in his classroom work as a senior. I take pleasure in saying that the Faculty have been unanimous in awarding this prize to Stephen Harrison Fisher, of Arlington, Montana.\" Spontaneous clapping rose like pouring waters as Steve walked nervously along the aisle.\nPlaused greatly as he returned to his seat. The award was most satisfying to the student body.\n\nALL FOR ANDOVER\n\nThe Head announced that the Otis prize for the greatest general improvement over a three-year period had been given to Joseph William Watson. Joe's surprise was evident, and he stalked to the platform in a daze. The broad smile covering his face on the way back was a delight to those who saw it. And now, continued the Head, it is my privilege to present one of our most coveted prizes \u2014 the Fuller prize \u2014 for the Senior Class member who has best represented the ideals of Andover. Given without dissenting voice, to Stephen Harrison Fisher.\n\nAgain, the approval of the audience was expressed by frantic applause.\nThe Reverend James Fisher, sitting amongst his classmates at the center of the church, could no longer hold back his emotions. Tears poured down his cheeks. Steve, however, was bewildered. When Hal shook his hand, and Joe leaned over from the seat behind and patted him on the shoulder, Steve was still not fully comprehending his success. The oversized cup in his hand and the envelope in his pocket seemed to have materialized from a dream.\n\nThe remaining announcements concerned scholarships, and Steve discovered he was the recipient of one worth five hundred dollars at Yale, a welcome source of aid. By this time, he had regained his composure and accepted the envelope and the Head's handshake without tremor.\n\nThe true excitement of the Exhibition had come to an end. The Head read out the list of final honors.\nThe President of the Board of Trustees presented diplomas to those who had earned them. The audience joined in Holmes's hymn:\n\n\"Lord of all being, throned afar,\nThy glory flames from sun and star;\nCenter and soul of every sphere.\nYet to each loving heart how near.\"\n\nWhen they had marched out of the chapel and were lingering on the porch in the sunlight, Ted Sherman came up to Steve, linked his arm through Steve's, and said, \"Steve, old top, that's great. You deserved every bit of it, and more. I'm ashamed to think what kind of record I've made. Three years at Andover, and not a prize of any kind. All I've earned is the brown derby for the fellow that loafed the most scientifically.\"\n\n\"All for Andover\"\n\n\"That's all bunk, Ted. You've made three close friends to my one.\"\nI know they play with me, but they respect you. That's the difference. I hate facing my dad. Look here, he cares more about your being the baseball manager than he would if you had won the good boy prize, as Joe did. I know how he feels.\n\nJust then, the Reverend James approached and gave his son a vigorous handclasp. The conversation was interrupted. The father said nothing but \"Good work, my boy,\" but Steve knew what he was thinking, and valued his silence more than an outburst of words. Mr. Fisher did not linger but walked off with his classmates. Steve would have liked to get away by himself; instead, he had to bear the ordeal of unceasing congratulations from everybody he knew and from some old gentlemen whom, so far as he could recall, he had never seen before. He was beyond a doubt the hero of the day.\nHalf an hour before the Alumni Dinner, scheduled for one o'clock, guests gathered in front of the Gymnasium where the band played sweet strains. It was a scene of confusion as photographers rushed about taking pictures of the four or five oldest living graduates and long-separated friends greeted each other with the stored-up warmth of many years. At last, Dad Warner, the Secretary of the Alumni Association, appeared at the top of the steps leading into the Gymnasium, and called off the names of invited guests who, two by two, walked up into the building amid the applause of the crowd. It took some time to complete these preliminaries, but no one complained, for they are a part of the traditional program.\nAt the end table, on a raised platform, sat the President of the Alumni Association, Mr. George B. Fuller, a prominent banker, with the Head on his right, and the distinguished guests of the day in a long row on either side. The alumni, grouped by classes, sat at long tables on the floor. The youngest class was conspicuous for its size and enthusiasm. Possibly six hundred persons may have sat down to luncheon, and there were many ladies in the gallery, who came mainly to hear the speeches. Between courses, Steve kept his classmates active, singing Andover songs and cheering for the older classes, many of which responded in kind. It was a noisy gathering, but every one seemed happy.\n\nWhen the tables were finally cleared, Mr. Fuller rose and called the meeting to order. He then introduced the various speakers, closing with:\n\n(Closing of Speeches)\nHead received a usual ovation from an Andover audience. His talk was informal, recounting new gifts, building improvements, and Hill gossip that graduates enjoyed. He concluded with a tribute to the graduating class:\n\nI ought to say in conclusion that I have never had a pleasanter group of young fellows to work with than those in this class which has just graduated. They have helped me in times of trouble; they have backed me up with the student body; they have borne responsibility without complaint. Fellows like Joe Watson, Bill Jones, and Steve Fisher are not found every term in Andover, and I want to thank them publicly for what they have done. When the time comes for them, in later years, to help the school, they will not be found lacking.\nAfter dinner, Steve and the championship nine donned their uniforms for the annual match with the alumni. The Head, a notable baseball player from his college generation, usually pitched for the alumni team. Though he was over fifty and gray-haired, he could still throw a baffling curve. It's recorded that Steve struck out on his first turn at bat, amusing the spectators. The game was closer than expected with youth and training clearly on one side. The alumni had a good chance of winning until the end.\nAt the game's end, two hits from the school team brought in three runs and gave them a commanding lead. The contest's defining moment, beyond a doubt, was a three-base hit that the Head secured off Steve's pitching in the third inning, leaving that youngster very much chagrined. For the graduates, Commencement was over; but Steve had an engagement with Marge Watson at the Prom, which he was not likely to forget. Right after dinner, however, he walked with his father to the steps of Alumni Hall, where they watched the sun drop behind the western hills and listened to the evening chimes from the Memorial Tower. It was a glorious sight to look out over the broad campus to the west, and then off to Lawrence and the valley beyond. Those who founded Andover had established it.\nA prescient vision of the future, and their dreams have come true. Like many spring evenings in New England, this was warm and drowsy, and there was a tinge of melancholy in the air, due probably to the fact that both Steye and his father were in quiet moods, after the rush and confusion of the day.\n\n\"Hasn't it been worth it, Steve?\"\n\n\"Worth it? I should say it had been. I've been thinking all day how sorry I shall be to leave it. No college can ever mean to me quite what this has meant.\"\n\n\"It all comes down to the point that the fellows here are at an impressionable age, and that their characters are really molded while they are here.\"\n\nYes, it's that, of course. But it's more than that. There's something in this Hill and its surroundings that gets you. It always seems to me commencing Commencement Week 367.\n\"as if it stood like something fixed in the midst of other things that are all the time shifting around, you just know that, if you come back a century from now, Andover will still be here.\u2019' \"That's odd, Steve. I've had precisely the same sensation. For years and years I couldn't possibly get back to this place, and yet all the while I was sure that it couldn't really change very much. And it hasn't. Of course, there are all these beautiful new buildings, and some of the old ugly architecture has disappeared in the natural course of time. But the spirit of the school is just the same.\" You've said the right word, Dad. I guess it is the spirit of the place that gets you. It's like the 'house not made with hands' that you had such a corking sermon about a year or two ago in the summer.\" The hour had come when Steve was due at the\nAs they walked towards the Gymnasium, they could see the gleam of Japanese lanterns through the branches of the elms and hear faintly the tinkle of the orchestra. It was a night filled with beauty and tranquillity. The two naturally gravitated towards the tall Tower, stretching aloft on the old Training Field.\n\nAll for Andover.\n\nAs they looked, the names of the Andover heroes gleamed in the stone as the moonlight struck them.\n\n\"It is fellows like those who have made this school what it is,\" said Steve. \"They certainly had fine stuff in them.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's true. But they were just a part of that spirit we were talking about. It's all a matter of where you put your energy. You haven't any such spectacular opportunity as a World War, but there's need for a good deal of courage in these times of so-called peace.\"\n\"Some day I hope that I'll do something worthy of this place,\" mused Steve. \"It's a hard standard to live up to.\"\n\n\"You've done it already. Son,\" said the Reverend James Fisher, his voice breaking slightly. \"There's no more that I could ask.\"\n\nThe End.", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1925", "title": "Ann's family", "creator": "Heath, Janet Field. [from old catalog]", "lccn": "25017939", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST010662", "call_number": "7328458", "identifier_bib": "00024717549", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "Boston, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard co", "description": "p. cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-02-21 13:01:04", "updatedate": "2019-02-21 13:58:14", "updater": "associate-mike-saelee@archive.org", "identifier": "annsfamily00heat", "uploader": "associate-mike-saelee@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-02-21 13:58:17", "operator": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "tts_version": "1.64-initial-41-g686d335", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "204", "scandate": "20190319142337", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-lelani-villaver@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190322142723", "republisher_time": "196", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/annsfamily00heat", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t96760v7d", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "openlibrary_edition": "OL26802722M", "openlibrary_work": "OL19345479W", "curation": "[curator]associate-manuel-dennis@archive.org[/curator][date]20190508171850[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201904[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190430", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1155934417", "backup_location": "ia906808_0", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "89", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1925, "content": "ANN'S FAMILY\nJANET - FIELD HEATH\nClass IP_Zr_X\nGoppgiit _ Ayy.!\nCDPIGHT DEPOSit\nGPO\nANN'S FAMILY\nI\n\nBY JANET FIELD HEATH\niLlllWEDBv LJBRIDGE\nBOSTON\nLOTHROP, LEE SHEPARD CO.\nCopyright, 1925,\nBy Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.\nAll Rights Reserved\n\nAnn\u2019s Family\nPrinted in TJ. S. A.\nNORWOOD PRESS\nBERWICK SMITH CO.\nNORWOOD, MASS.\n\nI\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I\nTo The Farm .\n\nCHAPTER II\nA Busy Day .\n\nCHAPTER III\n\u201cWilliam\u201d\n\nCHAPTER IV\nThe New Game .\n\nCHAPTER V\nA Farewell Party\n\nCHAPTER VI\nGood-by, Ann\n\nCHAPTER VII\nAt Aunt Margaret\u2019s\n\nCHAPTER VIII\nA Plain Day\n\nCHAPTER IX\nAn Invitation\n\nCHAPTER X\nThe Party\n\nCHAPTER XI\nSpringtime and Ann .\n\nCHAPTER XII\nA Surprise\n\nCHAPTER XIII\nA Ship with Silver Wings\n\nCHAPTER XIV\nWhat They All Said\n\nCHAPTER XV\nCircus Days .\n\nCHAPTER XVI\nA Visit to Janey .\n\nCHAPTER XVII\nHouse-Hunting .\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\nOh, how they enjoyed it all! (Page 153)\n\nFrontispiece.\n\"Right into the face of a little boy... Ann loved the funny pigs. \"Ouch!\" he said again. A stick for a sword. \"Aren't they pretty?\" Mother Goose children sailing gayly in the bath-tub.... Across a golden bridge. \"Couldn't you take it?\" \"It's a knight.\" Her arms full. \"It's a five-dollar gold-piece.\" \"You're a sweet little thing, Nancy.\" A prancing clown. \"Can't you walk?\" \"Oh, what a cunning little house!\"\n\nAnn's Family\nI\nTo the Farm\n\"Tell, here I am, starting around again,\" said Ann. As the train pulled out of the station, the little girl took off her hat and settled herself as comfortably as she could for her long ride out into the country. She felt a little lonely as she folded her hands and looked out of the window.\n\"It seems I'm handed around a lot - almost like Aunt Margaret's recipe for sponge cake,\" sighed Ann. \"I wish I had a steady, stay-all-the-time family like other children. Now, to look at Ann, you would think she was just the kind of a little girl to belong to somebody. She had shining blue eyes and soft brown hair that waved about her face and nestled in soft little curls at the back of her neck; she was really a dear, pretty little girl. If she had had a father and a mother, they would no doubt have been very proud of her, but both parents had died before Ann was five years old, and her aunts and uncles took turns caring for her. 'Such a fortunate little girl to have such good relatives,' every one said, and Ann knew that they spoke the truth. She wouldn't have liked it at all to have had to go to the big Children's Home\"\nThey passed on the way to church. to the farm II But it had seemed of late as though a great deal of work was mixed in with being taken care of. Perhaps the aunts and uncles did not mean to, perhaps they did not think of it at all, but each one seemed to ask Ann to visit at the time when she could help the most. During the winter months, she stayed with Aunt Margaret. There were always errands to be run at Aunt Margaret's, and there were little Tom and Peggy to be entertained and watched. In the spring, the little girl was sent to Aunt Rachel, who lived in the old home on Madison Avenue, where Ann's mother had lived when she was a little girl. \"Aunt Rachel's\" meant house-cleaning and learning all the many things that Aunt Rachel thought every child should know. Ann was always glad when, as a last duty, Aunt Rachel sent her back to her own family.\nThe little girl thought, \"I hope they'll be glad to see me at Uncle John's farm. I do hope they have a new baby calf and some darling baby pigs.\" As she thought of the little pigs that were always so funny, she looked right into the face of a little boy sitting opposite her in the car. He sat up straight and looked uncomfortable in his stiff collar and new shoes. Believing she was smiling at him, he returned the smile, but Ann felt his smile was as stiff as his collar.\n\"I wasn't smiling at you, anyway,\" she said to herself. \"Your clothes look pretty rich, but you don't look a bit cozy.\"\n\n\"Why don't you read your book, William?\" the lady beside the boy said.\n\n\"His name's William,\" she thought. \"And I guess that's his mother.\"\n\nShe glanced shyly across at the lady who had spoken. Ann always liked to look at mothers, especially since she hadn't one of her own. She noticed the fine silk traveling-suit that the lady wore, and her handsome umbrella and handbag.\n\n\"Yes, I guess they're rich, all right,\" Ann sighed. \"I wonder where they're going and if they have any more family.\"\n\nShe knew it was not polite to stare at people, but out of the corner of her eye she watched her fellow-travelers, wondering what book it was that the boy was now reading so attentively. She was suddenly lost in thought.\nWhen they reached Fenly station, the group gathered up their things and prepared to follow her from the train. I believed they were coming here as well, thought Ann as she jumped lightly to the platform and looked about for someone from her uncle's farm.\n\n\"Oh, Pete, hello!\" she exclaimed, spotting at last the young fellow who had been her Uncle John's helper for several years.\n\n\"Well, here you be, Ann,\" said the big, good-natured man, lifting her into the old buckboard. \"Grown some, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered the little girl. \"I've grown an inch and a half, and I've gained four pounds; they told us all at school before we came away this year.\"\n\n\"You don't say! Be a young lady before we know it, won't you?\"\n\n\"No, I'm only ten,\" Ann told him.\n\nTo The Farm\n\"Oh, Pete, you've got a new horse to go with old Jerry, haven't you? Have they anything else new?\"\n\"Well, just the usual things,\" drawled Pete; \"pigs, ducks, calves, and the rest.\"\n\"Oh, Pete! A new baby calf!\"\n\"Two of them,\" laughed the man; \"fine, frisky ones.\"\n\"O-ooh!\" squealed Ann, bouncing up and down on the rickety seat: \"I can hardly wait to get there. Let me drive, Pete; I can make them go.\"\nPete handed over the reins, and they went. It was not long before they came in sight of the old farmhouse, and Ann's little cousins came running out to meet her \u2013 Mary and Jack and Florence. Yes, and there was even the baby, toddling unsteadily to the door. Ann caught him up in her arms.\n\"Why, Precious, how you've grown!\" she cried. \"Kiss Ann, darling.\"\nStill holding him, she ran in to greet them.\nHer aunt and uncle, and as they all gathered around the big dinner table, Ann felt very happy again. \"After all, it's very nice,\" she thought, \"even if it isn't a steady family.\"\n\nA Busy Day\n\"Ann, Ann, wake up, it's six o'clock,\" cried her cousin Mary the next morning, jumping up from her side of the bed which Ann always shared with her. Ann sat up blinking and rubbed her eyes. \"Dear me,\" she said; \"I couldn't think where I was. It always mixes me up dreadfully at first when I change families.\"\n\n\"Don't you like it?\" asked little Mary anxiously. She was two years younger than Ann, and very fond of her. \"I'd just love to be going to different places. I never go anywhere except once in a while when Father takes us to town to buy new shoes.\"\n\n\"Well,\" replied Ann, now wide awake, \"it might be nice if you were going.\"\n\"I keep going around in a circle, like Alice in Wonderland, but I don't believe I'll ever get to more than three places - here, and at Aunt Margaret's and Aunt Rachel's. The mention of the last name made Mary think of something.\n\n\"Oh, Ann, Pete brought up your trunk. Let's unpack it. Did Aunt Rachel give you anything?\"\n\n\"Two aprons,\" said Ann, getting dressed as fast as she could. \"Aunt Rachel bought the stuff and I made the aprons. Wait, I'll get them out.\"\n\nLifting the lid of the trunk, the little girl dove in among her small belongings and brought out two diminutive bungalow-aprons. \"They're French-seamed - that's sewed inside and out,\" she said proudly.\n\n\"Oh, aren't they nice!\" said Mary.\n\n\"Well - they're aprons,\" said Ann with a sigh. \"Come on, Mary, we'd better...\"\"\nBut it was late in the morning before Ann had a chance to unpack her little trunk, as there were all the breakfast dishes to be washed and Baby Donald to be taken care of while Aunt Flo did the churning. A Busy Day\n\n\"Let's take him out to the barnyard,\" said Ann. \"Just think, I haven't seen any of the chickens and things yet.\"\n\n\"Come, see the new calves,\" shouted Jack, rushing on ahead. \"I'll show you where they are, Ann!\"\n\n\"And the baby ducklings!\" cried little Florence. \"I'll show you them, Ann.\"\n\n\"Dear me, so much to see!\" laughed Ann. \"But you'll have to go more slowly. Precious Baby can't run so fast.\"\n\nAround the barn and down into the orchard they went. Ann loved the farm animals - the funny pigs that came grunting right up to you, the calves, the chickens, and all the other creatures that lived on the farm.\nWith soft, big eyes that ran away from you. She loved the meadow with the little brook, and the orchard with the friendly fruit-trees. She was so interested in everything that it was nearly two hours before the children came back to the house. Ann carrying the baby, who was nearly asleep. She gave him into Aunt Flo\u2019s outstretched arms and ran up to her room.\n\nTaking her things out of the trunk, she folded them neatly and put them away in the dresser that Mary had emptied for her. Last of all, she took out the photographs of her father and mother, which she always carried with her. The little girl placed them on her side of the bureau and gazed at them earnestly. She had been only four years old when her mother died, but she could remember that she was blue-eyed like them.\nAnn remembered her mother's soft, tender touch and her father's laughing look. After her mother's death, the laughter faded from her father's eyes, and he left her with Aunt Margaret to become a soldier in the Great War. He went to France, but he never returned. Only a letter from his lieutenant and the report \"Captain Ralph Burdette killed in action\" remained. Ann gazed proudly at her soldier-father's picture and then at her mother. \"You're my real family, you know,\" she whispered. \"I guess you're somewhere loving me.\" A tear fell over Ann's little nose, but she brushed it away hastily. \"I think I'd better make up a little verse and sing,\" she said. \"I'll make it a loving one, like you, Father and Mother dear.\"\nThe pictured eyes seemed to smile at the little girl, who bravely sang: \"Just loving every one, and loving everything Keeps people happy and makes people sing.\"\n\n\"Ann, oh, Ann!\" cried Mary, running up the stairs and into the room. \"Father says Mrs. Gates wants to know if we can come over this afternoon and help her pick the peas for market. She's afraid they'll spoil if she waits for Jim's foot to get better, and she'll give us twenty-five cents a basket. Mother says we may do it, you and I!\"\n\n\"Oh, jolly,\" said Ann, hopping up. She liked to go to the big truck-farm nearby, and she liked big, energetic Mrs. Gates, who usually had something good tucked away in her apron pockets for visiting children. And, besides, twenty-five cents a basket!\n\n\"I bet I can pick ten baskets,\" she declared. \"That will be two dollars.\"\nAnd a half \u2013 oh, Mary!\u201d \"Oh, no, you can't,\" said practical little Mary. \"They're great big baskets, Ann. Here, I've got two sunbonnets, and Mother says we must wear aprons. Will you wear one of your new ones, Ann?\"\n\n\"Yes, and you'll wear the other,\" laughed Ann, bringing them out.\n\nAunt Flo laughed at them when she saw them all ready before dinner. \"Are you going to wash the dishes in your sunbonnets?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh, bother, I forgot the old dishes,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Well, you may forget them this time,\" said her mother, with a smile. \"I think Mrs. Gates wants you early.\"\n\nBut early as it was when they started, it was supper-time before the two little girls came back, and pretty tired little girls they were, too. The damp curls lay in ringlets on Ann's forehead, and her nose was badly sunburned, but in her pocket she had, if not two dollars.\n\"Uncle John asked, \"Rich young ladies, aren't you?\" when Mary produced a dollar she had earned at the supper-table. \"Whatever are you going to do with so much money?\" Mary replied, \"Save it till I go to town and buy candy with it.\" Jack and Florence screamed, \"Some for me! Some for me!\" Mary declared, \"Yes, some for everybody.\" \"What are you going to get, Ann?\" \"She'd better get a bigger sunbonnet to cover her nose,\" Aunt Flo laughed. \"No, get candy, too, Ann,\" Jack expected. Ann hesitated and asked, \"How much would one of the baby pigs cost, Uncle John?\" He laughed heartily and replied, \"Upon my word, you've got a business head on your shoulders, Ann.\"\"\nAnn replied, \"It isn't about business. It's about having something that's yours.\"\n\nUncle Robert smiled at her, \"You can have your pig, but keep the money. Maybe Aunt Margaret can use it for you later.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Uncle John,\" Ann cried in a glad voice. Her heart seemed to swell with happiness, and that evening, when she ran out to see her own pig, her little song came trilling back to her: \"Oh, just loving every one and loving every thing. It makes you happy and it makes you sing.\"\n\nA few days later, Mary asked, \"Do you think it's going to rain, Father? We know it's the Sunday School picnic tomorrow.\"\n\nThe Sunday School picnic! Ann's face brightened. Last year's picnic had been so much fun. They had all had such fun.\nMary was happy as Ann arrived in Mrs. Gates' big truck wagon. They had reached their destination, where a lake awaited them with small boats and basket-luncheons, including ice-cream for everyone as a treat.\n\n\"William\" was 31.\n\n\"You came just in time, Ann,\" Mary said.\n\nAunt Flo looked up. \"I thought perhaps Ann would stay home with the baby this year and let me go,\" she said. \"I haven't been for a long time, and Ann doesn't know the new minister or his family.\"\n\nAnn's heart thumped angrily for a moment, and tears of disappointment started to form in her eyes. This was usually the way when something very nice was in prospect. She had to stay at home with the baby when she was at this place, or with Tom and Peggy when she was at Aunt Margaret's.\n\nAunt Flo saw the tears. \"If you feel bad about it, Ann, you may go. I suppose,\" she said.\n\"You don't go to Ann's day school very often, so I didn't think you'd care,\" a tired voice said. \"Couldn't we take Baby and all go?\" Mary pleaded. \"No,\" her mother replied firmly. \"He'd get tired, and then nobody could have a good time. Besides, someone has to be here to give Father and Pete some lunch. Ann may go if she wishes.\" But Ann had been thinking. How good Aunt Flo was to her! She had so little chance to go anywhere until she, Ann, came to help. Her face changed back to sunshine. \"Why, of course I'll stay with my Precious,\" she cried, catching up the baby, who was toddling about. \"We can keep house together beautifully, so we can.\" Aunt Flo's face brightened. \"I'll get everything ready before I go. It will be a real treat for me.\"\n\nBefore eight o'clock the next morning, Ann saw them all pile into the carriage.\nThe big truck and the crowd drove away, leaving only little Donald and herself, and Uncle John, already busy in the hayfield. Ann felt quite proud to be left in charge of everything. She hurried about, making the rooms clean and tidy. Baby ran to and fro after her as she worked. About ten o'clock, the little feet began to drag, and Ann saw that he was getting sleepy. She felt indeed like a little mother as she picked him up and sang a little song while his drowsy head rested on her shoulder.\n\n\"Sweetly sleep, my baby dear,\nI will stay with you quite near;\nWhile you sleep I\u2019ll work away,\nWhen you wake, we\u2019ll gayly play.\"\n\n\"That's a nice song,\" Ann said as she laid the baby carefully down in his crib. \"I'd better remember it, because when I'm grown up I'm going to have a hundred children.\"\n\nWhen Uncle John came in later she\nAnn had bacon and eggs ready for luncheon. She was very happy to think she hadn't burned the bacon and that none of the egg-yolks were broken except one, which she carefully kept for herself.\n\n\"You're quite a housekeeper, Ann,\" said Uncle John, smiling to himself over her hot cheeks and tumbled hair; \"this bacon is very nice.\"\n\n\"I'd much rather do this than go to the picnic,\" said Ann fervently; \"much rather.\"\n\n\"William,\" William,\n\n\"Think what nice bacon your pig will make some day,\" said her uncle with twinkling eyes.\n\n\"I guess not,\" answered Ann. \"That pig's never going to get killed! He's just going to live on and get fatter and happier every year till he just dies.\"\n\n\"Be all right till the folks get home?\" he asked a little later, preparing to go.\nThe young housekeeper flew about getting the dishes washed. When Baby awakened, she was ready to feed him the rice and milk Aunt Flo had left.\n\n\"I feel as though I'd like a nap now,\" sighed Ann afterward, leading little Donald outside to the hammock under the trees. But Master Baby didn't believe in naps for other people. He felt frisky as a rabbit after his own long rest and kept his little nurse busy watching him.\n\n\"Dear me,\" she said at last, \"I guess I'd better put you in the go-cart and take you for a walk. We can go down to the back pasture and get some blackberries for supper.\"\n\nBaby was always happy in his little cart. He jangled the tin pail Ann brought out all the way to the pasture where the blackberries hung thick and large upon the bushes.\nAnn had just started to pick the berries when she heard a voice a little distance away; \"Ouch - ouch - ooh.\" Looking up, she saw a little boy pulling away from the sharp blackberry thorns. He was sucking his fingers in pain, and two sudden tears stood in his eyes.\n\n\"Ouch!\" he said again.\n\"Ouch!\" he said again.\n\nAnn ran to him, laughing. \"It hurts,\" she said, \"but I can't help laughing; you're just 'the man from our town.' You know.\"\n\n\"He was so wondrous wise,\nHe jumped into a bramble-bush\nAnd scratched out both his eyes!\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother Goose,\" said the boy dismissively, still sucking his fingers.\n\n\"Don't you like Mother Goose?\" Ann asked politely.\n\n\"No, it's silly!\" said the boy.\n\n\"I suppose you think 'Alice in Wonderland' is silly, too,\" said Ann a little crossly. She loved Mother Goose.\n\n\"Yes, I do - the silliest thing I ever read.\"\nAnn looked at him curiously. \"Why, you're William,\" she exclaimed suddenly.\n\"I don't know you,\" said the boy, staring back.\n\"No, but I was the little girl who sat near you on the train. I remember now. You got off when I did. Does your grandmother live here or something?\"\n\"No,\" the little boy replied, his tone more friendly. \"We board - right in that house over there. I got sick, and the doctor said I had to come out to the country. I don't like it, either.\"\n\"Why don't you?\" Ann asked, who thought that he didn't look much more comfortable than he had in the train, although his stiff collar had disappeared, and his new shoes too.\n\"Nothing to do,\" city-bred William replied.\n\"O my, yes there is; there's lots to do in the country! You can come over and play with my cousins and me,\" Ann offered warmly.\nI hate a gang of kids,\" said William honestly. \"I like it better here. You come here, can't you? I'll tell you. I'll come tomorrow and maybe we can make up some games. I often do. But I can't play now \u2014 I have to pick some berries. Here, can't you help me pick? And eat some; they're good.\"\n\nThe little boy stuck his hand in carefully. \"I thought they were just bushes before,\" he said.\n\nThe two children picked until the pail was full.\n\n\"Now I must run,\" said Ann. \"But I'll come tomorrow, William. Get in, Precious Baby; the folks will beat us home if we don't start now.\"\n\nShe felt quite excited as she hurried along the road with the baby and the blackberries.\n\n\"It's almost an adventure,\" she said to herself. \"I shall be like Uncle Wiggly after a while, finding something strange\"\nI. THE NEW GAME\n\"I wonder if he'll come,\" was Ann's first thought when she woke up the next morning. Delighted about finding the strange boy in the pasture the day before, she felt he was her special friend. With few friends her own age, she shared the story of William with her family at the breakfast table. They all laughed about his getting stuck in the blackberry bushes.\n\n\"They must be staying at the Kimballs\u2019,\" said Aunt Flo. \"They take city people to board sometimes.\"\n\n\"I'm going to see him too,\" declared Mary.\n\n\"So am I \u2013 So's me,\" sang out Florence and Jack.\n\nBut their mother laughed. \"Not this afternoon; you are all tired out already from that picnic yesterday. A good long nap for all of you. Besides, Ann was such a fine housekeeper yesterday.\"\nAnn looked up gratefully. \"I think he'd rather have fewer company at first. He seems like such a quiet boy, somehow.\" All the way to the pasture that afternoon, she wondered what she could play with her new friend. \"If he comes,\" she said, looking around the blackberry bushes.\n\nHe was there before her. Ann saw him get up and wave a book at her. She started to run.\n\n\"You beat me here, didn't you?\" she said in her friendly way. \"Have you been reading while you waited for me? What's your book?\" adding mischievously, \"Mother Goose, I suppose?\"\n\n\"I guess not,\" said the boy. \"I'm not a baby!\"\n\n\"King Arthur Stories,\" read Ann. \"Oh, yes, we had some at school. Do you like them?\"\n\n\"They're bully,\" said William. \"I brought it here to read till you came. I'd finished mine already.\"\n\"Didn\u2019t you tell your mother where you were going?\" \"Nope.\"\n\n\"Well, I haven\u2019t any mother,\u2019\u2019 said Ann soberly. \"But I think, if I had. I\u2019d tell her everything.\"\n\n\"Mothers are all right, but sometimes they\u2019re awful fussy-cats, wanting you to take medicine or drink milk.\"\n\n\"Don\u2019t you like to drink milk?\" \"No, I hate it,\" confessed William.\n\n\"I can just guess you like candy, though,\" said wise little Ann.\n\n\"You can bet I do,\" grinned William, producing a bag from his pocket that minute. He held it out to Ann. She took a gumdrop gravely.\n\n\"Maybe that\u2019s why you were sick,\" she said. \"Maybe you don\u2019t eat the right things. Don\u2019t you have verses and cards at school about it? We do.\"\n\n\"Not at our school! I go to private school.\"\n\"At our school, a nurse comes with cunning dolls for health lessons. They teach us with plays and little rhymes like, \"Candy isn't good for me, So I'll eat it sparingly;\" and \"Plenty of milk \u2014 a quart a day \u2014 Will add to your health and what you weigh.\" Ann added seriously, \"You'd look better a little fatter, too.\" \"Oh, all right. I'll drink milk, maybe,\" her companion hastily replied. \"Come on, let's play something. What can we do here?\"\n\n\"Hide and seek?\" suggested Ann.\n\"Not much fun,\" said William, who was rather lazy. \"Let's get up a real game. It would be a fine place for Robin Hood, only we'd have to have a whole crowd. Let's think of something for just us two.\"\n\n\"A secret game!\" exclaimed Ann, entering into his spirit. \"Oh! and something magical!\" She knitted her brows.\"\nAnn often made up games for herself. Her blue eyes slipped to the book on the ground.\n\n\"I tell you, William,\" she said suddenly, \"you can be a knight, and every day you can set off on an adventure. You can really do things, and then the next day you can tell me about it, and I'll be the only one that knows.\"\n\n\"And what will you be?\" asked William, sitting up with interest. \"The king?\"\n\n\"No \u2014 I shook my curly head. \"I don't think I'd want to be the king exactly. Let's have the castle over there under the oak-tree, and you can go to him for your orders.\"\n\n\"But what will you be? Won't you be in it?\" persisted William.\n\n\"O my, yes,\" replied Ann, thinking busily. \"Suppose I be the one that sits here in my house and works the magic? I read an awfully nice name in a book.\"\nOnce - 'The Most Wise Counsellor.' That's what I'll be. 'The Most Wise Counsellor' - and you must always call me that.\n\n\"All right, and what will my name be?\"\n\n\"You'll be Sir William\u2014 Sir William the Brave.\" Ann clapped her hands. \"Oh, doesn't that sound fine?\"\n\n\"Shall I go out every day to fight with the other knights for practice?\"\n\n\"Go on right over there now,\" said Ann, \"and don't forget to visit the king first. I'll stay here in my secret room.\"\n\nA stick for a sword.\nWilliam pranced off on an imaginary horse, and Ann saw him galloping about.\n\nAnn's Family\nUsing a stick for a sword in mock battle. She gazed at him happily. \"He's my friend,\" she said to herself.\n\nWhen William came back, his face was flushed and he was out of breath. \"What shall I do for my first award?\"\n\"he asked, \"Venture?'' The knights say there's a big dragon to be killed.\" Ann's eyes began to twinkle. \"There's a terrible dragon,\" she said, \"He's called 'Too Much Candy.' You must kill him and bring his skin to the king.\" \"Oh-h \u2014 that's no fair!'' protested the new knight. \"Well, if you're going to do something, you might as well do something,\" said the Most Wise Counsellor. \"You mustn't eat any more candy till I see you again.\"\n\nThe new game.\n\"Just two pieces,\" said the knight, looking into the bag. \"Well, just those two and not a bit more,\" said Ann, taking the last chocolate bud to help him along. \"And the best way for you is not to buy any more.\" Ann made a profound bow. \"Farewell, Sir William, be brave and good,\" she said.\n\nSir William made a stiff bow in return. \"Farewell Most Wise Counsellor,\" he said.\n\nA farewell party.\nThe days that followed were happy ones for Ann. Of course, the mornings on the farm were long and busy. There were always dishes to be washed and beds to be made, chickens to be fed, and vegetables to be gathered from the garden. Baby Donald, tumbling about after her, became Ann's shadow, and sometimes a troublesome one, but she dearly loved the little fellow and would often pick him up when he became restless and carry him off to see the fast-growing piggies that they both loved to watch. Then Ann would point out the black-and-white one with pride, \u201cHe\u2019s mine,\u201d she would tell the baby. \u201cYou must take care of him for me all winter, Precious.\u201d But if the mornings were full of work, the afternoons brought unusual gladness to Ann, for while her younger cousins napped she could run off to the pasture to see William and the fascinating cattle.\nThe game retained its charm and no one knew the happy hour each afternoon when the two children spent it in the shady pasture, half in fun, half in earnest, planning wonderful adventures. Mary might join them, Florence and Jack might tumble about in the hay with them, but this was their own secret enchanted land. Sometimes it seemed as though they could really see a king's castle standing under the oak tree. Sometimes the people they named and described to each other seemed almost real. And sometimes, it seemed to Ann, that William did look almost like a knight.\n\n\"He does stand straight,\" she said to herself one day. \"And he's ever so much braver about a lot of things. If he'd only drink more milk, I believe he'd get fatter, too. I wonder if I could make him drink more milk.\"\n\"There's a beautiful princess in trouble, Sir Knight,\" she said as William came prancing up before her a few minutes later. \"She is kept prisoner by two wicked giants over there. You must make haste and deliver her.\"\n\n\"Upon my honor as a knight, I will,\" declared Sir William. \"How can I set the princess free, Most Wise Counsellor?\"\n\nAnn could not help smiling. \"The Princess' name is Milka, and the giants are Tea and Coffee. Every time you drink a glass of milk, you cut one of the cords that tie the princess.\"\nTo rescue Old Lady Vegetable and her children from the Tyrant Meat, William, sitting at Mrs. Kimball's humble table, acted as a fearless knight. With every helping of spinach, beans, or carrots, he freed one of the old woman's numerous daughters.\n\n\"This country air is certainly doing him good,\" Mrs. Kimball was told by his mother. \"If you can keep us, I think we will stay another week. Who are these children he plays with so much of the time? That little blue-eyed one seems a sweet little thing.\"\n\n\"That's little Ann Burdette, John Fairlee's niece. She's a nice child and steady as daylight.\" Busy Mrs. Kimball sat down on a porch chair for a moment, glad of a chance to rest and talk.\n\n\"Her poor father was killed in the war.\"\nAnd she lost her mother before that, when she was a mite of a thing. I never saw her father, but I remember her mother well\u2014a pretty young thing she was. It's lucky for the child that she has such kind relations.\n\n\"A Farewell Party\" (57)\n\nYes, indeed, and this country air is good for any child. Here they come now, Ann and William, their hands full of wild flowers.\n\nWilliam's mother went slowly down to the gate to meet them. She noticed how much sturdier and browner her little boy had become, and she suddenly felt very kindly toward the motherless little girl with whom he played so happily.\n\nThe children saw her and came running to give her the flowers they had gathered\u2014pale pink phlox and orange lilies.\n\n\"Ann's Family\"\n\n\"Aren't they pretty!\"\n\"Aren't they pretty! Thank you, dear,\" said the lady, smiling as Ann presented the flowers to her.\nWilliam lifted admiring eyes to her face. \"William will miss his little playmate when he goes home. We must have a party before we go. Couldn't you and your cousins come here and spend the afternoon with him tomorrow? Perhaps we could sail boats in the creek.\"\n\nA Farewell Party\n\nAnn's face shone with pleasure. The only place where the creek was safe for children to play was on the Kimball farm, but the Kimballs had no children of their own, and the little Fairlee children were not often invited for wading or boat-sailing.\n\n\"All of us?\" she asked eagerly.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said William's mother.\n\n\"I'll ask Aunt Flo \u2014 I think she'll let us,\" said Ann.\n\n\"I'll come over in the morning and see if you can come,\" William told her.\n\nAnn hurried home with the invitation.\n\n\"Me, too? Me, too?\" cried Mary and Jack and Florence when they heard the news.\n\"You may all go, but not Baby. I wouldn't trust him near that creek this summer,\" said Aunt Flo. The children gleefully ran away to get sticks for shipbuilding and bits of cloth for sails. Until bedtime, they were busy. But when they all started the next afternoon, each child carried a boat, and Ann had one besides for William, which she and Mary had made together.\n\n\"We can play they are the king's fleet setting out on a voyage,\" she whispered to William later when they were all at the creek, ready to launch the boats. William nodded, and Ann beamed with happiness to think that they could carry on this secret play while her cousins were sharing her pleasure.\n\nLater in the afternoon, they all went back to the shady veranda where William's mother brought out glasses of Mrs. Kimball's home-made root-beer.\nI'm going to have a real party on my birthday,\" said William, biting into his molasses cake with great gusto. \"And I'm going to invite you.\" Suddenly, a thought struck him. \"But I won't be here on my birthday,\" he said regretfully; \"It's in the winter.\"\n\n\"Where do you live, William?\" asked Ann.\n\n\"In Memford.\"\n\n\"Why, so do I!\" Ann cried out in delighted surprise.\n\n\"You don't, either \u2014 you live here.\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" laughed Ann. \"No, I don't live here in the winter. I live in Memford all winter with my Aunt Margaret. I go to school there and everything. I didn't see you get on the train at Memford that day.\"\n\n\"Where do you live, whereabouts in Memford?\"\n\n\"Sixty-five Stacy Street, with my aunt and uncle and Tom and Peggy Straton,\" Ann told him, and the two children smiled happily at each other.\nIt seemed the crowning touch to their happy days together to think they really lived in the same town. Ann's heart swelled with gladness as she and Mary walked home together later\u2014 Jack and Florence skipping gayly in front of them.\n\n\"Didn't we have a good time?\" she said. \"It's such fun to have a friend. I made up a verse about it the other day. Listen, Mary;\n\nThe very best gift the fairies send,\nIs to have a friend\u2014to have a friend\u2014\n\nA FAREWELL PARTY 63\n\nAlmost as nice, it seems to me,\nAs having a family.\"\n\nThere, isn't that a nice one?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary. \"You do make up lovely verses, Ann. But I'm glad he's going, just the same,\" she added.\n\n\"Why, Mary!\" her cousin cried reproachfully. \"Don't you like me to have a friend?\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" said honest Mary. \"When I get up from my nap now, you're always away somewhere with him.\"\n\"Well, you're my best friend, Mary,\" said Ann in a comforting manner, throwing her arms about the little girl. \"Anyway, he's going home on Friday.\" \"And I'm glad of it,\" persisted Mary. Ann laughed. \"We'll have good times, won't we?\"\n\nShe felt generous toward the whole world. In spite of Mary, her little verse held true:\n\n\"The very best gift the fairies send\nIs to have a friend \u2014 to have a friend \u2014\nAlmost as nice, it seems to me,\nAs having a family.\"\n\nVI\n\nGOOD-BYE, ANN\n\nWilliam came early Friday morning to say good-bye. He had on his stiff collar again and his new shoes, reminding Ann of the little boy on the train who hardly smiled at her.\n\n\"Here's my mother's card,\" said William. \"I didn't bring any of my own. And it's got on where I live and everything.\"\n\n\"MRS. WILLIAM ELLERY HAZARD,\n17 FARGO STREET,\"\n\nread Ann.\n\"Wait a minute, William, I'll get a piece of paper and write down mine.\n66 ANN'S FAMILY\nShe ran into the house and came back quickly with a slip of paper. \"Here it is, and don't lose it, will you? \" \"Nope,\" said William; \"and now you can write to me, and I can write to you. \" \"And go on having adventures. Be sure, William, won't you? Maybe I'll have some, too, and we can write to each other about them. \"\nShe stood at the gate and watched him running down the road. For a minute she felt as though her good times were running away with him. Then she looked at the card in her hand. Letters were fun; she would write to William tomorrow.\nBut it was William who wrote first. Early the next week Ann received a letter from him. Pete, with a pleased grin, handed it to her when he came from town.\n\nGOOD-BY, ANN\n67\nAnn felt very important as\"\nShe opened it with Mary and the other children standing about, waiting to hear her read it out.\n\n\"Dear Ann,\nHow are you, and how are Mary, Florence, and Jack and your pig?\nI had a great adventure on the way home. The train gave a big jolt and scared everybody. They thought it was going to be a wreck but it wasn't. It shook an old lady who sat in front of me so her glasses came off and all her knitting and things rolled down the car. I picked up her glasses and hunted up all her things, so she wasn't frightened any more. She wanted to give me a peppermint candy to pay me, but I said I wouldn't think of it. It was lots more fun than Old Lady Vegetable. I guess I'll have lots of adventures now.\n\nWith love,\nWilliam (K)\"\n\nAnn's Family\n\n\"Old Lady Vegetable\"! What does he mean?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Oh, nothing,\" said Ann, smiling.\nDown at the big K. When she wrote, she would put M.W.C after her name, and it would be a secret sign for all their letters. \"It's just a play we had. You and I can have one, too. Let's make it up today.\"\n\n\"What shall we do?\" said Mary, always eager to follow Ann's lead.\n\n\"Let's get Flo and Jack and go down to the hayfield and play Boy Blue. You can be Boy Blue, if you like.\"\n\nAnn knew her Mother Goose by heart. She had read the rhymes over and over to little Tom and Peggy the winter before. Now through the summer afternoons, she gathered together aprons and sunbonnets, tin plates and spoons, and all the dress-up material she could find, and, taking the children out into the sunny hayfield or the shady old orchard, she made them over into Mother Goose children, to their great delight and entertainment. Even Baby\nOne of the children in Mother Goose's family was Donald. He was content sitting in the hollowed-out rock shoe, crowing safely. Aunt Flo, feeling her little ones were safely playing, often stole away for a nap.\n\nOne night after the tired quartet were all fast asleep, Aunt Flo told Uncle John, \"I declare, Ann is a great help. Sometimes I wish we could keep her all the time.\"\n\n\"But Margaret needs her during the winter,\" her husband replied. \"And I imagine Rachel counts on having her some of the time. I really believe she thinks she knows how to bring up a child better than the rest of us. I'll bet she keeps Ann busy. You know how she is \u2014 never can stand a speck of dust anywhere.\"\nAunt Flo sighed. \"I believe she'd be happier with us.\"\n\"Well, we can't ask for that just now,\" Uncle John said decisively. \"You know we all thought it would be better for her to go to a city school if possible. They are better than our district ones, and she'll need all the education she can get, poor mite.\" He was especially kind to Ann after that. \"He's almost like a daddy to me,\" the little girl thought. She clung to his horny hand as they went the rounds of the barnyard at the evening feeding-time.\n\"Tell you what,\" her uncle said one night, \"I've got a surprise for you, Ann. That black-and-white pig of yours is turning out to be a mother pig. Maybe by next summer she'll have a lot of little black-and-white ones for you.\"\n\"Ooh!\" Ann jumped up and down in delight. \"My own pig babies! Oh, Uncle John.\"\n\"Ever read that story, \u2018Pigs is Pigs?' laughed her uncle. You\u2019d better read it, Ann; maybe you\u2019ll be starting a stock-farm some day. I believe I\u2019d like to be a farmer, Ann. Aunt Margaret says I\u2019d better be a teacher, but I do love all the cunning baby things so. Learn all you can, little Ann, said her uncle gently. Oh, I\u2019m going to, I\u2019m going to learn to do everything, just everything. Uncle John, said the little girl wisely, because I\u2019ve noticed that it\u2019s the people who can do everything that can do what they want to do. Uncle John smiled his slow smile. That\u2019s why I\u2019m a farmer, Ann, he said. The August days flew by like the crows that flapped over the pasture, or like the clouds that changed golden sunshine into silver showers. Almost everything was ready for the harvest.\"\nSeptember had come on the first, it was time for Ann to think about school and her return to the city. The old buckboard was ready once more to take our little girl away from the farm. Tears came to her eyes as Pete strapped on her trunk and the children gathered about her.\n\nAnn's Family\n\"Just when I'm happy I always have to go,\" she thought. She held Baby Donald close in a last big hug. \"Good-bye, Precious, good-bye; good-bye everybody.\" \"Good-bye, Ann \u2013 good-bye.\"\n\nVII\nAt Aunt Margaret's\nAunt Margaret sent Uncle Ted to meet Ann at the train. Ann waved gayly when she saw him. She liked Uncle Ted, and he, in turn, was fond of Ann, although he was usually so busy that he had little time to pay attention to her. Ann wondered why people in the city always seemed in more of a hurry than people in the country.\n\"Uncle Ted briskly kissed her and said, \"I'll see about your trunk. Hop out there and watch for our trolley.\" Ann sighed, \"I feel like the meat in a stew, being stirred around and around.\" As she waited for the trolley, she hummed, \"Around and around and around I ran, And always came back to where I began.\" \"I could almost make a Mother Goose myself. Maybe when I'm big, I'll make a whole book of verses and all the children will call me Mother Ann,\" Ann mused. \"Good gracious, child, you almost let that trolley go by! I believe you've forgotten what a trolley looks like, living in the country,\" the woman exclaimed. Ann laughed, \"I hope I haven't forgotten what a schoolbook looks like,\" as she settled herself in the trolley for their ride to Aunt Margaret's house.\n\nAunt Margaret met them at the door.\"\nAnn gave her a big hug. \"Well, dear, it's fine to see you again. Run up and wash quickly; I've a nice stew ready for luncheon.\"\n\n\"Aunt Margaret can't help thinking of stew, either,\" Ann smiled to herself as she ran upstairs. There little Tom and Peggy threw themselves upon her in delight. Ann told them the stories that their busy mother never had time to tell, and they were always glad to see her come back to them.\n\nPeggy was a dainty little thing, with hair like Ann's but she had dark eyes like her father's. She was six years old now, but sturdy, blue-eyed Tom was as big as she was. They went downstairs, each clinging to one of Ann's hands.\n\n\"Did you bring us anything?\" asked Peggy as they sat down for luncheon.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" Ann replied. \"A box of tea-berries and some little boats to sail in the bath-tub. We sailed ours in the creek and had lots of fun.\"\nAnn brought Aunt Margaret a jar of gooseberry preserves. Aunt Margaret smiled at Ann and commented on her well-being to Uncle Ted. Little Tom remarked on Ann's freckles. Ann laughed and shared her happy experiences on the farm about William and her pig. Uncle Ted left for work, and the children begged Ann to show them the boats she had brought.\n\nAt Aunt Margaret's house at 79,\n\n\"Run along and unpack them,\" Aunt Margaret instructed. \"I'll do the dishes today, and afterward, I'll come up and look over your clothes for school. I hope you won't need many new ones\u2014money's so scarce this fall, and coal's so high.\"\n\n\"Oh, I won't,\" Ann assured her. Her shoes were as good as new.\nWe went barefoot and my aprons kept my dresses splendidly. She started the boats sailing gayly in the bath-tub for the little girl and boy. And then put her own things in their old places. \"We're back again, dears,\" she said to her father's and mother's pictures. \"This is second best, isn't it? I wish we didn't have to go to Aunt Rachel's later on.\" Ann sighed as she thought of the lonely house across the city. \"Well,\" said the little girl, getting up and throwing out her arms, \"fussing never helps any; that's one thing I ought to make a verse about.\" She went to the closet and took down her schoolbooks and pencil-box that she had put away months before, and on her pad she neatly wrote another verse. \"Trouble's like a cloud in the sky. Oftentimes it goes right by. At Aunt Margaret's.\"\nAnd if the mean thing rains on you, it sometimes leaves a lovely view.\n\"There!\" said Ann. \"I think, I really think, that's the best one yet.\"\n\nA Plain Day\nIt was a good thing our Ann had decided \"not to fuss.\"\nThere were many troublesome little tasks to be performed each day in the Stratton household. Aunt Margaret kept no maid, and it fell to Ann to run errands, dry the dishes, and help with her little cousins. Each morning she helped Peggy dress for school, and every evening, while Aunt Margaret prepared dinner, Ann would give the children a light early supper and take them upstairs to bed.\n\n\"There isn't much time for play,\" said the little girl to herself, \"and I must do my lessons. Fifth grade is going to be much harder than fourth \u2014 I can tell that already.\"\n\n\"I will make an adventure out of it,\" she continued.\nAnn thought as she helped Tommy untie his shoe-lace, \"Every day is a journey to the king's castle.\" She addressed the little girl beside her, \"Hurry, Peggy, I have fraction examples to do tonight, and they confuse me.\"\n\n\"Tell us a little story, Ann, and we'll get right in bed,\" Peggy pleaded. \"Honestly, we will, and we won't make a bit of noise!\"\n\nAnn sighed, \"Run quickly then and brush your teeth, and I'll find a short one.\"\n\nReturning with one of her schoolbooks a moment later, she found the children in bed with shining faces turned towards her. She bent and warmly kissed them both. They were dear little things, despite the trouble they caused.\n\n\"Well, you are good lovies,\" she said.\nOnce upon a time, there was a little boy who was just going to sleep. His eyes were closed and his mother was singing beside him, when he had a dream. He dreamed that he lay beside a little brook, and that it was the brook and not his mother that was singing to him. And as he lay there listening, an angel came and led him across a golden bridge into a wonderful land.\n\nIn this land, it was a plain day at first. It seemed like the country where he himself lived, but as he walked with the angel and looked about, he saw that it was different. Everything that grew was larger and more beautiful.\n\nHappy, gay-plumaged birds flew by unafraid. Even the sky seemed a deeper blue. And the little boy noticed that the faces of the people, as they went to and fro, were kinder and more radiant than those he knew.\nAnd the face of the angel shone about them like the face of an angel. He asked the angel, \"Why is everything so beautiful here?\" The angel replied, \"It is because there is only love here. Once there was hatred mixed with love, and there was war, envy, sickness, and waste; but the people became strong, one by one and all together, and little by little they drove all these ugly, fearsome things out of their land until only love remained to bring them peace and beauty and God. The little boy said, \"I see,\" and was going to say \"to tell my mother,\" when he woke up and saw that his mother was still sitting beside his bed, humming softly the bedtime song. The little boy never forgot what he had dreamed. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could see the wonder.\nA full country and he could hear the angel's words - 'Only love will bring peace and beauty and God.' Throughout his life, he remembered, and because he remembered, his days were filled with gentle thoughts and kindly deeds. Long, loving years he lived, and when he died, the angels, looking in his heart, smiled, and they took the seeds of that perfect thing they found there. Flying over the old man's own country, they scattered them far and near in the hearts of men.\n\nIt came to pass that years after, as those seeds took root and flourished, glad things happened in that country and it became like the wonderful land that the little boy had seen in his dreams.\n\n\"I don't think that's a nice story,\" said Peggy, as Ann laid down the book. \"I do - I thought it was beautiful,\" said her cousin.\n\nAnn's Family\n\nIt's something like the 'Tidy Angel,'\nAnn laughed. \"You're both right and you're both wrong. Now shut your eyes tight and maybe you'll have a golden dream.\" She kissed the sleepy children again and went downstairs with her schoolbooks in her arms, but Aunt Margaret caught sight of her in the living room.\n\n\"Could you lay the table for me, Ann?\" she called. \"I'm late to-night.\"\n\n\"I declare, I guess big people think children never get tired,\" sighed poor Ann.\n\nBy the time the table was laid, dinner was ready, and it was a drowsy little head that worked over fractions. A Plain Day\n\nIt was half-past eight before Ann stood before Aunt Margaret to say goodnight. Her aunt kissed her gently. \"You're a good child, Ann,\" she said. Ann went over and kissed Uncle Ted. \"Goodnight, little girl,\" he said absently.\nAnn looked back at them in the warm lamp-lit room. \"I wish one of them would put their arms around me,\" she thought as she stumbled up the stairs. \"Oh, I do wish somebody would hug me tight!\" She got ready for bed very quickly but looked long at the dear pictures on the bureau. \"To-morrow may be an adventure,\" she told them, \"but today's just been a plain day.\"\n\nIX\nAN INVITATION\n\"Ann, here's a letter for you!\" cried little Peggy, dancing to meet Ann one afternoon as she came from school. The lovely autumn days had passed all too quickly. Christmas had come and gone, leaving January with its snow and cold, short days. Ann's cheeks were rosy and her fingers stinging with cold as she threw off her tam-o'-shanter and gloves and took the letter from Peggy's hand.\n\n\"It's from Mary, I guess.\"\n\"No, it isn't,\" Mother looked at it.\nAnn received an invitation from William Ellery Hazard, Jr. The card, adorned with pictures, read: \"William Ellery Hazard, Jr. is having a party Saturday afternoon, January 16th, from 4 until 6 at 17 Fargo Street.\" Ann was elated and rushed to find her aunt to share the news.\n\n\"Aunt Margaret, Aunt Margaret, I'm invited to a party. It's William, and I know it's his birthday \u2013 he told me in the summer!\"\n\n\"Who's William?\" asked Aunt Margaret.\n\n\"Why, he's the boy I told you about. Don't you remember? We went to Fenly on the same train,\" Ann replied.\n\nAunt Margaret vaguely recalled the boy but took the invitation from Ann.\nHanded it over carefully, noticing the pretty, gilt-edged card, the delicate handwriting, and the uptown address printed in the corner.\n\n\"It's very kind of them to ask you,\" she said practically, \"but I don't see how you can go.\"\n\nNot go, I, Ann's heart went down into her little shoes.\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Margaret, why can't I go? I want to go.\"\n\n\"I suppose you do, dear,\" Aunt Margaret spoke kindly, \"but you know a party like this is different. You'd have to have a party dress and slippers and things, and you say it's a birthday\u2014that means a present, too, you know. I'd like to let you go, Ann, but I really can't spare the money for things you'd probably not wear again this winter.\"\n\n\"But I'd wear anything,\" the little girl entreated. \"I could wear my tan challie I wear to church. It would look all right.\"\n\"Aunt Margaret spoke uncertainly. \"If it had fresh ruffles at the neck, I suppose it might, Ann,\" she wavered, then became resolute again. \"But another thing, Ann, how would you get home? It would be too late for me to come over and get you; I'd have dinner and the children to look after. No, I think you'd better give it up. You might give something up, Ann, we all do all we can for you.\" The little girl crept away without another word. Her eyes were very bright, but she did not cry until she was on her own bed behind the shut door. \"I hate Aunt Margaret,\" she sobbed. \"I hate this house and everybody. I've never been to a party in all my life, and now she won't let me go! Another thought struck her cruelly. \"William will think I didn't want to come. William will think I don't like him.\"\"\n\"It seemed too much to bear. Ann cried until her head, throat, and eyes seemed all dried up.\n\n\"Oh, why can't I have a mother who would make me a dress?\" she kept saying over and over.\n\nSoon the gathering darkness outside interrupted her thoughts, and Ann sat up in surprise. \"Why, I've stayed up here too long. Aunt Margaret won't like it if I'm naughty. Maybe \u2014 maybe if I'm very, very good, she'll change her mind.\"\n\nShe opened a bureau drawer to get a handkerchief. There, in the corner of the drawer, sat the little green box. Inside was William's card that he had given her before he left the country, and inside, too, was the dollar and a half she had earned picking peas.\n\nAnn was only a little girl.\"\nTo her, a dollar and a half was a great deal of money - enough perhaps to buy all she needed for the party. Forgetting to wash her tear-stained face, she ran downstairs with the money in her hand. The children had finished their supper and Uncle Ted had come home.\n\n\"Aunt Margaret, look!\" Ann held out the money. \"It's what Mrs. Gates gave me, and Uncle John wouldn't take it for my pig. I forgot all about it.\"\n\nHer aunt looked at the money and at Ann's red eyes, and laughed. \"Couldn't you take it and buy what you needed for the party?\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Uncle Ted.\n\nAunt Margaret explained.\n\n\"Oh, rig her up in something and let her go,\" said Uncle Ted good-naturedly. \"I'll go up and get her on my way home from the office.\"\n\nAnn flew to him. \"Oh, Uncle Ted, would you? Oh, thank you. Uncle.\"\n\"Ted! Can I go now, Aunt Margaret?\"\n\"I'll see what I can do,\" said Mrs. Stratton with a sigh. \"You can wear your best shoes instead of slippers, and I may be able to fix your dress so it will be presentable.\"\nAnn could hardly eat her dinner, but afterward she hurried about, doing all she could to help. She carried out the dishes, scraped and wiped them. She folded the cloth neatly and brushed up the crumbs. Then she began to study. Oh, her lessons were more troublesome! Somehow the geography seemed to be saying: \"I'm going to a party. I'm going to see William\"; but it was learned at last.\n\"Good-night, Uncle Ted; good-night, Aunt Margaret,\" said Ann, kissing them both vehemently.\nThey smiled at each other across the lamp-lit table as she left the room. And upstairs Ann was saying to herself: \"Oh, I love Aunt Margaret.\"\nAunt Margaret said, \"I'm going to town this morning while you children are at school, and I'll try to get William a present.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose he would like a book?\" Ann asked, having given the matter much thought.\n\n\"Couldn't you get him a picture?\" Aunt Margaret wondered aloud.\n\n\"A picture! Boys don't care much for pictures,\" she added, surprised.\n\n\"William would like this one,\" Ann insisted. \"It's in the sixth-grade room at school. It's a man standing next to a horse. I asked Miss Phillips who it was, and she said it was a knight, and his name was Sir\u2014 Sir Galahad.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sir Galahad,\" Ann continued, eagerly. \"Could you get a little one like that, Aunt Margaret?\"\n\"I'd frame it with a nice green frame, and it would be lovely,\" you said.\n\n\"But why a green frame?\" Aunt Margaret asked, amused. \"I think a brown or a black one would look better.\"\n\n\"He'd like a green one, I think,\" Ann whispered. \"For, the picture would be for the knight, and the green frame for the pasture. The Party\n\nloi\n\nand altogether it would remind William of the happy days together at Fenly.\"\n\n\"Oh, all right,\" laughed Aunt Margaret. She had felt better about the party since William's mother called on the telephone to see if Ann had received her invitation and if she could come. William was looking forward to seeing Ann again, and Ann herself was looking forward to seeing the quiet-voiced lady who wore such pretty clothes.\n\n\"They're rich,\" the little girl thought.\nThe little maiden was content as she examined her clothes on the morning of the party-day. Aunt Margaret had purchased creamy ruffles for Ann's simple tan dress and stockings that matched. Ann's soft brown hair had been brushed to a satiny sheen, and only the curling ends waved out in excitement to complement her flushed pink cheeks.\n\nNext to the dress, neatly laid out on the bed, was the little Sir Galahad picture, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a pale green ribbon. Ann felt joyful. She flew about, helping Aunt Margaret, cutting out paper dollies and making pasteboard houses so that Tom and Peggy would be entertained while she was at the party.\n\nHowever, in the midst of it all, Uncle interrupted.\nTed came home with a miserable headache and a bad sore throat. As Ann saw him make ready to go to the party, a terrible thought jumped upon her. Aunt Margaret, hurrying in with a hot-water bottle, had the same thought: \"Oh, mercy, Ann, now Uncle Ted can't come for you at the party. What shall we do?\"\n\n\"I can come home myself,\" said Ann bravely. \"Why, I'm ten years old. I can come alone as well as anything. I'll be ever so careful.\"\n\n\"I suppose it's the only thing we can do now, but do leave early, Ann, it gets so dark now even at five.\"\n\nUncle Ted was asleep, with Aunt Margaret sitting beside him, when Ann, carefully dressed for the party, tiptoed in to say good-bye. She was so shining and spick-and-span that her aunt could not help smiling at her.\n\nAnn's Family\n\"Now you're sure you know the way?\"\nShe whispered, \"Which way?\" He replied, \"Take the trolley here at our corner and change at Lafayette Street. Be sure and ask for a transfer. Did you get car-fare?\"\n\nYes, Ann had car-fare. She rapturously kissed Peggy and Tom good-bye and set out. This was indeed an adventure! Going all the way across town alone, and to a party.\n\nBut adventurous as she felt, it must be confessed her heart beat very fast as she left the second trolley at Fargo Street and walked up to number seventeen alone. Number seventeen was a large house set back in spacious grounds, and it surely was the one she was seeking, for the lights were all on, and through the windows Ann could see children going to and fro.\n\nThe Party\n\"I won't know anybody there,\" she thought.\n\n\"But William will be there!\" Bravely, Ann went up the walk and lifted the brass knocker on the door.\nA smiling maid opened to her, and in a second, William himself, on the watch for newcomers, bounded out to meet her. The two children stood and looked at each other a moment shyly but gladly. Then William exclaimed.\n\n\"Hello, Ann!\"\n\"Hello, William.\"\n\nAnn silently tendered her gift and anxiously watched her friend open it.\n\n\"Oh! it's a picture,\" was all he said.\n\"It's \u2014 it's a knight,\" Ann told him.\n\n\"Oh!\" said William again, but he smiled straight at her, the old William that she knew.\n\n\"Thank you very much,\" he said politely; \"come on and see all the other things I got.\"\n\nAnn was never shy long with children her own age. Although they were all dressed in the fluffiest of light dresses, she felt no distress over her own plain attire, and joined gayly in all the games and good times, drinking in happiness.\nFrom it all, the pretty children, the lovely home, and William\u2019s sweet mother, gowned that afternoon in the softest violet silk. And the supper-table! Ann thought she would never forget it, with its pink and yellow candles, its hothouse flowers, the party, its dainty sandwiches and beautiful birthday cake. The supper itself should be her share, she thought, and the favors she would take for the family at home. Ann looked at these with great satisfaction, for there was really something for all. Aunt Margaret should have the sweet-grass basket she had drawn from the Jack Horner Pie, Peggy the lollipop baby, and Tom the pretty box of tiny candies. And poor sick Uncle Ted could have the pink rose that lay beside her plate. With happy hands full of her presents, she stood among the first to say good-bye to Mrs. Hazard.\n\"I've had a lovely time,\" she said in breathless tones, and the eyes she raised to her hostess were like blue stars. William's mother bent impulsively and kissed her. \"Good-bye, dear; I'm so glad you could be here. Has someone come to take you home?\" \"I have to go alone \u2014 Uncle Ted was sick,\" Ann explained in a low voice. \"But it's raining!\" exclaimed Mrs. Hazard; \"it's simply pouring!\" \"Raining!\" gasped Ann. What should she do! The dark was bad enough, \u2014 somehow that seemed worse because the party was over, \u2014 but rain and no umbrella, and all her best clothes! But she spoke up bravely. \"I can run to the trolley.\" \"Mother, mother!\" William came racing up. \"It's raining awfully hard. Can't Mason take Ann home? He's just come with Daddy!\" \"Yes, yes \u2014 hurry and catch him, William. That will be better.\"\nIt's too stormy for you to go alone; Mason will take you home in the car. In the next moment, our little girl found herself in the soft, warm limousine, comfortably settled for the long drive across town. Ann leaned back and enjoyed it all. What a beautiful car, and how safely it carried her through the beating storm! Ann was glad she had confided her adventure to William. He had remembered when he saw the rain that she was to go home alone. He was still her friend.\n\nWhen the car stopped before her door, Mason got down and helped her out. \"Thank you,\" said the little girl brightly; \"thank you very much.\" She stood in the sheltered doorway and watched the lights of the car twinkle around the corner. She would probably never see it again, but William and his party could never be lost.\nAnn's beloved heart would hold me, living forever.\n\nXI\nSPRINGTIME AND ANN\n\nSpring arrived early that year. It brought silvering showers and singing birds, the softening green of leaf-buds, and the deepening blue of the sky. The crocus bulbs that Ann's class had planted in October now dotted the school lawns with color \u2013 purple, yellow, and violet. The children's voices were shrill with pleasure when they spotted them. Indeed, the whole world seemed bursting with gladness.\n\nAnn shouted and danced with the other children, but springtime did not mean all gladness for her. It meant Aunt Rachel and house-cleaning. She had moved to the house on Madison Avenue the week before and found Aunt Rachel ready with the hundred and one little tasks she thought every child should know how to do. Already\nLittle Ann jumped rope and played jacks in the school-yard during recess, borrowing roller-skates with added excitement, knowing she wouldn't be allowed outside for afternoon play at home. Aunt Rachel didn't approve of little girls \"running the streets.\" Ann's mother had lived in that house as a child, along with Uncle John, Aunt Margaret, and Uncle Robert. Perhaps when they were all there, boys and girls together, the old house didn't seem so big and gloomy, but now Ann thought, \"Perhaps Aunt Rachel will need a spool of thread or something, and I can come out again.\" As she skipped home that afternoon with two of her own special friends, she admired their pretty appearances.\nBetty in her yellow sweater and Katherine in Alice blue, they wore new sweaters. At the street corner where she parted from them, Ann stood and watched.\n\n\"I wish I had a pink one; I'd love to have a pink sweater. I wonder if Aunt Rachel would get me one.\" She glanced down at her shabby coat, growing worn from constant use.\n\n\"Why do they always buy me brown things?\" thought Ann. \"I'm tired of brown - brown coat, brown hats, brown shoes and stockings, everything brown. I wish I were big and could earn a lot of money. I wish I had a hundred dollars I could buy things that were not brown.\"\n\n\"That's another verse for my book,\" she said.\n\"she said. \"O my, but wouldn't I be glad if I had a hundred dollars. I'd hurry down into the town and buy some things that were not brown.\" \"I guess instead I'd better hurry straight on home; Aunt Rachel always hates it when I'm late. She'd call my verse-making \u2018dreaming.\u2019\" As she opened the door, her aunt was coming downstairs with her arms full of newspapers and empty boxes. She did not wear her customary afternoon black silk, and at once Ann knew what \"Are you house-cleaning already, Aunt Rachel?\" she asked in a surprised tone. \"Why, it isn't May yet.\" \"I know it isn't,\" \u2014 Aunt Rachel's voice was calm, though her cheeks were flushed \u2014 \"but I had an unexpected letter this morning. I declare it quite upset me. It was from your Uncle Robert, and he's sailing for home!\"\"\n\"Coming home from China! It's about time, I think, said Aunt Rachel; he's been there five years. Oh, I wonder what he'll be like! cried Ann, quite excited by the news. About what he always was, I reckon; we Fairlees don't change much. But I don't remember him at all, exclaimed Ann. You were so little when he went away. Five years in that heathen country, said Aunt Rachel again. But then, Robert always was the odd one of our family. I thought I might as well plan to get the house cleaned before he got here. Men are such a nuisance around when you're house-cleaning. Will he live here, questioned Ann. Well, it's where he's always lived. Ann stood with her books still in her hands, reflecting. A new uncle in the house might be very nice, and then again he might not like little girls.\"\nHe might be queer, having lived in China all that time. China was a strange country.\n\n\"You'd better get an apron and come and help a bit,\" interrupted her aunt. \"Tilly has to get the vegetables ready for dinner. I did two of the upstairs closets this afternoon, and tomorrow we'll get at the attic.\"\n\nThe attic!\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Rachel, will you really? It's Saturday, and I can help. I love to go up in the attic.\"\n\n\"And you can save me a lot of steps if you've a mind to,\" said Aunt Rachel. \"Going up and downstairs with this rheumatism in my knees is hard work.\"\n\nAnn ran off for her apron. Gone were all thoughts of pink sweaters and brown coats. Life was too full of wonderful events\u2014the attic was to be cleaned tomorrow, and there was a new uncle coming home from China!\n\nA Surprise\nLeaning in the attic was alien,\nfilled with memories long since forgotten,\ndusty relics of a past life,\nand cobwebs that clung to the rafters.\n\nAnn's heart raced as she climbed the ladder,\neach creaking rung a thrill, a promise,\na journey into the unknown,\na treasure hunt for forgotten trinkets.\n\nThe air was thick with the scent of mothballs,\na musty, sweet aroma that spoke of secrets,\nof hidden stories, of untold tales,\nof a past that beckoned, inviting her in.\n\nAnd there, in the dim light, she found it,\na small wooden box, worn and weathered,\nits lock rusted shut, its lid barely clinging on,\na relic of a time long past.\n\nAnn's heart pounded in her chest as she opened it,\nrevealing its contents to the light for the first time,\na collection of letters, photographs, and trinkets,\neach one a piece of her family's history.\n\nAs she read the letters, she learned of her uncle's adventures,\nof his travels, his experiences, his struggles,\nof a life lived far away, in a land so different,\na life that had shaped the man who was coming home.\n\nThe photographs showed a young man, full of life and energy,\nexploring new places, meeting new people,\nliving a life that was so different from her own,\nyet connected to her in ways she could not yet understand.\n\nAnd the trinkets, the small, seemingly insignificant objects,\neach one a reminder of a time and place,\na connection to her family's past,\na bridge between the present and the past.\n\nAs Ann finished cleaning the attic, she felt a sense of pride,\nof accomplishment, of connection,\nof a deeper understanding of her family's history,\nand of the man who was coming home from China.\n\nAnd so, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room,\nAnn closed the attic door, leaving the past behind,\nbut carrying with her a newfound appreciation for the stories\nthat shaped her family's history, and her own.\nAnn discovered joys in the old house of Aunt Rachel. In its mysterious shadows and chests, and many boxes, were things she had never seen \u2013 quaint clothes of another generation that the little girl longed to take to her room and dress up in, happy childish things that seemed strangely out of place in that stiff, quiet, very clean old house. Sometimes Ann would find a book with her mother's name written in a round, neat hand; \"Annie Fairlee, Christmas, 1895.\" She and Aunt Rachel threw open the little windows to let in air and sun, then spent the morning uncovering, dusting, and rearranging.\nThe little girl worked industriously, hopping from one group of things to another, running downstairs with bundles of discarded articles, and all the while asking as many questions as she dared. At the top of the steps stood a little pile of things Aunt Rachel had given to her - a book, a large silk handkerchief, and a tiny patchwork quilt for her one precious doll. Ann was already feeling very rich when something even more wonderful happened.\n\n\"What's this, Aunt Rachel?\" she asked, pulling from under a pile of books a large leather case she had not noticed before.\n\nAunt Rachel dusted her spectacles to look.\n\n\"It's an old writing-desk of your mother's,\" she said at last.\n\n\"A writing-desk!\" exclaimed Ann. \"That's the funniest-looking writing-desk I ever saw.\" But when she lifted the top of the case and saw the little inkwell, her eyes widened with delight.\n\"Ann and her aunt discussed the use of portable writing sets. Aunt Rachel commented that they were no longer in use, but Ann's mother had been an avid letter-writer. Ann expressed interest in keeping the old writing set, which contained blue letterpaper, unusual envelopes, and a small drawer. Ann found money in the drawer, showing it to her aunt.\"\nA Surprise\n\"It's a five-dollar gold-piece!\" Aunt Rachel took it from her hand.\n\"Well, of all things, it's a five-dollar gold-piece!\" exclaimed the little girl. \"Oh, Aunt Rachel, let me see it. I never saw any gold money. It was right here in this cute little drawer. Mother must have left it there and forgotten.\"\n\"Father used to give us girls a gold piece every Christmas. It's likely one of those,\" said her aunt.\nShe looked down at the gold-piece in her hand and then over at the little girl. \"Well, 'finding's keepings,' Ann,\" she said. \"This is yours, I guess, and you may take the old case along, too, if you want it.\"\nAnn sat down suddenly in a heap. \"Mine! Do you mean it, Aunt Rachel? May I have it, really?\"\n\"Not to spend foolishly, though,\" warned her aunt. \"Keep it for some reason.\"\nAnn had a sudden thought. \"I need a sweater dreadfully,\" she said. \"All the girls have one, and my coat's so heavy.\"\n\nA surprise passed over Aunt Rachel's face as she adjusted her spectacles and continued with her work. Ann stood still.\n\n\"Could - could I have a pink one?\" Ann asked.\n\n\"A pink what? A pink sweater! Good gracious, child, that wouldn't be very sensible. A brown or a tan would be better.\"\n\nAnn clutched the gold-piece tightly. \"There's some stuff that comes that you can put in the water when you wash them, and it makes them all clean and pink like new. I could do it myself. Please, Aunt Rachel, I'm so tired of brown!\"\n\n\"Humph!\" Aunt Rachel looked at her sharply. \"Well, when I go to town after the Turkish towels, I'll see what I can do.\"\n\nAnn clasped her hand. \"If you'll get me one, please.\"\n\"a pink one,\" she bargained. \"You can have all five dollars.\"\n\"Never mind now; stop thinking about it and get those books dusted. We must hurry now or we shall not get through before luncheon.\"\nYou may be sure Ann worked as she had never worked before. Her heart was beating to happy words: \"Something pink \u2014 and my own mother gave it to me!\"\nA few days later, when the bundle of towels came from the downtown department store, a smaller bundle came with it. In it was a pink slip-over sweater. A SURPRISE.\nAunt Rachel handed it to Ann with a fifty-cent piece.\n\"There \u2014 you can buy your stuff, whatever it is, with that. The sweater was four dollars and a half.\"\n\"Oh, Aunt Rachel, thank you,\" Ann cried. \"Isn't it a beautiful one!\"\nShe slipped it over her head. \"Does it look nice on me? Does it, Aunt Rachel?\"\n\"Well, yes \u2014 it does,\" admitted her aunt.\nAnn danced around in the new sweater. \"I do think you're the best person in the world,\" she said, stopping to give her aunt a shy kiss on the cheek.\n\n\"Well, well!\" Aunt Rachel rose hurriedly. \"If you like it, see what a good girl you can be. We've lots to do before your Uncle Robert gets home, and we'll have to keep moving.\"\n\n\"Just like the tortoise that beat the hare,\" laughed Ann, and she slipped away to lay the precious sweater before her mother's picture on the bureau.\n\nXIII\nA Ship With Silver Wings\nAunt Rachel said, the attic was only a beginning. The old house was, as usual, scrubbed and cleaned with Aunt Rachel's thoroughness. Ann's feet ached from running up and down stairs, her knees and hands were red and sore from long afternoons with Tilly, polishing the furniture and doing work that Aunt Rachel's rheumatism did not permit.\nAnn felt grateful for the rest the hours at school gave her. It seemed as though the last speck of dirt would never be dragged to light.\n\nAnn's Family\n\"It's a very large house, isn't it?\" she sighed one afternoon as she helped her aunt measure the last pair of curtains.\n\n\"A house is never big enough to hold a man,\" Aunt Rachel said grimly.\n\n\"There! They're up, thank goodness, and we're about through \u2014 Tilly's finishing the bookcases. You might go out to the pantry, Ann, and start on that silver I laid out while I see how she's getting along.\"\n\nAnn rather liked to clean silver. She rubbed and rinsed and rubbed again in a very housewifely manner, laying the pieces side by side in a shining row.\n\n\"I guess Uncle Robert will think everything looks fine,\" she thought. \"I wonder if he'll bring any presents. Maybe he's forgotten I'm here. Oh, I\"\nI. Ships with Silver Wings (131)\n\nDo I wonder if he likes little girls; I do, I wonder if he likes me. I wish, I do wish, I had a family of my own; then I wouldn't have to care so much whether he likes me or not. Mary doesn't have to, nor Peggy, but I have to live here with him.\n\nA sudden tear splashed down on the knives and forks. Ann wiped it away hastily. \"I'm a dreadful cry-baby,\" she said. \"I won't cry. I'll sing! I'll make up a verse and sing!\"\n\nPerhaps it was the shining spoon in her hand, perhaps it was thoughts of the big boat that was bringing Uncle Robert home, perhaps it was that sometimes a little girl feels lonely in a big house without other boys and girls\u2014perhaps they all together helped to make a verse for Ann to sing:\n\nAnn's Family\n\nIf I were a ship with silver wings,\nI'd fill myself full of the loveliest things.\nAnd bring them over the wide blue seas\nTo all little girls without families.\nAnn sang it over and over. When I go upstairs, I must write it down, she thought, quite happy again. The doorbell rang just then, and she stopped to listen. She heard Tilly go to the door, then her aunt's voice in quick, surprised tones, then a man's voice answering.\n\nCan it be Uncle Robert already?\nthought the little girl in the pantry.\nOh, I'm almost afraid to go in and see.\nBut she had to go, after all, for at that moment she heard her aunt calling her.\n\nAnn walked slowly into the living-room to find that it was Uncle Robert. She raised her eyes to his face and gave a start of surprise, for he wasn't queer-looking anyhow. He was big and really quite young, and he was smiling down at her with blue eyes that were somehow like her own.\n\nUncle Robert with Silver Wings 133\n\"Uncle Robert was speaking, \"Here is Nancy, your little girl.\" Ann's heart jumped. Everyone else called her Annie, but someone addressed her tenderly as Nancy.\n\nUncle Robert continued, \"To think that this mite of a baby has grown. I suppose John's tribe and Margaret's have grown too.\"\n\nAunt Rachel began to tell him about Ann's family, and as Ann watched and listened, she decided then and there that it would be very nice indeed to have Uncle Robert live with Aunt Rachel.\n\n\"He's like bringing spring inside,\" Ann thought. \"He looks so kind. Perhaps he can tell stories. Oh, and maybe he'll let me give him a goodnight kiss.\"\n\nIn the days that followed, Ann found that Uncle Robert would let her give him a goodnight kiss.\"\nhim good-night hard \u2014 and that he seemed to like it. Every time he smiled at her, Ann's loving little soul leaped to meet it. And the days that Uncle Robert spent visiting Aunt Margaret or Uncle John were days of longing for his return, for she had found that her new relative could tell stories \u2014 such wonderful ones that Ann would sit in quiet enchantment, forgetting her lessons and her little tasks.\n\n\"You're a pair of dreamers,\" said Aunt Rachel one day as she passed them by.\n\n\"Your knees wouldn't be so stiff if you had a few dreams in your head, Rachel,\" teased her brother.\n\n\"Some of us have to grow up; you're nothing but a child yet, for all your traipsing around,\" retorted Aunt Rachel, but she laughed.\n\nAnn looked up in surprise. \"Why, maybe Aunt Rachel is soft and smiling, too, inside,\" she thought. \"Maybe she's not as serious as she seems.\"\n\"I'll never be so afraid of her again, but I guess it's Uncle Robert, he makes everything seem different.\" She drew her chair closer to him. \"Just one more story, please,\" she begged. \"You tell me one,\" suggested her uncle. \"I haven't any; that is, mine are all verses,\" said Ann. \"Verses! that sounds fine. Let's hear some of them,\" said Uncle Robert with a twinkle in his eye. Ann felt a little shy about showing her little book with all the rhymes she had carefully put down, but she ran and brought it to him. Uncle Robert laughed at some of them, but he seemed to like them all. When she came to the one she had put down last, he looked rather thoughtful. \"Read that one again,\" he told her, and Ann repeated:\n\n\"If I were a ship with silver wings,\nOver the sea I'd sail,\nI'd cut through the waves,\nAnd never feel the gale.\"\nI'd fill myself full of the loveliest things,\nAnd bring them over the wide blue seas\nTo all little girls without families.\n\n\"You haven't much of a family, have you?\" said Uncle Robert.\n\n\"Not a steady family,\" Ann said bravely.\n\n\"Neither have I,\" replied her uncle.\n\n\"Don't you suppose you could take me\nOn for your special family?\"\n\n\"And let me be yours!\" Ann spoke breathlessly. \"Oh, Uncle Robert!\"\n\nUncle Robert looked still more thoughtful.\n\n\"See here,\" he said, \"in the fall I'm going to live in an apartment of my own,\nWhere I can have all my old traps about. I don't suppose a little girl like you knows about keeping house for a bachelor like me.\"\n\n\"Oh, Uncle Robert, but I do!\" Ann said imploringly. \"Aunt Rachel's taught me lots of things, and Aunt Margaret and all of them.\"\n\n\"I'll wager they have,\" Uncle Robert.\nUncle Robert spoke grimly. \"Well, then, puss, how about this? Suppose, when I bundle up my things to go, I just bundle you up and take you along to live with me and help make a home. Forever and ever?\"\n\n\"Forever and ever?\" whispered Ann.\n\n\"Forever and ever,\" said Uncle Robert. \"And we'll hunt up my dog, Terry, and take him along for family, too. Then if I can get my old nurse, Janet, to come and cook for us, we'll be all fixed, won't we?\"\n\n\"But \u2014 I'm afraid you don't understand, Uncle Robert,\" sighed Ann. \"Housekeeping and things cost money \u2014 quite a lot of money. You might not know that, you see!\"\n\n\"Oh, money!\" Uncle Robert waved his hands. \"I've got oodles and oodles of money!\"\n\nAnn clasped her hands in silent bliss. Perhaps after all, it could be true!\n\n\"And \u2014 sometimes will you call me \u2014 Nancy?\" she whispered.\n\n\"If you'll call me 'Bob,'\" laughed her uncle.\nUncle. \"I've always wanted somebody in my family to call me Bob.\"\n\"I will, I will,\" cried Ann. \"I'll do anything in this world you want me to, Uncle-Bob.\"\n\nUncle Bob reached down and took her up on his lap. \"You're a sweet little thing, Nancy,\" he said and held her close to him.\n\"You're a sweet little thing, Nancy\"\n\nShip with Silver Wings 141\nSnuggling into the curve of his big arms, Ann shut her eyes. Two slow tears trickled down in spite of her, but they were only tears of joy. \"I guess it's the very biggest adventure there is, having a family,\" she said.\n\nXIV\n\nWhat They All Said\n\nEverybody was astonished when they heard of Uncle Robert's plans.\n\"The idea!\" exclaimed Aunt Rachel. \"What do you know about bringing up a child!\"\n\"Ann doesn't need any bringing up-she's all brought up,\" said Uncle Robert a little grimly again.\n\"You don't know what a care and expense a child is,\" sighed Aunt Margaret.\n\"Oh, money!\" said Uncle Robert. \"Besides, I'll bet you anything Ann saves me more than she costs me.\"\n\n\"She already owns a whole pig,\" chuckled Uncle John.\n\"Won't Ann come and see us any more? Oh, I want Ann to come and see us,\" cried Mary and Peggy and all the rest.\n\n\"Of course I will,\" Ann told them. \"Only now, the idea! When I go home from visiting, I'll go to my own family,\" and she smiled proudly at Uncle Robert.\n\nThen she sat down and wrote a long letter to William about it.\n\n\"It's something like a book,\" William wrote back across the city. \"Because he came from China and all that. It's a regular adventure, isn't it? I guess you'll be having lots of adventures now.\"\n\nAnn looked up with shining eyes,\n\"I shouldn't wonder but that I won't have to stay in just three places all my life, now,\" she said.\n\"You won't if you live with me,\" said her uncle. \"I'll probably pick you up some day and carry you back to China.\"\n\"Then I can be a ship with silver wings,\" Ann cried, clapping her hands. \"I'd fill myself full of the loveliest things and bring them over the wide blue seas To all little girls without families.\"\n\"We will,\" declared Uncle Robert.\n\"Dear me, I'm so happy,\" signed Ann. \"Are you happy, Uncle Bob?\"\n\"I am, Nancy,\" Uncle Bob smiled.\n\"I must make a verse,\" said Ann, snuggling close to him.\n\"If I am happy and you are happy, too, Then all my wishes are coming true.\"\n\"Amen,\" said Ann's family.\n\nXV\nCircus Days\nMay came with a glad certainty of clear skies and blooming trees. In Ann's heart, there was a soft singing joy that matched the outside world. Even in the school-work that she already loved so well, there was a new eagerness. How she worked over the bothersome arithmetic so that on the next report card, she might have an A in that subject also to show Uncle Robert. At playtime and in her talk with her classmates, Ann felt that at last she was one of them. To be sure, she had not a father or mother to talk about, but she had someone now whose special child she was, someone to whom she could take the beloved pictures and who would say, \"Yes, that's your dad, Nancy, \u2014 he was a fine young chap, a manly, brave young chap\"; or, \"That's your mother, bless her.\"\nAunt Rachel seemed different, indignantly whisking specks of tobacco from the newly-polished tables and continously expostulating about the mud tracked in on the hall-rugs. Yet, she really seemed glad that Uncle Robert had come. She was pleased when he praised her good housekeeping, and had Tillie produce from her kitchen things to eat that Ann had never before seen on her table.\n\n\"A man's eating is half his life,\" Ann said one day at the luncheon table. \"And you never can tell what the other half is.\"\n\nUncle Robert laughed. \"I never can tell myself these days,\" he said. \"I am having a holiday! Oh! and what do you think! The circus is coming to town! I saw the posters this morning. Will you go to the circus with me, Rachel?\"\n\nAunt Rachel met his mischievous gaze.\n\"Glance imperturbably. \"Circuses aren't much in my line,\" she said. \"You seem to forget I've grown up.\" \"Dear me, dear me, that's too bad,\" murmured her brother. He turned to Ann, who was sitting with her spoon suspended, listening with both ears. \"I don't suppose you'd care to go, Ann?\"\n\nCIRCUS DAYS\n\nAnn let the spoon fall to the table. \"Oh, but I would,\" she cried. \"I would so. I've never been to a circus in all my life!\"\n\n\"Well, we must remedy that,\" responded her uncle heartily. \"I always go to a circus when it comes.\"\n\n\"We were going last year,\" said Ann, quite trembling with excitement. \"Uncle Ted was going to take Tom and Peggy and me, but Aunt Margaret said it cost too much, so we just went to see the parade.\"\n\n\"We'd better take Tom and Peggy along then, hadn't we?\" suggested Uncle Robert. \"And how about John's children?\"\nAnn said, \"The kids would enjoy the circus. It comes on a Saturday, so no one would miss school. Mary, Oh, Mary would love the circus, and Florence and little Jack too!\"\n\n\"I'll write to John this evening,\" Ann's uncle replied.\n\n\"Are you starting a kindergarten?\" Aunt Rachel asked sharply.\n\n\"Well, a circus and children go together. Besides, I didn't bring them any presents when I came home. This will be a present from all over the world instead of just China,\" Ann explained, beaming.\n\nNo more luncheon for her. \"I can't believe I'm going to the circus,\" she exclaimed.\n\nEach day that followed, she looked for a letter to come from Fenly in response to Uncle Robert's invitation. At last, on Friday, came a note from Uncle John.\nThe farm was going, he said, before answering, and found that he could bring the children on the noon train. Uncle John too wanted to see the circus!\n\n\"Good old John!\" said Uncle Robert, and Ann hopped about with delight. How glad she would be to see her little country cousins! And Mary would be so funny. She would say such funny things and make them all laugh!\n\nAnn and Uncle Robert went to the train to meet them, Ann radiant in her best school-dress and her precious pink sweater. Her quick eye saw Uncle John and the children as they alighted from the train, and she and Mary ran straight into each other's arms. They all went to Aunt Margaret's for soup and sandwiches and cocoa, and then got an early start.\n\n\"Do you suppose you two men can manage all those children?\" Aunt Margaret asked anxiously as she saw.\nThem off. \"You ought to have a woman with you.\"\n\"Well, you said you didn't care to come,\" answered Uncle Robert.\n\"No \u2014 it's a fine chance for me to shop. There will be so few people in the stores to-day \u2014 everybody will be at the circus.\"\n\"And me, too \u2014 and me, too!\" shouted little Tom.\nHis mother kissed him good-by.\n\"Look out for Tommy \u2014 he's such an eel,\" she said.\n\nCircus Days\n\n\"I will \u2014 I will,\" Ann called back as they all ran toward their trolley.\nUncle Robert said afterwards it was as much fun to watch the children's faces as it was to watch the circus itself.\nNone of them had ever been to a performance, and, oh, how they did enjoy it all! They were so early at the circus-grounds that they went all around the animal-cages twice. Uncle Robert kept buying bags and bags of peanuts, but Ann, feeling that she was the mother, made sure they didn't eat too many.\nThe partygoer opposed the lemonade and soft drinks demanded by the younger children. \"It contains substances that could make you ill, and then your mother would never allow you to return,\" she cautioned them.\n\n\"You're just an old granny, Ann,\" Uncle Robert countered. \"But come now, youngsters, it's almost time for this show to begin. We'd better find our seats. Are we all here? One, two, three, four, five, six. Fine, let's go now!\"\n\nPerched on the middle benches, the children looked around with fresh enthusiasm. Ann spotted several schoolmates and waved cheerily to them. And then several figures entered the rings, and the great show began.\n\nMary expressed her wish that she had four eyes so she wouldn't miss anything. \"This is very different from when we were boys,\" Uncle Robert remarked. \"One ring and a quarter's admission!\"\n\"Everything in the world going five times as fast nowadays, so why not a circus?\" answered his brother.\n\n\"I'm not going to be a policeman when I grow up,\" little Tom whispered to Ann; \"I'm going to be a clown.\" Ann nodded. She herself felt a sudden longing to be the gay blue-tinseled figure flying up at that moment from the second ring.\n\nBut it was the beautiful white horse that pranced and danced that won Mary's heart.\n\n\"Couldn't we, couldn't we, buy one?\" she implored her father.\n\n\"Not for a hundred years or more,\" he answered smiling. \"A horse like that costs thousands of dollars.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said poor Mary, \"our new horse is real smart. Father. Just wait until I get home; I'm going to teach him tricks and tricks.\"\n\nAt last the performance was over, and they found they could not delay long.\n\nAnn's Family.\nUncle John and the children were due at the station for a six-o'clock train. Pressed by the hurrying crowd, little Peggy was frightened, but Uncle Robert tossed her up on his broad shoulder where she soon forgot her fear. Uncle John held Jack and Florence firmly by the hand, and the others kept close behind. And then, all of a sudden, about midway out, Ann missed Tom. At her cry, the little party came to a halt. All looked about through the surging crowds for a darting little figure, but saw no Tom.\n\n\"He was here just a moment ago, I'm sure,\" said Ann piteously.\n\n\"Confound that child!\" exclaimed Uncle John with unusual impatience, but Uncle Robert looked worried.\n\n\"Stand right here and wait for me,\" he said; \"there must be a place here somewhere where they take lost children.\"\nHe hurried away, but was brought back by a shout from Uncle John. Following his pointing finger, they all looked and saw Tom \u2013 held high over the head of a prancing clown. Tom, laughing and shouting and all unconscious of the fright he had caused.\n\nA prancing clown, Tom's relatives. At their unmistakable gestures, the clown bounded into their midst and delivered Tommy with a profound bow.\n\n\"Kiddie got lost so I thought I\u2019d help him out a little \u2013 got a couple of my own,\" he said, laughing.\n\nHow the uncles thanked him while the children gazed and gazed at him \u2013 a real circus clown right close to them! And how tightly Ann held to Tom's hand all the way home.\n\nAunt Margaret laughed a little and cried a little when she heard about it.\n\n\"Mercy! Think of what might have happened to you, baby,\" she said.\nUncle Robert spoke at the breakfast table one morning, saying, \"The next thing on my program is to find dear old Janey.\"\n\n\"Janey!\" exclaimed Aunt Rachel. \"I don't know where Janey is now. I haven't heard from her for several years.\"\n\n\"But I have,\" laughed her brother. \"I received a letter from her last Christmas time. I usually send her a present, a little money or a trinket of some kind, and she never fails to write and thank me. She's living with her daughter Maggie, and Maggie, from all accounts, has a husband and some children, so they must have a houseful.\"\n\n\"You're a curious person, Robert,\" said Aunt Rachel. \"Why should you remember an old servant all these years?\"\n\"Uncle Robert stirred his coffee thoughtfully. \"She used to tell me stories. We always remember the people who tell us stories, don't we, Ann? Janey's were such fascinating ones \u2013 about the river Clyde in Scotland near which she lived, and about the fairies that lived in the heather and played among the bluebells in the fields.\" \"Do you remember those stories?\" Ann asked eagerly. \"I'll wager Janey does. Perhaps you'd like to go and see her with me this afternoon, Ann? Hurry home from school and we'll hunt her up together.\" Ann looked doubtfully at Aunt Rachel. \"Would you need me for anything, Aunt Rachel? Any errands or anything?\" \"No, you may as well go along. I'll take my rest and sew a bit on my napkins. I'll be glad of a quiet house,\" she added grimly. Uncle Robert laughed.\"\nAnn, he chuckled as the little girl hurried off to school. Outside, I'll be on my tiptoes and wait for you. She found him waiting for her that afternoon, and with her hand clasped in his, they set out in search of the elderly Scotch woman who had helped care for Uncle Robert and Ann's own mother when they were children.\n\n\"How do you know the way?\" Ann asked as they walked through parts of the town she had never seen before.\n\n\"I know this old town from end to end and from top to bottom. I used to wander about it as a boy, dreaming dreams about the old buildings and about the boats that came up the river. Perhaps that's what started me off to China. Dreams are great things. Sometimes if you dream one often enough and hard enough, you find yourself walking right into the midst of it.\"\n\n\"And then it isn't a dream anymore.\"\n\"A Visit to Janey (Chapter 163)\nsaid Ann. \"Just like you, Uncle Robert, I used to think someone liking me was hard, and now it's real!\" Her uncle smiled down at her. \"Let's hope dear old Janey will be real,\" he said. \"The house must be somewhere about here. This is Asher Street \u2014 we must find number fifty-seven.\" \"Here it is,\" cried Ann quickly. \"My, what a lot of children! Do you suppose they're all hers?\" They stopped in front of a small tidy house in the side yard of which eight or nine boys and girls were playing, going through curious movements and contortions \u2014 trying to put on a circus. Uncle Robert tried to stifle a laugh as nearly as he could see, and Ann watched them, laughing. \"Why, they're playing a circus,\" she exclaimed. \"I believe they've been there too!\" \"I hope they live to see another one,\" laughed her relative. \"I wonder if we'll be invited.\"\"\n\"Master Robert knocked at the door, and in response, a rosy-cheeked woman opened it. \"Why, it's Master Robert!\" she cried, drawing them into the house. Master Robert kissed her soundly upon both cheeks. \"Bless your heart, Janey, you look exactly the same! I just got home from heathen China and had to look you up. And I brought Annie's little girl along with me,\" he said. Janey drew Ann to her and looked long into the child's face. \"Annie's wee lassie! Well \u2013 well \u2013 Yes, I can see a likeness. She's a bonny lass, Master Robert,\" she replied.\"\nShe beamed upon him anew, and as he settled down for a talk with her, Ann wandered over to the window where the little girl was still sitting.\n\n\"Are you sick?\" Ann asked in her friendly way. The child pointed to her legs over which a blanket had been thrown.\n\n\"No, just lame,\" she said in a shy voice.\n\n\"Can't you walk?\" Ann queried again in a shocked voice.\n\n\"A little about the house, but I can't play \u2013 like them,\" the child added, pointing to the boisterous children outside.\n\nAnn smiled again at the antics of the crowd. \"They're playing circus, aren't they?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the little girl. \"I couldn't go, you see, so they come here and do tricks. I like to see them.\"\n\n\"What's your name?\" asked Ann.\n\n\"Nessie,\" she replied.\n\n\"Nessie? That's a pretty name. I don't believe I ever heard that one before.\"\n\n\"It's Agnes, really,\" explained the little girl.\nA lame child said, \"But Granny always calls me Nessie, for her sister in Scotland.\" The two children talked together until Uncle Robert rose to leave. \"I must be getting back to business soon,\" he said. \"I've had my holiday and am getting restless. I'm at the old house now, Janey, but if I find a little shack of my own, could you leave here and come and keep house for me? Ann's coming to keep me from becoming too much of a bachelor, and we want you for a third.\" His old nurse's face brightened. \"Aye, that I could. Master Robert, and thank you for it. I've been doing days' work lately, but it's not the work for me. Poor Maggie has the bairns and there's little Nessie. We're all saving for the doctor and her brace, but the dollars are slow in coming, canny though we be.\"\n\"Uncle Robert looked kindly at the little figure by the window. \"What's the matter with her?\" he asked. \"She was hurt a bit back,\" replied Janey, stroking Ann's curly head. \"The bone didn't set right. The doctors say now that only good treatment and a strong brace will help, poor lassie.\" \"Will it cost a great deal?\" Ann questioned softly. \"A deal for poor folk, but we've nearly half of it saved already. If her old granny can earn a bit now and then, she'll look after her bairn.\"\n\nUncle Robert laughed. \"You'll earn a bit if you feed me,\" he said. \"I haven't forgotten the gruel you used to make.\" Janey answered, her rosy face crinkling into smiles. \"You were always a hearty lad. Let me know when you want me, Master Robert, and I'll be ready.\"\n\nAs they left the house, Ann waved.\"\nGoodbye to little Nessie. Her heart was full of pity for the little girl who had been tied to a chair or brace for months. She told Aunt Rachel all about her that evening.\n\n\"I wish I had a lot of money. I'd give it to Nessie for her brace,\" she said.\n\n\"Money doesn't grow on trees \u2014 we all find that out,\" responded Aunt Rachel.\n\nUncle Robert spoke thoughtfully, \"I could offer what she needs to Janey, but I don't imagine they'd take it. Janey's as proud as can be, you know \u2014 always was.\"\n\nAnn did not say any more. \"They don't understand,\" she said to herself. \"They've never been a little girl who couldn't run around.\"\n\nShe lay awake for a long time that night, thinking of the little lame girl. \"I believe if I had the money I could make them take it for Nessie,\" she thought. \"But I haven't any money.\"\nAnn hadn't had anything, not a thing at all! Then, in a flash, a thought came to her. \"Why, yes, I have - I've got my pig!\" Ann almost laughed aloud in the darkness at the surprise and delight of it. Uncle John often sells his pigs to other farmers, especially nice big mother-pigs that may have a lot of little pigs for the farmer. I'll write to Uncle John and explain it all, and ask him to sell the pig for me and send me the money. Then Nessie can start right away getting well.\n\nVery timidly the next morning, Ann unfolded her plan to Uncle Robert. He looked at her for a long time. \"Blessed child that you are,\" he said. \"If we explained to Janet that it was your plan for Nessie, I shouldn't wonder but that she'd take the money - at least until they can pay it back. But do you really want to sell your pig, Nancy?\"\nAnn said slowly, \"I love that pig. I never had anything of my own before, but I've got you now, Uncle Bob, and you're worth a hundred pigs I.\"\n\n\"I'll try to be,\" Uncle Robert spoke soberly but his eyes twinkled. \"Go ahead, Nancy, then, and I'll back you.\"\n\nAnn sat down that very night and wrote to Uncle John. \"I don't want to start a farm right away, anyhow,\" she told him after she had written the story of Nessie and her need. \"And if it isn't too much trouble, Uncle John, could you sell my pig to some nice, kind farmer and send me the money?\"\n\nShe felt very happy when she had given Uncle Robert the letter to take out with him and mail, but by and by a feeling that she had lost something very dear came over her \u2014 her pig was no longer her pig!\n\nShe finished her lessons and then\nAnn slowly took down the rhyme-book that had lain upon the shelf. She would write a last verse for the black-and-white pig:\n\n\"Darling pig, I'll miss you so,\nIt grieves me sore to let you go.\nIt's for a little child, you know,\nTo straighten her leg and make it grow.\"\n\nThere were real tears in little Ann's eyes as she laid the old book away that night. But a week or so later, there came a letter from Uncle John, and inside was a check for thirty dollars.\n\nThirty dollars! Ann jumped for joy; it would be enough to pay for Nessie's brace.\n\nTo Ann's great surprise, Aunt Rachel offered to take the money to Nessie. \"As long as you've gone to all this trouble, the child may as well have the benefit of it,\" said Aunt Rachel with her head up. \"If there's anybody who can make Janey stand around, I can.\"\nShe came back without the money and with a softened expression on her face. \"She's a nice little thing, that child, and I guess they're worthy. I hope they are for your sake, Ann. Your money's gone \u2014 are you sorry?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ann slowly. \"I will shut my eyes and see Nessie running around all right, and I'll be glad, glad, glad!\"\n\nXVII\n\nHOUSE-HUNTING\n\n\"Are you really in earnest about this apartment idea, Ann?\" Aunt Rachel asked her brother some days later. \"There's no sense in it, you know \u2014 this is your house as well as mine, and there's no reason why you shouldn't stay in it.\"\n\n\"You're a dear, Rachel,\" said Uncle Robert, putting his hand affectionately over hers. \"But I think I'll hunt up a little place of my own. I must be getting back to work soon, and when I'm engrossed in business, my irregular hours and masculine habits would annoy you.\"\n\"176 ANN'S FAMILY terribly. I shall be as cozy as can be with Janey and Ann to take care of me.\n\n\"Oh, Ann!\" Aunt Rachel shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. \"Are you still determined to take that child along, Robert?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir!\" her brother said emphatically. \"I have an idea nobody knows how to bring up a child like an old bachelor, and also that nobody can keep a man from being too much of an old bachelor like a growing child. Of course, you and Margaret will have to help me out about her clothes, and I'll probably have to send her to John every summer a bit to get fresh air, but I'll take a long turn at her.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said his practical sister, \"my advice to you, if you are bent on an apartment, is to look one up now.\n\nMost leases are signed in May, and you can get a better apartment at a lower price then.\"\"\nUncle Robert believed it was better to buy a house than wait until autumn. \"I agree, Rachel, if you're my sister,\" he said. \"Could you, would you, come along and help me pick one out?\"\n\n\"Take Margaret instead,\" suggested Aunt Rachel. \"She knows more about prices and modern plumbing than I do. I've lived here all my life and don't know much about these new places. If you could go on a Saturday afternoon when Ted is home to look after the children, Margaret could get away.\"\n\n\"I'll stop by there this evening and ask her,\" Uncle Robert replied heartily. \"And Margaret will probably know the best real estate man to approach, too.\"\n\nUncle Robert found Aunt Margaret glad to help him with house-hunting and shopping, two things she knew how to do well. Accordingly, the following Saturday afternoon she and Uncle Robert went house-hunting together.\nAnn sat in the car with Uncle Robert and the real estate agent, delighted they brought her along for house hunting. She imagined the cozy chair in front of the fireplace she and Uncle Bob would share, or the little dinner table where they'd discuss their days.\n\n\"How do you like them, Ann?\" Uncle Robert asked, pinching her cheek.\n\n\"Oh, they're lovely,\" Ann replied.\nAunt Margaret shook her head. \"They're very disappointing, I think, for the prices they ask. Let's look at this last place on the list, and then we'll have to go home and think them over.\"\n\nThey drove down into the older part of the town, where, however, a perfectly modern apartment house had been raised, five stories high, among the old-fashioned houses left standing. It was i80.\n\nAnne's Family\nA beautiful, splendidly equipped building with an unusual little English garden trailing behind it along the side street. About the garden was a neat brick wall that gave it a happy air of seclusion.\n\n\"Ha! this is something like,\" exclaimed Uncle Robert as they alighted. \"I like the looks of this place, don't you, Margaret?\"\n\n\"It looks very expensive,\" murmured his sister, smiling.\n\nThe only apartment in the house for rent was indeed expensive, and it was\nAnd unfurnished. \"And, plenty of rooms, but all of them pretty small for a fellow of my size.\" He looked a bit discouraged, and Ann slipped her hand sympathetically into his. \"Well, we don't have to decide anything to-day,\" said Aunt Margaret, woman-fashion. \"Suppose we go home now and try again sometime.\"\n\nAs they walked toward the car, Ann tarried a moment to peep over the wall of the garden at the blossoming shrubs. \"Oh! what a cunning little house,\" she cried suddenly.\n\n\"Oh! what a cunning little house!\"\n\nAt her exclamation, the others stopped and came back to her. In the corner of the garden stood a small, low brick house, quaint and seemingly closed for the summer.\n\n\"The janitor's house?\" asked Aunt Margaret doubtfully.\n\n\"Oh, no, indeed!\" replied the agent smiling. \"That was built by the man who owned the estate.\"\nWho owns this apartment house? He intended to live there himself, but his wife preferred one of the apartments. He sold it later to a lady who is traveling abroad now for a couple of years.\n\n\"I don't suppose that's for rent, is it?\" Uncle Robert asked. \"By Jove, that just appeals to me!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is for rent for the time Miss Starr is away. But I thought you wanted an apartment. You said -\"\n\n\"We thought we did, too,\" Uncle Robert interrupted, \"but they seem to be such pigeon-holes. I'm not sure what I want.\"\n\nHOUSE-HUNTING 183\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Ann. \"Couldn't we just go inside? It's such a cunning house!\"\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" said the young agent, looking at her suddenly. He consulted his notebook. \"My orders say, 'For rent to the right party - reference required - no children.'\"\n\n\"Oh!\" All the grown-ups looked at Ann at once. The little girl\nA big lump came into her throat. Here was a darling house, one that Uncle Robert wanted, and he couldn't have it if she came to live with him.\n\n\"Just one little girl?\" she faltered, pleadingly. \"No \u2014 just me!\"\n\n\"No children,\" the agent repeated, friendly but firmly.\n\nAnn swallowed hard. \"You can have it, Uncle Bob,\" she said bravely. \"I don't mind. I can live around like Ann's Family. I always have.\" But Uncle Bob squeezed her hand. \"Oh, it wouldn't be any fun without you, Nancy,\" he said. \"Likely we wouldn't like it inside anyway \u2014 or perhaps the price wouldn't suit me. But,\" he said to the real-estate man, \"now that we're here, couldn't we go through the place?\"\n\nSeeing their interest, the agent led them along the little pathway and unlocked the door of the house. As he raised the shades inside, sunshine filled the room.\nA living-room delightful to look at, flooded with tones of softest old gold and lowest yellow. The brass candlesticks and andirons threw into relief the old mahogany furniture with its blue and rose velours.\n\n\"What a charming room!\" Aunt Margaret exclaimed involuntarily.\n\"A wonder - comfortable but beautiful,\" her brother echoed.\n\nThe upstairs rooms were likewise too attractive for hopeless house-hunters to view. A man's guest room of ample dimensions and fine plain furnishings! A smaller guest-room, evidently for a girl, its creamy simplicity adorned with flowery cretonnes.\n\nAnn stood and gazed admiringly at this little room. She thought she had never seen anything quite so sweet.\n\nMeanwhile, her uncle and aunt went on to what was evidently the owner's bedroom, quaint and cool in blues.\nAunt Margaret feltfully remarked, \"She must be a very wealthy and tasteful woman, Robert, with silver and real rosewood furniture.\"\n\n\"Did you say she was an old maid?\" Uncle Robert asked the agent, observing the gay orange cushion thrown across the chaste blue day-bed.\n\n\"I haven't seen her myself,\" the young fellow replied, \"but it's a wonderful little home she has here.\"\n\n\"It suits me,\" Uncle Robert groaned, \"and you say the price is no more than the furnished apartments we've looked at? I wonder if there would be any use in my writing to the lady herself. Perhaps if she knew what a mouse Ann was and what a fine housekeeper she is, she'd relent.\"\n\n\"Oh, do, Uncle Bob, please do!\" Ann begged, for whom the whole house was like a fairy habitation.\n\n\"It wouldn't do any harm, sir,\" the agent added.\nUncle Robert received a slip from the agent with the address: \"Miss Mary Starr, C/O Dutton & Pinckney, New York city.\" He read aloud, \"Mary Starr. That's a nice name. I shall write to you this very night, for I certainly do like your house.\"\n\nAunt Rachel was discouraged when she heard about it. \"She probably doesn't care whether she rents the house or not,\" she said. And indeed, for a long time, it seemed as though she were right. But at last, one day, a letter arrived with a foreign postmark.\n\nAnn's Family:\n\nMiss Starr, the letter said, had received Mr. Fairlee's letter. She would be happy to overlook the presence of Mr. Fairlee's young niece, provided she was, as he declared, not the usual careless modern child. She was writing by her own hand.\n[the same mail to her lawyers who would look up Mr. Fairlee\u2019s references. If they proved satisfactory, as she was sure they would, her lawyers would notify the real-estate firm and authorize them to lease her property to Mr. Fairlee for two years at the stated rent. Ann, breathless until the last word was read, gave a long sigh of relief and gladness. Later, when she really met the lady of the fairy house, she tried to tell her how she had felt when they received that letter. But that is a part of another story. This story of Ann is nearly ended. In another month's time, after an interesting but a shorter than usual visit to the farm, our little Ann was settled with Uncle Bob and Janey in the new home, and here we shall leave her to succeeding years of new adventures and new happiness. THE END]", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1925", "title": "Autobiography; the story of an old man's life, with reminiscences of seventy-five years", "creator": "Harris, Nathaniel Edwin, 1846-1929", "lccn": "25008362", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011611", "partner_shiptracking": "159GR", "call_number": "10137525", "identifier_bib": "00174036056", "lc_call_number": "F291 .H32", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "Macon, Ga., The J.W. Burke company", "description": "550 p. 20 cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-08-20 11:05:59", "updatedate": "2019-08-20 12:21:48", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "autobiographythe00harr", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-08-20 12:21:50", "operator": "associate-saw-thein@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "566", "scandate": "20191010175029", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-mae-mirafuentes@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20191011211649", "republisher_time": "559", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/autobiographythe00harr", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t4dp23p4d", "ocr": "ABBYY FineReader 11.0 (Extended OCR)", "openlibrary_edition": "OL6676636M", "openlibrary_work": "OL7768091W", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "year": "1925", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1155960625", "backup_location": "ia906909_18", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.14", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.11", "page_number_confidence": "96.28", "oclc-id": "1561125", "creation_year": 1925, "content": "Book 2 _ CLCtf M g.\nNATHANIEL E. HARRIS, Former Governor of the State of Georgia\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nTHE STORY OF AN OLD MAN\u2019S LIFE WITH REMINISCENCES OF SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS\nBY NATHANIEL E. HARRIS, A.B., LL.D.\nFORMER GOVERNOR OF GEORGIA\nPREFACE\nThis book was written at intervals extending over at least twelve months. It was dictated to David J. Gibson, a young stenographer, who has been with me for several years, and has been a very faithful and efficient assistant in the preparation of the work.\n\nWe selected for the dictation times when it was thought most convenient. The rhetoric suffered some from the off-hand way in which the facts were recalled and given to the stenographer.\n\nConsequence: the language is rough in many places and the subjects lack connection.\nIt is given to the world simply as a record of events in the life of a very busy man and should be read as a diary, in which no effort is made to do more than present a plain, unvarnished history of events that extended through seventy-five years. The hope that the narrative may be read by someone who will find enough good in it to justify the trouble of reading has made me publish it to the world.\n\nThe Author.\nAtlanta, Georgia\nDecember, 1924\n\nDedication\nTo my only living brother, Joseph Adison Harris, who was my playmate and friend in my boyhood days, who shared my youthful joys and griefs and, when the great tragedy occurred in our lives that sent us away from our childhood's home to find a refuge among strangers, and a father's eyes had closed on us forever, decided to take my place as the head of the family and keep it.\nThe wolf from the door of the mother and children, while I went to college, and who, after coming back to the old homestead with the family, saw the children one by one go out from the household, nearly all to be buried in the graveyard nearby, till last of all the mother followed. This book is affectionately dedicated by The Author to the mother, who has kept up the old homestead where the Harris name had belonged since the days of the Revolution; who has been loyal and loving and faithful to me through all the years that have gone.\n\nNathaniel E. Harris . . . Frontispiece\nHon. Landon C. Haynes . . . 12\nAlexander H. Stephens and his Brother, Linton . . . 176\nMrs. Fannie Burke Harris . . . 192\nFounder\u2019s Loving Cup . . . 204\nResidence of Mrs. Harris at Hampton, Tenn . . . 296\nThe Spring and Lake in Rear of Summer Home . . . 298\nCottage of Mrs. N.E. Harris, Daytona Beach, Fla.\n300 Going to the Inauguration . . . 354\n358 Going from the Inauguration . . . . .\nMrs. Hattie G. Harris . . . 382\n388 Governor Harris and His Office Force . ' .\n392 Governor Harris Signing the Prohibition Bill . . .\n414 On the Capitol Steps \u2014 Washington City . \n420 \"A Quarrel With the President Reconciled\" . . .\n452 With the Georgia Cavalry at El Paso . . .\n454 General Walter A. Harris . . . .\n456 Review of the Georgia Troops at Camp Cottrell\n458 General Nash and Governor Harris\n458 General Nash, Governor Harris, General Harris\n462 Thanksgiving Day at El Paso .\n484 Statue of General Gordon\n\nGeneological Sketch . . .\nEarliest Recollections . . . .\nMy Companions . . .\nMy School Days . . .\nSome Distinguished Men .\nLast Scenes of the School Session at Martin Academy .\nAn Incident of My Younger Days... My War Experience... Cooked up the Dish Rag... My First Fight... Indians as Swimmers... Transfer and Arrest... Incidents of Service with Jones\u2019 Brigade, Longstreet and the Stone Mountain Monument, etc... General Jones on Foraging... Joining the 16th Virginia Cavalry... Wytheville and How it Feels to Kill a Man... Incidents on the March... Fight at Hanging Rock... The Battle at Newmarket... Brigade Organization... Advance on Washington... Speech at Barnesville, describing Gordon and Evans at Monocacy... Horses and Foraging in Maryland and Pennsylvania... Chambersburg... Morefield... My Connection With the Second Corps... Sickness in the Valley... Trepidation of the Soldier... Soldiers that Can\u2019t Stand Fire... Carrying Orders Under Difficulties... Dodging the Bullets.\nA Cannon Shot near Hancock, Maryland.\nForaging in Old Virginia. . . .\nHow I Was Dismounted. . . .\nHow I Left the Brigade. . . .\nComing Home. . . .\nThe March Towards Johnson\u2019s Army.\nFirst Warnings of Brownlow\u2019s War.\nApplying for Pardons in East Tennessee.\nReprisals in East Tennessee. . . .\nJourney to Georgia.\nHow I Came to go to College. . . .\nAided by Dr. William H. Felton. . .\nMy Experience in Surgery.\nMy College Career.\nA Commencement Oration. . . .\nThe Societies.\nMy Graduation. . . .\nGoing to Sparta. . . .\nAssociation with Mr. Stephens.\nCommencing to Teach School.\nNewspaper Business.\nLaw Practice in Macon.\nProhibition and Technology.\nDifficulties in the Way.\nFirst Commission. . . .\nSubsequent Views on Tech. . .\nLaw and Legislation.\nSenator Brown's Donation, Refunding the State Debt, Railroad Matters, Finishing the Road, Major J.F. Hanson and His Career, A Rainy New Year's Monody, Church Matters and General Conference, The Vanderbilt Case, The Judgeship, My Partners: Walter B. Hill, Washington Dessau, and William B. Birch, My Political Career Continued, The Canvass for Governor, The Campaign, Chaingang Greeting, Progress of the Campaign, My Reply, Incident at Kingsland, Convention Contest, Investigation and Martial Law Continued, Legislative Action and Prohibition, The Call of the Extra Session, Office Organization, Prohibition Legislation at First Called Session, Visits to the Presidents, My Sickness in the Governor's Office, Pardons, Women Allowed to Practice Law, Lynching.\nThe Birmingham Reunion, Crawfordville Speech, New Counties, Visitors and respects, Glimpses of work in the Governor\u2019s Office, Work of Called Session, Dueling in Georgia, Calling out the National Guard, The Draft, 31st Division - Dixie Division, Data About 31st Division, Second Race for Governor, Mob at the Mansion, What Governor Dorsey Said About Prohibition, Governor Dorsey's Inauguration, Statue of General Gordon, My Experience with the Judges, The Dixon Will Case, The United States Judges, My Partnership with Mr. Hill, Acting as President of Georgia Tech, Closing Address by Ex-Governor Harris, Colonel Gardner of the 31st Division, Offer of Farmers to Aid in Race for United States Senate, A Visit to Mrs. Corra Harris and Reminiscences.\nA Family Sketch \u2014 The Three Cousins\n\nA man who writes an autobiography takes a great risk. Things that would appear interesting to him may be quite the contrary to general readers. Besides, he subjects himself to much misconstruction. The very fact that he writes his own life-story shows that he imagines something has occurred in his life that will be of interest to others. If his achievements have contributed to the happiness of those around him, the record might be well. If, on the contrary, his life has had a selfish purpose throughout its whole course, then, however great his achievements, they are but a poor compensation for the injury he may have inflicted on others.\n\nAutobiography\nCommenced Aug. 29, 1923.\nIn these pages, you will find no philosophical analysis, no disclosure of underlying motives, and no reasoning from cause to effect in the story of an old lawyer and old politician. This narrative is intended only to present a plain and simple account of the events in the life-history of a man often misjudged, sometimes hated, and sometimes loved by those among whom his life has passed. The first-person narrative may lead the reader to believe that the author was swayed by a desire to make an apology.\nI. Autobiography and Genealogical Sketch\n\nThis ought not to be about exhibiting oneself rather than doing good to others. In this narrative, facts will be given, and the truth will be kept in view from beginning to end.\n\nII. Genealogical Sketch\n\nI was born on January 21, 1846, at Cherokee Creek in Washington County, Tennessee. The place where I was born belonged to my grandfather, John C. Harris, a minister of the M.E. Church and a physician of the old style. He had been in possession of the homestead since a short time after the Revolution. He had married Sarah Reagan, daughter of Jere Reagan, and first cousin of Senator John H. Reagan of Texas. They had raised a family of twelve children: nine sons and two daughters. My father, Alexander Nelson Harris, was the eldest son.\neighth child. He was educated in old-field schools and finished his course in Holston College, New Market, in what was then Jefferson County. Three of the sons studied medicine, and one of the girls married a very prominent physician, Dr. John E. Cossen, of Jonesboro.\n\nMy grandmother claimed that one of her brothers served with General Washington, having been attached in some way to his headquarters. She referred to this at times with much pride.\n\nMy grandfather Harris emigrated from Rockingham County, Virginia, and came with his father and mother some time after the close of the Revolution to what is now Washington County, Tennessee. They settled some two or three miles south of the town of Jonesboro on the Little Cherokee. His family originally came from Rock Hall in Maryland and claimed to be from the AUTOBIOGRAPHY.\nThe English gentry who settled at that place on Chesapeake. One branch of the family moved to North Carolina from which descended Governor, later Senator, Isham G. Harris of Tennessee. I'm told. My mother was a daughter of David Haynes, son of George Grandison Haynes, a Revolutionary soldier who served under Col. William Washington, who later commanded a squadron of light horse in General Greene\u2019s Army. He also was born in Virginia, but came to East Tennessee after the Revolution, marrying a Miss McInturff. He settled in Carter County and raised a large family. His son, David, was of a peculiar type. He had much native talent and knew how to make money. His peculiarities, as he grew to wealth, obtained for him, among his neighbors of the mountains, the sobriquet of \u201cKing David.\u201d He was of an unusual character.\nMy grandfather, who was of exacting character and always claimed German descent, had a father who was undoubtedly descended from the same named family in New England. One of whom, John Haynes, was Governor of Connecticut. Despite this, I have never been able to reconcile this claim unless it applied to someone else in the male line. My grandfather married Rhoda Taylor, a daughter of Mathew Taylor, a brother of General James P. Taylor, the latter the grandfather of Alfred A. and Robt. L. Taylor. There was a large family born of this marriage. My mother was the tenth child. Of her sisters, Emma Haynes married Nathaniel G. Taylor, and her sons, who achieved most distinction, were Robert L. Taylor, Governor and Senator, Alf. A. Taylor, Congressman and Governor, and James P. Taylor, Adjutant General of the State. The Haynes children were all Hon. Landon C. Haynes.\nSenator Confederate States Congress called \"Silver Tongued Orator of Tennessee.\"*\n\nAutobiography\n\nLandon C. Haynes, the oldest son, became one of the greatest lawyers the State produced. He has been called the \"Eagle Orator of East Tennessee.\" I have heard him stand on his porch, looking out on Buffalo mountain in the early morning, and declaim the orations of Cicero in the original Latin. His voice was orotund, and he rolled out the Latin words with gestures and a pronunciation calculated to catch the fancy of anyone who believed in old-fashioned oratory. He was almost irresistible before a jury. He put humor, pathos, and fiery declaration into his speeches that swept the courthouse, with the judge and jury, off their feet. He made his first race for Congress against Andrew Johnson.\nI could once repeat a considerable portion of his speech in opposition to Mr. Johnson. He began with these words: \"It affords me no ordinary pleasure to meet this large assembly of my neighbors and fellowmen, composed of both political parties, before whom I may meet my competitor and contest with him the principles and pretensions on which he asks his re-election and my defeat for a seat in the next Congress. I do not come before the people dressed in the robes of office, armed with pension lists, and fortified by the formidable impulse of a public press planted at my feet, but I stand on the naked justice of my cause.\" Mr. Johnson prophesied that he would beat Haynes by fifteen hundred votes in the district, and he did.\nHis next race was against Hon. Thomas A. R. Nelson, of Jonesboro, for Congress. Colonel Nelson was elected by a majority of fifty-one votes and was serving in Congress at the time the Civil War began.\n\nColonel Nelson's son, David, was at Martin Academy with me during this race. He had gone around with Haynes and Nelson and learned to repeat Haynes' speech. He could not remember his father's, but could repeat almost exactly the striking addresses of Colonel Haynes. Sometimes, after school had adjourned, we got young Nelson to take the platform and deliver to us the addresses made by his father's opponent. I had heard both speeches at a joint debate in Jonesboro, and recognized the fidelity with which young Nelson repeated my uncle's speech.\n\nDavid Nelson was a natural orator, and if he had\nColonel Haynes, a resident of East Tennessee, would have been an exceptional speaker among its second crop. After the state seceded, he was elected as a Confederate Senator and served in Richmond throughout the war. East Tennessee produced a great number of orators and statesmen. In my young days, I was permitted to see and hear, on the rostrum or in the courthouse, a galaxy of brilliant public men rarely surpassed in the nation. Among these were Andrew Johnson, Thomas A. R. Nelson, Horace Maynard, Landon C. Haynes, Nathaniel G. Taylor, and John Netherland, along with a score of lesser lights who would have towered shoulder high above the public men of other states in that time. My father, raised in these scenes, was no mean speaker himself. Dr. R. N. Price, in his history of Holston Methodism, uses these words of my father:\nDr. Harris was rated as a very eloquent speaker. An old gentleman who had heard him often said after his death that he was 'the most eloquent speaker I had ever heard; it seemed to me that he had only to open his mouth and his words would tear up the earth in front of him.'\n\nOn one occasion, after delivering a strong and vigorous address in the courthouse at Jonesboro on the issues of the war, early in 1861, he closed with an eloquent appeal to his audience, apparently throwing all his soul into his words. And so great was the effect of his eloquence that the people rose from their seats and, rushing forward to the stand, took him upon their shoulders and, with shouts and tears, carried him into the streets of the town.\n\nRev. Henry P. Waugh wrote a tribute to Dr. Harris, which was published in The Nashville Christian Advocate.\nA man, whose name is unspecified, voiced a tribute some time after his death. In this tribute, he stated that three individuals, who later became brothers-in-law, were licensed to preach at the same Quarterly Conference at a little schoolhouse northwest of Jonesboro. They were, he said, Landon C. Haynes, Nathaniel G. Taylor, and Alexander N. Harris. He said that all became great speakers and achieved much reputation; however, after all, he thought that for fiery and impassioned oratory, Dr. Harris was the best of the three.\n\nThe sketch of my father referred to is found on pages 30-34 of the Fourth Volume of the History of Holston Methodism.\n\nMy mother, though modest and retiring in her disposition, yet had a strong personality. There was not one of the eleven children who did not yield to her influence and acknowledge her sense of right and justice. If they disobeyed her, it was with their eyes closed.\nI was seventeen years younger than she, born on January 21, 1846, seventeen years and one month after her birth on December 2, 1828. Since my father was occupied with his medical practice, he was seldom at home during my early years, leaving me in close companionship with my mother. She was responsible for the disciplining in those days, using the rod according to Scripture. On one occasion, I attempted to escape her punishment by hiding under the house, but she followed me and my attempt to avoid the punishment was unsuccessful. I then tried running away from her and once went down the public red lane that ran by the house.\nMy mother ran after me and near the foot of the Kill, both of us fell flat in the roadway. She was the first to rise, and I did not escape the thrashing for some disobedience. I sat by the side of the road trying to study out the philosophy of the punishment when I saw her coming back down the lane and instantly felt that she had returned to complete it. When she came near, however, she said: \"I am not after you this time, Sir.\"\n\nShe had lost her side comb when she fell and came back to get it. I helped her hunt for it and in this way we were soon reconciled. I think my father tried to put into force with me all his notions about the training of a young son. The consequence was, that I received more attention from him than any of the rest of the children. His punishments were more severe and his advice and counsel.\nI was more constant in my case than in that of the other children. He watched my progress at school and looked after my reading at home, giving me good advice at all times when he was with me. I never had any disposition to rebel against any course that he might lay down for me. I respected him for his high Christian character and steady, unchanging worship of the Higher Power above us all. In all my associations with him, I never heard him use an unseemly expression or give utterance to one evil thought. His religion was a recognized part of the household, and it was never put aside.\n\nMy memory goes back to the time when I was but three years of age. I was born in the old homestead at the foot of the hill, as heretofore stated. My grandfather was dead, and the home was kept up by my grandmother.\nMy grandmother, who was a woman of the old style - strict in all her ways, yet amiable and gentle, though firm as a rock when she set her foot down. In my third year, my father decided to build a home of his own. My grandfather had left a will directing the property to be settled upon my father in case he should continue in the ministry until he was broken down and needed a home. He had served in the ministry of his church for ten years and had decided, as far as he was concerned, that he was \"broken down and in need of the home.\"\n\nHis brothers and sisters did not agree with him, however, and a meeting was called to construe the will among themselves and make some disposition of the landed property. When the final conclusion was reached, the heirs executed a paper providing that the farm should be divided between my father and the younger son.\nThe consideration was that my father should take care of his unmarried sister, Sarah A. Harris, and my uncle, J. E. T. Harris, known as Uncle Ed., should take care of and support his mother. This agreement should last through their lives, at the end of which the property should belong respectively to the two sons. One or two of the heirs never signed this paper, and long after the Civil War they demanded a share in the property.\n\nThe frame of the house that my father proposed to build was set up in the yard of the old homestead, and when the division was made, it was determined to move this frame to a new situation on the hill, where it now stands. I was three years old at the time, and I stood out on the porch and witnessed the loading of this frame on the wagons. I remember seeing it.\nOne of the men placed a large tree stump beneath the side of the frame and proceeded to lift the house, making a lever of the stump. It was very large in diameter but was undoubtedly rotten. Yet, because the stump broke in the hands of the man trying to lift with it, I concluded that he must truly be the strongest man in the world. Other people were lifting with handspikes, but none of these broke. For this reason, my young mind selected this man as the strongest person I had ever seen. I made no allowance for the rottenness of the stump. However, long afterwards, when I have seen people fooled by a seeming strength exhibition, I have remembered the man with the rotten stump, and the thought would come up that he is not always to be considered the strongest because the hand-spike breaks in his hands.\nI watched the completion of our home on the hill and tried to take part in it at times, though I was only four years old. I remember one day getting hold of the lime bucket and drawing on the chimney of the house the figure of a man, in heroic proportions, adding all the parts I could think of to make the figure look like a man, including beard and eyes. As this did not figure in the architect's plans, my father gave me a thrashing, and my mother tried to rub the figure out, but she could not entirely succeed. I have seen it there through the long seventy-odd years, still reminding me of, perhaps, the first whipping my father ever gave me. The figure could not be rubbed out, and it is certain the occurrence has never passed from my mind.\n\nTwo things stand out in my memory of this earlier period.\nMy father taught me to recite pieces learned by heart, making an audience of children as I declaimed with great energy the pieces I had committed to memory. The hunting fever came on as well, and my memory runs not to the contrary regarding the coming on of my desires in this respect. It was \"the unregenerate instinct of the chase,\" which we all inherited from our barbarian ancestors. I fired a gun at four years of age. My father owned a flintlock rifle, and one day I begged him so hard to let me shoot that he took me out to the road, loaded the gun with a cork from a bottle, and pointed it at the bank, telling me to sight it and pull the trigger. I did so and saw some dirt fly up from the bank. This was a great event for me. I imagined that\nI had gone many yards into the bank, and after my father had left, I took up a shovel or hoe and began to dig in the bank to find the cork. Of course, it was a useless quest, but it was splendid exercise for the boy of four years of age. For me, the \"shot had sounded round the world.\"\n\nWhen I grew up, so that I was able to handle a gun, my father made me a present of a rifle. It was the happiest day in my life. I learned to use it hunting squirrels, rabbits, doves, and partridges in the fields around the home, and I grew so expert with it that I was called a first-class shot. I ranged up and down the creek carrying the gun as my sole companion, shooting at ducks and other game with what I thought was great success. Unfortunately, however, I had allowed some uncontrolled temper to grow up with me, and one day down in the creek, I lost control and shot a man.\nI attempted to load the gun and failed to put the powder down ahead of the bullet. This much exasperated me that I laid the gun down and stomped on it, breaking it in two pieces at the stock. My father left me without a gun for many months, maybe years, after this. His punishment was just, and the lesson never forgotten.\n\nAbout this time, too, in my eleventh year, my father decided to take a young boy into the home. He brought the boy down from what was then known as the \u201cGreasy Cove,\u201d now Erwin, in Unicoi County, and had agreed with the mother of the child, who was a widow, that the boy should reside with him as if hound to him in accordance with the State law. He further agreed that he should be educated to a certain extent, and when he reached the age of twenty-one, he was to come into possession of a horse and saddle.\nI. Autobiography\n\nThe arrival of a new set of items or furniture, belonging to a boy named David J. White, marked a significant turning point in my life. He was older than I was, and until then, I had not fully recognized the benefits I received in both my academic and home life. David encouraged my thirst for knowledge by reading extensively and attempting to instill in me the value of learning. We spent our summers working on the farm, with only one competent slave among our workforce. Consequently, David had to assume labor responsibilities, ensuring the farm's productivity under my father's supervision. We would alternate between working on the farm during the summer months and attending school during the winter seasons. Reflecting on this period in my life now, I can clearly remember these experiences.\nI began to take note of my situation and surroundings. I saw that the opportunities I enjoyed were much greater than those falling to the lot of other boys around me. My father had a library, and he himself was inclined to literature. He read at all spare moments, and I soon caught the infection. David White and I started to explore the library and increase our knowledge of the past. We studied history as well as literature together, memorizing a great number of extracts from speeches and orations delivered by great orators, adding to this many poetical extracts, which we began to declaim to each other with enthusiasm.\nI remember we particularly favored \"The Ruins of Time\" in our repertoire, a speech we found in Field's Scrap Book. We also learned Campbell's \"Hohen-Linden,\" Wadsworth's \"Roderick in Battle,\" Halleck's \"Marco Bozzaris,\" and many other such pieces. We competed with each other in declaiming these pieces, believing we had become thorough-going orators destined to lead the country in making speeches. I suppose we acquired some bent in this way, as long afterwards, David White went to preaching the Gospel and I went to practicing law.\n\nMy father was always a staunch Democrat in his political alliances. While he continued to preach the Gospel, he would turn aside at times to make a political speech, when called on by the party.\nI remember that he was urged at various times before the war, both orally and in writing, to become a candidate for Congress. On one occasion, he picked up a letter from his table and handed it to me, saying, \"Such communications as these have caused me much distress and unease.\" The letter was from one of his strong friends in Sullivan County, urgently requesting permission to use his name in the next race for Congress. Possibly my father considered the question again and again, but he never took any steps toward such a candidacy.\n\nIn the political campaign of 1860, after the Democrats had nominated Breckenridge and Lane as their candidates, my father was invited to go to a great Democratic barbecue, to be held at Fall Branch, on behalf of the Democratic ticket. He declined.\nI will clean the text as follows:\n\ndecided to go and take along a wagon-load of provisions, with a large number of retainers from among his friends. He allowed me to accompany the expedition. The journey required parts of two days, and the procession camped one night on the way. A large fire was kindled in the center of the camp, and around this the people gathered to hear speaking and campaign songs. My father was called on to address the crowd and made a very earnest and serious speech, prophesying the dangers to the Government that were hanging on the result of the election. After he was through, Col. John H. Crawford was called on. He began his speech with a statement that very much surprised me. He said he had never made a political speech in his life and never intended to do so. I couldn't reconcile this statement with the fact that he was currently giving a political speech. (Autobiography)\nHe addressed a large audience during a political rally, sharing several anecdotes that amused the people, although they seemed unrelated to the political situation. I struggled to sleep in the wagon due to the cramped quarters, causing me to complain the following day. My temper flared when I discovered the limited space allotted for my sleep.\n\nUpon reaching the grounds for the upcoming barbecue, we made way in the road for Andrew Johnson to pass. At the time, he was a United States Senator, and scheduled to be one of the main speakers for the event. I recall a colored man drove Johnson's buggy as he passed through the vast course divided for him.\nIn the road opposite where I stood, a colored man allowed the buggy to run off course. Mr. Johnson jerked him back and said, \"You had better watch what you are about. Don't let this buggy run off the road any more.\" I recall that Mr. Johnson owned the driver, and it seemed notable that he used a sharp command to him in front of everyone. That afternoon, the speaking took place in a large auditorium and was attended by both men and women. I took a seat at the rear and heard the speech of the future President to the audience. As I remember, it was a capable exposition of Democratic doctrine, illustrated by many striking figures that made a profound impression on all who heard him. He closed with prophesies of evil that would attend the defeat of the Democratic party.\nIn ancient Greek mythology, there is a tale about Pandora's box. A man recounted how all the evils that plague humanity were confined in a box with a sealed lid, keeping them from affecting the world. Pandora, wife of Epimetheus, was unaware of this box. One day, she discovered it in a closet and, driven by her curiosity, opened it. Instantly, all the evils escaped and spread across the earth. Terrified by the monsters she had unleashed, she quickly shut the lid, saving only Hope, which remained inside the box as the last gift for mankind.\nHis comfort and encouragement. When he finished the story, a good old lady who sat just back of me in one of the seats shook her head and cried out with a negative interjection, \"Huh-uh, Mr. Johnson,\" shaking her head, \"I don't believe a word you are saying.\" I saw the people grin when she cried out, but the most of them seemed to agree with her. It showed me that an illustration taken even from mythology was sometimes utterly misunderstood.\n\nThis was my first experience with a political meeting, and it made a great impression on me, the recall of which can never pass away.\n\nMy companions\n\nAs I grew up, my companions who were closest to me were my cousin, Eugene Hunter, and my brother, Joe. We indulged in all the sports of childhood: swimming in the old mill dam at Murray's; harnessing grasshoppers.\nI hopped on wagons and, afterwards, hitched a small dog to it. We broke up crows' nests in the tops of tall trees, hunted squirrels and rabbits. In the winter, we went to school together to the old field schools. We took each other's part and helped each other forward whenever circumstances required.\n\nI remember one occasion when Eugene and I were hunting rabbits. The dog started a rabbit that ran close by me. Without a moment's thought, I raised the rifle I constantly carried and fired at the excited animal. The bullet missed the animal but struck Eugene on the lip. We called it a \"close shave,\" as if he had had a mustache at the time, it would have certainly taken it off.\n\nMy younger brother, Joe, accompanied us on nearly all our excursions.\nHe was the smallest, so we made him carry our burdens in many cases. He began this in his earlier days and continued it when he had reached manhood. I owe to his kindness and generosity the fact that I was able to leave the mother and the children to go to college and graduate. He never cared much for school, and after the negroes were freed, he was the mainstay of the family, working on the farm and keeping us all, in Georgia and Tennessee. There was never a more loyal and devoted brother born in the world, and I give this testimonial to his worth and purity. After we had brought the family back from Georgia, we paid off the father's debts, lifted the trust deed he had executed, and then purchased from the children their share in the old homestead. I furnished most of the money used.\nworked together in everything that was done concerning the matter. The mother had once said that she would never be satisfied if all the children did not get their part in the homestead left by the father. We paid them all except one or two, who made a voluntary deed. I then executed a conveyance to my brother with the understanding between us that he would keep up the old homestead and the Harris name should hang on to it as long as he lived. He has done so. He married before we left Georgia and his only children were four daughters, who are still living at the time of this writing, and the family has been raised on the old homestead where our youth was passed. Like myself, he is growing old, but he still keeps his interest awake in the things that are around him and is recognized as a leading citizen among them.\nDemocrats of the county. Eugene Hunter studied medicine, reading part of the time under my father's direction, and after taking his degree at a medical college, married Mary J. Jobe, a sister of my present wife, both daughters of Dr. A. Jobe of Elizabethton, Tennessee. After practicing awhile in Washington County, Dr. Hunter came to Elizabethton where he spent the remainder of his life. He died about the year 1920, leaving his wife and a number of children to mourn his death. He achieved distinction in his profession, having been at one time President of the Medical Association of Tennessee, and taking a leading part in every matter of importance in his county and State. After I had gone to the War, he became attached to my brother, Joe, and transferred most of his love and friendship to him, which continued.\nMy father, aided by my mother\u2019s brother, James, taught me the ABCs and gave me the first lessons in spelling in the way of an education. In my sixth year, I entered school at old Uriel Church. The teacher of the school was Mrs. Susan Grove. My father carried me to the school house and on the way, while crossing the foot-log over the Cherokee Creek, he took from his pocket a silver half-dollar and holding it out to me said: \"Nattie, if you will make a good scholar and come out at the head of your class at the end of the school, I will give you this half dollar.\" It was the first half dollar I had ever seen and it looked larger to me than a wagon wheel. The school ran for some four or five months, and at the end of the time when the spelling class was called up, I stood at the head.\nI kept the second place in the class. I was obliged to admit that the dear, sweet woman who headed the class, Hannah Hoss, first consoled me by whispering the letters to me when I was hesitating about spelling the word correctly. My father said he would comply with his promise, as I had come so near to the head and took out the half dollar to hand me. It was in change, tens and fives, and I couldn't understand how it could be called a half dollar. When I complained to my mother about it, she explained how the half dollar had been broken up into smaller change and that it was still a half dollar. I always felt disappointed, however, and couldn't believe I had received the reward that my father had promised.\n\nThis first school at Uriel was not in the common\nI. Schooling began at home, established by subscription from neighbors, largely due to my father's efforts. The subsequent school was initiated by others, with Mrs. Susan Grove teaching another term. I did not perform well during this term. The teacher favored the children of those who had established the school for her and displayed disapproval towards my family. I received my first and only school punishment during this session. The teacher struck me once with a heavy switch. I was making bubbles with a straw on the window sill, an act she disapproved of and swiftly punished with a sharp stick. Despite being deserved, the blow came close to breaking my heart.\n\nThe next school I attended was at Mays School.\nHouse and school were one of the old field schools held only in winter time for about three to five months, depending on whether an additional month or two was put on by private subscription. David White always attended these schools with me, as my father gave him the same opportunities that I enjoyed for getting an education. He became a good speller, having the old blue back Webster's spelling book at his command. I tried to keep up with him but he soon became known as the best speller in the schools while I was in the background. There was always either a spelling-match or a speaking exhibition at these schools on Friday afternoon. I remember one occasion when one of the teachers, whose name I have forgotten, had the school divided up for a spelling bee on Friday afternoon. The teacher had a brother who also attended.\nThe school, which held a position in the spelling ranks not second to any, except for David White. This brother was appointed leader on one side, and a girl, as I now recall, on the other. They were required to choose the spellers who took their seats on different sides of the aisle, beginning in the front rows, as they were chosen. David White was chosen first and on the same side, the young lady chose me fifth. So I took my seat sixth from the head. The spelling began at the foot, two of each side standing up in the aisle, and the teacher giving out the words from the old spelling book. The spellers were knocked out one by one, both sides sharing in the adventure till at last I was called out. The other side looked very formidable for in the competition, our side had suffered most.\nand there was a long row of scholars opposite me when I was called to the floor. We had it out for some time, all my opponents giving way before me, as it was strange to say, I missed nothing in the spelling. Finally, the leader, who was the last on his side, stood up before me. As he was the brother of the teacher I was sure I would soon go down before him, for I knew of his success in spelling. The teacher tried us with the words in the back of the speller first, like \u201cflagitious\u201d and \u201cindestructibility,\u201d large and small words, the most difficult in the book. But he was up to the challenge and spelled promptly and without error. Then the teacher turned to the front of the book and began at \u201chorseback,\u201d words of two syllables, then gradually approached three syllables. Here the first word he gave out was \u201cchampion.\u201d My opponent spelled it correctly.\nI. The word \"champion.\" It pleased the teacher that my brother made a mistake, and as quick as lightning, he turned to me and cried out, \"Next.\" I spelled the word correctly, and the leader sat down - our side was successful. David White was accustomed for some time afterwards to twit me for having prevented him from showing off his abilities. After this spelling match, I was generally taken as first or second choice. My standing in the school was increased somewhat in importance by the result. It was my first victory at school.\n\nIn all these old field schools, my father's position added something to my standing, but I never thought I got very much credit from my own work.\n\nMiss Fannie Smith was keeping a school at Bethesda, some three miles southeast of our home near Embreeville road, and my father determined that.\nI should go to this school. It was of a higher order than the old field school, and I have the impression that I learned more under Miss Fannie than any of the other teachers mentioned. I rode on horseback to attend the school, leaving my horse at my Uncle Wesley\u2019s mill, which was on the road to the school house. At this school, the people of the neighborhood gathered every Friday afternoon to hear speaking and composition which Miss Fannie required as an exhibition from her students. I joined in the declamation, but I am obliged to admit that the \"Ruins of Time\" which I used to speak would not compare with the speech delivered by one of my Uncle Wesley\u2019s sons, John Harrison. He would speak \u201cThe Lapland Boy\u201d at these exhibitions. His speech began:\n\n\"I am a little Lapland boy; What care I for gold or silver, or for pearls, or for fine raiment, or for the praise of men, or for the grandeur of this wide world? But give me the clear blue sky, and the cool, sweet air, and the green, green grass, and the beautiful, beautiful flowers, and the clear, limpid brook, and the bright, shining stars, and the beautiful, beautiful moon, and I am a happy, happy boy.\"\nHe could captivate an audience with his speech, and he did so effectively, casting his cousin into the shade. He later became a distinguished minister of the Gospel, preaching in Tennessee and Georgia and dying in the work. I had a strange adventure with my Uncle Wesley once. He came to our home and stood in the old barn door talking to my father. I approached him unexpectedly and he caught hold of me, throwing me onto a pile of straw and pinning me down with a fork fitted over my neck. The experience frightened me greatly, and for years I dreaded seeing him after this. In fact, I didn't reconcile with him until after we moved to Georgia, where he took the place of my father in my affections following his death. He was a minister himself, but never joined the Conference. I have heard him preach many times.\nA sermon, but he always ended up with the same words and appeal. He ran a large flour and corn mill and ground the corn and wheat of the neighbors in the old style, taking his toll from each grinding. His son, Fiske, later became one of my closest associates, going to school with me at Jonesboro in old Martin Academy. Fiske joined the army and, on one occasion when he came home to see his mother and father, the bushwhackers surrounded his father\u2019s house where he was staying, captured him, carried him through the front door and shot him to death while his sister\u2019s arms were around him and she was begging for his life. This was the first tragedy that overwhelmed us in the war.\n\nAfter I had reached fourteen years of age, it began to appear that I had gotten an education from the old field schools.\nI was in the middle of the old homestead's orchard one day when my father approached. I was trying to get pears from one of the old pear trees and had climbed the tree for that purpose. My father, who disliked seeing me idle, came up to the tree and said, \"Nat, my boy, I think you had better start school in Jonesboro. I have just learned that your cousin, John Frank Gifford, is studying Latin and Greek, and it is time you were beginning to do something in that way.\" It was a great shock to me, and the memory of it stayed with me for a long time. John Frank Gifford and I were about the same age. He was the oldest son of Aunt Mary Gifford, my mother's sister, and was beginning to have a great influence over me. He would come and visit us frequently.\nI entered old Martin Academy in Jonesboro at the next session in 1859, at the age of fourteen. Nathan Bachman, of Sullivan County, was the principal of the school. He was a very able teacher and kept his pupils at hard work throughout every hour of the school day. Upon entering the school, I found that John Frank was truly studying Latin and Greek. It was a pleasure for me to remember, before his death, that by the end of the school year, I had surpassed him, leaving him far behind in those studies. I had completed Caesar's Commentaries and had begun to read Xenophon's Anabasis in Greek, while John Frank was still struggling with the first readers in Greek and Latin.\n\nIn attending this school, I rode most of the time behind.\nI passed John Frank every day on \"old Doll,\" one of my father's horses, hitching her in Aunt Mary's stables near the Academy. I never knew why I passed him so quickly. He, doubtless, had never been very studious. He had a fine intellect and splendid judgment of men and things, and undoubtedly would have made a man of prominence had he lived. I loved and admired him and looked up to him as a country boy would look up to his city cousin who knew the world and had mingled with its struggling crowds. We joined the army together and spent the first year in the camp with each other. After the war was over, he used to come down from his home to see my mother on her return to Cherokee, and she learned to love him as her own son. On one of these visits, while eating, a chicken bone became lodged in his throat. Unable to extract it.\nHe went home, and with no doctor accessible, it caused an irritation that continued and finally brought about his death. My mother grieved for him as for her own child, and the loss fell on my heart as that of one beyond all reconciliation. He was a gentle man always, and although I thought at times he looked down on me as a mere country-raised kinsman, yet he never failed to take my part when it became necessary and he shared with me the perils of the field and the hardships of the camp at all times, loyally standing by to help or encourage. God bless his memory.\n\nDuring a portion of this ten-month session, I boarded with Mr. Arch Mason, who had married my father\u2019s niece in Jonesboro. Here I met Mr. John Mason, his oldest son, and a younger son named James Mason, both by a former wife. James Mason\nI have cleaned the text as follows: And myself roomed together. Our association was pleasant, for although he was far beyond me in the studies of the school, yet he seemed to take great pleasure in helping me master tasks and giving me advice in connection with the work I was doing. He afterwards became a very distinguished Presbyterian minister and has been stationed for the last thirty years in one of the prominent cities of New Jersey. At the end of the ten months, there was a great exhibition which took place at the court house. The school was only for males and, therefore, our exhibition consisted mostly of speaking and composition. My father wrote most of my speech, though I ventured to throw in a few original thoughts. After I delivered the speech, a beautiful bouquet of flowers was put in my hand and I thought I had achieved considerable success.\nAmong my schoolmates was Major C.E. Lucky, who served in the Confederate Army with me after the war and became a leading lawyer in Knoxville, TN. I admired him and tried to emulate him. He was the son of Judge Seth J.W. Lucky, Chancellor of the Upper East Tennessee District, who lived at Jonesboro. Cornelius, his son, excelled in our school studies, but in all our sports and the squabbles that ensued, he looked after me, championed my cause at times, and helped me.\n\nMy cousin Fiske Harris gave a speech that earned him a splendid tribute. I later discovered that the bouquet of flowers was intended for him, as his speech was a tribute to womanhood and rightfully deserved a gift from some of the good women who heard him. Among my schoolmates was Major C.E. Lucky, who served in the Confederate Army with me after the war and became a leading lawyer in Knoxville, TN. I admired him and tried to emulate him. He was the son of Judge Seth J.W. Lucky, Chancellor of the Upper East Tennessee District, who lived at Jonesboro. Cornelius, his son, had surpassed me in school studies, but in all our sports and the squabbles that often arose from them, he looked after me, defended my cause at times, and assisted me.\nI needed it, so my heart went out to him, and I was as proud as a country boy could be of an acquaintance so far above him in a city school. After finishing the year at Martin Academy, under Professor Bachman who declined to continue the school, my father decided to send me to Boone\u2019s Creek in the northwest portion of Washington County, about eight miles from Jonesboro. The school was kept by Prof. Thomas P. Summers. The reputation of Prof. Summers as a teacher had extended very widely through upper East Tennessee.\n\nThe reputation was well deserved. Prof. Summers had the power to arouse and cultivate the better part of a student to a greater degree than any other teacher with whom I came in contact in my earlier life. I remained in the school only a little over six weeks when I was taken down with the mumps and the disease.\nI attended the school for six weeks despite being severely attacked, preventing my return before the term ended. During this time, I read Virgil's Aeneid in its entirety, finished Xenophon's Anabasis, and kept up with the mathematics and other studies of the curriculum. I made no greater progress in any six-week period of my life.\n\nMy father came to care for me during my illness. After several weeks, he determined that the classes had advanced to a point where it would be impossible for me to rejoin and keep up. Consequently, he decided to take me back home and wait until Martin Academy reopened, having successfully enlisted Prof. John L. Lampson, an efficient and experienced teacher, to come to Jonesboro.\nAnd he undertook the work of the school. When I entered the school room for the first time, the first words I heard from him were: \"Hark! Hark!\" in a hoarse, stentorian voice. He was a Northerner, but with Southern inclinations, and soon made all the boys like him due to his learning, patience, and energy in trying to teach them to appreciate an education.\n\nAmong the students at Boone\u2019s Creek were a good many boys who afterwards became well-known. In my class was Joseph Wagner, afterwards Major Wagner of the Confederate Army. He lived at Taylorsville, known afterwards as Mountain City, in Johnson County, Tennessee. I remember his putting his fingers through his coal-black hair and trying with me to construe some difficult sentence in The Anabasis or some obscure line in Virgil. He attracted me very much.\nEbb Reeves, of Johnson City, the lawyer, and his cousin, Captain Isaac Reeves, son of William Reeves, both attended the school with me. Gen. James P. Taylor, my first cousin, was also there. We both fell in love with a sister of Captain Reeves, which resulted in a genteel rivalry that never disturbed our relations.\n\nThere was a Gus Bowers who attended the school, son of Col. \"Blue\" Bowers. Gus joined the Northern Army but survived the war. During one of my post-war visits to Johnson City, I met him at the depot. While we reminisced about the past, I asked him what he was doing. He replied he had just lost his place.\nSurveyor of the County explained to me that he had lost favor among the people due to his dislike for preaching. He revealed that he did not believe in the Christian religion and openly expressed his views. He tried persuading them to abandon this \"superstition\" and embrace reason and philosophy instead. He admired Tom Paine's Age of Reason, Voltaire, and Ingersol, and rejected the Scriptures. While we conversed, Dr. Jonathan Bachman, my old teacher's brother, entered as a Presbyterian preacher at Chattanooga. He joined the argument, leading to a heated discussion.\n\nI departed with a heavy heart concerning my old schoolmate. Upon boarding the train, I picked up a newspaper and found some content.\nVerses written by Ironquill, a former Congressman, who wrote under that nom de plume. It was called \u201cThe Washerwoman\u2019s Song.\u201d He was also a skeptic but he had laid down rules for those who entertained such ideas, and when I read it, I clipped it out and sent it hack to my school-mate by mail at the first post office that I reached. I received a dreary letter from him with the inquiry, \u201cHow could you do so cruel a thing? I know of Ironquill\u2019s life and how he came near losing his seat in Congress by the fourth verse of the piece that you sent me.\u201d This fourth verse was as follows:\n\nAutobiography\n\u201cIt\u2019s a song I do not sing,\nFor I scarce believe a thing\nOf the stories that she told\nOf the miracles of old;\nBut I know that her belief\nIs the anodyne of grief\nAnd will always be a friend\nThat will keep her to the end.\u201d\nThe last verse of the poem is:\n\n\"Human hopes and human creeds\nHave their root in human needs;\nI would not wish to strip\nFrom that washerwoman's lip\nAny song that she can sing,\nAny hope that song can bring;\nFor the woman has a friend\nWho will keep her to the end.\"\n\nMy schoolmate is dead now, but they told me that after reading Ironquill, he was never known to try to force his opinions on unwilling persons. He kept them to himself.\n\nBoone's Creek was named for Daniel Boone, the great pioneer of Kentucky. I saw in the forest near the Academy the tree on which it was said he had cut:\n\n\"D. Boone killed a bear upon this tree.\" (Giving the date.)\n\nHe had undoubtedly visited Boone's Creek in his rounds and given name to the large creek that ran through the valley.\n\nThere was a debating club organized from the city.\nCitizens and students gathered at stated intervals in the old field school house, a short distance from the Academy. Here, people convened; selected a subject for debate; appointed speakers for each side, and then met on Friday night to hear them argue the questions. My first experience of this sort occurred a short time after I had entered the school. The subject up for debate the night of my attendance was \u201cWhich is preferable, Fame or Riches?\u201d\n\nDuring the discussion, Col. Martin, one of the neighbors, was cited as the most successful man in the valley. It was said of him that he had been a Representative and then a Senator in the Tennessee Legislature. Consequently, he had achieved fame and great success. This illustration made a deep impression on me, and I concluded to set my sights for something like this.\nCol. Blue Bowers made a remarkable speech during the debate, describing the greatness of our country and its emblem with these words: \"Behold the American Eagle soaring through the clouds towards the high peaks of the mountains, with his beak in his bill and his talons in his claws.\" This speech was repeated with great gusto by the whole school wherever two or three got together.\n\nProf. Summers later married a distant woman of mine, a sister of Joe Lyle, my mess mate in the army, who is now living in Johnson City. While attending Boone\u2019s Creek, I made my first attempts at what I was then pleased to call \"poetical effusion.\" My efforts were crude, and the verses were rugged and often stilted.\nThe struggles that I feel no pleasure in reading about. The word \"pent up\" seems to express it better than anything else. There was some struggling toward the light, but it was only an effort of the inner spirit of the boy to express the pent-up thoughts and feelings that characterized his age and advance.\n\nAutobiography\nThe War\n\nWhile attending the Academy under Prof. Lampson, the War Between the States was declared. I had just passed fifteen years of age when the firing on Fort Sumter took place.\n\nThere was a great comet seen in the year 1860 that all East Tennessee people imagined portended some fearful event that was to come upon the world. This event was ushered in when the declaration of war took place.\n\nMy father espoused the cause of the South. In this, the family divided. My uncle, Nat G. Taylor, opposed him.\nFor the person I was named after, and who held the most prominent position among the kindred at that time, took the side of the North. My uncle, Landon C. Haynes, along with his brother, Mathew T. Haynes, both prominent lawyers, took the side of the South. Great excitement arose in every part of our country. The Governor of Tennessee, who was a distant relative, became an earnest advocate of secession. My father followed him and, when delegates from Washington County to a secession convention were to be elected, announced himself as a candidate on that platform. He was beaten badly, as the voting population of East Tennessee was overwhelmingly for the Union. A vigorous campaign was begun throughout the State to change the opinions of the State, and in this campaign, my father became a speaker, canvassing East Tennessee and meeting both Andrew Johnson and his son, Robert.\nJohnson, on the stump. I have heard that my father held his own against both of them. He always referred to Robert Johnson, the oldest son of the then Senator, in even more complimentary terms than he did to the father. He believed then that Robert Johnson was destined to become a greater man than his father, who subsequently became President. From this, certainly grew a strong friendship between Mr. Johnson and my father.\n\nAfter the firing upon Fort Sumter, opinions changed in Tennessee, and a very large proportion of the State became immediately enthusiastic about secession. This was especially so in Middle and West Tennessee, where the sentiment was almost unanimously for the South. In East Tennessee, there was a sharp division, and Southern sympathizers became so excited over their cause that they began to take violent measures.\nThe situation involved viewing the opposition as country enemies, particularly among younger people. Around this time, Mr. Johnson arranged to speak in Jonesboro since no large hall was available. A stand was erected in the street near the court house for the speaking. Mr. Johnson appeared as scheduled, mounted the rostrum amidst a vast crowd filling up every space in front and rear of the stand. He had barely opened his mouth before a terrible interruption occurred. The crowd grew frantic, especially in front, and a sudden rush was made toward the platform. Men called out \"Kill him \u2013 Kill him,\" and weapons were drawn in all directions. Bowie knives flashed over the audience's heads, and a strong, fierce attempt ensued.\nI was made to reach the stand where Mr. Johnson stood. I was in the crowd looking on from an elevation I had secured. I never saw a more vicious attack on a man in my life. The friends of Mr. Johnson threw themselves in front of the platform to stay the rush. Pistols were brandished, but fortunately none were discharged. The crowd attacking outnumbered two to one the friends who were defending Mr. Johnson, and the result did not seem to me to admit of any doubt. He was in great danger. It was the eruption of a pent-up feeling on the part of Southern sympathizers who believed they saw before them one of the principal agents that divided Tennessee with all the disloyalty that was supposed then to belong to such an advocate. The crowd rushed nearer every moment and were soon attempting to ascend the platform.\nMy father quickly went around to the back of Mr. Johnson, climbed onto the platform, stepped out in front of him, raised his hand, and in a loud voice commanded the people to stop and listen to him. He declared at once that they couldn't touch Mr. Johnson without going through his body, adding that he had come to the town as a guest and that he would die with him rather than let him be harmed. The appeal was heeded, the attempt to reach Mr. Johnson ceased, and the crowd subsided. However, it was stated that he must not speak; he would be killed if he did.\nMy father counseled him to wait awhile. Within an hour or so, a crowd gathered in the basement of the court house, and there Mr. Johnson delivered his address. I have always thought that Mr. Johnson appreciated my father's actions at the time. After the war, when my father died in exile, broken in heart and fortune, Mr. Johnson announced his death by a special message to the Tennessee delegation.\n\nAutobiography\nLast Scenes of the School Session\nAt Martin Academy\n\nFair progress was made in the studies during this session of the Academy, especially when taken into account the war excitement and the things that grew out of the declaration of the same. There was arming on all sides. Companies were formed, regiments gathered, and the preparation for a war ensued.\nThe struggle kept pace with the requirements of the time. The gray uniform and the Southern flag became familiar to all our eyes. Battles began to be fought, and rumors of a thousand kinds reached our ears from all sides. I finished Memorabilia of Socrates in Greek; read Herodotus, the father of history, also in Greek, completed the six books of the Aeneid, finished Tacitus, and completed geometry. I was ready for the Junior class in Emory & Henry College by the end of the session. We had a great exhibition which occurred in the court house and the speaking exhibited a strong Southern tone. I wrote my own speech that year. It was a eulogy of the Southern Cause and an effort at the justification of our stand in the war, and was undoubtedly well received, judging by the applause. I took a forward part in this.\nSpeaking and catching some of the Southern spirit, which has never left my heart, I received congratulations indicating that my speech was a success. I closed it with the following original script:\n\nAnswering the question whether the South would stand firm in its position or fall back, I said:\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\"No! No! you\u2019ve risen bold and brave,\nAnd cut the galling chains\nThat bound you to the Northern hosts,\nThat now swarm through your plains.\n\nAnd now the flag of equal rights\nIs streaming proud on high,\nIts gleaming stars now light the dome\nOf yonder azure sky.\n\nAnd you, my bold, brave countrymen,\nBe resolute and proud\nAnd make that flag a symbol high\nOf triumph or a shroud.\"\n\nAN INCIDENT OF MY YOUNGER DAYS\n\nIn the year preceding the Civil War, while I was living in East Tennessee, I was able to attend a debate.\nThe following occurred in the court house at Jonesboro between Hon. Thomas A. R. Nelson and Hon. Landon C. Haynes \u2014 the latter my mother\u2019s brother. They were running for Congress; Nelson on the Whig, or American ticket, and Haynes on the Democratic side. They were both great lawyers. Haynes was known as the Eagle Orator of East Tennessee, as heretofore stated, while Nelson was put down as one of the strongest lawyers of the State.\n\nI shall never forget the impressions made upon my mind as I listened to these speeches. In our family, Mr. Haynes was set down as the greatest speaker within our knowledge. He was afterwards elected Senator in the Confederate Congress, and served through the whole war, while Mr. Nelson ran for Congress about the time war was declared and went through the lines, taking his seat at Washington instead of Richmond.\nHe was one of the attorneys who defended President Johnson during his impeachment trial after the war. General B.F. Butler represented the House Committee against Mr. Johnson, while Groesbeck, Nelson, and others appeared on his behalf. The Harpers published a harsh joke about Nelson and Butler. When I read it, it caused me amusement. The Harpers' writer stated that Messrs. Nelson and Butler got into a terrible controversy during the trial, both calling each other hard names and passing lies. A challenge ensued, and a duel followed. Nelson shot Butler through the breast, and Butler shot Nelson through the head. Neither was hurt. Butler had no heart, and Nelson had no brains.\nIt is certain that the people of East Tennessee did not agree with the suggestion as to Nelson\u2019s lack of brains. In the debate aforesaid, Colonel Haynes asked his opponent whether, if compelled to choose between a Republican and a Democrat, he would vote for the Democrat in preference to the Republican. He demanded an answer and stopped for Col. Nelson to make it. Colonel Nelson answered: \"I cannot conceive that such an alternative could ever be presented, but I do not hesitate to say that if I were compelled to make such a choice, I would vote for the Republican in preference to the Democrat if the Republican would drop his abolitionist tendencies.\" It became a great word with us after that when we talked of \"abolitionist tendencies.\"\n\nAutobiography\nMy War Experience\nThe war had been in progress for about a year when I joined the army. I was just past sixteen. I enlisted some time before I was sworn in, probably around the first of March. The company was slow in forming, but when it was complete, we all took the oath, according to my recollection, around the first of May, 1862. I was small for my age, not well grown at all. My muscles were flabby and undeveloped, and I had very little bodily strength, though I took part in all our school games and kept up with the boys in running, wrestling and other exercises. My father was very violently opposed to my joining the army, openly prophesying both to me and to Mother that I would not live longer than three months in the camp.\n\nThe company that I joined was made up in Washington and Knox Counties. The Captain was Alex.\nAnder Blair, a Presbyterian minister. The First Lieutenant was J. R. McCollum; Second Lieutenant, James A. Carter, of Carter County, and the Third Lieutenant was J. W. Squibb, of Jonesboro. We went into camp at Knoxville where we drilled for three or four months in Hardee\u2019s Tactics. Col. W. A. Henderson, who later became chief counsel of the Southern Road, was one of the drill masters, followed by Lieutenant Newman, kinsman of Judge Newman, of Georgia. I forget his initials.\n\nThe company was afterwards called the Kirby Smith Rifles, and when the 63rd Tennessee was formed, became Company \u201cD\u201d in that splendid Veteran Regiment. The drilling was not an easy thing, and the officers kept us at it from day to day until our tired footsteps could move only with difficulty in the ranks. Some of the squads were very awkward.\n\nAnder Blair was a Presbyterian minister. The First Lieutenant was J. R. McCollum; Second Lieutenant, James A. Carter, of Carter County, and the Third Lieutenant was J. W. Squibb, from Jonesboro. We went into camp at Knoxville for three or four months of rigorous drilling under Col. W. A. Henderson and Lieutenant Newman. The company later became the Kirby Smith Rifles, part of the 63rd Tennessee Veteran Regiment. The drilling was challenging, with long hours that left us exhausted in the ranks. Some squads struggled more than others.\nand our drill masters threatened to tie a bundle of hay on one foot and a bundle of straw on the other so we could tell our left from our right and step off all together as the drill master would shout \u201cHay foot \u2013 Straw foot.\u201d When I reached the Army of Northern Virginia I heard this screed repeated by the soldiers who always put the burden on the North Carolina troops, as they were supposed to stand higher in awkwardness than any of the rest. I had always looked down on the Western North Carolina people and judged the whole State by the specimens I had seen from the counties bordering on East Tennessee. The old homestead is located directly on the road leading from Asheville in Buncombe County and Burnsville in Yancey County to Jonesboro. The specimens that I saw from these two counties gave me a low opinion.\nI. The North Carolina citizenry, but I changed my opinion in battle when I saw the boys we called \"Tar Heels.\" They could march further, hold up better, live on less, and fight more vigorously and successfully than any other part of our magnificent army. We called the division commanded by Gen. Hoke, \"Hoke's Foot Cavalry.\" We gave it this name because often when the cavalry and infantry were ordered to proceed to a certain point, the North Carolina boys on foot would arrive before the cavalry. North Carolina now has the most splendid exhibition in the museum at Richmond containing the relics of that great struggle, of any state in the South, except Virginia. So I still sing as I was taught to do in my childhood: \"Hurrah, the Old North State Forever!\" Though the scorner may sneer at and witlings defame her.\nOur hearts swell with gladness whenever we name her.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhile the Company was drilling at Knoxville, its members were frequently called upon to do guard duty at various points in the city. One of the places guarded by members from the company was the county jail, in which a number of political prisoners had been imprisoned. It fell to my lot to be detailed one night to guard this prison, and I was later informed that among the prisoners was Parson Brownlow, who had been arrested for disloyalty and was being held either for trial or other disposition. He was later released and sent across the line into Kentucky, as I understand. It is worthy of note that subsequently, when the war was over, he became Governor of Tennessee and brought about what was known as \u201cBrownlow\u2019s War,\u201d which drove me from home and caused hardship.\nThe exile of my father and family from Tennessee. I had no idea that he would repay me in this way, as I am sure he was as unconscious of my presence as I was of his at the time I was guarding the prison.\n\nOne day while we were in camp at Knoxville going through the preparatory drills necessary to make us veterans, a lively circumstance occurred that diversified our camp life. Our mess was known as number nine and had eleven men in it \u2013 ten privates and one First Lieutenant. We cooked our own food \u2013 two of the mess cooking each day. The Lieutenant was excused from this sort of duty. One day when Joe Lyle and I were taking our turn to cook dinner for the mess, we had some Georgia peas to boil. They furnished us with a large, black camp kettle that we hung over the fire and in which we boiled the peas.\nwith a little meat when we could get it, to season them. After the dinner was ready and the peas were done, we all gathered around a temporary table to take the meal. The camp kettle with the peas was brought to the side of the table and the Lieutenant was asked to help himself first. We had a few dishes and the Lieutenant a plate of his own. He reached his spoon down and took out a large amount of the peas and the bacon, as we thought, which we had used to flavor the peas. After we had helped ourselves, the Lieutenant exclaimed, as he was trying to cut the bacon in his plate: \"This is the damndest, toughest piece of bacon I ever got hold of in my life,\" and then we all turned around and laughed, as we saw he was trying to cut up the dish rag which we had mistakenly left in the peas.\nI have cooked with the peas. I have always accused Joe Lyle, who now lives at Johnson City, of cooking this dish with the peas, as he was the cleanest, nicest man about cooking I ever met, and I think he used the dish rag much more than I did. The dish rag did not cause the loss of the peas, as we were too hungry to mind it.\n\nMy First Fight\n\nThe company had been drilling for several months at Knoxville, Tenn., when word came that the enemy were invading Tennessee with the purpose of capturing Chattanooga. Orders came to us to march to the train and proceed to Chattanooga, some 15 miles distant. Gen. E. Kirby Smith was in command of the department and my company was appointed by him to act as his body guard at Chattanooga. After this we became known as the Kirby Smith Rifles \u2013 body guard to the General. When we reached Chattanooga we found ourselves under heavy attack.\nThe enemy had preceded us and was laying siege to the place. His guns were stationed on the far side of the river and opened on our advancing ranks as soon as we came into sight. For the purpose of giving us a place in the army, we were attached to the 31st Alabama Regiment under the command of Colonel D.R. Hundley. We were drawn up in some timber when the shells began to play heaviest upon us. A new officer, who had been in battle before, was assigned to command us as he was supposed to have had some experience that would give us a better showing than our own officers could. Here I felt the first fright of the young soldier going into battle. My knees shook under me and I could scarcely stand erect, but I looked down the line and found I was not alone in this, as every one who was standing up under the fire was feeling the same.\nThe mind was willing but the flesh was weak. My Captain and Second Lieutenant, seeing that something was necessary to steady the men, called for a chess board and sat down in front of the line playing chess with apparent equanimity. This gave us some confidence, and every once in a while as a shell dug up the ground and threw dust over the chess board, the action of our Captain in taking up the board and pouring off the dust and sand and then starting anew had a very salutary effect on the line. By and by, the shells coming over us so fast caused the line to bend like a rainbow, the middle portion giving way and the ends standing fast. The consequence was the line became rainbow-shaped and just about that time the Colonel came by and, seeing the line bent in this fashion, commenced berating the Lieutenant, directing him to straighten it out.\nI. Straighten the line at once. There were a number of trees standing by, and some of the men took refuge behind these at the extremities. But this seemed to incense the Colonel, and he made his dissatisfaction known to the Lieutenant who only muttered that he thought the men had a right to protect themselves.\n\nAbout this time, a railroad freight train passed some five hundred yards in our rear and moved along the line slowly away from us. I said to myself, \"I would be willing to give one hundred thousand dollars to be aboard that train, and I would mortgage the whole future for the payment of the same,\" but I never ran.\n\nSo I think it was thus with many a soldier. They knew the danger, but the allure of safety and comfort was too great to resist.\nIn this fight, I first saw General John H. Morgan. He came up to Gen. Smith near where I was standing on the first day and proposed to cross the river a short distance down the way, asking for Gen. Smith's permission. He said he would soon find out \"what those people were intending to do.\" In his conversation, he used several oaths. After he had gone, I said to Joe Haynes, my cousin and comrade, \"I wish he didn't swear so much,\" but Joe replied, \"He swears like a gentleman, and you mustn't think less of him.\" So I have never forgotten that in the face of the enemy, a man can swear like a gentleman, according to the views of the brave men who are under him.\nThe result of the fight is well-known. The enemy was soon repulsed and retreated, so our first conflict was successful. After our experience at Chattanooga, the company was treated as a regular organization and was sent to do guard duty at places along the railroad.\n\nAutobiography\n\nOur first work of this character was at Strawberry Plains, where we guarded the bridge over the Holston at that point. Here we drilled during the day and walked the guardsmen\u2019s beat at night, as our details came around. Our bodies were gradually hardened by our drill work and we began to feel and act like soldiers. We were first armed with what was known as Joe Brown\u2019s Pikes, but these were superseded soon after by the Mississippi rifle. With this, we had constant experience on the target range and soon learned to handle the guns, at least with some skill.\nI had learned to shoot a rifle from a young age. When I began practicing on the target range with the Mississippi rifle, the boys, who had seen evidence of my skill at earlier times, began to make prophecies that I would certainly lead the company in accuracy with my handling of the rifle. I recall the morning when I first went out for practice with the boys. We shot at targets about one hundred yards distant. When my turn came, I raised the gun and tried to sight as usual at the center of the target. After I had fired, the target marker came up and threw a terrible dampener over me by singing out that I was only sixth in the trial. My shots had gone to the border of the target on the right each time.\n\nIt was a great disappointment to me and I felt all:\n\n(This text appears to be complete and does not require cleaning beyond removing unnecessary line breaks and whitespaces.)\nI couldn't understand the chagrin of the boy who had bragged and was left behind when the trial of skill came. A good friend asked what kind of trigger the rifle I had used before had. I told him, of course, that it was a hair trigger set every time before shooting. He then explained that as the Mississippi rifle had a shotgun trigger, I pulled it off the target every time I shot. I took the lock off and filed the trigger until it approached the hair trigger style, and my reputation was soon restored.\n\nBathing and swimming in the river was a favorite pastime. Doc Meek, of Embreeville, was the best swimmer in the company. Born and bred on the Nolachucky, he had learned all the tricks of the daring swimmer as he grew up to manhood.\nWe had in our company a boy named William Humphreys, recruited from the Eighth District of Washington County. He was an old schoolmate of mine \u2014 not very bright, but active and vigorous when it came to the work of the camp. Although he couldn't swim at all, he was a regular attendant with the bathing crowd that went in the river every day. He got the benefit of the bath without the exercise of the swim.\n\nOne day, his comrades went in the river, all able to swim, and went out into the center of the stream where they stood up and beckoned to Humphreys, who remained near the shore. The poor boy, not knowing that the water was over his head between the shore and the point where the boys had stopped, started to wade to them. He was soon over his head and after struggling.\nfor awhile commenced to sink. The water was right swift at the point and carried him down the stream with great rapidity. The boys who had beckoned to him were utterly helpless when it came to rescuing him, and the consequence was that Humphreys soon sank out of sight. Doc Meek and I were nearly a half mile away from the place, attending to some little matters about the camp when a runner came towards us calling us to the river with the announcement that Bill Humphreys was drowning. Both of us turned and ran with all speed to the place. On the way, I cast off my clothes, knowing that I would be required to go into the water. Doc Meek, however, kept his on, so that when we reached the bank of the river he was forced to wait until he could undress while I plunged into the river without a moment's delay.\nboys pointing out where Humphreys had sunk. A battalion of Indians under Col. Thomas was stationed on the hills opposite to our camp on the far side of the river. These Indians had gotten the word that one of the white boys was drowning and likewise approached the scene, arriving there about the time Doc Meek and I did. They all took off their clothes and rushed into the river, so that the water swarmed with swimmers.\n\nI dove under at the point where Humphreys had sunk but soon found that the water was so swift that it drove me down stream with great rapidity. I knew from this that Humphreys had been carried down the river a considerable distance. The water was about fifteen feet at the point where I began first to dive in search of the young man. It was not long before we were all carried below the bridge where the current was too strong to swim against.\nWhile swimming under the water downstream with my eyes open, I came suddenly upon a body stretched out on the bottom. There was no way for me to stop. I remember the cold feeling that came over me as my body touched his. I tried to hold him but couldn't and went to the top of the water quickly to point out the place where he lay. The body followed me, and one of the Indians caught sight of it and, raising himself in the water, pointed with his finger, crying out, \"Ki-yi, Ki-yi.\" I swam to where he was and finally succeeded in seizing the body by one of the hands. Then Doc Meek and the men who were present took my other hand to tread water and keep me from sinking after I had cried out that I had hold of the hand. I have thought many times about this incident.\nI held up about twenty Indians and about one hundred Indians and white people combined while treading water. A boat was rigged up and came to us immediately, pulling the body into it. Poor Bill had been in the water for about thirty minutes, but they were unable to resuscitate him. This was the first death in our company. Two things come to mind regarding this incident. First, all the Indians swam like dogs, using their hands in the same way an animal does its paws, while the white men swam with long strokes as they had been taught. They were better swimmers than the Indians, but of course, could not hold out as long. The second thought that came to me from the event grew out of the feeling that my body, in going downstream, moved differently.\nI can still feel the cold touch of Bill Humphreys from his knees to his head, a sensation I've never forgotten. Philosophers may claim we cannot remember feelings, but I can recall this one. I looked into his wide, staring eyes as we swam underwater on that summer morning in 1862. The vision of the drowned man returned to my young mind many times at night while I stood guard by the river, and I shivered more than I should have as a soldier preparing for war. Doc Meek's laurels as a swimmer were affected by this event, but it was proven that the white man could move through water more effectively than the Indian.\nWe were next stationed at Carter\u2019s Depot, on the Watauga River, for guard duty. The bridge here had been set afire by Union sympathizers in the mountains, and it became necessary to guard the structure to keep up the communication with the Army in Virginia. Here I received my first wound, although it was self-inflicted. I was swimming in the river one day below the bridge at a point where the water dashed against the cliff. Diving and moving downstream very fast, I rammed my head against a sharp portion of the cliff that could not be seen. The water was some eight feet deep and the shock was severe, cutting my head from the forehead backward in the place where a woman usually parts her hair. When I came to the surface, my comrades saw that I was hurt, as the blood was spinning out in the water and I had some difficulty in swimming.\nFrom swimming in the river, they rushed to me and soon had me on the bank where they tried to stop the bleeding. The officers gave me a furlough for thirty days and I went home to my father at Jonesboro who doctored the gash and soon had me ready for work again.\n\nFrom Carter\u2019s Station, we were carried next to what was then called Zolicoffer, afterwards Union Station, and now known as Bluff City. Here we remained only a short time and were moved to Knoxville and thence to Loudon on the Tennessee, where our Company, with other volunteer organizations, was combined to make up the 63rd Tennessee Infantry, under the command of Col. R. G. Fain; Lieut.-Col. Abe Fulkerson and Major John Alfred Aiken. We became Company \u201cD\u201d in the regiment and this continued as a permanent organization for what had heretofore been known as \u201cthe Kirby Smith Rifles.\u201d\nOur first battalion drilling was given to us by Col. Abe Fulkerson, who was already an experienced officer and well-informed in the business. He later became Colonel of the Regiment and remained with it until the end.\n\nTRANSFER AND ARREST\nOne morning, while sitting in camp, the mail distributor came around to the tent where my cousins, Joe Haynes and John Frank Gifford, were seated with me and handed each of us an official document having on it the postmark of Department Headquarters at Knoxville. We opened the document and found that it was an order signed by the Major General in command of the Department, Gen. Sam Jones, ordering each of us to report to Knoxville at his headquarters for assignment to duty. This, we saw, was a practical transfer from the company and regiment to headquarters service. We notified the commanding officer.\nWe received the order and prepared to obey. It seemed there was an early morning train, and the colonel of the regiment embarked on it to protest against the order. However, we knew nothing about this then. At midday, we gathered our hand bags and went to the depot to carry out the instructions we had received. While waiting to take the train, the officer of the day, with a file of soldiers, appeared on the platform and arrested us. He directed us to march back to the regiment. We were overwhelmed with astonishment and scarcely knew what to do. On one hand, we held the order of the major general directing us to report. On the other hand, was the officer of the day reinforced by a strong file of soldiers.\nsoldiers from the camp ordered us to return. We yielded to the power in sight, but on the way back, my cousin Joe Haynes asked permission to send a telegram. The officer of the day allowed it, stating he had no orders to prevent it. Joe telegraphed his father at Knoxville, Senator Landon C. Haynes, telling him of our plight. We heard afterwards that when Col. Haynes received his son's telegram, he proceeded at once to the office of the commander of the department and laid the facts before General Jones. Just as he had finished his narrative, Col. Fain stepped into the office. The commander of the department was considerably incensed and, without greeting Col. Fain or acknowledging his salute, said, \"Col. Fain, I understand that you have arrested the three young men that were ordered to report here.\"\nport  to  these  headquarters  this  morning.  Go  to  the \ntelegraph  office  at  once  and  send  a  telegram  to  Col. \nFulkerson,  directing  him  to  turn  these  young  men \nloose,  and  forward  them  to  these  headquarters.  Let \nthere  be  no  mistake  in  obeying  this  order.\u201d  Col  Fain, \nwithout  a  word  of  explanation,  immediately  sought  the \ntelegraph  office  and  sent  the  required  order.  Mean\u00ac \ntime  we  had  waited  through  the  long  day  in  the  guard \ntent  until  finally  the  Adjutant  of  the  regiment  proposed \nto  us  that  if  we  would  give  him  our  parole  not  to  leave \nthe  camp  we  could  be  at  liberty  within  its  hounds.  Of \ncourse  we  gave  this.  Meanwhile  the  regiment  received \nan  order  to  take  train  that  night  and  proceed  to  Tul- \nlahoma  without  delay  to  join  Bragg\u2019s  army. \nWe  had  never  intended  to  leave  the  regiment  but \nfor  the  arrest  that  had  been  made.  Our  purpose  was \nTo take a short furlough and then come back to our places again. It happened, however, that as the officer of the day and the file of soldiers carried us back to the guard tent, we met the regiment coming out of camp to the drill ground and were marched along the whole flank with the officer of the day and a file of soldiers at our backs. Thus, as Joe Haynes said, \"disgracing us forever.\" It is true Col. Fulkerson stated to us, as we were marching back to camp and had stopped in front of the regiment, that \"he expected to be court-martialed for what he was doing, but he intended to see if he had any rights left in the Confederate Army.\"\n\nWhen the order came to prepare to take the train for Tullahoma, we made all necessary preparations, sent our baggage to the depot, and gathered up our knapsacks.\nsacks and re-packed them and went down to the depot and boarded the train with the regiment. I had a trunk containing many articles that my mother had sent me which was loaded on the train among the other baggage. About half an hour after dark, while we were all sitting in the box car waiting for the train to move, Adjutant York came to the door of the box car and said: \"Are Privates Haynes, Gifford and Harris in this car?\" We answered promptly that we were there, whereupon he said: \"You are ordered to disembark at once and get ready to go to Knoxville.\" Needless to say this was a great surprise, and we suggested that our baggage at that time was inaccessible, but the Adjutant replied that we could leave word and have this forwarded to us, as our connection with the regiment was at an end.\n\nWe left by first train for Knoxville and reported.\nnext day at Department Headquarters. General Jones directed me to repair to what was then known as Haynesville, now Johnson City, and report to Col. Robert Love, commanding the 62nd North Carolina, stationed at the old Brush Creek camp ground near the town. The three cousins became separated and remained so for the balance of the war. I went at once to the point designated and reported to Colonel Love. He was a kinsman of my mother and when he looked me over, I suppose I seemed so small and insignificant as to count very little in his estimation, and he directed me to go home to my mother and remain for thirty days on furlough; by that time he said further orders might be received concerning my future. When I reached home, I found my father had been appointed by Col. John H. Crawford surgeon of his regiment,\nknown  as  the  60th  Tennessee.  This  regiment  was \nraised  in  Washington  and  adjacent  counties,  and  my \nfather  had  aided  the  Colonel  in  getting  it  up  and  or\u00ac \nganizing  and  mustering  it  into  service.  He  was  in \ncamp  and,  instead  of  remaining  with  my  mother  for \nthe  thirty  days,  I  went  to  the  camp  to  stay  with  my \nfather.  Col.  Crawford  gave  me  the  temporary  appoint\u00ac \nment  of  Sergeant  Major  in  the  regiment  and  I  learned \nthe  duties  of  that  office  and  performed  them  to  the  best \nof  my  ability  until  a  second  order  was  received  direct\u00ac \ning  me  to  report  to  Captain  W.  D.  Haynes,  Post \nQuartermaster  at  Knoxville  for  service. \nCapt.  Haynes  was  soon  assigned  to  duty  in  the  Vir\u00ac \nginia  brigade  commanded  by  Gen.  William  E.  Jones, \nand  I  was  carried  with  him  as  an  assistant  in  his  office. \nHe  acted  as  Brigade  Quartermaster  until  Gen.  Jones \nwas  killed  at  Piedmont.  After  the  death  of  Gen. \nCaptain Haynes was transferred to the 16th Virginia Cavalry, and I continued in his office, attending to all the business after his capture in one of the raids in East Tennessee.\n\nAutobiography\nIncidents of Service with Jones\u2019 Brigade, Longstreet and the Stone Mountain Monument, etc.\n\nBefore joining General Jones\u2019 Brigade, Captain Haynes managed the business of Post Quartermaster in Knoxville for a short while. He was then stationed at Morristown for a period and later at Jonesboro.\n\nWhen Longstreet followed up the battle at Chickamauga with an expedition through East Tennessee, finally surrounding the city of Knoxville, where was a Federal force commanded by General Burnside, my cavalry command under General William E. Jones was ordered to reinforce Gen. Longstreet at Knoxville.\nWe reached Knoxville around the first of December, arriving the night before General Longstreet's assault on Fort Sanders, known as the \"Star Fort,\" in the northwest portion of Knoxville. The assault took place around 4 a.m. General Jones and I, along with other members of his staff, stood on an elevation almost due north of Knoxville and watched the attempt to take the fort. While standing at this place, General Jones asked me to explain the location of Knoxville to him. I had been stationed there in the first part of my service for a considerable time, as previously stated, and had frequently explored the surroundings. I will never forget how strongly General Jones spoke about what he considered a blunder by General Longstreet in attacking the strongest position on the fort.\nFederal lines. He went so far as to state that General Longstreet was either misled or showed a judgment utterly unworthy of a leader of any independent army. The assault failed, and when daylight came, our troops were withdrawn. Longstreet prepared to retreat, leaving Burnside in full possession. He heard that reinforcements were on the way for the relief of Knoxville.\n\nGeneral Longstreet subsequently suspended General McLaws, putting him in arrest and proposing to court-martial him, as we believed then, for carrying out General Longstreet\u2019s own orders but failing to take the fort.\n\nThe outspoken way in which Gen. Jones declared his views concerning General Longstreet\u2019s action always served to discount with me that general\u2019s merits, and I have never recovered from it.\n\nGeneral Longstreet was a great soldier \u2014 magnificent.\nCent remained in action under Lee's orders but appeared incompetent to manage a separate command. After the war, General Longstreet accepted a position tendered by General Grant at New Orleans and left his old comrades to go with their opponents. He differed with General Lee in politics, using this as an excuse for accepting the office under Grant immediately after the war. He lost \"caste\" with all Southern soldiers by this action. Even the soldiers of his own corps, which always held the center of Lee's army and did the steady fighting in the great struggles in Virginia, felt aggrieved that he should apparently desert them in troublous times. I have heard them abuse him, but again I have heard these same men stop the mouths of outsiders and declare with an oath that Longstreet remained loyal to the South.\nThey could abuse Longstreet themselves, but no one else should. He was the sturdy bull dog of our armies.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhen he was writing his work, which he called \"From Manassas to Appomattox,\" I sat by him in the dining room of the Kimball House and conversed with him many times while he remained there. In one of these conversations, I asked him why he did not come to our reunions - we missed him at times. He replied, \"The soldiers do not appear to desire my presence among them. We do not harmonize.\" I replied, \"I think you are wrong, General, and I wish you would try it by joining us at the next reunion.\"\n\nMeanwhile, he finished his book, and someone sent me a copy. I carried it home and sat down after supper to read it. It was beautifully written - fervid in diction - full of splendid thoughts and imagery.\nI was captivated by the book as I read. Reached the Gettysburg fight, I sat down and penned a letter to the General expressing my gratitude for the book and assuring him he need not avoid our reunions anymore due to feeling unwanted. Since publishing this magnificent book, we could welcome him back with increased love and admiration.\n\nFinished the letter, sealed it, and prepared to mail it in a box near the front walk on the street. A heavy rain ensued, and I returned to the library. Concluded it was prudent to complete the work before sending off the letter. Read his account of the Gettysburg fight, specifically his assault on Generals Jackson and Lee in the third heading.\nIt almost broke my heart, as most of my service was in Jackson's corps. I had known that there was jealousy between Jackson and Longstreet, but I had no idea that this feeling had survived the war and, on Longstreet's part, had extended itself to the Commander-in-Chief. I could have probably borne with some equanimity the attack on General Jackson, but when General Lee was included, I gave way entirely and, taking up my letter, tore it into fragments and, raising the window, threw the book out into the rain, and so far as I am concerned, it has remained there to the present day. At our last reunion at Rome, some of his old soldiers presented a resolution asking that the committee in charge of the Stone Mountain monument should put General Longstreet's statue by the side of General Lee's.\nI understood the feelings of these old soldiers for their leader and couldn't oppose it. I seconded the motion and aided Judge Hillyer, of Atlanta, in having it adopted. Lee without Longstreet would have been only half himself, and Longstreet would have been honored by his absence more than by standing by his Chieftain. I have little knowledge of the progress of that great monument. It was first projected during my term as Governor, and the first meeting of the Daughters of the Confederacy that I ever attended passed the resolution commending the proposal for the monument and pledging the Daughters to support it. I went down to the hall where the meeting was taking place and walked into the assembly alongside of\nMrs. Helen Plane ascended the stage and made a short talk before Mrs. Plane. The Governor in office is always the one who precedes any person in any procession or gathering in the State during his term. He is treated as if he were the King of England. When I reached the door of the assembly where the Daughters were gathered, I decided for one time to refuse to abide by this rule and directed Mrs. Plane to take the lead. In this order, we went upon the rostrum.\n\nSo much for the monument. Our brigade fell back from Knoxville toward Bristol, fighting several severe engagements at Beans Station and other places and finally taking up temporary winter quarters in the country around about Bristol and Blountville. While here, Gen. Jones made his plans.\nraid through Tazewell Court House to Scottsboro, where he captured a large number of prisoners. After the winter had passed, he was ordered to gather all the forces possible and throw himself into the front of the army under General David Hunter, coming up the Shenandoah Valley towards Lynchburg. In this campaign occurred the battle of Piedmont where he was killed in the act of rallying his troops, riding in front and calling them to halt and face the enemy. He was really a great leader. While my position was with Captain Haynes in the brigade quartermaster's office, yet he designated me as a temporary Aide-de-Camp and I rode with him on many occasions. He had had much experience in the army of Northern Virginia, commanded the First Virginia Cavalry at the second battle of Manassas, became a great favorite.\nGeneral Jones was a faithful ally and friend of Stonewall Jackson. He often rode a horse named \"old clay bank,\" which Jackson presented to him, and the horse became a favorite among us due to Jackson once riding him on the battle line.\n\nGeneral Jones had been a professor at the Virginia Military Institute, and in this way likely became attached to General Jackson.\n\nAutobiography\n\nHe was a man of splendid judgment, fit for a great leader, and I believe would have taken Stuart's place had he lived till after the death of that matchless cavalry leader.\n\nI remember an occurrence in Virginia while we were occupying our temporary winter quarters. On one Sunday afternoon, some of our teamsters mounted their mules and proposed to race along the road that ran close to the headquarters of Maj.-Gen. Robert Ransom. He saw them.\nhoys laying on with the whip and yelling, as they came down the road, he ordered a file of soldiers to arrest every one of them and put them in the guard house. When General Jones heard of this, he sent me down to General Ransom with a message asking the General to pardon the boys and send them back to their wagon train. We had no one to take their places and look after the teams.\n\nWhen I came to the tent where General Ransom was sitting, I presented the request from General Jones and the order was promptly given to release the men and send them back to their command. As I started to leave, General Ransom said to me, \"You all think a great deal of General Jones, do you not?\" I replied, \"We certainly do. We think he is a great man.\" General Ransom replied: \"I thought you did, and I want you to tell him so.\"\nI have more brains in my little finger than General Jones has in his head. When I told him this, I bowed profoundly and assured him I would deliver the message. I added, \"I have no doubt he will be very much pleased to know what you think of him, General.\" A quickening look came into Ransom's eyes, and I decided it was best to leave him as soon as possible. When I delivered the message to General Jones, he replied, \"Well, I always thought he didn't have much sense, but I know now he has less.\" General Ransom, a West Point graduate, held a high command throughout the remainder of the war.\nI recall a ludicrous incident that transpired when we were on the march to reinforce General Longstreet at Knoxville. Both infantry and cavalry were marching with all haste to reach the scene of conflict in time to render assistance. It was somewhere about the first of December, and a terrible freeze came on with snow and ice covering the roads and hills. I tried afterward to put the incident into verse, and I venture to repeat these verses here. They were written later in 1865 at our home on Pine Log, Bartow County, Georgia:\n\nThe Drummer's Defeat\n\nA cold December morn had broken,\nAnd Boreas blustering chilly\nTossed up the snow and wailed amid\nThe barren heathers, hilly.\n\nOur column roused at early dawn,\nSprang from their bivouac mats,\nAnd began the long and weary march\nTo Knoxville\u2019s besieged fortress.\n\nThe road was blocked with snow and ice,\nAnd horses and men struggled in vain,\nBut on came the drummer, loud and clear,\nThrough snowdrifts and sleet and rain.\n\nHe beat his drum with muffled sound,\nHis eyes aflame with wild defiance,\nSoon reaching the front, he took his stand,\nAnd shouted to the troops, \"Advance!\"\n\nBut forward they could not move an inch,\nTheir feet were frozen to the ground,\nThe drummer's spirit, though undaunted,\nWas forced to yield and leave the ground.\n\nHe turned away, his heart was heavy,\nHis drumsticks hung by his side,\nBut as he marched away, he heard a sound,\nA faint and distant bugle call.\n\nHe quickened his step, his heart was light,\nAnd soon he reached the scene of strife,\nWhere Longstreet's men were making a stand,\nAnd there the drummer joined the fight.\n\nThus ended the drummer's defeat,\nHis spirit unbroken and bold,\nHe'd rallied the troops and saved the day,\nAnd proved that courage need not grow old.\nIn frosty masses gleaming,\nWhile through our tatters smote the blast,\nIn frozen numbers screaming.\nBut on we marched with weary step,\nAmid the drifting masses,\nThough shoeless oft our bleeding feet\nWould stain the frozen passes.\n\nAt length we reached the Holston\u2019s bank,\nA bridgeless, rolling river,\nWhereon, irresolute, we stopped\nDismayed, to groan and shiver.\n\nThe Colonel bade us plunge within\nThe dreadful icy water,\nBut not a man his steps would move\nTo do his cruel order.\n\nA courier then he sent in haste\nTo bring our General forward;\n\u201cHe\u2019d make the shivering scoundrels wade\nOr drown the last damned coward.\u201d\n\nOur gallant drummer marching front,\nNo stagnant blood possessing,\nStepped quickly forth with flashing eye,\nThe Colonel thus addressing:\n\n\u201cAnd who is Ransom, pray do tell,\nThat we must needs obey him?\nThere\u2019s many a private in these ranks\nWho would not disobey his call.\u201d\nIn worth outweighs him! But he's our General, friend,\nAnd bears our country's prestige,\nYou have not the right to question him,\nThe smallest vestige of doubt.\nI care not for his hedging strength,\nThe soldier answered nobly,\nA freeman I will live, or die,\nA tyrant's foeman doubly.\nIf I am got within that wave,\nThis dreadful wintry morning,\nThen other feet must take me there,\nOr first my own o'erturning.\nBut Ransom came and frowned and stormed,\nAnd talked of blood and slaughter,\nRushing on the stubborn man,\nHe pitched him in the water!\nSuch was the chilly fate which met\nThat day the daring drummer;\nHe broke the ice \u2014 the column plunged\nAmid the frosty glimmer.\n\nOn the Quartermaster's staff was a gentleman named Waterson from Hawkins County. He had studied\nlaw  with  my  uncle,  Landon  C.  Haynes,  and  when  Cap\u00ac \ntain  Haynes  was  assigned  to  the  field  portion  of  the \nbrigade  quartermaster\u2019s  work,  Mr.  Waterson  was  de\u00ac \ntailed  to  assist  him.  He  was  my  superior  in  rank, \nbut  we  got  on  very  well  as  comrades.  He  brought \nwith  him  a  negro  servant  named  \u201cGib,\u201d  who  was  ex\u00ac \npected  to  look  after  his  master  and  at  the  same  time \ndo  the  cooking  for  our  mess  in  the  Quartermaster\u2019s \noffice.  Gib  was  a  fine  darkey;  very  faithful  and  stood \nby  us  on  many  a  hard  march  and  even  closed  up  with \nus  on  the  battle  field. \nWhile  we  were  camped  in  Virginia,  in  temporary \nwinter  quarters,  General  Jones  issued  a  very  stringent \norder  against  foraging,  pronouncing  a  severe  penalty \nagainst  any  man  that  was  caught  plundering  the  citi\u00ac \nzens,  robbing  hen  roosts  or  hog  pens.  We  did  not \nknow  how  far  this  order  would  extend.  We  remem\u00ac \nIt was said that General Bragg ordered a man shot in the Tennessee Army for taking a chicken from one of the citizens. We were all, therefore, very careful concerning this matter.\n\nOne day, General Jones sent us word that he would take dinner with us at the Quartermaster\u2019s mess in our tent. We had plenty of dishes but something to eat was the main object, for the visit of the General was a compliment to us.\n\nThe truth is that very scant rations were issued to our troops. We generally tried to supplement them by buying provisions from the citizens, and when this failed, we resorted to foraging \u2014 which last resort was now strictly prohibited to us.\n\nAutobiography\n\nI did not myself approve of foraging, but found it impossible to keep such a feeling in mind when I reached the Army of Virginia. It reminded me of...\nA colored preacher related this experience to his congregation: \"Brethren, when I first joined this congregation, I couldn't even take a pin without conscience trouble. But, brethren, I persevered and grew in grace, and now, praise the Lord, I could steal a horse without feeling it at all.\"\n\nWe informed Gib that the General intended to dine with us the following day and requested the best meal he could prepare. Gib was up to the task, and when we sat down to eat, Gib served the General a fine dish of well-cooked pork. We had eaten for a while when the General suddenly turned in his seat and called to Gib, \"Gib, where did you get this pork?\" A silence ensued, and the General, looking around at the others, inquired, \"Did any of you provide the pork for this meal?\"\nus all, repeated his question to Gib. Gib came up to the General's side and said: \"No darn hog shall come rooting up my fire at night and get off scot-free.\" There was silence for a little while, and then the general laughed, and so did all of us. Turning around to Gib, he said, \"Gib, hand me some more of that pork.\" We knew we were safe, and rejoiced.\n\nWhile we were in temporary winter quarters, Captain Haynes stayed most of the time at home. He had married a young lady who was my mother's sister, and had fixed his home in Blountville, Tennessee. The distance was too small to keep him away from home, so Waterson and I attended to the brigade business and got along very well with the General and the work. We wrote some of his reports and he called me Lieutenant, so that I was addressed in this way throughout the brigade.\nAs soon as the weather improved, we were ordered to the front to prepare for active service. The long march to the Valley soon followed, and General Hunter gathered all the troops available, drawing them into the front of his Army and fought the terrible battle at Piedmont where he was killed, as stated above.\n\nJoining the 16th Virginia Cavalry\nThe 16th Virginia Cavalry Regiment was recruited mainly from the counties in Northwestern Virginia along the Kanawha and Greenbrier and other tributary streams. One company, however, was from Washington County, and another from what is now Bland County, in the Southwestern portion of Virginia. The Colonel was M.J. Ferguson; the Lieutenant-Colonel, William A. Graham; and the Major, James Nuan. The Adjutant was James P. Whitman, who lived since the war at a place called Horsepen, in Tazewell.\nCounty, and was alive at my last accounts. The regiment had been with the Army of Northern Virginia from the time it was mustered into service in the latter part of 1861; fought at Gettysburg, and was already classified as a veteran command when I joined it. I reported for duty after the Piedmont fight. But the regiment had been with us during our service in Virginia under General Jones.\n\nWhen I reached the regiment, it was in camp near Tazewell Court House, in Tazewell County, southwestern Virginia. Major Nounan was in command of the regiment. Col. Ferguson had been captured and was in prison, and Col. Graham was on furlough at the time. I seemed to be very well received by the officers of the regiment to whom I reported. There was no commissary attached to the regiment, and the Quartermaster was required to attend to both commissary and quartermaster's duties.\nI. The business of foraging for the horses, feeding, clothing, and paying off the men. Upon reaching the regiment, a large number of the men and officers had been furloughed to go home to secure new mounts and other necessities for camp life. Now and then they were captured on these raids, but as a general rule, they returned in better condition than when they left.\n\nI had an opportunity to become well acquainted with Major Nounan. I soon grew greatly attached to him as he had some traits that were not only remarkable but stirred the imagination of a young soldier like myself.\n\nOf course, I could not know him as a soldier in the field until I had had an opportunity to see him in battle. I look back on my acquaintance with him as an episode in my life as remarkable as it was rare and unusual.\n\nIn the light of the sixty years that have gone by.\nI am still able to describe him as one of the most remarkable men I have ever met. He had served in Kansas against Ossawatomie Brown during the Kansas Jayhawkers' celebrated rebellion. Coming to Virginia, he was made a Major and assigned to duty in the 16th Cavalry. Though he was a man with fine features, I have often thought that he had two natures within him. In the camp, he dressed like a servant \u2013 never washing, nor combing his hair nor putting on clean garments, but presenting at all times the appearance of some day laborer, digging ditches in the swamps \u2013 dirty, haggard and worn. This was the man in camp. But the man in battle was a new creature. He rode his horse like a centaur \u2013 his eyes flashed and glistened with unmatched fire. His garments were immaculate.\nHe was a born leader, reminding me of a plumed war god from ancient Homer's tales when divine beings intervened in the Trojan conflict. His voice was shrill and clear, inspiring his followers like a trumpet. Transfigured, he was a Nounan during battle. Some men possess this trait. They seem careless and improvident, paying no heed to appearance or fitness. But when their latent powers are awakened, a new spirit emerges within them, and they charge to the front as if born for emergencies and to confront difficulties. Are there any such men among us? Upon Col. Graham's return to the regiment, I.\nI found him to be a very kind and agreeable officer. He gave me a great deal of encouragement and helped me on in the earlier work that fell on me, as Captain Haynes was almost always absent. I remember telling both Nounan and Graham that I had learned to like them, but I was afraid it would be different when Col. Ferguson returned. So I said to them, \"I don't care if he never comes back.\"\n\nIn this, however, I was mistaken. For when the Colonel returned to us and I learned to know him, I seemed to get closer to him than to any other man I had ever known in the army. He treated me well in every sense. While a little more exacting than the other two officers had been, for he realized that his word was always law in the regiment, yet he was ready to give credit for good service, kept his men and officers in good order, and was generally respected by all.\nOfficers under splendid discipline, and in all things showed himself to him in every sense a true descendant of some of old Virginia\u2019s fighting families. These officers in command of this regiment were as brave as any men that ever wore a uniform, and my long experience - writing now - justifies me in saying that a really brave man can never be cruel or unreasonable in dealing with his men. It doesn't lie, generally, in a brave soldier to be a tyrant. There are some exceptions, but there were none among the field officers of the 16th Virginia.\n\nColonel Ferguson was a nobleman of the old school. He was a soldier, every inch of him, but he had the habit of getting wounded in almost every conflict in which our regiment was concerned. He took off his clothes in the tent once and called me to look at him. There was scarcely a place on his body as large as my hand.\nHe did not have the scar of an old wound on his hand. He laughed, as I looked at him in wonder, and said, \"They will get me eventually, I suppose.\" But they did not. He survived the war and settled down, practicing law at Louisa Court House in Virginia. In one of the forays made toward the Greenbrier Country, Colonel Ferguson was taken prisoner by the enemy. After being in prison for a while, he was sent to Charleston where he was put under fire with the Immortal Six Hundred to stand off the attacks on Fort Sumter. The authorities at Washington imagined they could stop the fire of our batteries from Moultrie and Sullivan Island and other fortifications on Fort Sumter by bringing a number of our soldiers to the fort.\nCol. Ferguson suffered exposure at the fort when we fired on it. After his exchange was effected, he came to Charleston. The ladies there made him a return for his suffering near their city by wining and feasting him. They then purchased a splendid uniform for him, which he wore when he came back to us at Winchester. The hat was especially attractive, covered with gold bands and acorns hanging down on each side.\n\nAt the Battle of Winchester on September 19, 1864, while he commanded the regiment and guarded the front towards Martinsburg, his comrades were with him.\nA man was suddenly assaulted by a strong detachment of cavalry. This detachment drove our forces back and followed us in flight down the pike. As we were proceeding to form junction with the main line, a cannon shot crashed through our ranks. A fragment of the shell struck the Colonel in the forehead. He always parted his hair in the middle, from which fact we gave him the nickname of \"Old Nancy.\" The fragment of shell followed the line made by the parted hair, cutting to the bone as it went and tearing his hat into fragments.\n\nHe fell from his horse to the ground but the boys, who were especially skilled in such matters, reached down and lifted him to the saddle and carried him out of danger. He would have been trampled to death in a moment but for this. The shot put him in the hospital for some weeks. He had his hat patched up.\nand  was  still  wearing  it  when  he  came  back  to  the \ncamp.  After  we  had  shaken  hands  he  took  it  off  and \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nsaid  to  me  :  \u201cMy  head  has  gotten  well,  but  my  hat,  alas, \nwill  never  recover.\u201d  This  was  all  he  ever  said  about \nso  serious  a  wound. \nI  said  he  was  brave.  I  saw  him  once  ride  in  front \nof  our  lines  when  we  were  standing  behind  breast\u00ac \nworks,  erected  by  Gen.  Jackson  in  the  Valley,  while \ntwenty  pieces  of  artillery  turned  loose  with  grape  and \ncanister  upon  him.  He  never  flinched  as  the  shot  and \nshell  tore  up  the  ground  about  him  and  he  rode  as \nsteady  as  if  on  parade  back  and  forth  along  the  battle \nline.  It  was  done  to  steady  his  men  and  to  minify  the \ndanger.  No  one  blamed  him  for  his  exhibition  of \ncourage;  he  was  not  touched. \nWYTHEVILLE  AND  HOW  IT  FEELS  TO \nKILL  A  MAN \nIn  the  summer  of  1864  General  Averill,  the  Union \nA cavalry leader conducted a raid into Southwestern Virginia. After various cavalry engagements, he reached the vicinity of Wytheville, Virginia. My regiment, the 16th Virginia Cavalry, and other troops were ordered to meet and give him battle. General John H. Morgan, who had recently returned to the South after escaping from the prison in Ohio, took command of our troops that day. A portion of the 16th regiment was detached and sent to the top of the mountain on the right of our line to prevent the enemy from flanking the gap where General Morgan had stationed a small piece of artillery with supports to oppose the enemy's advance. I went with the detachment and it was soon engaged in a sharp struggle with a flanking party of the enemy that had already started their advance. We held the position.\nOur soldiers held the enemy in check for some hours, firing down the mountain side with little effect, except to show we were present and ready for advance. After awhile, our ammunition was exhausted, and the Colonel sent me to the commanding General to ask for another supply. When I reached Gen. Morgan, I told him of our circumstances. I remember as I spoke, his hand came down on his knee as he replied, \"I expected it. I can't send him any ammunition but I will send him another battalion to reinforce him. That is the best I can do.\" The enemy had come down the pike within about five hundred yards of the place where the General was standing, and I could see they were preparing to charge our position. The general called about him a number of soldiers who were unengaged and directed them to prepare to resist the charge.\nI had a Sharp rifle and, knowing it would carry further than the guns around me, I prepared to fire at the head of the column before it got in range. Setting the sights at what I conceived to be the proper distance, I leveled the gun at the head of the column as it began to move towards us and fired. I saw a man fall from the front rank as my gun spoke to the hills around us. The men cried, \"You got that fellow that time,\" but a moment afterwards all the guns were roaring around us and the head of the approaching column sank to the ground. The little piece of artillery in the General's hands poured a charge into the very midst of the oncoming foe and spread havoc through all his lines. Our flanking party reached the road about this time, and the consequence was the surrendering of some.\nI. Two hundred and fifty men of the enemy. I moved slowly down the pike to discover if my shot had been effective. Upon reaching the spot where the man had fallen, I found his body still lying in the road and a small round hole in his forehead, a result of my bullet. The soldiers who preceded me had captured his horse and unsaddled it, intending to use the saddle and other accoutrements for the man who had fired the first shot. I took possession and rode the saddle for many miles afterward. It caused a peculiar sensation when the boys returned, informing me that it was a fact that my shot had killed the man. I tried to put the thought away from me, as many other shots were fired following mine, but I continued to suffer.\nAmong our prisoners was a first lieutenant in the regiment, either the First Ohio or the First West Virginia, I cannot remember which. I thought it was the First Ohio. Far away from any prison headquarters, we paroled the prisoners we had captured and started on our way to the valley of Virginia. Some of the prisoners went along with us, and among them was the lieutenant referred to. He became very friendly with me, walking by the side of my horse. I told him how I felt about what had occurred the day before. He replied, \"Why, you needn't feel any trouble from that source. I was present in the attacking party. The man who was killed had just come over from Hesse.\nIn Germany, there was a man named Cassel who couldn't speak English. He had received our thousand-dollar bounty in New York and was assigned to our command, having only reached us a week or so before. He was practically worthless, and you needn't feel any remorse as you have mentioned. I had told him that I felt like a poor mother might be weeping for her boy due to my shot that day.\n\nThe lieutenant's kind words caused my feelings of remorse to fade away, and I ceased to think about the transaction further. In this battle, I witnessed something I had never seen before. Our entire cavalry fought dismounted, and one of our commands, on the left of the pike, encountered a flanking party that had gone out on the right of the enemy opposite to that occupied by the 16th. The enemy saw the detachment from our troops approaching.\nI. And we took position behind a solid stone fence that stretched for several hundred yards across an open field. As I stood with the General looking through glasses, I saw our troops charge the stone wall that was blazing with smoke and fire. No braver act was ever witnessed by me in all the war. Not a man hesitated, but these brave Virginia boys dashed straight up against the stone wall and, leaping across it, used their pistols and unloaded guns to testify of their presence and irresistible power. Many of the enemy fell fighting in the face of the boys who had crossed over the sheltering stone wall. I thought as I watched, that this spirit in Southern soldiers surely could never be conquered. But our trouble was, there were not enough of our boys to be found in the borders of the Confederate States to keep it up.\n\nIncidents on the March.\nWhen General Hunter made his raid on Lynchburg, my command brought up the rear of our troops and was continually engaged with the enemy's advance guard, especially after the battle of Piedmont. After this battle, our troops fell back, marching up the valley and coming on across by Buchanan and Lexington to Lynchburg. The enemy\u2019s cavalry, that rode in the front, charged down on our rear guard at every possible opportunity. There was fighting through the day and skirmishing through the night. One man usually led the enemy's troops. He rode a white horse and was especially conspicuous for gallantry and daring. He would charge into our ranks at every opportunity, stopping for nothing and only holding up when our men retired with accelerated velocity. Our command had some splendid marksmen.\nIt, gathered from the Kenawha and other adjacent regions, and our commander detailed several of these to act as sharp-shooters to pick off the officers who led attacks on our rear. So the word soon went out, \"shoot at the man on the white horse\"; and this was done. He would come down upon us, with long hair standing out behind, and with a peculiar, shrill voice, shouting out something every time as he charged. In vain our best marksmen pointed their guns and fired at him as he came. He seemed to bear a charmed life, and our boys named him \"Death on the Pale Horse.\" The sound came continually, \"Shoot at the man on the white horse \u2013 shoot at the man on the white horse!\" But he was never touched. His appearance, after awhile, became so frightful to our boys that they got under cover as soon as possible when he appeared.\nI never knew exactly who it was, but the word went out through the line that it must be Custer. We had felt his strength many a day in our struggles through the Valley.\n\nWhen we reached Lexington, it will be remembered that the enemy burned the Virginia Military Institute and also plundered what was afterwards the Washington & Lee University. Gen. Stonewall Jackson was buried in the cemetery at Lexington and the Confederate flag was standing over his grave. While the Institute was burning, the enemy shelled the grave of Jackson, doubtless attracted by the flag that floated over it. I was standing near the grave when the shells began to fall upon it, and I remember saying to some of the soldiers that were with me, \u201cThe enemy are afraid of Gen. Jackson in his grave, or they certainly wouldn't shoot at it. I wish they could wake him.\u201d\nLieut.-Col. Graham commanded the 16th regiment during this march. One day, he got separated from the command, and as a detachment from the 17th Virginia came up, we asked the men where they last saw Col. Graham. The officer in command replied: \"We saw him just over the hill, standing in a fence corner with a horse pistol in his hand, holding the entire Yankee Army in check.\" He was as brave a man as ever stood along a pistol's barrel.\n\nWhen we reached Lynchburg, we met Early's army, and Hunter's command was turned back after three or four hours of fighting, with considerable loss. That night, our brigade was ordered to march to the rear to cut off the retreat of Hunter's army after the repulse by General Early.\n\nFight at Hanging Rock\n\nAfter the repulse of General Hunter at Lynchburg, the cavalry division to which I was attached, under [Unknown Commander], engaged in the following encounter at Hanging Rock.\nRansom was ordered to head off his retreat and, if possible, destroy his army. We rode all through that June night, crossing the mountains north of the Peaks of Otter, and then striking the great pike road on the far side of the ridge along which Hunter\u2019s whole army would be compelled to march. We found ourselves, at length, in the very front of the retreating army at early dawn. Dismounting from our horses, we took position in a depression out of sight, but very near thereto, where we waited for the approach of the enemy.\n\nIt was not an inviting situation. We were worn out with the hard day and night\u2019s ride, not mentioning the fighting and the long marches over the hills and valleys that preceded our present undertaking. Coming directly toward us, we could hear the tread.\nof a hostile army, more than six times our number, with infantry and artillery in abundance \u2014 enough of either in fact, to destroy our small force in half an hour. Nearer and nearer the sounds approached, the roll of the great artillery wheels on the rock-strewn pike sounding like distant thunder. As we waited expectant, impatient, hoping and yet dreading the coming struggle, I chanced to look at the Adjutant of the Sixteenth Virginia. He was a boy about two years older than I was. We had slept together many times in the headquarters tent, and I had often noticed him sharpening his sword on a whetstone or grindstone or even on his boot leather, until he boasted that he could shave with it. I saw that his cheeks were pale and his face haggard, and then as I looked down at his feet, I noticed that they were not there.\nticed  that  his  pants  legs  were  shaking  like  a  leaf  in  a \nsummer  breeze \u2014 just  like  the  legs  of  a  boy  about  to \nmake  his  first  speech  at  a  school  exhibition. \nMy  teeth  were  chattering \u2014 I  could  not  keep  them \nstill  to  save  my  life,  any  more  than  if  a  Georgia  chill \nhad  hold  of  me,  and  I  said  to  myself,  \u201cWell,  I  know \nI  am  scared,  and  I  think  you  are  too,  Mr.  Adjutant, \nso  I  intend  to  watch  you  today  and  see  how  a  scared \nbov  can  behave  when  the  time  for  action  comes.\u201d \nIt  was  not  long  before  the  flank  of  a  great  battalion \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nof  artillery  and  infantry  was  exposed  to  us,  then  the \norder  came  to  charge.  Those  impatient  Southern  sol\u00ac \ndiers  leaped  out  from  their  covert  in  an  instant  and \nrushed  up  the  hill  with  trailed  arms,  straight  as  an \narrow  toward  the  foe.  But  that  foe  was  not  to  be \ntaken  unawares  nor  easily  overcome.  Quick  as  light\u00ac \nThe great guns were unlimbered, and double-shotted with grape and canister. They opened upon us. The first discharge cut the saplings over our heads, and then I saw a sight that I shall never forget in all my life.\n\nFar in front of our charging line was that boy adjutant with his naked sword in his hand, leading the column by twenty or thirty yards, sounding the rebel yell in our ears, as he called back to us: \"Come on, boys, come on, follow me.\"\n\nBut the gun just in front of us is loaded again; it is thrown to the front, and we can look down its black, iron throat as we run; it will not be fired above our heads again, and now the gunner steps back to pull the lanyard. His hand is raised \u2013 when like a panther from its lair there leaped toward him that impetuous Virginia boy, and quick as a lightning's flash, his keen blade met the gunner's throat.\nsword descended upon the unfortunate soldier, splitting his head to the shoulders and letting his life out in an instant. Then, as the stiffening fingers dropped the lanyard, the gun was wheeled about, and another hand seized the cord, releasing the great double charge of grape and canister that mowed down the ranks of the advancing foe.\n\nNor yet was the day's work done. The brave little adjutant dashed to one of the caissons nearby, and with the same sword by which he had slain the artilleryman, cut a horse loose from the traces, mounted him bare-backed, and himself bare-headed, seized the regiment's colors, and dashing down into the enemy's ranks, led the van, as his followers rushed after him with an enthusiasm that could not be curbed and a strength that could not be resisted.\n\nNine pieces of artillery and 250 prisoners were the result.\nThe boy, carrying the flag, was unharmed despite it being riddled with holes after the unprecedented charge. His heart, beating beneath that gray uniform, showed no less bravery than that of Richard Coeur de Lion, though his legs trembled and face paled as he awaited the charge on the fateful morning at Hanging Rock.\n\nThe Battle at Newmarket\n\nAs my regiment moved down the Valley following the fight at Wytheville, we arrived at Newmarket where General John C. Breckenridge was readying an attack against General Seigel's army. In this battle, the Cadets of the Virginia Military Institute were permitted to join. All were boys under sixteen years of age, many smaller for their age, but all well-drilled.\nI showed, full of enthusiasm and martial spirit. By some fortune, I happened to be close to General Breckenridge when the Cadets marched by on their way to the attack. The General was sitting on his horse within twenty steps of where I was placed, giving directions to the rest of his command and preparing for the battle which ensued. I remember as the boys moved forward, I had the feeling that the result was destined to be \"the slaughter of the innocents,\" and I spoke of it as such. One of the boys broke out of ranks as the command passed me and catching hold of my stirrup leather, gave it a shake and said to me: \"We want to do just like you old soldiers would do.\" I looked down at his fair, smooth face and thought he was not much younger than I was, but he was exceedingly young to expose his life under such circumstances.\nIt was not long until these boys were in the fight. I heard the keen, shrill yell they gave as they charged. It was a boyish yell, but it had in it all the energy and all the fierce enthusiasm of a legion of boys whose feelings were keyed up to the last point. I could see they kept charging. When the enemy opened fire, many of them fell, but this only aroused the fierce anger of the others, and they kept rushing forward. They had never been taught to stop when they began to charge, and it wasn't long before they had captured the guns in front of them and sent up their enthusiastic shouts of triumph. Many of them were killed or wounded, but it made no difference in the enthusiasm of those who survived. I have heard of only one parallel to the charge of these boys. In the great World War, many of our troops were young.\nAnd inexperienced. Many had never fired a gun sixty or ninety days before, and yet when those boys went into battle in front of the trained veterans of Germany, they never knew when to stop. They kept going until they died or conquered. One German said, \"In the name of God, what kind of people are these that you are sending against us? The more we kill of them, the more come against us.\"\n\nThe Newmarket Battle showed the same spirit \u2014 the spirit that characterized the American soldier wherever he met the enemy in our recent wars. This spirit was incarnated in the young generations, North and South, that followed our great Civil War. I think our American troops succeeded because such things as these were spoken of in the homes of the people, at the dinner tables and in the home circles for long years after the war had ceased. Mr. Roosevelt.\nOnce stated, with rare patriotism and appropriateness, \"The bravery of the soldiery on both sides of the struggle is the heritage of the whole American people.\" My oldest son heard me describe these scenes often around the home and table. He seemed to absorb the old spirit, and at an early date showed a military turn. He became a Captain in the Spanish War and a General in the World War. So our words often prove the inspiration to others when the days of peril come.\n\nBrigade Organization\n\nWhen the regiment was called to active service in the Valley, it was put under the command of General John McCausland. The brigade consisted of the 8th, 16th, 17th, 21st Virginia, and 37th battalion. I am not certain, but I think the 8th Virginia was detached at a very early date in the service and sent to another command, though of this I am not sure.\nI am not writing the history of the 16th Virginia; I only aim to recount some of the adventures in which I participated. In the Gettysburg campaign, the regiment was commanded by General Jenkins. In West Virginia and Tennessee service, it was under General Jones. The regiment finished the war under General McCausland. While under his command, it was in all the battles preceding the last Valley campaign: fought at Winchester, at Fishers Hill and Cedar Creek; shared in the Waynesboro repulse, and then crossed the mountains to join the main army in the last, long struggle that ended at Appomattox.\n\nAutobiography\nAdvance on Washington\n\nWhen Early made his advance on Washington in July, the 16th Virginia led the front and reached the fortifications around the city in good time to have a share in the defense.\nThe regiment faced severe struggles during its advance into Maryland, particularly at Monocacy on the 9th. Here, the regiment held its ground against several infantry charges from portions of the 6th Corps under General Wallace. For over two hours, the brigade, including the 16th, engaged in continuous fighting. It was reported that every field officer in the brigade was either killed or wounded in this battle. Our line was positioned atop an eminence and ordered to lie down between the enemy's charges. As each charge was made and the enemy approached, the 16th rose and fired into their faces. The outcome was a retreat.\nThe enemy's preparations were important to know after every fire, as they couldn't be seen from our troops' position when their line was under the brow of the hill. The Lieutenant-Colonel of the 17th Virginia, stationed next to the 16th, stood up and called for a volunteer to climb on his shoulders and look down on the enemy's line to determine if a new charge was being prepared. One of our lieutenants volunteered and climbed up on the Colonel's shoulders. The Colonel bent down, and the lieutenant climbed on. The Colonel slowly rose, having scarcely straightened himself out when the officer above him likewise did so.\nThe two officers rose up when a sharp sound came from the enemy's direction, and a volley was poured into their bodies. They fell to the ground and instantly expired, making no report.\n\nThe two brigades that relieved us were commanded by General John B. Gordon. He led his command over the elevation, charging straight into the enemy's ranks. The result was a severe repulse of General Wallace's troops; the capture of many prisoners, and above all, the clearing of the way to Washington City for our troops.\n\nAs our shattered brigade, after being relieved, made its way to the rear, it was met by General Early. I remember we leaned up against the fence as the general rode up to speak to the troops. He told them he was proud of their achievement \u2013 that he had never seen trained infantry fight any better than ours.\nThe brigade had completed the task that day, and he congratulated us on the success we had achieved and the honor we had gained through our gallant work. I slept on the battlefield the night following the battle near the wounded soldiers of the enemy who had not been gathered up. There was a small ravine near the center of the hardest fighting, and down this ravine a stream was running. A number of the enemy's wounded had rolled down the banks into the stream. I could hear them turning in the mud and water, like hogs in a wallow, all through the night. Very few of them seemed to be groaning, which appeared exceedingly remarkable to me. Whether this was from extraordinary fortitude or because they had reached a point where sound was impossible, I never knew.\n\nAutobiography\n\nA ludicrous incident occurred as we approached Washington. At one of the villages through which we passed.\nA crowd had gathered along the main street to watch our march. In the midst of this crowd, a woman had perched herself upon some elevation, possibly the steps of a platform on the side of the street, and taking off her sun-bonnet, she threw it up and down as if in an agony of distress, crying out, \"Oh, gentlemen, don't burn our beautiful capitol.\" As she cried these words out, her bonnet was being lifted up and down; her hair was disheveled, and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. I tried to speak to her as we passed and did fling these words at her: \"Madam, don't be disturbed. We will not burn the capitol. We will only change the ownership.\" But she kept screaming, and the last thing I heard from her as we passed her in the distance was the same strain: \"Oh, gentlemen, don't burn our beautiful capitol.\"\nWhen we reached a point about four or five miles from the city, my detachment occupied the Blair premises. The fortifications were on the next small rise, and we could see the movements of the men as they handled their guns and got ready for us. At this point, we waited until the infantry arrived on the ground, but our General concluded not to attack, so we didn't \"burn the beautiful capitol.\"\n\nSpeech at Barnesville Describing Gordon and Evans at Monocacy\n\nIn 1894, I was a candidate for the Georgia Senate to represent the Macon District. A fierce political contest had gone on in the state. Gen. Clement A. Evans was a candidate for Governor and was opposed by Wm. Y. Atkinson. It proved to be a revolt of the young men against the old General who had commanded a Georgia brigade in the worst of the campaigns.\nIn Virginia, Mr. Atkinson was elected in the primary. It was thought for a while that the party would not stand by the nominee, and efforts were required, especially to bring the old soldiers into line. A great barbecue was staged for Barnesville in Pike County, and to this barbecue, both Gen. Gordon and Gen. Evans were invited as speakers. The barbecue was held in a grove near the town, but after the feasting had gone on for some time, a heavy rain storm came up and caused the assembly to adjourn to a large hall on the grounds of the Barnesville Seminary nearby. Here, some twelve hundred old soldiers gathered to hear their old Generals speak. After Gen. Gordon and Gen. Evans had both been heard, earnestly cautioning their former soldiers to stand by the nominee and vote for Mr. Atkinson, some of the audience recognized.\nI was called onto the stage and began to speak because I was a candidate for the State Senate, and Pike was included in the district. I came forward as the audience was half standing, preparing to leave, and after a few words of greeting, I begged to relate an incident that occurred in one of the battles of Virginia. It was at Monocacy, while Early\u2019s army was on the road to Washington.\n\nI spoke as follows:\n\n\"The engagement began with a cavalry battle. The brigade to which I belonged was drawn up on top of an elevation in a corn field and extended into a wheat field nearby. The enemy were on the other side of the elevation.\n\n\"We had been fighting for nearly two hours, occupying the crest of the hill, rising to fire as each charge was made on us. After awhile, we looked down to see our infantry giving way before the enemy's superior numbers. Our cavalry was ordered to charge and support them, but we were met with heavy resistance. We were driven back, and our infantry was in full retreat.\n\n\"The enemy pressed on, and we were forced to fall back in disorder. I saw our colors retreating, and I knew that if we did not rally and stand our ground, all would be lost. I called out to my men, urging them to rally and form a line. We managed to hold our ground, and the enemy was repulsed.\n\n\"The battle raged on for several hours, but we managed to hold our position. When the sun began to set, the enemy retreated, leaving us victorious. It was a hard-fought battle, but we had managed to save Washington from certain defeat.\"\nThe river nearby stretched out and I saw two brigades of our army approaching rapidly to relieve us. They waded the river and came up almost at double-quick time towards our shaking line. Nearly every field officer in the brigade had been wounded or killed, and many of our boys had fallen to the ground never to rise again. It was a happy sight to us to see a body of that ragged infantry coming towards us. In advance of both brigades was an officer carrying a flag in his hand who turned around now and then to encourage his troops to quicker action. Behind him, at the very head of the front brigade, was another officer repeating to his troops the commands of the one who led the advance. When they reached within a very short distance of our line, the General, who was leading, took off his hat and said: \"---\"\n\"Come on, Georgians, follow me \u2014 we will show these cavalrymen how to fight. These are only hundred-day men and they can\u2019t stand up against our troops.\" As he spoke, our withered lines divided, and leading his troops, he plunged toward the enemy. Then came the sharp crack of muskets, answered by the wild yells of the Southern boys as they dashed upon the foe. The General, who was leading the brigade with intrepid daring, was shot down just a few paces beyond where he had penetrated our broken lines and fell to the ground. The other General bore a charmed life and led his intrepid boys to victory. They were not hundred-day men, as he realized pretty soon, for as he turned down the elevation, he found his men facing their old enemies; regulars from the army of the Potomac, and his boys shook hands with them.\"\nI followed Generals John B. Gordon and Clement A. Evans in the Army Corps trained by fighting under Joe Hooker. Fellow citizens, I followed these Generals then and I will follow them now. They led us to victory at Chanellersville, Fredericksburg, and other famous fields of Virginia. Those two leaders stood on the bloody battle plain and spoke to you today. Gen. Gordon came to me after my appeal and put his arms around my neck, drawing me out to the front. He addressed the assembled soldiers, \"Comrades, I would rather be the object of such love as yours than command your respect.\"\nYou showed me today something more valuable than wearing the costliest crown of the greatest ruler in the world.\n\nThat afternoon, Generals Gordon, Evans, and I rode together in a carriage on our way to the train. General Gordon turned to General Evans and said, \"General, they defeated you this time, but here is one who, when he runs for Governor, they will not defeat,\" pointing to me.\n\nI have often pondered over these words. They were a true prophecy in the first instance but not applicable in the second.\n\nHorses and Foraging in Maryland and Pennsylvania\n\nDuring our raids into Maryland and Pennsylvania, we subsisted almost entirely on provisions gathered from the enemy. In most cases, these were paid for in Confederate money. However, the people who contributed felt they had received very little in return for what we took from them.\n\nAutobiography.\nI learned to know the pangs of hunger on these raids. I could not eat the baker's bread and apple butter that constituted the larger portion of our ration and I have gone as long as four days without any food crossing my lips. Every family in Southern Pennsylvania seemed to own a bakery and likewise kept a supply of apple butter on hand.\n\nWe slept along the fence corners or in the open fields or under the trees in the forests, if we got any sleep at all. There was a ceaseless call on all the energies of every soldier in our ranks. When our horses gave way on the forced marches, we would swap them for horses belonging to the citizens, very rarely paying any difference; sometimes only leaving a few dollars in Confederate money, so that the transaction might not be classified with the usual foraging business.\nI remember on one of these raids when we came back to our base of operations, we brought back about thirteen hundred broken-down horses suffering from various troubles, the principal one being known as the \u201cfoot evil,\u201d caused undoubtedly by our long marches on the rough pikes. It was no small task to provide for these horses in addition to those in the regular line.\n\nIn Pennsylvania, the horses that we found were generally of large bodies and exceedingly large feet. They were undoubtedly draft horses of the Percheron-Norman breed. We swapped a great many of our Virginia horses for these large animals, but soon found that they were almost worthless for cavalry purposes. They could not stand the exposure, and the marches on the pikes, especially in the winter time, soon put them out of the running. As they broke down, the men had to care for them.\n\nIn Pennsylvania, we found horses that were generally of large bodies and extremely large feet. They were undoubtedly draft horses of the Percheron-Norman breed. We exchanged many of our Virginia horses for these large animals, but soon discovered that they were almost useless for cavalry purposes. They could not withstand exposure, and the marches on the pikes, particularly in the winter, quickly rendered them unfit. As they broke down, the men had to tend to them.\nAmong the principal raids we made into Pennsylvania was the one to Chambersburg. After the disastrous march of Gen. Hunter in the summer of 1864, during which the Virginia Military Institute and the town of Buchanan were burned and almost totally demolished, my brigade, in company with the Maryland brigade under Gen. Bradley Johnson, was sent across the Potomac to levy reprisals on the enemy's territory. My General had been a professor at the Virginia Military Institute and greatly resented the destruction of the building where he had spent part of his life. A great many similar acts had attended Gen. Hunter's march, all of which served to exasperate our leaders.\n\nSecure other mounts in some way and the disabled horses fell into my possession to be sold or swapped as soon as practicable.\nOur raid extended as far as Chambersburg. Several severe skirmishes marked our advance. Our General had levied contributions two or three times on the city governments of the cities through which we passed. When we reached Chambersburg, the General called for the city council and demanded a certain sum of money to be raised by the city government as an immunity contribution. He stated that unless this was raised, he would burn the public buildings of the town. I was sitting on my horse near the General when a member of the city council approached him and said, \"General, we have tried to get the council together and found that this is not possible. There is no way of raising the money and we doubt whether it could be done even if a meeting of the council were possible.\" Without another word,\nThe General turned to Col. Peters of the 21st Virginia and said, \"Colonel, take your regiment and burn this damned town. I will show these people that I mean what I say.\" Colonel Peters, sitting on his horse a few feet away from the General, replied, \"Sir, I have not joined the Confederate Army to burn houses over the heads of helpless women and children.\" The General flushed and said to the Adjutant General, \"Take Colonel Peters' sword \u2014 Colonel Peters, consider yourself in arrest. I will let a court martial pass on your disobedience of orders as soon as it can be organized.\" Then turning to Col. Dunn of the 37th Virginia battalion, he said, \"Col. Dunn, take your battalion and blow up the Court House and set fire to the adjacent buildings.\" Colonel Dunn saluted. It did not seem to me more than five minutes afterwards when I heard the explosions.\nA terrible detonation. Looking up in the direction of the court house, I saw its walls crumbling. From that time on, the town began to burn. It was a fearful sight. Armed men marched through the streets, breaking into houses, going into cellars, capturing old wines and liquors of many years ripening, drinking heavily and leaving a line of fire behind. I saw people carrying out their sick from the homes. I saw little children rushing through the streets without attendance, and above all, I saw the flames and heard the roar of the awful conflagration as it followed the shouting and frenzied troops through the city. As I climbed the adjacent hills, looking back on the burning horror, while the vast volumes of flame and smoke rose up towards the heavens, I remembered saying to myself, \"If there is a God who rules the destinies of the world.\"\nWe crossed the mountains and rode all night and the next day until we reached the North Fork of the Potomac and forded the river near a place called Morefield, in Virginia. Our horses were jaded and almost exhausted by the long march through Maryland and Pennsylvania. They delayed our return, but we went into camp at last near the river, turning our horses out to graze in a vast bluegrass field on both sides of the road. The fields were so large that the three thousand horses were almost lost in the wide stretches of pasture land. Videttes were set out on the other side of the river and pickets along the line. We lay down to sleep in bivouac under the open sky. Here something occurred to me that I have never been able to explain.\nI had slept past three o'clock in the morning when I suddenly woke up. My horse had been turned out with the others in the vast fields for pasture. Upon waking, I experienced a peculiar sensation, which I have described as a \"hunch\" or a \"suggestion.\" I felt compelled to get up and find my horse. I couldn't resist the impression and went out into the vast pasture lands to search for her at three o'clock at night. The moon emerged from behind clouds, shining fitfully, providing the only light for my search. I thought the task was almost hopeless but determined to continue. After traversing a long stretch of pasture lands, I finally came upon my horse peacefully grazing by the side of a little stream.\nI had bridled and led her to where I was sleeping under an apple tree near the river bank. I tied her to the swinging limb of the tree, adjusted my saddle against the roots, and spread a blanket over me, soon sleeping again. I was woken up just after dawn by the rattle of carbines and the whistle of bullets about my head. Looking over into the river, I saw a long line of mounted men fording the stream and coming on with great rapidity; their horses dashing the water right and left in white foam as they moved. They appeared to be firing at every step of their horses. I arose as quick as possible, but saw in an instant that I could not get away or avoid capture unless something was quickly done to stop the advance. While I was deliberating, a volley of shots came towards me, and I was forced to seize my rifle and defend myself.\nI saw one of the captains of the 16th Virginia rush out and call to his men, directing them to form a line between where I stood and the river and to fire into the advancing column. His command was scarcely given before the members of his company had rushed to the front and leveled their pieces. They fired point-blank into the faces of the men in the river. Several saddles were emptied, and the riders pitched forward into the river while the whole line halted. Then the captain shouted out to me to saddle my horse and get away, stating that he would protect his men by taking to the woods. I did this and without delay turned down the pike. I was the only horseman on the pike, as the other members of the command had probably received no \"hunch.\"\nmules in the pasture. The attacking party made a very short stop in the river, and on reaching land started out in a gallop down the pike in my rear. They fired at me as they came. I could look back and see that they fired mostly as their horses rose instead of waiting until the horses\u2019 feet came down so that the bullets went over my head. I heard someone in the foremost rank shout out \u201cFourteenth Pennsylvania, remember Chambersburg. No quarter.\u201d This gave me something of a scare, as can be well understood. I had in my pocket a small diary in which I had recorded all my adventures from the time I entered the army until that date. In this diary was a complete statement concerning my presence at Chambersburg and also my thoughts as I rode slowly up the mountain and looked back on the burning city. I had written:\nI took the diary from my pocket and, to avoid complications, I threw it as I galloped down the pike, far into a briar patch which I passed. I would pay anything almost for the recovery of this diary today. It was not long until I overtook several of the command on the outskirts of the town. The General was among these and halting them, he ordered a temporary fortification to be built across the road and kept crying out to the fugitives as fast as they came up, most of them on foot, to throw themselves behind the works and stop the enemy from further advance. This was done and the pursuit ended. That night we slept on the side of the mountain.\nI was in better shape than the General, as I had all my army blankets and he had none. I did not offer to share them with him, as I was not feeling kindly towards him on account of the awful overthrow we had just suffered.\n\nNext day the command had rallied and we were in shape to hold back the invasion which got no farther. We lost our horses but we kept our nerve. The command went across into the Valley soon after this and joined with the other cavalry that belonged to Early\u2019s Army.\n\nI have had an impression all through my life since the Morefield affair that the demoralization which grew out of our defeat at that place was never completely banished from the brigade. The morale of the troops was never the same while I was with them, and it appeared to me at times that the results extended beyond the brigade.\nThe cavalry on the enemy side grew formidable, becoming powerful, experienced, and fearless. It no longer hesitated to attack infantry at any time, dashing into the very heart of an infantry command. By sheer weight and numbers, it drove our cavalry back at any point of contact. At Winchester, the Union Cavalry's charge in the rear of the infantry, driving our own cavalry before them, caused the confusion resulting in retreat from that place. I have heard it said that the cavalry rushing up against the infantry in that rear charge would cry out to Confederate soldiers:\n\"Men, for God's sake surrender \u2014 don't force us to cut you down and kill you. Looking back through the sixty years, I can see how the Union Cavalry, which learned its principal lessons in the Shenandoah Valley, contributed in a great measure to the final overthrow of that magnificent army that had achieved so many victories under its matchless commander, General Lee. At Chambersburg, I took on myself to go inside a book store that was already burning and rescue some books. These books consisted of one copy of Milton, six or seven small volumes containing the dramas of Shakespeare, and a few volumes of The Rambler and Spectator. As these books were already on fire when I got the volumes out, I have never tried to return them to the owners.\"\nI have held these books since then as the property of a Northern book-seller to be surrendered when called for. The books' covers were torn off, and they were not worth much. I am keeping them as souvenirs. I read these books aloud to the Colonel while riding at the head of the column over the pikes of Virginia and Maryland and Pennsylvania in our subsequent raids. Our surgeon had told me that my eyes would be ruined, and I would go blind before I was thirty years old because I persisted in reading these books aloud. The Colonel enjoyed them, and so did I, and my eyes have only begun to fail me in my 77th year.\n\nAfter we had fallen back from Fisher's Hill, my brigade stopped at Port Republic, and here we stood all day in the trenches that General Jackson had used in his great campaigns. We held the enemy in check.\nUntil he finally moved away. At this time, I was given a furlough for thirty days and consequently missed the battle of Cedar Creek by going home to East Tennessee. In the winter of 1864, our command was on detached service most of the time. We were moving about from place to place to secure forage for our horses while at the same time defending the country against the advance of the Union Cavalry. The camp of the regiment at times was left in my charge while the regiment was out skirmishing with the enemy or seeking to cut off his advance in some raid he was making. During a portion of this time, I acted in the capacity of brigade quartermaster, looking after the business of the whole brigade, but generally my duties included only the affairs of the regiment. I paid off the men.\nI issued clothing when we had it, distributed rations when we had any, through the commissary sergeant. The regiment had no commissioned commissary, and all this business was in the Quartermaster's charge. I desire to make this remark at this point: I never, within my knowledge, missed a single fight in which the regiment took part while I was with it. I made it my business to go into battle with the regiment, though I did not always remain through the entire conflict, as I was acting frequently in carrying out orders and performing duty as a staff officer. Making a fair calculation, I can safely state that I took part in some thirteen engagements that might be called pitched battles and more than sixty-three skirmishes during my service.\n\nMy connection with the Second Corps:\nAfter the death of General Jones, my command was transferred to the Second Corps.\nI came attached to the Second Corps, formerly commanded by General Stonewall Jackson. The last two years of my service in the army were spent with the men who composed this splendid unit of ours. Although I came to the corps after General Jackson was dead, yet I walked with it; rode with it; camped with it; fought with it through the two years that followed, until I felt that I had known every man in it from the beginning.\n\nI was only a boy between 18 and 19 years of age, yet possessing abundant imagination.\n\nWhen the anniversary of the General\u2019s death came around, I was appointed to deliver the eulogy for our commanding officer as a part of the exercises.\n\nMany of the sentences that I used under the pines during those events come back to me now day by day in this winter of a long life. In common with his own boys:\n\n\"AUTOBIOGRAPHY of Virginia\"\nI followed him, and in the camp and on the march, as I talked with the men about their battles and long journeys they made under Jackson, I went through the same fearful struggles. I became, in thought at least, a part of their organization. The spirit of the dead leader never left the command, for the memory in their lives was so steady and absorbing that as they spoke of the past, I saw it all rise up before me \u2013 I felt their sufferings just as they had done and I rejoiced to make their triumphs my own. So I may say that in my career for the last two terrible years of the war, I became a member of the organization and felt the same pride and rejoiced at the story of the same struggles through which the Corps had passed under Jackson\u2019s leadership.\n\nIt came from a boy soldier\u2019s attachment to the command.\nA leader whose birthday was in the same year:\n\nIn the Valley, a doctor in 16th Virginia strongly opposed calomel. The boys gave him all sorts of names, but he was a faithful officer, adhering to what he had learned in his school days. Known as an \"herb doctor,\" he was a matter of ridicule. He was from near Milledgeville, Ga.\n\nWhile we were camped in the Valley, a good deal of bilious fever occurred, and I became a victim to this disease. I was absolutely certain that a dose of calomel would save me, but the doctor sternly forbade its use. Under the circumstances, I asked the Colonel for a leave of absence to go to a private house where I could get the services of a country doctor and the old treatment to which I had been accustomed.\nI obtained leave and went to a beautiful private home situated near where the Valley divides, as one goes towards the Potomac. It was the home of a Mr. Kauffman. I remained with the family for two weeks or more and was waited on and looked after by a beautiful lady who was the wife of a captain of one of Mosby\u2019s companies operating in the Valley. I have never forgotten her kind ministrations. There were three women who were especially kind to me at this time, including the Captain\u2019s wife. One was a fifteen-year-old girl named Miss Betty Kauffman of the household, and a school teacher whose name I have now forgotten.\nI grew up with a strong attachment to these ladies, and some of the sweetest memories of the war linger about them. The school teacher softened the rigor of confinement and the fever of repining by telling me a number of anecdotes with which her mind seemed to be stored. One of these I can yet recall, though somewhat dimly I must confess. It is the story of the old preacher \u2013 one of the less educated portion \u2013 who coming along by a schoolhouse one day saw a number of boys playing marbles. As he came up to where they were at play, he heard one of the scrawniest, thinnest, and poorest in appearance cry out: \u201cI\u2019m not lying, I\u2019m fat.\u201d\n\nThe preacher knew that boy was lying, so he came closer and said, \u201cBoys, the Bible says, \u2018Do not marvel, verily I say unto you,\u2019 now that means\u2026\u201d\nBut the preacher told them to stop playing, but they paid no attention and continued with their play. A few minutes later, one of the boys in the rear cried out, \"I'll be damned if I'm not dead.\" The preacher saw that he wasn't dead and saw the thin boy wasn't fat, so he earnestly repeated the words of Scripture, 'Marvel not, marvel not, verily I say unto thee, 'The Captain's wife read several books to me when I was convalescing. One of them was \"Charles O'Malley, or the Irish Dragoon,\" by Lever. I enjoyed this work more than any I had ever read or heard of in all my life before. It suited the Southern boy who was soldiering far away from home. I laughed over its anecdotes; enjoyed its fine descriptions.\nI. of camp life, and the wit and humor of the Irish soldier so much that I told my kind entertainers that if I was ever permitted to have a home of my own and a library, I would get this book in the finest binding that could be found and keep it on the center table or near to my hand where I could read it day by day. Long years afterwards I fulfilled the promise of this early day. The father of my first wife was a prominent book-seller and publisher, and I gave him the order to purchase the work in England with the finest binding in red and gold that could be found. The book has been near at hand or on the center table ever since. It is the most beautifully bound volume in the library, and when I look at it, I go back to the days in the Valley of Virginia when that exquisitely beautiful book was first introduced to me.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nA full lady, wife of the great partisan captain, read it to me as I grew better and regained my health under the country doctor's administration. Miss Betty Kauffman gave me her picture, which I still keep in the album I made up in my earlier days.\n\nTrepidation of the Soldier\n\nI was standing one day by the side of the Stonewall Brigade when the enemy made a sudden and unexpected attack upon our lines. The brigade hurriedly threw itself across the road and prepared to repel the advance. As the enemy approached, the front rank of the brigade knelt, while the rear rank prepared to shoot over their heads.\n\nMy position was actually at the head of the line, and the man next to me who knelt, preparing to fire, was one of the privates in the command. His face had been covered with sweat and in the march on the enemy.\npike. The dust had settled all over his cheeks and forehead, giving him a dull, dead look. When he bent down and prepared to fire, I saw a paleness gather on his face. I could see the pallor moving from his temples all the way down over his cheeks. His face became deathly white, notwithstanding the heavy coating of dust. The enemy was soon repulsed, and as the man arose from his kneeling posture, I asked him why his face had turned so white as he knelt to shoot. He replied, \"I cannot tell you, sir. I always feel a sinking of the heart when I first begin to fire.\" And then, looking up into my face with a smile, he said, \"you didn't see it any more after the first shot, did you?\" I was obliged to tell him that I did not. I suppose no one ever went into battle who did not\nI have a peculiar sensation accompanying the event. The officers as well as the men always felt a realization of the danger at the commencement, but this feeling passed away when the active work commenced.\n\nSoldiers who couldn't stand fire\n\nThere were some men who had a perfect willingness to fight or go into battle, yet completely broke down, fell back and left the line when the firing commenced. I have often seen the stragglers behind the battle line. Many of them were anxious to go back but afraid to do so; all of them having an impression that they are destined to be killed if they go into the fight. No man knows whether he can stand fire or not until he tries it. The sense of danger becomes so great at times that the man's heart gives way, and though his spirit is willing, his flesh is too weak to endure.\nA notable instance occurred in one of our brigade's companies. An orderly sergeant, who was an excellent non-commissioned officer, good disciplinarian, and fine leader of men, belonged to this company and was afflicted with cowardice. The instant firing opened, he gave way and left the ranks in a paroxysm of fear and trepidation. He had deserted several times from the firing line and was finally arrested, tried by court martial, and sentenced to be shot for cowardice. I met him when he was under sentence and he told me he was anxious to try again, begging me to see the colonel and allow him to go into the next fight and redeem himself. He said that he had an old mother whose heart was bound up in him, and she would never be able to stand the knowledge that he had deserted again.\nA soldier had been shot for cowardice. The Colonel rode up, and I joined him in asking that he be allowed to try again. His plea touched the Colonel, and he ordered the guard to allow him to go out with the boys in the next battle. He did so. He went out and stood up with the line. A shot struck him in the breast, and he poured out his life's blood on Virginia soil. The sentiment, which he always had, proved to be true, but he died at last like a soldier. A telegram was sent to his poor old mother stating that her boy was killed, doing his duty in the front line. He was a hero with a defect in his constitution. He had too keen a sense of danger to stand when the time came. He could not shut off the surroundings, as many men do, and rush on to death or triumph.\n\nCarrying orders under difficulties.\nIn one cavalry invasion in the Valley of Virginia, the enemy attacked us with a very heavy force, causing us to fall back towards Staunton. On the way, we came to some trenches that had been dug by Stonewall Jackson during his struggles in the Valley with Banks and Shields. Here we made a stand occupying these trenches. For nearly a day we held the enemy in check, but late in the afternoon, the word came to us that he was beginning to flank us and was planting cannon to rake the trenches from end to end. During the day, the firing was so steady that a cap placed on a ramrod and held above the fortification would be hit by a dozen bullets in so many seconds and whirled around with great rapidity. When it became known that the enemy had flanked our position so as to enfilade the trench, the Colonel instructed me to... (autobiography incomplete)\nI was carrying orders to the different companies, retiring from the trench by marching each company to the right flank, leaving the trenches at the nearest point on our march. I was riding a beautiful circus mare that presented a striking appearance when mounted, and having no time for thought or discussion, I started down the line in full view of the enemy. As I came to the head of the first company, I gave the colonel's order and this was repeated until I reached the last company in the line. The bullets were flying like hail, but none of them touched me. When I had reached the last company and given the order, I turned to ride back. Then the full sense of danger came over me, and I bent to my horse's neck and put spurs to her flanks, riding with incredible speed. I can remember the flight.\nI had felt no sense of danger while giving the orders, but when the work was finished, the fearful exposure was appreciated, and I put my horse to her greatest speed to reach a place of safety. I was not touched, nor was my horse, which has always been a puzzle to me as well as a matter for rejoicing. I mentioned the above to one of my comrades, Col. Isaac Hardeman, one of the purest, truest men I ever met, who had commanded a regiment in the army. He explained the philosophy to me. My mind did not take in any sense of danger while I was engaged in the work of carrying the orders, but as soon as this was finished and I looked about me, the danger became apparent, and my legs broke loose in an effort to run, which was transferred to my horse.\nThe regiment was safely extracted with very few casualties. I have heard many stories about the tendency to dodge the enemy's bullets, a tendency found in the bravest of our soldiery. Someone told me a story concerning General Jackson and General Hill, who was his brother-in-law. As they stood taking an observation one day, a shell came over. General Jackson did not move but General Hill dodged with great celerity. Upon this, General Jackson turned around and exclaimed, \"Why are you trying to dodge that shell, General Hill? If it was intended to hit you, it would have done so even if you had been sixteen feet under ground.\" The best of them would try to dodge the unseen bullet. I was standing one day on the northern bank of the Potomac when a detachment of Federals opened fire.\nMy general, standing with his glasses, observed the enemy movements across the river. When the firing began, he dodged, brushing his ear as shots whistled by. I took shelter behind a nearby house, considering it safer than attempting to dodge the missiles.\n\nA cannon shot neared Hancock, Maryland. Our command had been on a raid in Maryland, capturing many horses and taking many prisoners. On our return, we came to a station on the B. & O. Road near the Potomac, where a strong enemy force met us in an attempt to cut off our retreat. I was on an elevation about a mile away from the station.\nWhen I saw an iron-clad train run out on the main line, heavily loaded with soldiers. The mouths of several guns protruded from the armored sides of the train. I stood looking through glasses with a number of soldiers around me, one of these guns opened fire on us. I saw the shell coming through the air and it seemed certain to strike about the center of my forehead. There was no way of escape and I faced the danger, but the shell explded about one hundred yards in front of me, fragments going on each side and tearing up the ground at my horse's feet. I thought prudence was the better part of valor and rode back behind the turn of the hill.\n\nJust then our Maryland battery took position near the place where I had been standing, unlimbered and opened fire.\nThe gun that was sighted first was loaded with a round shot and struck the engine boiler of the iron-clad train almost exactly in the center, going entirely through it. As it struck, I saw Union soldiers leap out of the iron-clad train, reminding me of a picture I had seen of rats jumping out of a sinking ship. The train, of course, was disabled, and we soon captured it along with a large detachment of soldiers.\n\nForaging in Old Virginia\nSmall events sometimes decide a man\u2019s destiny. I have often felt that I decided to study law because of an incident which occurred on the frontier of Virginia, while our brigade was in camp guarding the front lines of the army. General Rosser\u2019s command had preceded us. It was an old Virginia command. The soldiers of my brigade were largely made up of:\n\nAutobiography\n\n(Note: The text above is the cleaned version of the input text. No additional comments, caveats, or prefix/suffix have been added.)\nLevies from Northwest Virginia along the borders of the Kanawha and in the Greenbrier Country, though rough, were all Virginians. When we took the place of Rosser\u2019s brigade, we found that the country had been almost denuded of provisions or forage. It was said, in fact, that the horses in Rosser\u2019s command lived for some time on nothing better than oak leaves. Col. Ferguson, of the 16th, determined to do better. Looking across a long stretch of level land, he saw a number of hay stacks still standing and ordered me to take a detachment under the command of a lieutenant and go after these hay stacks and bring them into camp.\n\nWhen I reached the meadow-land where they stood, I found they belonged to an old country gentleman living in a house nearby. He had passed middle age and was residing with his wife and daughters alone.\non  this  frontier.  I  called  on  him,  met  him  at  the  door \nof  his  home  and  told  him  I  had  come  to  get  the  hay \nstacks  for  our  hungry  horses. \nHe  lost  his  temper  at  once  and  said  I  could  not  get \nthem,  that  I  must  pass  over  his  dead  body  before  I \ncould  do  so,  and  added  that  he  had  a  son  on  General \nLee\u2019s  staff  and  if  I  attempted  to  take  them  by  force \nhe  would  see  that  word  went  to  the  General  and  a \ncourt  martial  would  be  immediately  ordered,  with \nmost  direful  results  to  me. \nI  could  understand  then  why  Gen.  Rosser  had  not \ntaken  the  stacks  of  hay  from  him.  The  old  man  knew \nhow  to  defend  them.  I  started  to  argue  with  him  and \npresent  our  condition  to  him.  I  spoke  of  the  blood  in \nhis  veins,  one  of  the  first  families  of  Virginia.  I  told \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nhim  how  we  were  starving  on  the  border-land  to  de\u00ac \nfend  him,  that  his  hay  would  not  remain  in  place  twen\u00ac \nFor four hours, if our troops were withdrawn and the enemy approached, I told him how he slept in the house in a warm bed, while we lay on the ground in rain and cold with nothing over us but the sky. I told him if his boy was with General Lee, he would not approve of his father's withholding the little sustenance that would keep our horses moving in his defense. I tried to show him his duty as a patriotic Virginian and used all the eloquence I could call to my help in pleading with him, to avoid the necessity of taking by force that which he ought to be glad for us to have.\n\nAfter awhile, I saw the tears begin to steal down his furrowed cheeks; he shook his white locks and finally said, \"My God! I have never been talked to this way before in my life. Take the hay stacks but come in and eat with me and bring in your lieutenant.\"\nI may see the kind of men you are. We went in and took supper with him, while my men carried the hay to the camp and to the starving horses. One of his beautiful daughters waited on us; one of the brightest and sweetest girls I ever met. We parted with expressions of good will after I had paid him in nothing but Confederate money for the forage he had finally consented to let us have. I believe my success in this respect made me think more about the legal profession and begot a desire to try a lawyer's pleading before a jury for the life of his client. Many times since then I have felt as I stood before a jury, defending a man charged with murder that I alone was between him and death. I think I spoke all the more fervently and earnestly because I realized this fact.\n\nSo I felt as I stood before this jury. (Autobiography)\nAn old Virginian on that dreary evening on the borders of the Potomac, I was pleading for the lives of men and horses in the Confederate army.\n\nOne of the horses which I rode in the regiment had been a show horse. It had several gaits, was a fast pacer, and altogether a beautiful-looking animal. On one occasion, the command was ordered to cross the mountains to the west of Staunton at the head of the Valley, on one of our usual raids. Before moving, a fearfully cold spell came upon us. The snow fell for a while which melted and then froze on the pike, covering it with a firm coat of ice, extending from the foot to the top of the mountain over which we must pass. The regiment dismounted as soon as the ice-covered road was reached; a blacksmith shop was set up and many of the horses shod with ice shoes.\nThe calves of the ice shoes were pointed to stick in the ice and prevent horses from slipping. I believed my horse was so active that there was no need for these shoes in her case. I led her from the foot of the mountain without any trouble, until within about one hundred yards of the top, when she suddenly fell and began to struggle with great panic. I tried in vain to get her to her feet, but she finally rolled over the side of the mountain, going down to its foot. I was sure she would be dead before I could reach her, but I could see down in the valley that she got up and moved about. I took the blacksmith with me and went down and had her shod with ice shoes. Then I led her over the mountain. I stopped at a little country house to stay all night, as I had gotten behind the command.\nIn February, 1865, the brigade was on detached service under General McCausland. I was attending to the brigade quartermaster's work. One day, the General sent an order for me to make out a list of the officers of the brigade, specifically noting those who were absent. This was an unusual and extraordinary order, so I took it to Colonel Ferguson for advice. He told me the General was trying to get information about one of the captains of the command who was supposedly absent with some women in the neighborhood.\nI. Refusing a Questionable Order\n\nColonel Ferguson advised me against obeying an order from General McCausland to investigate and present a list for a court martial of a captain. He argued that McCausland had no authority to issue such an order, as I reported directly to Richmond and not to him. Under these circumstances, I heeded the Colonel's advice and did not comply with the order. A few days later, the General's adjutant instructed me to report to his tent. I complied and presented myself to the General, who was lying in his tent with a large log-heap fire in front of the door.\nAs soon as he saw me and I had saluted, he asked, \"Why did you not obey my order?\" in a very curt way. I reminded him that this was outside of my jurisdiction and suggested that, under the Rules and Articles of War, he could not demand such service from me. I now know that I was wrong in my position, and the general was right. Since we were on detached service, he was fully authorized to require any kind of service from me that he thought was beneficial for the brigade. When I quoted the Rules and Articles of War, however, he became greatly incensed, rising up and denouncing me in the fiercest, harshest terms he could employ, and concluded with, \"Go away from my tent. I hope I will never set eyes on you again.\" I could not reply to him as he would have ordered me in arrest at once, and doubtless would have done so.\nI did not know what prevented him from acting. I went back to the Colonel and told him the result and asked him to recommend my immediate release and transfer from the regiment, which he agreed to do. The General was promptly notified. I put my affairs in order, gathered up all the papers and vouchers, covering approximately six hundred thousand dollars expended on behalf of the regiment. I collected my belongings from the headquarters wagon that I had kept with me during our campaigns, and prepared to start back to Tennessee, reporting on my way. One incident occurred that smoothed away the fierce depression that came over me from the circumstances. The brigade was ordered to move before I was able to arrange my affairs.\nI stayed with the direction I must take on the march. We came to a small river where the troops crossed. The ford was bad, and the wagon train mired up in the water and mud, unable to move out. After I had ridden alongside the train and come up on the bank of the river on the other side, I saw the General sitting on his horse looking over toward the stalled train in the river. I heard him say, \"Where is that damned East Tennessean? I wish he would come here.\" I rode up to him immediately and saluted him, saying, \"General, here is the 'damned East Tennessean.' What can I do for you, Sir?\" He turned and saluted me and in the kindest voice said to me, \"I wish you would please go down and get this train out of the river for me.\" I told him I would do my best.\nI rode back and gave directions to extract the mired wagons, enabling the train to move on. I never saw the General again. Two years ago, I read an account of his home and surroundings on the Kanawha River in West Virginia in the papers and wrote him, expressing my former membership in his brigade and desire to hear from him. He wrote me a kind and courteous letter, sharing facts about his family and place of residence, and then asked me to find some of his family he believed were living near the place where I was staying at our winter home. I obtained the information and conveyed it to him in the letter.\nabout  my  disobeying  his  orders  and  apologized  for  the \nsame,  assuring  him  that  I  now  recognized  the  fact  that \nI  had  done  wrong  myself.  He  never  answered  the  let- \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nter,  and  I  suppose  my  apology  gave  as  much  offense \nas  the  original  transaction,  judging  by  his  silence. \nHe  was  a  man  of  strong  prejudices,  with  a  genius \nfor  command  that  was  second  to  very  few  with  whom \nI  came  in  contact  during  my  service  in  the  army.  He \nwas  responsible  for  the  brigade\u2019s  successes  in  a  great \nmany  conflicts  with  the  enemy.  He  gave  the  order  for \nthe  charge  at  Hanging  Rock,  where  we  captured  the \nnine  pieces  of  artillery  and  the  two  hundred  and  fifty \nprisoners.  All  the  glory  of  that  contest  belongs  to \nhim.  There  was  no  cowardice  in  his  system  and  he \nseldom  consulted  anyone  on  questions  of  policy  or  on \nthe  propriety  of  attack. \nCOMING  HOME \nAfter the brigade went into camp, I left it and traveled through Richmond, reaching East Tennessee. After staying a few weeks with my mother, as my father was absent, I set out with a command called Captain Deaderick\u2019s Scouts to rejoin the Army of Northern Virginia. At Bristol or Abingdon, we encountered a brigade of Kentuckians, known as the Orphan Brigade, and in their company, we proceeded towards Richmond. We reached Christiansburg one afternoon and there received the news that General Lee had surrendered. When this news was shouted out to us by the officer who had received it, the entire command dismounted from their horses and threw themselves on the ground. Wails of sorrow and distress filled the air, revealing how the news had shattered the heart of every man in the organization.\nI remember falling flat on the ground and with my hands digging a hole through the grass into the sand. In my autobiography, I allow my tears to fall down into the hole, covering them up in the soil of old Virginia. There was moaning and groaning and tears throughout the command, for the disappointment was greater than any of us could bear. We were homeless. The Kentuckians knew that the enemy occupied their country. The East Tennesseeans knew that there was no place for rest or home within their country's bounds. We called a council of war and determined to go across to Johnson's army, as the only thing left to us.\n\nThe March Towards Johnson's Army\n\nWe went across the mountains on a weary and endless march. We had no means of getting sustenance except by begging or buying from the citizens. Our only resource was to plead for food and supplies from the people we encountered along the way.\nhorses grew weary and tired, and the awful horrors of the situation made every man of the company feel that life had left in it very little worth living for. I will never forget the miseries of that dreadful march. After passing out of Virginia into North Carolina, we struck the great line of railroad at Charlotte and camped a short distance from the city, sending in to notify General Johnson, who was then at Greensboro, of our desire to join him. This, as I recall, must have been about the 23rd of April. The officers that went in to make the inquiries and give the notice found out that President Davis and General Breckenridge were both in Charlotte. They came out to see us and made speeches to us. President Davis said to us that he was on his way to the Trans-Mississippi. He thought the fight could be kept up.\nThere, for a time, and hoped that some European nation would intervene in our favor and that we would yet be successful. He stated that he would be glad to have us go with him, but cautioned us that he did not give us any orders or commands whatever about the matter.\n\nThen General Breckenridge spoke to us. General Breckenridge was the Secretary of War, and of course we looked to him for positive instructions. He said: \"Soldiers, I do not take the sanguine view entertained by the President. I tell you that the war is over and advise you to go home and if you can make as good citizens as you have soldiers, your country will be glad of your presence.\"\n\nThe Orphan Brigade, being from Kentucky I suppose, recognized that Breckenridge had the right to speak for them. We called a council and determined\nI had gone only about two and a half miles when my worn and exhausted horse fell flat in the road and threatened to leave me afoot. I took off from her all the baggage, the little army saddlebags that were full of clothes, the blanket and oilcloth, and other things of this sort, unbuckled my sword which I had captured at Martinsburg, Virginia, and folding them all in a bundle, took them to a nearby house and left them, telling the inmates that I would call for them as soon as I could get back.\n\nAt the time, General Johnson had already signed the cartel that surrendered his army at Greensboro. This became known on the 26th of April, so the war was really ended. Looking back on it, I can now see that these two great officials spoke to us at Charlotte before Johnson had signed the cartel.\nI never recovered the items I asked you to keep for me. When I visited Charlotte long afterwards and went out where I left them, I found the house had been burned and no traces of the inhabitants could ever be found by me.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe sword I left with the baggage was one I had carried through all the Virginia campaigns. It was a Toledo blade, beautifully engraved, with a gold hilt that covered the hand, containing fine filigree work. It had evidently been some officer\u2019s sword. I have always regretted the loss of this sword, as I think it would have been a pleasant souvenir to hand down through the family succession.\n\nI went back to my horse and, after lightening the burden on her in the way described, I got her to her feet and led her for two or three days on the way to Tennessee. She gradually recovered and I was able.\nI was not allowed to stay at home for long after she had more fully recovered. The country was filled with Federal troops, and as soon as it was known that I had returned home, I was arrested by Federal soldiers and, along with a large number of other Confederates, was taken to Strawberry Plains, where we were held in camp and fed on Federal army rations for a week or two. Thence we were taken to Chattanooga and put into the federal prison. Thence to Murfreesboro, and thence to Nashville.\n\nWhen we arrived in Nashville, our company had reached about fifteen hundred prisoners. We were brought before the Provost Marshal, registered and sworn, and were then ordered to be taken across the city to the penitentiary to be kept there, I never knew for how long.\nI had determined to evade being put in the penitentiary of my native state, Virginia. Vast crowds gathered on the sides of the streets as we passed, guards stationed at stated intervals on either side. I carried an army haversack with a long white duster to keep my uniform clean on the dusty thoroughfares of Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. I took out the duster and put it on over my uniform, telling my file leader, not in uniform, that I intended to get away at the first chance. He agreed to join me. At a crossing where the crowd was very large and pressed together, we made our escape.\nWe stepped aside, rushed quickly through the crowd and went down the street a short distance. We turned into an alley and, with all the celerity we could muster, ran at top speed toward another part of the town. We soon got away from the crowd into a quiet street and stopped a citizen, a gentleman who had a good face. We asked him if there were any Confederates living in the town nearby. He said to us: \"I can't tell you. It would be worth a man's life to admit that he was a rebel in this town. But I can say this; do you see that house? That man raised and equipped a company of Rebel soldiers. I don't say he is a Rebel, but you can draw your own inferences.\"\n\nWe went through the back door into the house and were met by a beautiful young girl who threw up her hands and shrieked, \"Oh, mama, Oh, mama, come.\"\nShe took us for robbers but I quickly threw my duster open and showing my uniform, said, \"We are Confederate soldiers, just escaped from the guard and have come to seek help to get away.\"\n\nWhen her mother came and saw that we were Southern soldiers, she burst into tears and kissed us and said she had two boys in the army and she would treat us just as if we had been her own. She gave me a suit of citizen\u2019s clothes, which I immediately put on, rolling up my old uniform, so that I could carry it, and then she gave us $15.00 in United States currency.\n\nTaking this, we walked to the nearest railway station out of the city, took the train and came to what was then Henderson\u2019s Station, now known as Afton on the Southern Railroad. This road was torn up from that point to Jonesboro and we walked the rest of the way.\nFollowing the episode at Nashville and my return home, a short period of rest was allowed us in East Tennessee. But the political clouds were gathering and the threat of storm and lightning was in the air. After the country had begun to settle down somewhat and the realization prevailed that the great Civil War was over, I was called to visit Nashville on business of some nature. When I reached there, I think the Legislature was in session; at least I met a number of representatives from East Tennessee. They all expressed friendliness to me and I took it for granted that the war was really over.\n\nIn a short time, however, I was informed that Governor Brownlow had decided to send the Union troops back home as fast as they were mustered out, carrying their arms with them, and thus had laid the foundations for Brownlow's War.\nThe purpose of the war named after Johnston was to drive Rebels, who sympathized with or took part on the Southern side, into exile. This involved confiscating their lands and taking their property for Union sympathizers. I was informed of this war through the following incident:\n\nAt that time, I met Robert Johnson, the oldest son of President Johnson. We sat down at the door of the State Capitol and discussed our various war experiences. While there, we received word that a delegation had gone before Governor Brownlow that morning to request that Union soldiers, who were being disbanded, be allowed to carry their side arms with them to East Tennessee. This request was based on the Rebels bringing their own arms home.\nUnion soldiers would be at a great disadvantage if turned loose among Rebels unarmed. Mr. Brownlow replied to the petition with these words: \"Yes, gentlemen, you may not only take your side arms with you but you may take your cannon also.\"\n\nWhen the report of this occurrence was given to Mr. Johnson and myself, he turned, put his hand on my shoulder and said: \"Nat, you needn't be disturbed over this. I will take care of you and your people. You can rely on this.\"\n\nI think he meant every word of it, but he did not live long afterwards and died I think before the worst came on our people. My father must have loved him, though they had spoken on opposite sides of the great questions that divided the Nation at that time.\n\nFor the words that he spoke to me that day, I have had in remembrance the whole family, and I wish I had recorded them.\nI could lay a tribute on the grave of the son, whose genius, by its opening splendor, bade fair to eclipse that of his wonderful father. Shortly after I reached home, I found my worst fears realized. No historian has yet disclosed the awful horrors through which the Southern people in East Tennessee passed when the new war began. Suits were brought in all the courts against Rebel sympathizers to recover damages for the loss of cows, sheep, and hogs and horses and other property by Union men. Wherever a Union man had suffered loss of this sort at the hands of Confederate forces, he sued his Rebel neighbor, alleging a conspiracy and recovering judgment against him as an actor in the great rebellion. These judgments were afterwards declared unconstitutional by higher courts, but many homes were destroyed.\nArmed bands, composed of former Union soldiers, moved throughout the country, threatening, beating, and killing Southern soldiers who had returned home. The slightest resistance brought instant death to those who stood up against them, and with civil law no longer in existence, there was no semblance of protection. Notices were given to all Southern soldiers and sympathizers in many localities to leave the country, and failure to obey resulted in a horrible death. This war was more severe in those communities where Union sympathizers had been strongest. They had suffered from the persecutions and oppression of the Southern soldiery, who were either organized there or passed through their midst. When the draft was enacted.\nThousands of these Union men had fled in the night to Kentucky and other northern states where they either joined the army or went into civil business. They came back home after the war with hearts full of resentment, which soon took the form of terrible hostility.\n\nThe Rebels generally belonged to the better classes of East Tennessee, property owners. It was openly boasted by the returning Union soldiers and their sympathizers that \u201cthe bottom rail was on top,\u201d and they intended it to stay on top, consequently the presence of the Rebels was no longer desirable in the community.\n\nMy father, Dr. Alexander N. Harris, had been closely connected with the Southern side from the beginning. He had aided in taking Tennessee out of the Union, and as a consequence, indictments for treason were found against him in both the Federal and Confederate courts.\nBut the armed hordes, determined to depopulate the East Tennessee section by driving its Rebel sympathizers beyond its borders, showed especial vindictiveness against my father. He received word that he must leave the country or suffer ultimate consequences. He went into hiding; some of his neighbors provided him an asylum. Crowds of armed men continually visited his home, seeking to capture him for the declared purpose of killing him. The men who hunted him were the very ones he had treated with most kindness in the county. He was a very benevolent man and had kept many persons from starvation by dividing the last bushel of corn with them. These were the bitterest on his trail. He slept in the attic of a Dunkard Church, near the old home, and was fed by one of its members.\nmembers who kept the secret for him. I had heard my father complain about this old man. He killed his hogs, wounded and bruised his cows and calves when they got over into his fields. He showed little mercy to intruders. My father thought he was hard-hearted and had little of the milk of human kindness in his body. But when misfortunes came upon my father, of all the neighbors, the old Dunkard stuck closer to him than any other and saved his life many times.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhile this persecution was in progress, my father, along with a number of his neighbors, was called on to answer the indictments in the Federal Courts for treason. For this purpose, he was carried to Knoxville. The indictments included a great number of the Rebel sympathizers in East Tennessee. Judge Trigg, who was presiding on the Circuit bench, called:\nThe defendants in the indictments were to appear before him for trial. They all proceeded to Knoxville accordingly. An event that occurred in this trial did more to break my father\u2019s heart and bring about his death than anything that happened during these trying times. To understand this, it will be necessary to go back a year or two. My father's fortunes had been compelled by the war to seek refuge, and in order to protect his family from the roving bands that went up and down the country, he rented a house in Jonesboro and moved them there. The armies fought all through the upper portion of East Tennessee. Sometimes the Federals would occupy the country as far up as Bristol. At other times, the Southern armies would drive the Union soldiers back toward Knoxville, and the lower counties of East Tennessee were under their control. When the South gained control of the area, my father was forced to leave Jonesboro and move his family again. This constant upheaval took a toll on my father's health, and he passed away shortly after this trial.\nERN six soldiers were in possession of my father's home. When the Union soldiers prevailed, he would become a refugee, going out with the retreating soldiery to Virginia. On one occasion, when the Southern soldiers were in possession of the disputed ground and my father was at home, he was walking along the streets of Jonesboro and met a detachment of Confederate soldiers, having in charge a Union sympathizer, who had been captured on the raid. My father was a minister and Mason. The prisoner was a minister also, of the same church, and when he saw my father in the street, he at once gave to him what the Masons know as the \u201cGrand Hailing Signal of Distress.\u201d After acknowledging this, my father walked along with the lieutenant in command of the detachment, inquiring the particulars concerning the prisoner.\nThe lieutenant discussed the prisoner's arrest and intended disposition. He stated they were heading to Richmond to deliver him to Libby Prison authorities. The prisoner was a notorious Union sympathizer accused of treason and other crimes against the Confederacy. My father invited the lieutenant and detachment to supper, offering to entertain them and help in any way. The lieutenant accepted and brought the prisoner to our house for supper. When supper was ready, my father suggested the soldiers go to the dining room first, leaving the prisoner in his possession.\nThe soldiers left the room and began the meal. My father then raised the window on the side of the house farthest from the road and told the prisoner to go. He did so. Meanwhile, when the meal was nearly concluded, my father raised an outcry, announcing that the prisoner was trying to escape, and ran to the door, pointing in a different direction from that which the prisoner was taking. The search was in vain and the prisoner escaped. When my father was arraigned for trial on the indictment for treason, his counsel, who was Col. William Henry Maxwell of Jonesboro, moved a continuance. He alleged that the defendant hoped to secure an early pardon from the President and asked for time until his petition could be determined. All the other defendants made the same plea, and Judge Trigg promptly granted the same.\nMy father turned to the man standing in the court who he had released from the Confederate soldiers while they took supper at his home in Jonesboro. The man said, \"Dr. Harris, can you give bond for your appearance at the trial?\" My father saw a gentle man here who offered to stand his bond. Turning to Milburn, he asked, \"Brother Milburn, won't you stand my bond?\" Milburn drew himself up, and an indescribable scowl came upon his features as he replied, \"No, Sir, I will not stand your bond. Hell is full of people like you already, where you will be in a short time yourself!\" Tears rushed to my father's eyes, and he staggered, but two of his neighbors, Adam Sliger and William Reeves of Boone's Creek, who were also indicted, rushed to support him.\nThe man was grabbed and spoken to in the court house, all able to hear: \"Don't mind it, Aleck, we will stand your bond. You have plenty of friends here who will stand by you.\" The terrible injustice - the horrible display of ingratitude, broke the poor old man's heart, and he never recovered. His death occurred about six weeks later.\n\nWhen he returned home, the persecution became fiercer than ever. The house was searched again and again for him, and notices were nailed on the door warning him of death if he attempted to remain longer in the country. It was at this juncture that the old Dunkard came to his aid, as stated earlier, and hid him in the attic of the Dunkard Church, standing near the upper line of the homestead.\n\nAutobiography\n\nHe was watched, however, and his hiding place was discovered.\ncame it was known, and arrangements were made by his neighbor persecutors to arrest and kill him. The night was fixed, and some kind friend, getting word of it, gave him notice and advised him to leave.\n\nOne of our neighbors had been a captain in the Union army. He had never taken part in the persecutions, and my father sent for him and asked him to go with him across to North Carolina and protect him on the way. His name was Captain Nelson McLaughlin, and he immediately agreed to my father\u2019s request. On the night before the bands were to arrest him, he and Captain McLaughlin rode through the dark, going by the \u201cGreasy Cove\u201d and on to the North Carolina line.\n\nCaptain McLaughlin wore his soldier\u2019s uniform, and when he would meet the Union vigilantes, he would vouch for my father, saying, \u201cThis man is all right.\u201d\nI am taking him up here to see some of his sick people, or some such excuse. In this way, he reached the North Carolina line where the Captain left him and came back. So my father traveled alone on horseback, through the long stretch of country that lies between the Tennessee line and the town of Kingston, in the State of Georgia. What thoughts he had on the way no one can tell. He was leaving home and family and what friends remained, and going into a far country to seek among strangers the home that was denied him in his native land. For twenty years he had ministered to these people in East Tennessee. He had taught them the principles of religion. He had attended them in sickness, aided them as a physician, brought many of their children into the world, helped them in thousands of ways, getting very little compensation from any of them.\nThere were some men of property who employed him as a physician, but the majority were poor people living in log cabins in the mountains or in the little valleys, struggling with poverty and often working out of their homes for a living. He put very few charges on his books, yet when he was driven away, the unsettled accounts amounted to more than twenty thousand dollars. A country doctor, he had carried his medicines along with him and furnished them free, furnished his services free to the people who now sought to kill him or drive him into an endless exile. No more inexplicable example of indescribable ingratitude, I think, was ever presented in world history. To what depths of degradation, demoralization, and bitter hatred had this community descended when they drove into exile the man who had always befriended them.\nAnd he had only favored the Confederacy and aided in its administration. He acted as a surgeon for a portion of time in one of the regiments that went to Vicksburg, but resigned soon after and took up his practice again. He went to Kingston, Georgia, first, and then three miles above to the home of his nephews, who, as refugees from Virginia, had purchased a fine old homestead there. He began to preach in the churches at various points throughout the country, and it was said that his sermons were more powerful than any he had ever delivered in former days. It was his swan song, for his heart was broken and his body was failing fast. When we received advice from Georgia that he had gotten through safely, we made preparations to go to him. Meanwhile, the persecution continued against him.\nNotices appeared, nailed to the door, directing me to leave the country. Limits were set. The house was searched several times. My mother used to say that they even tore up the door step between the kitchen and the living room to see if I had hidden underneath it.\n\nWhile this was going on, I lived in a lime sink or a \u201csink hole,\u201d as we called it, in the day time and would come out at night to sleep on a little elevation adjacent to the sink hole. Here I learned to sleep with one eye open, watching for the coming of the \u201cAvengers,\u201d so called. I have seen at night the whole horizon lit up with the burning houses of the Rebels. Their foe had begun a war of extermination and they meant to carry it forward till every Rebel was banished from the land.\n\nMy father held a civil position.\nDuring my time in the Confederate government, the only objection to me was that I had worn Confederate gray. While this was happening, my mother informed me one day that it would be necessary for me to go to Jonesboro and buy coffee, sugar, and other necessities for her, as she planned to leave for Georgia as soon as possible to join my father. I decided to take the risk and go. I had brought home a fine Colt revolver with a five-inch barrel, and I buckled this under my clothes and went to the town. After I had made the purchases and was getting ready to leave, someone came running into the store where I was trading and said, \"A drunken Union soldier is coming down the street, shooting at everyone he meets, and he's looking for you.\" Someone had evidently informed him that I was in the town.\nI was advised to leave at once. My horse was hitched on Sevier Hill near where one of my mother's sisters formerly lived, and where I was accustomed to stop. I dashed across the little bridge, ran up to where the jail is now located, towards my horse. The man saw me and came after me with curses and yells like a Comanche Indian. He was on horseback and had a pistol in each hand and held his bridle in his teeth.\n\nWhen I had gone nearly half way up the hill, I saw that he would overtake me, that I could not escape him, and I concluded that my last moments were near. I turned in the center of the road, drew the revolver that never missed fire and never missed the object at which I aimed it, for I could kill a squirrel in the tallest tree with it. As he came rushing up towards me.\nI leveled it at him and called out in the loudest voice, \"Halt, if you come a step nearer, you are a dead man.\" He heard my voice and saw the pistol, evidently, for he jerked his horse back on its haunches and cried out, \"Hello, what does this mean?\" I did not answer anything, but held the pistol straight at his forehead. He looked into its muzzle for what seemed to me almost an age, and then he turned and rode back down into town.\n\nI can never forget the feeling that came over me as I stood up, fronting him on the old hill-side, where I had played as a boy. I had resolved to die and decided that this was as good a cause as would ever come to me. I got on my horse as soon as possible and left the town, for I knew the posse would be after me as soon as he informed his associates of my action.\nI searched the house, but I was hidden in the sink hole. A day or so after this, I determined to go down to some families on the river to see if I could collect a little money for my mother\u2019s journey to Georgia. My father's book-keeper was Jeff Wilson, an old-fashioned Southern gentleman, who never charged him a cent for his work and who took down his accounts from little pieces of paper, scraps from envelopes, and such things, that he carried in his pockets. These he would turn over to Mr. Wilson, and from them the accounts were constructed.\n\nThis visit had thrown me back considerably, and I was kept till dark going home. When I arrived within about a mile of the home, I heard voices in the road some distance ahead, as if some travelers were there.\nelders had grown a little hilarious as they were returning home from Jonesboro. I could not tell that there was any danger, but I felt the \"hunch\" I have spoken of before and turned aside from the road into the woods. It was very dark, and soon I could tell that a considerable crowd was moving along the road and I heard some of them say: \"We'll get him yet if we have to lay in wait and watch for a week.\"\n\nAfter they had passed me, I went back into the road and soon reached home. There my mother told me that the \"vigilantes\" had just left after searching the house for me and breathing out threats against me. I learned afterwards that they had met an innocent colored man about half a mile beyond the point where they had passed me and in the dark they rushed up to him, jerked him from his horse, threw him into the wagon, and took him away.\nA man and two others sat astride him, intending to kill him despite his cries, \"I am a colored man \u2013 I am a negro. You needn't hurt me.\" They apparently mistook him for me. Someone more sober in the crowd heard the cry and halted the men in time to save his life.\n\nI used to believe I had narrowly escaped. Shortly after this, my mother went to Georgia, and my brother Joe and I set out with one wagon, which he drove while I rode a mule following him. Captain McLaughlin escorted us both across the line, and we arranged for him to stay with us while we were gone. He remained with us for several years.\n\nWhen the persecution began in East Tennessee, it soon took the form of treason indictments. Many prominent citizens were indicted.\nI lived through the war. Those who survived were presented to the Federal Grand Jury at Knoxville, and indictments for treason were obtained against them. I drew up, at my father\u2019s dictation, a petition to be presented to the President, setting forth his connection with the Confederacy and stating his desire to be restored to citizenship since peace had come again. This petition was signed by a large number of citizens, who had been on the Union side, whose kind hearts desired to see a real restoration of peace to their war-worn community. I carried the petition around to the loyal citizens in Jonesboro, and not one man refused to sign. I recognized it was a great compliment to my father\u2019s standing and worth in the country. This petition, when completed, was sent on to a kinsman of the family, who was serving in Congress, with the request that he present it to the President.\nit was presented to the President at that time, upon my mother's request. Unfortunately, the spirit which had spread in our community had not reached Washington, and the Congressman to whom it was sent was later told to have placed it in his desk and never presented it. Many other citizens who had been indicted sent their petitions through Governor Brownlow at Nashville, to be forwarded by him to the President. The main purpose was to get the petition to the President's own eye, as nearly all those applying had been personal friends of Johnson before the days of secession and it was believed he would be glad to help out his old friends and former supporters. My father was sure that if Johnson ever saw his petition, the pardon would be immediately granted. A great number\nAn old Methodist class leader, named Boyles, who owned a large farm on Nola Chucky and was generally well-off, moved to Jonesboro for the same reasons as my father, to avoid roving bands of marauders. He had been a class leader in the church and considered himself a strong friend of Governor Brownlow, having attended many meetings where the Governor had officiated as a minister, and often meeting him around the same church altar. Indicted for treason at the same time as my father, he sent his petition for pardon through Governor Brownlow, asking him to approve.\nMr. Broyles went up to the Governor and shook his hand, expressing delight at seeing him again. He told the Governor that he had sent his petition for pardon through his office at Nashville and inquired about its status. The Governor replied, \"Yes, I received your petition and approved it. I sent it on to the President without delay. The fact that it has not been acted upon is entirely the President's fault. He is not paying much attention to the people here.\"\nA week or so later, a group of citizens who had forwarded their petitions came together and determined to send a man to Washington to look into the matter and see what caused the delay. A great number of pardons had been issued, but the President in some way had overlooked a greater number who sent their documents through the Nashville office. Money was made up to pay the expenses of a messenger, and Mr. Adam Broyles, a prominent merchant and leading citizen of Broylesville, close to where President Johnson had lived throughout his political career, was sent on to confer with the President and ascertain the cause of the delay. Mr. Broyles, on his return, gave a full account of the results of his visit. The President allowed him prompt access to his office when he called at the White House, and after their conversation.\nHe asked the President about petitions for pardons for citizens of Washington County, mentioning Jacob F. Broyles and others. Johnson replied, \"I have never seen these petitions; they have never been presented to me.\" He then called for his Secretary and directed a search. The petitions were found and brought in. Johnson was familiar with Jacob F. Broyles and opened the document. At the foot was written, \"AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 'This is not the class of persons deserving Executive clemency.' (Signed) William G. Brownlow, Governor of Tennessee.\" Johnson smiled and wrote below, \"Let this pardon issue immediately,\" signing it officially.\nThe Governor's disapproval prevented the Secretary from presenting these petitions to the President. The messenger returned with the pardons in his pocket, delighting the applicants with their delivery. It was discovered that my father's petition had not reached the President. It is needless to say that Jacob F. Broyles lost faith in the Governor of Tennessee when the messenger returned. It is probable that the Governor had forgotten the transaction, as a great number of these petitions had gone through his office. He took the risk in order to make the old man feel better towards him and blamed the President for the delay. Meanwhile, my father waited in Georgia, always believing that if his petition reached the President, it would be promptly granted. The fear of appearing in court added no little to the burden he carried.\nThe transaction in Jonesboro, when my father intervened between Mr. Johnson and the angry mob and put his own life in jeopardy to save him, could not have been forgotten by Mr. Johnson. Had the pardon reached Georgia in time, the life - that was so dear to us all - might have been prolonged. I believe the Congressman to whom the pardon petition was sent intended to present it, but in the multiplicity of his duties it escaped his attention until it was too late.\n\nAutobiography\nReprisals in East Tennessee\n\nThe general condition in East Tennessee has been described. In many cases, the vengeance of the Union soldiers or \u201cbush-whackers\u201d fell on some of my kindred. Two instances occurred before the war ended:\n\nI have already referred to the fate which overtook one of my cousins, Fiske Harris, a son of my uncle.\nHe was shot on the threshold of his home, held in his sister's arms, as I previously described. It was another proof of the fearful demoralization that had come upon the neighborhood. Facts were later discovered that some of his nearest neighbors were members of the band that ruthlessly murdered him, in a spirit of revenge.\n\nA case of equal atrocity occurred in Carter County, near the Washington County line. Robert Tipton, a nephew of Senator Landon C. Haynes' wife, had come home to spend a few days with his people. He held a commission as Captain and was esteemed as a very clever gentleman, brave and chivalrous and without stain. While he was sleeping at his home one night, a band of men, led by a man named Hetherly, from the mountains, surrounded the house, capturing Tipton.\nTurned him and shot him down in cold blood, with the reckless cruelty of medieval days. It is well understood that such transactions gave rise to a fierce desire on the part of Southern sympathizers to wage heavy retaliation upon those engaged in the warfare. It became ruthless, and often times without the suggestion of mercy on either side. Fiske Harris had been my playmate from boyhood. Although he was older than I, yet we had attended school together in Jonesboro and entertained the warmest feelings for each other as kinsmen and friends. Bob Tipton was known in our family as a young man of brilliant promise, a good soldier, a courageous gentleman, and promising to reach a high position in the army. Such deaths under such circumstances turned the milk of human kindness in the Southern heart to gall.\nsouls of East Tennessee. Murders were multiplied, occurring day by day in every neighborhood and throughout the whole country. The men who did these deeds, as long as the government rested in the hands of the Southern people, lived out in the mountains or in the caves and did their marauding in the night time, on the families of Southern sympathizers.\n\nNo wonder, therefore, that a war was declared which had very few parallels in the history of the Nation, after the Union men had triumphed and come back to their homes with guns in their hands. The controversy then assumed a different aspect. The Southerner took refuge in the caves and forests while the Northerner hunted him out for destruction.\n\nMy uncle, Nat Haynes, my mother\u2019s youngest brother, who was incapacitated for military service, having lost the use of one of his legs in his youth, told\nThe terrible fate that befell the band's leader, Bob Tipton, was caused by Hetherly of the Mountains. He led a large force of bushwhackers who raided the low lands at intervals. At the head of this force, he captured Tipton and murdered him at the home of Tipton\u2019s people, as detailed above. After the war, at a gathering in Carter County near Buffalo Creek, Hetherly boasted of Tipton\u2019s murder as one of his great achievements. In the course of his narrative, he mocked Tipton's pleas for mercy. He sneered at the young man's begging and imitated the way he begged to be spared, claiming it showed cowardice as the young man would have run if turned loose.\n\nApproximately thirty minutes after Hetherly had been bragging about this.\nA gentleman ridiculing poor Tipton, who was present, stepped up to Hetherly and began a quarrel. The quarrel grew fiercer, and in the progress of it, the assailant of Hetherly drew a pistol from his pocket and fired, mortally wounding him. In a moment, Hetherly turned and ran with all his might, screaming and yelling at the top of his voice and begging for his life. While still running, he plunged upon his face and died. My old uncle said that the spirit of Bob Tipton was close by in the air when Hetherly shouted his death cry.\n\nJourney to Georgia\nI have written several descriptions of our journey to Georgia. Some of these were headed \"Short Cuts on a Journey to Georgia,\" in which the journey was analogized to a trip from bondage to liberty.\nThe ancient Israelites traveled slowly over land, taking more than ten days. We deviated from General Jackson's old military road and reached Bartow County, near the place my father had rented for a home. He had written that he had secured a farm with a good house near old Pine Log. We arrived at this spot around the third of November in the afternoon. We were met by our kinsman, Dr. J.P. Hunter, who informed us of our father's serious illness and advised us to get to him as soon as practical. My brother Joe stopped at the farm with the wagon and horses while I rode on with Dr. Hunter. The doctor had studied medicine under my father and was ready for admission to practice around the same time he joined the Southern army and served through\nI. The war as a member of an artillery company. His service had brought him under the ban of the Union soldiers and he had refugeed likewise, to find a temporary home in Georgia. His fortune led him to the same point where my father and his kin stopped near Kingston.\n\nII. We rode from Pine Log, through the gloaming, a distance of some fifteen miles, to the home of my cousins, Mack and James Harris. I lost no time, but hurried to my father's bedside. I found him very low, out of his head, and death approaching fast. He seemed to know me when I called him, and rose up in the bed to put his arms around me, with my help, of course. It was only a moment that he roused himself and then sank back into the coma that preceded dissolution. He died the third day afterwards, on the sixth of November.\n\nIII. My father was attended by his nephew, Dr. Cramp-\nWatching, watching as the hours creep by,\nThe sad, dull pattering of the rain without,\nThe gasping breath - or feeble, feverish cry,\nThat withers up the soul, the longing hope\nThat life will cling nor quit its failing hold,\nWithin the languid clay; the abrupt stop\nExistence makes within its course of old.\n\nI had always respected him and admired him,\nAs well as loved him. I recognized his powerful intellect\nAnd brilliant endowments as a thinker and a speaker.\nI have heard very few men who could move an audience\nAs he.\n\nAutobiography\nA Watch Beside a Father's Death-bed\nThe gloomy thought that crowds upon the brain in ceaseless whirl,\nAn orphan - homeless, lost - the spectral train within the track of coming years I see,\nWhen life drags on without a father's care, that harbor for the troubled soul of youth;\nThe altar where he knelt to God in prayer deserted, 'reft of him who spoke its truth.\n\nTonight all, all arise to break my heart as slow, the weary moments pass me by,\nBeside a father's deathbed. Oft I start and oh! my heart is wrung with grief to see,\nDelirious pain transfix the breast and pierce his life, of mine the author.\nOh! to watch the progress of the monster as with fierce avidity he nears our midst to snatch,\nOur bosom's love away. To mark, Oh God! the feeble breath - the livid hue and eyes,\nFrom which the sight has fled, the leaping blood the changeful mutterings and delirious cries.\nPresaging death's advance,\nThe murky cloud of night that wraps the earth,\nAs midnight creeps apace, is but a tone\nWith that which shrouds my heart. The wild, dark dearth\nThat hope receding makes, is but a way\nSmooth paved for fell despair. Burns feebly yet,\nBut sure \u2014 though slow decay still gnaws and gnaws\nAnd soon will end the strife. I'm watching still,\nAnd still the ceaseless rain keeps pattering on the roof.\nThe little hours of morning drag along.\nI stop again to hear death's nearing footsteps on the floor,\nBut hark! A dying murmur meets my ear\nThe last that conscious nature gives \u2014 a sigh\nOf pain, that marks the monster's footsteps near,\nHis fastened fangs presage, \u201cMy son, come nigh.\u201d\nMy father's arms are 'round my neck, his breath\nFalls thick upon my cheek, while fast and hot\nMy tears make moist his breast \u2014 he speaks \u2014 Oh! death.\nNovember 3, 1865. Autobiography. My father's death left my mother with eleven children. All our property had been dispersed due to war results. My father was a slave holder, so all that property was gone. Our home was almost destroyed; a Union cavalry brigade had camped on it for some time. They cut the timber, burned the fences, and destroyed the outbuildings. Desolation replaced where our family had dwelt in Tennessee. After consultation, we decided to bury my father in Georgia. We were exiles, driven from home and couldn't take him back. There was a Baptist church nearby called \"Conisena,\" and there we determined to make his grave. It was located in a mountain gap above Kingston, and the forest trees surrounded it.\nReached a small clearing where the church stood. Intended to remove his remains from there as soon as possible if our home in East Tennessee was resumed. Searched for a place outside and away from other graves, so he could be moved more easily without disturbing the surrounding graves. Neighbors gathered and watched the burial, a few words being said by a Presbyterian minister who happened to be present.\n\nWrote these verses after his burial, describing the surroundings:\n\nTHE ELDER'S GRAVE\n\nAway in a dark, tangled thicket,\nWhere dwarf pines and underbrush grow,\nWhere oaks like tall sentinels picket,\nTo warn the first notes of the foe.\nWhere night-birds screech horrible numbers,\nTo genii from fountain and glade,\nAnd ceaseless gloom palls his lone slumbers,\nThe grave of the Elder is made.\n\nAutobiography.\nAround him are sleeping the minions,\nThat people the van of the storm,\nAbove him weird shadowy pinions\nSweep over his mouldering form.\nA moment the daylight is stealing,\nTo brighten his clay-covered tomb,\nOne moment \u2014 when staggered and reeling,\nIt yields the dominions to gloom.\nCut off by the malice of foemen,\nFrom home and the friends of his breast,\nThe hands of the kind mountain yeomen\nHave laid him with strangers to rest.\nThe echoless graves which are near him,\nNo bones of his kindred contain,\nNo brethren, who learned to revere him,\nInhabit the silent domain.\nAnd Nature will watch over his slumbers,\nA mourner through fathomless years,\nWill chant for his requiem her numbers,\nAnd weep o'er his bosom her tears.\nAnd, oh, if the angels are holding\nA crown for a suffering son,\nHe'll wear it thru cycles unfolding\nWith stars for his martyrdom won.\nWhen time with its leaps and dashes has finished its ruin, his body will spring from its ashes to herald the trumpet of God. When our family returned to East Tennessee, we were unable to move my father's remains. A large number of his kindred, who had come to Georgia, had died in the meantime and were buried near him. The plot in the graveyard was set aside for these. After his death, the family took possession of the house and home he had rented. We had brought down our horses and some of the plows which we used in Tennessee on the old farm and began to prepare for making a crop. The farm was rented from Mr. Gibbons, a Virginian who had moved from it.\nThe state and he had purchased several large tracts of land in the neighborhood. He was a clever, genial old gentleman, and showed great sympathy for the exiles. His oldest son, John R. Gibbons, who had served in the Confederate army in Virginia, became one of my closest friends. Our method of farming was entirely new to the citizens around us. The plows that we brought were large turning plows, called the \u201cHolston Farmer,\u201d and were intended to turn the ground over at a depth of from ten to twelve inches. This method had never been followed in the neighborhood, and the citizens often gathered around the fields where we worked to see the novel sight. I heard some of the old men mutter, \"This farming will never come to anything. These people are running against Nature.\"\nIt ought not to be disturbed. We planted some cotton, but depended mostly on corn and succeeded very well in our first year's venture. Our deep plowing saved us from the result of a terrible drought that came upon us. There were about nine hundred acres in the farm. The house was painted white, large and commodious, and the out houses were abundant. We named the place \"Forest Lodge.\" It had been owned by a slave-holding family and was consequently in much better condition than would naturally have been expected. I was at this time only twenty years of age, and my brother Joe, who was just seventeen, was the mainstay of the family as he knew how to handle all agricultural implements and was never afraid to work and was never idle. My next brother, Alex, had passed thirteen and he soon learned to make a full hand on the place.\nWe remained on the farm for three years, trying to recover from the horrors of the war. None of the children could go to school, but all of us tried to improve ourselves. The older of us read and the younger children learned the rudiments. We went to work by sun-up and worked till sun-down, following the broad turning plows or the \u201cbull tongues\u201d and shovels, putting out or cultivating the crops for our living.\n\nIn the fall of our second year on the farm, we raised a reasonably good crop, having planted six or seven acres in cotton, which was, of course, an entirely new thing to us. This cotton sold at thirty cents a pound, and after paying rent, left us some three or four bales. We carried it to Kingston and sold it for $150.00 a bale, paying a United States tax on each bale, amounting to $15.00.\nI did a good deal of writing at home at night and on rainy days, when we could rest from the labors of the farm. Several essays were written and many verses composed, some of which I shall perhaps include in another volume of reminiscences.\n\nMy going to college was, of course, one of the great events in my life and deserves another chapter.\n\nI. How I Came to Go to College\n\nIn the first year of the Civil War, before I joined the army, my father sent me to Jonesboro to purchase some drugs to be used in his business as a physician. He bought his goods from a druggist named Dillworth, who kept an up-to-date drug store in the town, and who, by the way, was a cousin of Walter B. Hill, afterwards my partner in Georgia. While I was standing in the drug store, after making the purchases one day, I heard Mr. Dillworth and another gentleman discussing the war and its progress. They spoke of the hardships the soldiers were enduring and the need for more medical personnel to care for them. I was deeply moved by their conversation and decided then and there that I wanted to help in some way. I told my father of my decision, and he encouraged me to pursue my education so that I could become a doctor and serve my country. And so, I went to college.\nMr. Dilworth conversed about Georgia and mentioned, \"I believe Alexander Stephens is a greater man than Ben Hill, as he educated about fifty young men, providing the money for their college expenses.\" This remark stayed with me and resurfaced in Georgia after the war when we rented the Pine Log place. In the third year of our settlement, I pondered, \"What will be the result for my future? Eleven children and a mother to care for, I am the eldest born. I knew an iron destiny held me to the family's support, as my mother regarded me as the new head after my father's.\"\nWhile walking along the furrow with the plow handles in my hands one day, the conversation between Mr. Dillworth and the other gentleman came back to me. By the time I had reached the end of the row in the field, I had determined to write to Mr. Stephens and ascertain if he was willing to help a boy in my situation. That night, I found a brown piece of paper and with some ink made from nut galls that fell in the yard from the oak trees, I wrote my letter to Mr. Stephens. I recited the conversation I had heard concerning him; told him that I was an exile from East Tennessee, driven out by the war; that my father had died in Georgia and I was left without any funds on earth that could be used to obtain an education. I made an appeal to him.\nI believe you were in Congress with some of my people. I wrote on the wall that night the following verse that commemorated my dilemma for a long time:\n\nNEEDING A POSTAGE STAMP\nOf all the woes,\nOf song and prose,\nIn life\u2019s bewildering tramp,\nNo worse is found,\nThan when aground,\nTo need a postage stamp.\nOh, that the race\nMight somehow trace,\nIn court and hall and camp,\nHow devilish sore,\nIs one too poor,\nTo buy a postage stamp!\nYe Gods! the groan,\nThe rising moan,\nAs wanes life\u2019s glimmering lamp,\nWith money fled,\nAnd credit dead,\nTo want a postage stamp!\n\nI borrowed the postage stamp and sent this letter off with more hope than expectation. In due time, his reply was received, and I was asked to come see him at Crawfordville. Of course, this created a great sensation. I was able to borrow enough.\nI went to Crawfordville to see Mr. Stephens using money from my neighbors for the railroad fare. He had written to me from Liberty Hall, and upon reaching the town, I was shown his residence. A citizen instructed me to enter by the back porch, where I found Mr. Stephens sitting as usual. I went up the steps and saw him reading with a large pile of newspapers around his chair. As I entered the porch, he looked at me with seemingly charcoal-black eyes and asked, \"Who are you, Sir?\" I answered, \"I am the boy you wrote to about going to college.\" \"Ah,\" he replied, \"come in,\" and without asking me to take a seat, he said, \"In your letter, you stated you thought I was in Congress with some of...\"\nI replied: \"I think you were in Congress with my uncle, N.G. Taylor, who married my mother's sister.\"\n\"Ah! Yes, I heard him speak on the Kansas Lecompton Compromise in 1855. Anyone else?\"\n\"Yes, Sir, I think you were in the Confederate Senate with my uncle, Landon C. Haynes, my mother's brother.\"\nI saw his eyes flash and his face light up as he replied quickly: \"Are you a nephew of Landon C. Haynes?\"\nI said, \"Yes, Sir, he is my mother's brother.\"\nThen he made the remark that rang through my young ears for many a day.\n\"Landon C. Haynes had more brains in his head than all the Confederate Senate molded into one. If you are his nephew, I will give you a chance.\"\nI then sat down and he stated the terms, telling me he would take my note at 4% interest payable\nAfter graduation, he fixed the amount he would send me each month and I went home with great elation.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhen I joined the Army, I intended to enter the Junior class at one of our nearby colleges, but the war had driven such matters out of my head, and I doubted if I could get into the Sophomore class. I had learned more about war than books. Upon my return home, a family council was called, and my mother's consent to my leaving was obtained. This was secured by my brother, Joseph, who was three and a half years my junior, volunteering to take charge and look after the family while I was absent. I promised that if this was done, I would make up to him in some way for the sacrifice he was making.\nI made arrangements for my mother's care from the earnings of my oldest son once I finished college. This is how I managed to attend the University.\nAided by Dr. William H. Felton\n\nAfter deciding to enter the University and making arrangements with Mr. Stephens, I began to review my studies and take up subjects from the catalog that I thought might be challenging for me in the institution.\n\nI made an arrangement with Dr. William H. Felton, who at that time was considered the most eloquent speaker in Bartow County, in fact, in our part of the state. He was a University graduate and agreed to help me both in review and in moving forward with my Latin and Greek studies. I rode from our home at Pine Log to his house, a distance of some miles.\nThe doctor taught me eight or ten miles away, twice a week, and recited to him. His teaching proved to be a great advantage, making my entrance into the University certain. He charged me nothing for this help.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe doctor took considerable interest in my career, and his wife, Mrs. Felton, who has since achieved a distinction second to no woman in the American Union, gave me much advice from which I profited throughout my career. She continued to write to me after I had entered college, and I record here my thanks to her for the help she and her great husband rendered to me at this time. I may say that Dr. Felton continued his friendship with me until the last day of his life. When the monument was dedicated to him in Cartersville, I made one of the principal addresses on that momentous occasion.\nI visited Tennessee one more time before going to college, in 1867. Residing at Spring Place in Murray County was a connection of the family named John Broyles, who had come out from Washington County under the same circumstances as I, and had married Sarah Harris, daughter of Uncle Wesley Harris, to whom I have referred heretofore. He had been seriously wounded in the latter part of the war and the wound had never healed. Our family always regarded Dr. Paul F. Eve, who taught in the medical college at Nashville, as the greatest surgeon of our day. Mr. Broyles was anxious for him to perform an operation that was necessary before his wound would heal. He wrote and requested me to go to Nashville with him, offering to pay all expenses, that I might look after him and see that he received proper care.\nI agreed to undergo a major operation for my husband's proper treatment, as declared by Dr. Eve. We met and took the train to Nashville. The medical college students observing the operation came down to the operating room. The ether was administered, and an attendant, who was one of the young students, stood by with a basin of water. As the blood began to spurt out, this young man turned pale and was about to drop the basin. The doctor quickly asked me to take it, which I did until the operation was concluded. Several students showed paleness when the young man staggered and came near dropping the basin.\nThe operation was extremely successful, and at the end of about two weeks, Mr. Broyles was able to travel. I met Dr. Eve several times after the operation. When I had told him my father's name and my own situation as an exile, he said to me, \"You have the fortitude to make a great surgeon. If you will stay in Nashville and enter the college, I will give you a ticket to the lectures free, and you can follow the steps of your father, and perhaps become an ornament to the profession.\" I thanked him kindly for the offer, and for a while entertained a notion that it might be well for me to take advantage of it. Subsequent events drifted me into an entirely different channel.\n\nI entered the University of Georgia at the fall session of 1867. After much tribulation, I succeeded in getting into the Sophomore class. As was said here.\nBefore my war experience, I had almost forgotten everything I had learned or studied before entering the army. I was compelled to stand an examination in my studies, and I remember that when my good old teacher, Professor Rutherford, began to question me, he wrote down the following equation on a paper in algebra:\n\nX + I/2x = 10.\n\n\"Now, he said, 'find the value of x.'\n\nI looked at the equation for a while and then said to him:\n\n'Professor, I don't believe I can work that out, but if you will give me a little time, say thirty days, I will make it up to you so I can go on.'\n\nProfessor Rutherford laughed and said, 'All right, you will have to take lessons from me outside of school hours.'\n\nI studied harder, perhaps, because he passed me under the circumstances. I took lessons from him for a while.\nI can remember a few weeks after that, his kind words strongly appealed to me, and I determined never to fall behind in his department. I made the highest mark in every mathematical study belonging to the course from that time until I graduated. I owe much of this to the dear old professor's teaching and advice. I had great difficulty conforming my ideas to those of the classroom. I had commanded men and mingled in great armies, and when I got into the classroom, the quizzing by the professors and the nervousness shown by the students caused me to underestimate the whole process. It looked so small and so childish compared to the great events in which I had mingled, taking some time for me to adjust and get into harmony with the situation.\nI led the Sophomore class from the beginning. I had joined the Phi Kappa Society and began to take an interest in the debates. The society required a certain number of original compositions to be written and read every Saturday at the opening of the society. My first exercise of this kind was an essay on the subject \u201cBurning the Bark off the Green Log.\u201d I wish I could quote this, for it seemed to attract considerable attention, and a report went out through the college concerning it. But the original has been lost, and I preserved no copy. In this society at that time there were many young men who afterwards became celebrated, taking prominent positions in the State and Nation. Henry W. Grady was one of these, Peter W. Meldrim, A. Pratt Adams, and others. In the college, too, were a number of promising young men.\nThere were many men whose accomplishments had made their names well-known throughout the country. Among them were a large number of students who had served in the late war and others who had faced all the dangers of the time until they were almost considered soldiers. There was also something akin to a Ku Klux Klan organization in the town, taking in some of its citizens. In connection with this organization, a circumstance occurred in the college that had far-reaching consequences in subsequent events in which I was involved. Our old war governor, Joseph E. Brown, in the beginning of the fearful days that ushered in the Reconstruction period, apparently switched sides and took a hand, as it later appeared, in trying to adjust affairs throughout the State for the purpose of gaining control.\nHis course created bitter feeling against him among ultra-Southern citizens, resulting in his denunciation from a great number of platforms and scorn and derision from the loyal people of the State. The hatred for Governor Brown became so great that the mention of his name in a Southern audience aroused a feeling of resentment that could not be controlled.\n\nGovernor Brown's oldest son, Julius L. Brown, was a member of the Senior class at this time. He was a fine student, holding a position among the first in his class. He was very pious, prayed in public, worked in the Sunday school, and led our prayer meetings inside the college campus. He showed an excellent spirit.\nIn all his associations with the school's students, when his father's unpopularity reached its highest point, this band of students and outside citizens determined to drive him out of the college. His room was on the campus, and they appointed a night on which they proposed to kidnap him, flog him, and carry him beyond the limits of the county, threatening him with dire punishment if he ever came back. The word reached me, and I went down to his room on the night that the event was to occur. When the masked detachment came near the door, I went down from off the steps and called a halt to the approaching crowd. They stopped, and the leader said, \"What does this mean?\" Then I declared myself and said, \"You cannot come any further without going over my body. I am here to defend Mr. Brown, and I intend to do so at all costs.\"\nI have heard the bullets whistle around my head many a day, and I mean what I say. Boys, you cannot touch this young man without first killing me.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThey tried to reason with me, but I told them it was no use. I was determined, and their purpose must be given up. After a few more words, the crowd left. I was then supposed to be leading my class, which included a number of Confederate soldiers. I think the crowd respected me more than I deserved.\n\nMr. Brown heard the whole conversation. He was sitting in his room with a large army revolver in his hands and had declared that he would die in his tracks before they should drive him out of the school. This was the last of the efforts made against him, and he graduated with distinction.\n\nIt is needless for me to say that this action on my part.\nI made a strong friend out of Julius Brown. I loved him sincerely, and we corresponded for many years after he left college. Even in his latter days, he never met me without putting his arms around my shoulder and telling me how much he loved me. The incident no doubt had its effect on his conduct in after years. His father had become Senator Brown at the time of his death and had successfully explained his apparent leanings to the parties figuring in the Reconstruction period. He left a large estate, reaching beyond the million dollars, and Julius was appointed one of the executors. A misunderstanding arose between him and the other family members, not including his brother Joe, and when Julius died, before any reconciliation had taken place, it was found that he had left two-thirds of his property to\nThe Georgia School of Technology in Atlanta stated in the preamble that he believed it was doing more good for the country than all the other schools and colleges in Georgia combined. I sometimes think he would never have done this if not for our companionship and what grew out of it at the old University.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThere were two secret clubs or fraternities at the University when I entered. One of these, Chi Phi, soon asked me to join, and I was initiated in due and regular form.\n\nBefore the year had expired, Mr. Stephens wrote me that due to some heavy expenses that had come upon him, he would not be able to furnish the money for my continuing in the institution. This, of course, left me high and dry, as I didn't have enough money to pay my fare home, much less to meet board expenses.\nI. Expenses in the college. The institution had relieved me from the payment of tuition, but the board was a fixed charge and could not be avoided. I had taken up quarters with a Mrs. Moore, who kept a boarding house in what was known as \u201cNew College.\u201d I occupied a room here on the second floor, and the son of the landlady roomed with me.\n\nWhen I received word from Mr. Stephens that he would not continue the payments, I prepared to leave the University after commencement. My mother still resided at the farm on Pine Log, and I intended to walk home as I had no means of paying the railroad fare. Meanwhile, someone in the college told General Howell Cobb, former Governor and Secretary of the Treasury, my situation and intentions. He was living then in Athens and was looked upon as one of the great men of Georgia. He was a trustee of the institution.\nHe sent a messenger asking me to call and see him, which I promptly did. After he had heard my story, he said to me: \"You shall not give up your college course. Come on back for the next session and I will do for you what Mr. Stephens had agreed to do.\" I could never describe the sensation that came over me when he made this offer. I had thought my career had come to an end and that I must go back to the farm and to the support of the mother and children. General Cobb did not stop with this proposition. He found out that I was intending to walk home to Bartow, and one night sometime afterwards, as I was sitting in the room at the \"New College\" there was a knock on the door. The room was dark as I was about to give it up and we had no electric lights then. I opened the door and told the visitor to come in. He\nI did so, and stretching out his hand in the gloom of the place, he shook mine and left thirty-two dollars in my hand. He turned and immediately went from the room and was down the stairs before I had ascertained what he had done. I learned afterwards that General Cobb and some of the other citizens of Athens had made up the money to enable me to go home on the train. I left the next day for Bartow County.\n\nA short while after reaching home, through some arrangement, as I recall, between myself and my Uncle Wesley Harris, I agreed to go back to East Tennessee to attend to some matters concerning the sale of my uncle's home to a Mr. Garber. I came back through Asheville on the journey home and stopped in a store to purchase some necessities for the remainder of the trip.\nI mentioned to the store keeper that I was heading to Georgia, where I had been attending the University. He replied, \"I have a nephew in the University.\" I asked for his name; he told me it was George Summey. George had visited him during the vacation and shared that he was trying to make the first mark in the class but had fallen behind. He added that \"a fellow from Tennessee, named Harris, was leading the class.\"\n\nI received the first word of the college and learned that I was truly leading the class at the end of the session. This news came to me on my journey back to Georgia in Asheville, North Carolina. My heart felt better the entire way after this, as I had studied hard and my marks were high, but I had entered \"with conditions\" and was afraid I wouldn't succeed.\nGeorge Summey did not graduate but went to a Presbyterian university where he took a high stand and became a distinguished minister of that church and a teacher in its educational system. I returned to Georgia and stayed with my mother until very near to the opening of the next term. Then an event occurred, which left me again hanging in the air. Notice went throughout the country that Gen. Howell Cobb had died suddenly in New York on October 9th, 1868. The University authorities called us all together to attend the funeral and I found myself again without help in the effort to get an education. The Phi Kappa Society and the Chi Phi Fraternity both came to my aid and enough money was made up to pay the $15.00 per month for board due to Mrs. Moore, and in this way I was able to go on.\nMajor Barnwell, a Confederate soldier from South Carolina who became the Librarian in Georgia, offered me the job of cataloging the library books. From these three sources, I managed to raise enough money to continue in the University until the end of the term. Meanwhile, Henry W. Grady and Peter W. Meldrim, my club mates in the Senior class of the previous year, visited Crawfordville and conferred with Mr. Stephens about my case.\n\nThe result of this visit was a letter from Mr. Stephens saying that, as he had recovered from the financial reverses that had befallen him, he was now able to spare the money necessary for me to complete my college course. From this time until my graduation, I had no further financial troubles.\nIt  was  a  kindness  on  the  part  of  these  club  mates \nto  take  up  my  cause  with  Mr.  Stephens  and  aid  me  in \nthis  great  emergency  of  my  life.  Mr.  Grady  was  al\u00ac \nways  my  friend  up  to  his  death.  Georgia  has  had  few \nmen  like  him.  He  was  the  uncrowned  king  of  our \ngreat  commonwealth.  Without  ever  having  held  a \npublic  office,  he  exercised  a  wider  influence  on  the  State \nthan  any  other  man  living  in  it  during  his  time. \nOnce  when  an  almost  fatal  sickness  had  come  upon \nme,  and  a  surgical  operation  was  necessary  to  save \nmy  life,  I  called  on  Dr.  Willis  Westmoreland,  Senior, \nof  Atlanta,  to  operate.  He  told  me  himself  afterwards \nthat,  according  to  the  medical  books,  I  had  about  one \nchance  in  one  hundred  to  get  well.  When  it  became \nknown  that  he  was  to  operate  he  stated  to  me  that \nHenry  W.  Grady  and  Evan  P.  Howell  both  came  to \nsee  him  and  used  words  like  these: \n\"Dr. Westmoreland, save Nat Harris. Something in Georgia is for him to do, and we need him here. In 1915, when I was Governor, a vacancy occurred in the Superior Court bench at Savannah. Several lawyers applied, among them Peter W. Meldrim and W.B. Stubbs. I may note here that, as the prohibition question entered the situation, my wife favored the appointment of Mr. Stubbs.\n\nIt soon became known that I was leaning towards General Meldrim, and a large delegation came up from Savannah to urge Mr. Stubbs' appointment while opposing General Meldrim. After the argument\"\n\"had concluded I made this remark to the delegation: \"Gentlemen, if it had not been for Peter W. Meldrim and the help he gave me in college, I would not have been here as Governor. Would you think that I ought to overlook him under the circumstances, when I know he is fully qualified for the position? I could not do it, gentlemen, and keep the place I hold a day longer.\"\n\nA commencement oration. Under the rules of the institution, the two societies, Phi Kappa and Demosthenian, were entitled to elect a speaker to represent them at commencement. Such speakers had always been elected from the Senior class. In my Junior year, the Phi Kappa society, unexpectedly and without any suggestion from me whatsoever, elected me to the place. I had some scruples at first about accepting, and one of the Seniors, who ought to have been:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be in good shape and does not require extensive cleaning. The only minor correction needed is the missing \"was\" in the last sentence to make it grammatically correct: \"one of the Seniors, who ought to have been there,\")\n\n\"had concluded I made this remark to the delegation: 'Gentlemen, if it had not been for Peter W. Meldrim and the help he gave me in college, I would not have been here as Governor. Would you think that I ought to overlook him under the circumstances, when I know he is fully qualified for the position? I could not do it, gentlemen, and keep the place I hold a day longer.'\n\nA commencement oration. Under the rules of the institution, the two societies, Phi Kappa and Demosthenian, were entitled to elect a speaker to represent them at commencement. Such speakers had always been elected from the Senior class. In my Junior year, the Phi Kappa society, unexpectedly and without any suggestion from me whatsoever, elected me to the place. I had some scruples at first about accepting, and one of the Seniors, who ought to have been there, advised me against it.\"\nI had had the place, I complained to the Society and asked that the appointment be revoked. However, they refused to do so. I then conferred with the Senior and told him that if he still objected, I would decline the place. He generously advised me to take it, telling me that he did not blame me for his disappointment but blamed the Society. I made the address on one of the nights of the commencement week, and I hope to publish it in connection with these memoirs some day. The subject was \"Wait and Hope.\" In this year, there were two young men in the class who were destined to influence my career through life. One was A. Sibley Campbell, from Augusta, Georgia, who joined the class at the opening of the Junior term. He was a bright scholar, rather red-headed, and shared the first honor with me, delivering the valedictory address.\nThe Valedictory addressed the class. The other was Walter B. Hill, who had joined the class at the spring term of 1868, entering Sophomore half advanced. Both these boys attracted me very much. They were much younger than I was, and both took an advanced position in the class immediately upon entering.\n\nWhen Walter Hill came to the University to enter the Sophomore class, his father and mother came with him. They stopped at the boarding house in the college where I was rooming and I met them first at the table. There was something about the son's face that attracted me. I felt the same \u201chunch\u201d I have spoken of in one or two places in these memoirs. I called it a strange, weird influence that came over me, as if the future was throwing some kind of a spell about me.\n\nI soon became acquainted with all three \u2014 the father, mother, and son.\nI. Mother and son. Walter showed me the natural deference a young student would show to an older one, especially as the older one was apparently leading the class. His father also showed some apparent desire to have me cultivate the acquaintance of his boy. I have always said that I fell in love with Walter Hill the first moment I saw him, and that love never passed, but lasted as long as he lived. I soon had our secret society invite Walter Hill to become a member, which he did. Walter Hill began to influence the college. He was far beyond in mental development the average of the class and soon came to be looked upon as one of the brightest in its ranks. Sibley Campbell was also made a member of the Autograph, Chi Phi, and went to the front in the class. Walter Hill took third honor when we graduated.\nThe entrance of Sibley Campbell into the class exercised a considerable influence on my future. From the beginning, he exhibited a wonderful talent in handling the Latin and Greek languages. He seemed thoroughly efficient in these studies. He had entered the college under the auspices of Prof. William Henry Waddell, who had these two departments under his charge, and the marks in these studies had a large influence on the general standing in the class. He aroused a deep interest in Prof. Waddell, which continued from his first recitation to the end of his course, and it soon became apparent that he would have to be reckoned with in the award of honors.\n\nI have always felt that it was a fortunate circumstance for me that Prof. Waddell took it into his head to get married during this Junior year. He had wooed and married Miss Fanny Brown, a young lady of refinement and culture, who proved to be an excellent influence on him and the class.\nand I won a beautiful widow who lived in Marietta, Georgia, and he obtained leave of absence from the institution to make his honeymoon include a visit to Europe. While he was absent, the Greek Department, in which I had gone down and Sibley Campbell had gone forward, was put in charge of Dr. Morris. The result was that I made one hundred in all my marks in these departments while Prof. Waddell was away. I think I got more encouragement from Dr. Morris. This gave me such a standing in the class that I could not entirely lose the lead. When Prof. Waddell returned, the student body of the college selected me to make the welcome address. We had a great celebration and the entire college, with a considerable number of citizens outside, met in front of the chapel and a formal welcome was tendered to the returning professor. I am sorry I\n\nAutobiography.\nI do not recall this address. I remember only one or two sentences. I said as we stood face to face before the great student body:\n\n\"We meet you, Professor, on your return to us with the best wishes for your happiness that can be conceived. We trust that your life, and that of the beautiful lady who has taken your name, will flow on in the future like the River Pactolus, over golden sands. And we welcome your return with no lack of unanimity and with a sincerity that can never be doubted.\"\n\nI have sometimes thought that my earnest words, strange as it may seem, were due largely to the feeling that some of the boys had suggested, that is, that my continued standing in the class depended more on him than on any other professor.\n\nHis wife became one of my best friends and I look back on my association with her with the sweetest and most fond memories.\nShe was a splendid lady who showed students her interest and welfare wish. It's wonderful how much influence a good woman's advice can have on a student in the early part of his career. Colonel William LeRoy Broun, who taught the Physics Department, invited me to stay awhile in his home during the latter part of my college course. There, I met Mrs. Broun, a woman of great intelligence. If she had lived in these latter years, she would have shown herself worthy of leading in all movements of her sex.\n\nLike a college boy, I had fallen in love with two or three young ladies residing in the city, and I made Mrs. Broun my confidante. I imagined my attachment to some of my sweethearts would last for life, but Mrs. Broun completely upset all my calculations. She told me:\n\n(Autobiography continues here)\nI had no business thinking about getting married until I had made something to support the woman who was willing to share my life. She painted the horrors of poverty in the household of a young man who was just starting out to make something of himself in the world. She showed me how cruel such a marriage would be to the young lady herself, and made me feel that the wrong would be incalculable and unending if I should persuade a fine young woman to share a life of toil and penury, as mine was destined to be. She knew I had a mother to support and a number of brothers and sisters to educate, and she gave me such advice concerning my duties that the effect of the same has never passed from my heart.\n\nThe great craze for athletics was just beginning when I was in college.\nIn my Sophomore year, I was elected President of \"the Champion Baseball Club.\" This club practiced on the University grounds and became quite expert in the game. The main club, however, was patronized mostly by Seniors and was known as the \u201cDixie Club.\u201d The boys in this club became so expert that they challenged the clubs of various institutions in the State and began to go around playing championship games for the State.\n\nThe first nine of my club was induced to stand up against the first nine Dixie on the University grounds once, but the result was a complete overthrow of our club\u2019s nine.\n\nThe first nine Dixie played at various places. I recall that it went to Watkinsville and played against the club there, called the \u201cPop and Go\u201d Club. It beat the Watkinsville club, in fact, I do not now recall any other details.\nThe game where the first nine Dixie was ever defeated. I was elected President of the Phi Kappa Society several times and at every inauguration, I delivered an address on some subject appropriate to the occasion. I have been sorry to know that these societies have since my time gone down in attendance and become of smaller moment in the eyes of the student body. I look back on my connection with their debates and other exercises with almost as much gratitude and appreciation as I do upon the regular exercises of the institution.\nI once heard Mr. Samuel M. Inman say that he made a mistake in sending his son to Princeton instead of the University of Georgia. He wanted him to become a good speaker, but found that only slight attention was paid to such matters at Princeton University. I have long been connected with the Board of Trustees of the University of Georgia and have steadily fought to keep in the minds of the student body the importance of these societies. I put into the Code of the State the enactment touching these societies, fondly hoping that in this way I might stop the steady decline in interest, which threatened to leave them neglected.\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nThe work of these societies made up almost the entire course in our colleges for the student body. The course in our colleges has become more a business matter than otherwise, and it has been forgotten that even a businessman or a technically educated man finds that a training which enables him to speak in public on his feet is no mean accomplishment in the struggle for success.\n\nMY GRADUATION\nAnd so I came to my graduation at last. I was selected to deliver the Valedictory to the Trustees, faculty and audience, and the great old Chancellor, Dr. Lipscomb, delivered the diploma to me with the ancient formula: \u201cHoc tibi diploma,\u201d etc.\n\nI also received a diploma from the debating society, which was awarded with alumni present and one of them presiding. This diploma was a certificate of efficiency in the Phi Kappa Society.\nI have mentioned Dr. Lipscomb's name as the Chancellor. He was a man of wonderful endowments, of world-wide reputation, and his influence on the student body at that time was unparalleled in the history of the college. I counted him a great man; worthy to live in history with the greatest intellects of his age, in educational affairs. No man left any deeper impression upon the student body, who came in contact with him, and his teachings were always on the side of morality and the general uplift of the race. I would be sorry to pass over in this short record of my college life the name of Prof. Morris. A man profoundly educated, a deep thinker, and yet possessing a heart that sympathized with suffering and sorrow. His energies were devoted to causing his students to understand the height, depth, and breadth of all subjects.\nHe taught them. He tried to make his teachings reach further, perhaps, than any other professor in the school. I wish to lay this humble tribute on his tomb. All the professors were kind to me. When Judge Linton Stephens of Sparta forwarded a request to the Chancellor and Faculty, asking them to send him a teacher for his daughters, the Faculty, at the suggestion of Prof. Waddell, unanimously selected me to fill the position. The pay was one thousand dollars per annum, and it was stated that the young ladies had already received a very considerable training in French and Latin as well as in higher mathematics. It was said, therefore, that the man who was sent should be well grounded in all these studies. I accepted the position and forthwith set about to increase my education in French. I arranged with Prof. Charbonnier to.\nI took private lessons and spent three months after graduation polishing myself in this branch of learning. I seemed to have made some reputation with the people of Athens outside the college, as when I was graduated, the citizens and many students solicited me at the hotel and called on me for a speech. I refused to go out to speak to them, though they shouted my name until they were hoarse, and here I commenced to take the first road to deserved obscurity. I am tempted to write here that I made an ass of myself.\n\nEpisodes\nTwo or three things occurred in my Senior year that ought to be noted. My roommate and classmate, Eugene Hawkins, ran off and married Miss Mary Ann McCleskey about three months before our graduation. In this way, he lost his degree.\n\nAutobiography\nThe young lady was engaged to marry George B. (The text ends abruptly here.)\nA great friend of mine, George Bancroft, who had taken the first honor in the Senior Class when I entered college, asked me to become one of his attendants. I had consented, as I was very much attached to him and was a great admirer of Miss Mary Ann, his proposed wife. She was a favorite in college, and I should say very nearly half the student body was in love with her. My agreement to stand up with George Bancroft caused me a good deal of distress, as I knew I would be expected to purchase a wedding present and I didn't have twenty-five cents towards paying for one, and my credit, even if I had desired to use it, was not very extensive.\n\nMy roommate, Eugene Hawkins, saved me from the mortification coming on me and solved the problem in short order by running away with the young lady.\nWhen I saw George the day after it became known that his sweetheart had left him, he was the most woe-begone individual I have ever looked in the face. He stood on the hearth in front of the fireplace and held his hand on his forehead, breathing heavily and groaning with every other breath. I suppose he recovered, but he did not live long after the event.\n\nThe marriage proved to be a happy one, and Eugene raised a large family of girls and boys, who, as far as I know, have done well in the world.\n\nEugene, my classmate, has crossed over into the unknown long since. He was a lawyer of distinction and was eminently successful in his day and generation.\n\nThis is one runaway match that turned out well. A little incident occurred in my Junior year that I have never told to anyone as far as my part was concerned.\nA young man came to the school, looking like a boy from the country with little experience and considerable ignorance of college ways. He was a fit subject, it was supposed, for hazing. There was a society that looked after such things, having its headquarters in my boarding house and often planning its sports in my presence. I was never a member of it, but only looked on now and then. It was arranged to initiate the young man into a secret society and, when the initiation was through, to set about making fun of him. He was older than the majority of the students, and when I looked in his face, I began to sympathize with him. He boarded in our dormitory, and while he sat at table on the evening for which the sport was arranged, I wrote on a small slip of paper these words: \"Look out, there's a green on\"\nI passed behind his chair, leaving a piece of paper with the words \"hand it tonight\" in his plate as I went to my room. It wasn't long before the committee summoned him, extolling the advantages of the society he was to join. He agreed and accompanied them to the initiation room. After the ceremony, which was purely fictitious and contained much foolishness, he was called upon to speak to the gathering.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he addressed them, \"this is a remarkable exhibition for me. I have seen the Comanche Indians in their native lands, been in the dens of vice and wickedness in great cities, and even visited the lunatic asylum in my life.\"\nI say to you that of all the foolish people I have ever met since I was born, this society of yours beats them all. Gentlemen, I bid you good-night. I am glad to say my sympathy was not misplaced. He graduated with distinction, went to Texas, entered into politics there, and the last I heard of him he was serving the Nation in Congress. It is needless to say that after this event he showed a strong attachment towards me, and I had few better friends in college. The students of the University published a paper called The Collegian. I was elected editor of the paper and served some time as such in my Senior year. I was succeeded in this office by my roommate, J. Burgess Smith, from Atlanta. He had a decided attachment towards me.\nAnd he turned frequently to poetry, quoting from Poe's Annabel Lee by the hour. He also wrote poetry himself. One day while he was editing the paper, he came to me and requested that I write some verses for the next issue. I must oblige him in this, he said, having seen some of my \"lucubrations\" though they were never acknowledged to the outside world. I sat down in his presence and wrote the following verses, finishing them within about twenty-five minutes after he had called on me:\n\nTHE MAID OF THE WATAUGA\n\nAnd she was fair, with glossy hair,\nAnd eyes of midnight shade,\nAnd round her brow, of sculptured snow,\nA heavenly lustre played.\n\nOver tangled wild, while yet a child,\nShe loved long days to roam,\nBeside the stream, where cascades gleam\nAnd tortured billows foam.\n\nDeep in the glade, the dark-eyed maid.\nHer simple griefs confessed, in some dell,\nThe wild-woods spell would charm her soul to rest.\n\nAutobiography\n\nIn flowery spots, in summer grots,\nShe often sat reclined,\nOr gathered shells, down the dells\nHer childish brows to bind.\n\nA thing of light, a forest sprite,\nA bard\u2019s Egeria fair,\nThe maiden grew, too good to know\nOne pang of grief or care.\n\nAt length there came across her dream\nA ray of wintry gloom,\nThe spell of life \u2014 with weary strife \u2014\nLove broke \u2014 itself the doom.\n\nA fair-haired boy, with careless joy,\nPursued the hunter's sport,\nAnd on the wild beheld the child,\nAnd won the guileless heart.\n\nAthens, July, 1870.\n\nThe subject was Miss Hattie Jobe, daughter of Dr. A. Jobe, of Elizabethton, Tenn. I had seen her but once, when she came down to visit the girls at Hon. N.G. Taylor's. She came on horseback.\nI caught sight of her, though she didn't dismount from the horse. It's worth mentioning that she became my second wife. I'll omit the last verse as it was merely a prophecy and not the truth. My roommate stood by and saw me writing and told me later that up until then, he had believed himself a poet. But when he saw that I could write verses as quickly as this task was completed, he changed his mind. Nevertheless, he still writes good verses. It's only fair to say that the ladies of Athens were particularly kind and agreeable to university students. There were many beautiful girls in the city, all of whom seemed delighted in entertaining the young men and trying to make them have a good time while they were away from their homes. Many of these ladies were called \"College Widows.\"\nThey had been courted many times by the young men, and whether accepted or not, the young men went home and, in the midst of other scenes and with other faces around them, forgot their college friends. A lady became accustomed to having a boy talk love to her. It was the best way to interest her, and without it, the boy often seemed dull and repulsive. So the young men got into the habit of saying soft things to the young ladies. Sometimes, however, it took a more serious turn, and the association led to marriage. The students were advised to go into the society of the young ladies as much as possible, without interfering with their studies in the classroom. Many of them were from the country and were told that such an association would banish awkwardness and give them better manners and better ideas of social intercourse.\nWhen my study with Colonel Charbonnier was finished, I went to Sparta and began the work I had agreed to undertake - the teaching of Rebecca, Claud, and Emm, the three daughters of Judge Linton Stephens. I may note here that Hon. Alexander Stephens corresponded with me throughout my college course. I kept all his letters, carefully filing them away. He gave me a great deal of advice, seemed to sympathize with me in my effort to conquer the difficulties before me, and in every way showed himself a true friend and sage counselor. I have kept every letter that ever came to me and filed copies of every written speech or address that I have ever delivered.\nI have kept it a habit in my career not to destroy any communication from friend or foe. On a personal note, I may add further: when I left home for the war, my mother made me kneel at her lap and while her hand rested on my head, she asked me to promise her three things:\n\nFirst \u2014 that I would not swear.\nSecond \u2014 that I would not drink liquor.\nThird \u2014 that I would not play cards.\n\nIt was easy to keep the first two promises, but the third was hard to abide, for the playing of cards was the common occupation of the soldiery throughout the war.\n\nBut I have kept this pledge and I have added some others to it. I have never smoked a pipe or cigar or taken a chew of tobacco, and my life has been clean in the usual personal sense.\n\nMy father, when he died, left a legacy of debts that my brother and I were compelled to struggle with.\nwith.  Most  of  these  were  settled  out  of  funds  that  I \nearned  in  the  work  that  I  am  now  about  to  describe. \nI  made  a  pledge  that  I  would  never  create  a  debt \nby  borrowing  money,  by  using  the  credit  of  others,  or \nby  buying  property  for  which  I  did  not  have  the  money \nto  pay. \nI  have  never  knowingly  allowed  a  bill  that  was  due \nto  come  into  my  office  or  my  house  and  go  out  without \nbeing  paid. \nSo  much  for  my  own  personal  conduct.  It  is  not  said \nin  a  spirit  of  braggadocio,  but  is  merely  a  recital  of \nfacts.  I  have  been  told  often  times  that  I  have  lost \nmore  than  I  made  by  following  this  program  of  life. \nASSOCIATION  WITH  MR.  STEPHENS \nAfter  my  Sophomore  year  I  was  accustomed  to \nspend  all  my  vacations  with  Mr.  Stephens  at  his  home \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nin  Crawfordville.  Besides  this,  whenever  possible,  I \nran  down  to  see  him  so  as  to  meet  his  friends  and \nI will clean the text as requested:\n\ntalk with him in a friendly way. He introduced me to a large number of distinguished men, who were constantly visiting him. These came from all parts of the South. But there was one man who made a deeper impression on me than any of the rest of his friends. General Robert Toombs was a constant visitor, and it was my privilege to see and talk with him again and again when only he and Mr. Stephens were present. Both of them made an audience out of me and would tell me of things great as well as things small that had occurred in their lives. They disputed with each other, but were like David and Jonathan; there was never a moment's bitterness between them, only gentleness and affection in their conduct towards each other. I do not mean by this that they did not grow warm in their controversies, but in the midst of it all some brilliance shone forth.\nLiant thoughts, some humorous ideas, some quick flashes of wit from General Toombs would set us all laughing and banish, in a moment, the slightest offense. He has kept me laughing in this way at the dining table sometimes until I had almost lost control of myself and had to leave my seat. I have never seen any man in all my life whose wit was so brilliant and whose replies were so ready and well spoken.\n\nMany times I have thought that if I could have written down the conversations between these men and published them, my fortune would have been made. Boswell would have lived in two Dr. Johnson's, instead of one. I may say here that the friendship between these two men continued until death put an end to it.\n\nThe fact that I had been a member of the household at the time of the visits of General Toombs. (Autobiography)\nI seemed to elicit in him a kindly feeling, showing me more courtesy than he did to common acquaintances. He was always kind to me during his lifetime.\n\nUpon reaching Sparta, Georgia, around the first of November, 1870, my first order of business was to call on Judge Linton Stephens. I informed him that I had arrived to begin the work I had agreed to do \u2013 teaching his daughters. I stayed at his house several nights, during which time he took great pains to provide me with a comprehensive outline of the teaching he desired, while laying down certain rules for the same. I discovered that he intended for me to admit, in addition to his three daughters, two other girls to the school.\nThe children of Judge Stephens included Miss Julia Baker, sixteen, and Lindsey Baker, around fourteen. Miss Rebecca Stephens was eighteen, her sister Claud was sixteen, and Emm was fourteen. The Stephens children had lost their mother several years prior, and Judge Stevens had remarried, having three children with his new wife. The Baker children lived in town, with their father managing a merchandise business there.\n\nThe school house was about half a mile distant from Judge Stevens' home and was a single room where the girls were to meet, bringing their dinner and staying all day with the teacher. I soon discovered that the Stephens girls were well beyond the average in their educational attainments. The previous teacher, Mr. Stevens, (no further information provided).\nAlexander H. Stephens and his brother, Linton, are depicted in this photograph. At the time this image was captured, Mr. Stephens held the position of Vice-President of the Confederate States, and Linton served as Lieutenant-Colonel of the 15th Georgia Regiment Infantry. He relinquished his regiment command to join the Confederate Congress.\n\nAutobiography\n\nAlexander H. Stephens was well-educated and had provided the girls with a splendid training in Latin, French, and higher mathematics. I found it a challenge to resume their education from where he left off and maintain the same high standard. I managed to keep pace in mathematics and Latin, but the French posed almost insurmountable difficulties. My French education had been imparted to me by a native French professor, Prof. Charbonnier, of the University, but it had not been extensive enough to meet the demands of the situation. I was fortunate, however,\nI came across a native Frenchman in the town who helped me at night with my lessons, aiding me in translation and pronunciation so that I made a reasonable showing with the young girls. I studied harder than I had ever done in my life before. I'm not sure the young ladies ever realized how hard I was put to it to keep up with our work, especially in French. The Baker children did not cause me as much trouble. They had not gone as high as their cousins, Rebecca and Claud, so I was able to teach them without much difficulty. I boarded with Col. C.W. DuBose in town as I couldn't get a room at Judge Stevens' home. Col. DuBose was a practicing lawyer. He had been Clerk of the Supreme Court for some time before and was doing a large practice at the bar. His wife,\nMrs. Kate A. DuBose, a literary figure, wrote and published several books, making significant contributions to Southern literature. Her maiden name was Richards. She was the sister of William C. Richards, an editor and writer, and T. Adison Richards, a poet and artist in New York. Mrs. DuBose's name and a sketch of her life appear in the first volume of \"Southland Writers,\" page 41.\n\nAt the time I boarded there, her two sons, Miller DuBose and Willie DuBose, lived in the home. Miller was in my college class and was preparing to study law with the intention of following in his father's footsteps. An older son, Charlie DuBose, also lived with me in one of the classes ahead of me. He had been admitted to the bar and was practicing at Warrenton, Georgia.\nWillie DuBose, the youngest son, was a very fine and attractive young boy. He graduated from the University of Georgia and then studied medicine, joining the navy and becoming a distinguished surgeon, spending a large part of his life in that service. Miller and I got along well in our association and soon tried to put our heads together in obtaining and publishing a newspaper. We took in as a partner a gentleman named Brown, who was a practical printer, and the firm was known as Harris, DuBose & Brown. The paper we founded was The Hancock Sentinel. For this paper, I did the main editorial work, Miller kept up with the locals and occasionally wrote an article for the editorial page, while Brown managed the mechanical side of it and attended to getting the paper to press, mailing it, and distributing it.\nI had been teaching before entering this venture in December 1870. The State elections came on, and three days were allotted to them by the Reconstruction Legislature to ensure a full vote of the negroes. The authorities believed that if three days were allowed for elections, white people could not prevent negroes from coming out and voting, securing a full negro vote and thus continuing State government control.\n\nWhen I first went to Sparta, I had joined what was called the \u201cMinute Men\u201d there. We had formed a company and armed ourselves with Mississippi rifles or some other efficient weapon. When the election morning opened, it was agreed between us:\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nWhite Republicans and Democrats suggested that voters should come in pairs, one white man and one Negro, to ensure the votes of both sides. This arrangement was followed until around 11:00 am on the first day.\n\nSuch an agreement did not prevent challenges to Negro votes for incompetency or illegality. The Legislature had attempted to relieve Negroes from paying poll taxes to enable them to vote without meeting this constitutional requirement. Judge Linton Stephens, and in fact all the lawyers in Sparta, believed that this effort to relieve the Negro was illegal and unconstitutional. Judge Stephens intended to bring the matter to a test.\n\nThere were five election commissioners responsible for receiving the votes. Joseph Gonder, an uncle of Judge Stephens, served as the Republican Commissioner.\nChairman, along with two others of the same party, for the purpose of bringing on the test, Judge Stevens had a negro voter challenged on the ground that he had not paid his taxes and was otherwise incompetent to vote. This challenge was promptly overruled by the majority of the commissioners. Judge Stevens then sued out a warrant and had the Chairman with the two Commissioners arrested. This action brought on an emute. The negroes started, as it was thought, to rescue the prisoners, and the white men of the city rushed forward to prevent it. In a moment, the call went out for the \u201cMinute Men\u201d and we dashed down to our arsenal, seized our guns, and re-appeared on the streets almost in the twinkling of an eye. We ran ourselves half to death to get back to the scene.\nThe scene of action was only fifty or one hundred yards away. When the negroes saw us coming, they ran and did not wait for the order of their going. They rushed out to a village about two miles from the town where they congregated to await the result.\n\nMeanwhile, a committing magistrate was secured, the trial was had, and the Commissioners were remanded to jail with the privilege of bail. I think Judge Stevens prepared and tendered the bail for his uncle and the others, but they refused it. New Commissioners were appointed, and the election went on.\n\nThis action was like a bugle note that sounded all over Georgia. Before night, it was in every daily paper and by next day had been carried to almost every county in the State. Preparations were made to repeat the action at various places. The negroes\nThe Democrats were roused from one end of the State to the other, and the consequence was a speedy change of administration. Judge Stephens' part in the matter caused the authorities of the United States to take proceedings against him. He was arrested by a United States marshal and carried to Macon for a trial before United States Commissioner Swaze on the charge of intimidation and a violation of the Enforcement Act. He was bound over to the next term of the United States Court, but the Grand Jury refused to find a bill and the case was ended. In the meantime, I was still teaching the girls and boy in the little schoolhouse prepared for this purpose.\n\nThere were several aspects connected with this teaching that ought to be mentioned. Judge Stephens\u2019\nThe second wife was a Catholic and Jesuit, educated in the Vatican. Her marriage, under a Church dispensation, was allowed. The Catholics were eager to convert Judge Stephens to their faith, hoping he would join them and raise his children in it. For this purpose, a gathering of priests met at the Stephens home, dined with him, and made a determined effort to convert him.\n\nHe told me in the presence of his wife about their efforts. He believed he was better acquainted with the country's history than the priests who came to secure his conversion. He met them with arguments they couldn't refute and recounted facts they couldn't deny. The outcome was that they abandoned their attempts and decided to leave him alone. He shared more with me.\nWhen I came to teach the girls, I found that a large number of their books, particularly those dealing with moral questions and the nation's history, were written by Catholics. Judge Stevens had confided in me privately that his wife earnestly desired the children to join the Catholic Church, but he added, \"I'll be damned if they shall do so before they are twenty-one. After that time, they may have their own way, but not till then.\" I mentioned to him that the girls were using books written by Catholics, and he told me to continue using them, \"but,\" he said, \"give them the Protestant view of every matter where there is a difference in opinion as to doctrine or facts between the advocates of the two religions.\"\n\nThis, as can easily be understood, put a heavy duty on me.\nThe intellectual wife of Judge Stephens had a sharp, strong mind, well education, and the remarkable power of expression. Her conversation was of a high order, and her manner was generally attractive and impressive. She impressed her three step-children with her interest in them and sincere desire for their success. Among the children, Miss Claud possessed the strongest intellect, similar to her father's without his fierce impetuosity and intellectual obstinacy. Miss Rebecca had more temper than any of the children and seemed more impatient of constraint.\nMiss Emm and the two other children, Miss Emm had more beauty than both. She was quiet, reserved, and always receptive and easy to teach.\n\nMiss Julia Baker was the most beautiful of all the girls. She was tractable and likewise easy to teach. I think she studied less than the others.\n\nLindsay Baker was a good boy, but quite mischievous, and gave me a good deal of trouble in trying to keep order in the school; but he was always respectful and when interested always came up with a good lesson. All of these children exhibited unfailing respect for Judge Stephens and recognized his word as the law of every matter that arose for decision.\n\nOur afternoons of Friday were set apart for lectures on Grecian and Roman Mythology. These lectures were written by me during the week and I always tried to put something in them that would attract the children.\nI. Mythology Lectures for Children's Minds: I wrote over one hundred lectures on Mythology during my time. These were the musings of a young man recently graduated from college and well-versed in the Classics. I kept them, retaining them through all the subsequent changes.\n\nII. Newspaper Business: After Judge Stephens made his first payment (he did not pay monthly but semi-annually), I sent half of the amount I received to be credited on my note held by Mr. Stephens at Crawfordville for school expenses. Upon receiving his consent to use a portion of the remainder, I formed a partnership with DuBose.\nMr. Brown purchased the newspaper outfit, including second-hand type from a strong power press for publishing a daily paper. With only a hand press available to print our paper, the result was a poorly printed sheet, at times illegible and lacking good newspaper style. I returned to Tennessee and brought my brother Joe back with me, giving him the position of pressman in the printing office. Ele stayed with the paper as long as it was printed as an independent sheet, and when it was sold and merged with the \u201cTimes and Planter,\u201d he continued as pressman, running a power press for that journal.\n\nWhen the newspaper venture began, I, [name],\nI sent a monthly stipend to my mother in Tennessee after she returned there. I continued this practice until her death in 1893. The money was always sent regularly, and I take comfort in knowing that it helped her maintain the household, raise her children, and ease her widowed heart. My brother Joe managed the farm and home affairs from the time I went to college until I brought him to Georgia. He also contributed from his pressman salary to support our mother and family. I paid for all the girls' schooling, with two exceptions. One graduated from Wesleyan College, and the others were trained.\nTwo boys from Jonesboro or elsewhere attended Mercer University in Macon, Georgia. Alex educated himself at Tennessee University in Knoxville. After The Sentinel had been published for some time, I got into a controversy with Rev. B.H. Sasnett. He was connected with the editorial staff of The Times and Planter and believed in the prevailing idea in the State before the war that education was not part of the Government's duty but should be looked after by parents or others connected with the home. I wrote editorials on this subject for The Sentinel, and Mr. Sasnett wrote his replies, publishing them in The Times and Planter. He was a fine writer, the son of a Methodist divine, formerly a professor in Emory College, and the author of several books.\nThe son inherited his father's facility with the King's English and adopted many of his theories, particularly on education. The controversy raged fiercely between the two involved. I wrote several books and pamphlets on the subject, and when the controversy subsided, we were both more firmly set in our beliefs. I'm unsure of the public's feelings, but I lived to see the theories I advanced adopted by the State when public schools were established. During this time, I wrote many editorials advocating for a change in farming methods. I urged farmers to improve their lands through constant crop rotation. I advocated for the sowing of various crops.\nclover  or  other  plants  feeding  on  the  atmosphere, \nwhich  could  be  turned  under  in  the  fall  and  serve  to \ntighten  and  enrich  the  soil.  The  entire  attention  at \nthe  time  seemed  to  be  given  over  by  the  farmers  to \nthe  growing  of  cotton,  and  I  remember  warning  them \nthat  if  they  persisted  in  this  way,  using  fertilizers  only \nto  make  the  crop,  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  their \nlands  would  be  exhausted  and  their  fields  would  be \nwashed  down  to  the  clay  and  become  utterly  worth\u00ac \nless. \nI  have  lived  to  see  this  prophecy  or  warning  prove \nsadly  true.  Our  whole  farming  population,  with  a \nfew  exceptions,  continued  to  devote  itself  to  the  rais\u00ac \ning  of  cotton,  so  that  when  the  boll  weevil  came  and \nthe  crops  completely  failed,  the  whole  country  be\u00ac \ncame  disheartened.  The  young  men  leave  the  farms \nand  go  into  business  in  some  city  or  town,  where  they \nThe farmer cannot make a living without following the plow. The negro has been forced out of business due to the white employer's inability to continue cotton farming, resulting in a great exodus of colored people from our State. The farmer who is not in possession of the labor necessary to run his farm within his own family is completely left behind. Meanwhile, the school progressed, and the children went forward with celerity and success in all their studies. I could feel by the questions asked me the influence the step-mother was having over their minds as far as religious principles were concerned. There was a daily struggle in this respect. The home teaching was met by the school teaching as far as practicable. I did not hesitate to discuss the situation and try to impress on them the importance of religious principles.\nThe students' minds were exposed to the church questions in our textbooks, which presented two sides: Catholic and Protestant. Our people believed in the Protestant side, viewing the Reformation as a great blessing to the world and finding more happiness in helping one another according to Protestant standards than adhering to the Catholic Church's gloomy asceticisms.\n\nI believe the children might have followed their father's leanings (he was a Protestant believer who never wavered in his faith) had it not been for an event that transpired near the end of the second school year.\n\nOn July 14, 1872, which was a Sunday, Judge Stevens died suddenly. This event took everyone by surprise, including his friends and family. He had gained recognition as one of the leading political thinkers.\nHe had lent his voice and pen to the upbuilding and rehabilitation of the country following the war. He assailed the Reconstruction measures, recent amendments to the Constitution, and general policy of the carpet-bag government, with the courage and energy of a fearless mind. His death caused a profound sensation throughout the State. He was the leading man in Sparta and settled all difficulties between his fellow citizens. He was the arbiter in every serious dispute and there were very few, if any, citizens in the county who did not regard him as a friend and adviser and well-wisher at all times. Their troubles were carried to him, both from the counting room and the farm, and his judgments were seldom, if ever, questioned. He was the peace-maker for his people.\nHe was one of the greatest lawyers I ever knew. He did not make the show at the bar like General Toombs or Mr. Hill, but when the question resolved itself into one requiring profound knowledge of law and deep insight into the motives of men and a courageous advocacy of principles, whether popular or unpopular, he was without an equal in the land. His great brother at Crawfordville possessed wider views of men and affairs, as his public education extended further than that of his brother. But in the handling of law, Judge Linton Stephens took the lead of his gifted and distinguished relative. His death occurred at a time when the session of the school under my charge was very nearly at an end. The vacation would have occurred in about two weeks. The death broke up the school complete.\nIt was disastrous for the family. The step-mother gained unlimited control and took advantage without doubt. Within a comparatively short time, two of the girls decided to enter a convent. They turned over their property to the children by the second marriage and went to Canada, there entering the Convent of Notre Dame. A large part of this property had come to them through their mother, the first wife of Judge Stephens, and he had taken care of it for them, recognizing their entire ownership. It was quite extensive and would easily have supported them through life.\n\nI can never express the mortification I felt when I found that all the Protestant teaching I had given them was utterly disregarded, and they were under the almost supreme influence of their gifted step-mother.\nThey surrendered entirely to her church's direction. Miss Rebecca married, in a comparatively short time, a brother of the step-mother, who came from Boston to pay attentions to her and persuade her to become his second wife. She lived only two or three years after the marriage. Little Emm survived the convent only a short while and faded out, crossing the invisible line. Claud continued in Notre Dame, and I have heard of her from time to time, from persons coming from Canada, but I do not know whether she is still alive or what events have occurred in her life. She was a splendid woman and deserved to have been a leader in thought and a dispenser of happiness among the people of her native state. The Baker children continued in the Protestant faith. Miss Julia married a gentleman in Augusta.\nMade a good wife and happy home. Lindsey Baker continued his father's business and became a successful merchant in Sparta. So much for the children I had taught for nearly two years at the little school house in Sparta. The attachment between Alexander H. Stephens and his brother, Linton, was as close as ever existed between two brothers. Although they were half brothers, yet they seemed to sustain a closer relationship towards each other than ordinarily exists in such cases.\n\nLinton was educated by his brother, who furnished him the money to go through college. He graduated at Athens and then took a degree in the law department of the University of Virginia, after which he completed a course of legal studies at Cambridge, Mass. He settled in Hancock and served in the Legislature.\nIn 1859, that county and in the Senate from the district, he was appointed judge of the Supreme Court by the then Governor, Joseph E. Brown. He filled an unexpired term on the Supreme Bench and did not continue longer in this service. During all this time, and in fact almost up to the time of his death, he and his brother wrote regularly once a day to each other. They had no difference in political opinions, but stood together on all the great questions of the times. His death wrought a vast change in my prospects. I had begun to read law and frequently consulted him on the various questions that arose in my mind while trying to master the old text books. I had left the home of Col. DuBose and had taken a room in the Turner Building, in which building The Sentinel was published. I furnished a room behind the composing room.\nI wrote my editorials, prepared lessons and lectures for children, and read law books in this room. I have often claimed that I laid the foundation of my legal success in the back room of a printing office. A short time after the closure of the little school, I was offered a position as a teacher in the Sparta Academy or High School, run by Professor Thomas A. Murray. This was a thriving and well-attended school at the time. I took charge of the mathematics department in the school, continuing to teach under Professor Murray for the term while also studying law. Professor Murray had served in the Confederate army, in a battery primarily made up of men from LaGrange, Georgia. The captain was Henry H. Carlton.\nI was strongly attached to Prof. Murray and when I became Governor, I made him custodian at the Capitol, putting him in charge of the dome and its surroundings. He has remained there to this day. At the term of the Superior Court for Hancock County, which came on in October, I applied for admission to the bar, stood the examination in open court and was granted a license by Judge Garnett Andrews who was presiding. Judge Frank L. Little coached me in the law and under his supervision and direction, I applied for the license. My connection with\nThe high school kept me an hour or two every day, and therefore, did not prevent my \"hanging out a shingle,\" opening an office, and commencing to practice. In the fall of this year, I made the acquaintance of the lady who became my first wife, Miss Fannie T. Burke, of Macon. She was a great friend of Dr. Edmund Pendleton and family and came over to visit them. Among the diversions I had taken up was the playing of croquet with the young ladies of the town. We met at regular intervals and always took considerable delight in the sport. Miss Fannie, who was the oldest daughter of the Reverend John W. Burke, of Macon, was a constant attendant at these games. The first characteristic I noticed in her was a wonderfully equable temperament. I played against her and played with her and found her to be a gracious and even-tempered opponent.\nShe never became cross or exhibited the slightest ill humor, whether she gained or lost in the game. This attracted me, as it was entirely different from the conduct of the other young ladies. They resented defeat or charged their partner with bad playing when a stroke went wrong or there was a failure to score. I commenced to visit Miss Fannie at Dr. Pendleton\u2019s and soon found out that she was a splendid performer on the piano, a fine conversationalist, and an honorary graduate of Wesleyan College.\n\nWhen I began to make addresses to her and to speak the usual nothings that mark the first advance of a young man, I had no sensation like that which afterwards overtook me. Our friendship went through the usual course, and day by day the attachment grew stronger until my heart began to awake. She was a fine and excellent young woman.\nA woman of fine judgment and a splendidly educated mind, with a heart that responded to every kind sentiment. When I first reached the point of making serious my association with her, she put me off and left the matter entirely unsettled. When we parted after our few weeks' association, she told me she would write me her mind when she reached home. She did so and admitted a strong friendship for me. I followed it up in visits to her home in Macon and was accepted as the favored suitor for her hand.\n\nShe was a true, noble woman, and our affection for each other seemed to grow stronger as the years went by. I may say here that in all our married life, there was never one harsh word used by her to me. She was gentle, kindly natured, thoughtful, seriously inclined, and abounded in good words and works. To her excellence.\nThe success in raising our six children, daughters Carrie, Walter, Nat, Fannie, John, and David, was undoubtedly due to their good influences. They inherited no evil tendencies and none of them acquired bad habits, but joined the church at an early age and all strived to keep a Christian character. The mother's example undoubtedly worked upon her children.\n\nTheir names in order of birth are: Carrie, Walter, Nat, Fannie, John, and David. All are living except Nat, who died in December, 1902. They are all college graduates. One daughter, Nora, died in infancy.\n\nA rather funny incident happened in connection with the courtship and marriage. My old antagonist in the common school controversy, Rev. B.H. Sasnett, had courted a younger sister of my fianc\u00e9.\nHe had been engaged to her for some time when she broke it off and sent him adrift. He begged me to say some good words for him while he was trying to restore the relations between him and his former sweetheart. He was very deeply in love with her, for she was worthy of any man\u2019s attentions. She was exceptionally beautiful, quite the belle in the city, splendidly educated, and an all-round noble woman. I helped him all I could, and he was successful. When I came to ask Mr. Burke for my wife, Mr. Sasnett begged me at the same time to put in a plea for him. The family had not favored his suit aforetime, and he thought I might adjust matters for him. I opened the conversation with Mr. Burke by telling him that I had come to see him on the most important matter that had ever occurred in my life.\nI. on my earnest plea, he agreed to give his second daughter to Rev. B.H. Sasnett in marriage. I then made a plea for his consideration in my own case. He spoke of it in a laughing way, saying that he had prepared himself for answering me, as he expected me to ask for his oldest daughter. To his surprise, I asked him to give one of his daughters to another man. He consented, and I added, \"By the way, Mr. Burke, I would like for you to let me have Fannie for myself.\" We were married together, Mr. Sasnett and I, on February 12th, 1872. Doctor, afterwards Bishop, Joseph S. Key performed the ceremony. Following the wedding supper, both couples took the train for Sparta where we arrived next day. I secured\nI had difficulty providing for myself and my bride at the home of Dr. Pierce, a prominent merchant and son of Bishop George Pierce. I had a hard time making ends meet after our marriage. My wife was frugal and economical, and we lived frugally. However, I managed to pay the board. Before my marriage, I did not have enough money to pay for the license. Fortunately, I received a call to defend a black man before Judge F. L. Little, who presided over the County Court at that time. The negro, as I recall, was charged with theft. Colonel C. W. DuBose prosecuted him. I had no testimony and made the negro put in his statement. Colonel DuBose later said, \"I knew that negro was guilty from the way his goozle went up and down while he was talking on the stand.\" Nonetheless, the Judge found him not guilty.\nI. negro paid me thirty dollars for his defense. I told Col. DuBose it was a \"ground hog case\" with me to clear the man. I needed the thirty dollars to pay for the license and railroad fare to get back to the town after my wedding. It was my only chance.\n\nAutobiography\n\nMy classmate and friend, Walter B. Hill, after studying law at the University, had come to Macon and formed a partnership with his father, Barnard Hill, in the practice. In January, 1873, Mr. Hill, the father, was appointed Judge of the Superior Courts of the Macon Circuit, leaving Walter, his son, without a partner. At that time, he was engaged in revising the Code of the State, which was afterwards published as the Code of Erwin, Lester & Hill. I communicated with Walter and he tendered to me a partnership.\nI accepted a ship, and on June 1st, my wife and I left Sparta forever, moving to Macon. Before departing, I visited the grave of my benefactor, Judge Linton Stephens. He was buried in his yard under an overhanging tree, and upon reaching the grave, looking up at the tree that bent over him, I saw a Catholic Crucifix. It brought back memories of past struggles and spoke of the deep devotion of those he left behind.\n\nLaw Practice in Macon\n\nWhen I went into practice with Walter Hill, I discovered that he and his father had been retained in a large number of important cases. Many of these were in the courts outside of Macon, and we began preparations for their trials at once. Most of the cases were on the equity side of the court, and many complex questions arose, which Judge Hill would have known how to answer.\nGeneral Thomas R. R. Cobb once remarked that Judge Hill was \"by all odds the greatest equity lawyer Georgia had ever produced.\" Clients may have missed his brilliant intellectual abilities, but his son and I made up for his absence through diligent study. Consequently, we worked day and night to master cases and grasp the issues involved. Some we settled, but there is no record of any we ever lost. I used to boast, albeit jokingly, that during our partnership, Cobb and I never lost a case we handled alone.\n\nIn most vases belonging to the firm before I joined, retainers had already been paid. As a result, nothing came in before the final trial. This troubled me greatly to pay.\nI. Our board met the demands of a family that grew at an early date. Judge Hill appointed me Court Reporter; at that time, we had no stenographers, and I learned to take down testimony almost as fast as the stenographer in after years. I wrote rapidly. II. Whatever excellence I had in this respect I acquired in the Army, where I had taken down orders in the field, written extensive reports, and filled up vouchers without number. III. This facility in writing enabled me to keep up reasonably well with the witness on the stand. In this way, I made enough money to pay expenses until the cases began to come in and money became available from the regular practice. IV. Mr. Burke had a sister who was married to Judge Asa Holt, a prominent and wealthy citizen of Macon. When she heard that her niece, Fannie, had decided to:\n\n1. marry a man named [Name] and\n2. move to [Location].\nA woman in Sparta expressed her concern to her friends about marrying a poor man, stating, \"I don't know what in the world the poor child will do. The man she is marrying is as poor as a church mouse, and it looks like they are in danger of starvation.\" Dr. Pendleton, where I first met my wife, shared similar concerns, admitting, \"I don't know how we are going to live.\" He suggested, \"I suppose they can sit in a corner and hold one another's hand and in this way may get some joy out of life.\" Mr. Hill allowed me to take the lead in trials in the State courts, while he managed cases in the United States courts due to his expertise. We persevered until our practice grew substantial, nearly twenty-five thousand dollars per annum, ensuring a promising future.\nMr. Hill was elected City Attorney in the early part of our partnership and we held this position for over eight years at a reasonably good salary for young men. Mr. Burke, who was in the City Council, secured this appointment for my partner, and we continued the business as usual. The presence of Judge Hill on the bench, before whom all the principal cases in the county must come, gave us some advantage in getting practice. It was something which counted in people's minds to be the son of the presiding Judge. So our practice began to increase steadily.\n\nIn 1876, we formed a partnership with Messrs. Lannier & Anderson, a leading firm in the city. The partnership was made as a firm and not as individuals. In this way, we became connected with another large array of cases extending throughout the region.\nThe partnership was formed about Macon with Judge Anderson sick. His sickness had lasted for several months but he was gradually recovering at the time and soon returned to the office to take charge of cases. Colonel Lanier, father of Sidney Lanier, the poet, had once been a member of the firm and the Code fell into our possession, which has been kept in our office since.\n\nAutobiography\n\nColonel Lanier was not a great lawyer, but one of the greatest, most persistent and conscientious workers I have ever met. He kept track of all cases in the office, spoke to witnesses and made the briefs.\n\nJudge Clifford Anderson, who later became Attorney General of the State, was probably the ablest and most remarkable practitioner.\nAt the bar at this time in the State, he never took a note in the court house, no matter how long the case lasted or how great the array of witnesses. His memory was without exception the most accurate that was ever known in our part of the country. He could state the testimony from beginning to end without a mistake, even though the case lasted many days. He never read a paper more than once. If the case was put off and came on for trial at another term of the court, it was impossible to get him to go over the papers again. He seemed to remember each one as well as if he had read it ten minutes before. Whenever there was a dispute as to what a witness had said, Judge Anderson made his statement, and if there was an appeal to the record, there was never a variance found between his statement and the record.\nIt was a great privilege to have been associated with a powerful intellect like this man. He never prepared his cases but trusted others and when he came to the trial used the preparation they had made. He was never, in my recollection, unhorsed in the court house. He caught on his feet every time and turned against an unexpected adverse testimony with the most unexpected resources. His mind was full of resources and if he suffered defeat for a time, it was always with a full expectation of successfully coming back. We got on well with these two and Walter and I entertained equal admiration for the gigantic intellect of our senior partner. The clearness of his diction in argument was without exception the most remarkable at the bar. It was so understood by the profession. I recall on one occasion\nThe chief justice of the Supreme Court corrected Judge Anderson, saying, \"You mean so and so,\" and then stated what he believed the lawyer meant. As we left, I heard the lawyers discussing it this way: \"The idea of Judge W. trying to correct a sentence of Judge Anderson, under the pretense that it was obscure.\" It was then replied, \"There isn't a man on earth who can construct a clearer sentence than Clifford Anderson.\"\n\nMacon had some strong men at the bar during those days when we were summoned to debate in the court house. The vision of Judge Washington Poe, kinsman of the great poet, Judge Samuel Hall, who later became a leading light on the Supreme Court bench, A. O. Bacon, who later became a United States Senator, and one of the ablest men, comes to mind.\nspeakers in that august assemblage: L. N. Whittle, a nobleman of the old school, whose delight it was to encourage a young practitioner; John Rutherford, a persistent worker and un-reconstructed Southerner. I remember when Col. Rutherford began the trial of a case of considerable importance in the court house. At that time, there were colored men on the jury. He struck the jury without noticing the colored man and when he came to make the opening statement of his case, he saw the negro sitting in the box. He immediately turned around to the court and asked that the case be dismissed. He preferred to bring it over again rather than try it before a jury with the negro on the panel.\n\nAutobiography\nContinuing the enumeration, there comes to my memory a nephew of the last mentioned attorney, Captain John C. Rutherford. His mother was a sister of Col. Rutherford.\nHowell Cobb and his father were Professor Williams and Rutherford. My old teacher at college, who gave me the problem on the entrance examination that I could not solve. Captain Rutherford was a partner of Col. A. O. Bacon, under the firm name of Bacon & Rutherford.\n\nHe was by all odds the most skillful practitioner I ever saw handle a case before a jury. He was the master of every artifice necessary to compel a jury's assent, an able and eloquent speaker and logical reasoner, thoroughly versed in the law and endowed with a most wonderful knowledge of human nature. He stood without exception shoulder high above any man that I can recall in these early days, so far as jury practice was concerned.\n\nIt was my fortune to be on the other side of a great number of cases in which he was counsel. As I am writing confidentially with myself, I think I:\n\n(This last sentence seems incomplete and may not be necessary to include in the cleaned text.)\nThis text refers to one of the cases where I was the leader on one side and he was on the other. It was a case in Twiggs Superior Court brought by him, in which he was trying to establish a nuncupative will for a man named Perry, who had been working for wages in the home of the alleged testatrix at her death. The purported will left the bulk of the estate, which was a large one, to Perry. I was absolutely convinced that the claim was fraudulent and my clients were especially anxious to defeat the action. They were the heirs-at-law if the will failed.\n\nThe case attracted much attention, and on the night before it was to be tried, we all met at the hotel in Jeffersonville, so as to be ready to go into the trial on the next day.\n\nAutobiography\nI had one misfortune, which I may call it: I could not bear tobacco smoke.\nNever having learned to smoke or chew, the smell of the smoke not only sickened me but disordered my mind and made it impossible for me to control my thoughts. He worked a scheme on me. After supper, he came into my room in the hotel bringing with him the Judge of the Court and several lawyers for the purpose, as he pretended, of talking with me about the political condition of the country, the old war, and our part in the same. Of course, they began to smoke as soon as they came in, and in a few minutes the room was completely darkened with tobacco fumes. Then Captain Rutherford talked to me and centered all the interest on my conversation to keep me busy talking while they smoked. I couldn't order them out of the room, and I couldn't leave the room myself, so I suffered the martyrdom.\nThe man, unfamiliar with tobacco, kept puffing on it until eleven o'clock, saturating my system with nicotine. The next day, we delved into the case, and I soon discovered that my discomfort would be successful. I couldn't concentrate or remember key details, and I neglected or missed crucial parts when presenting the case to the jury. The outcome was a verdict in favor of his client and a complete defeat for his opponent. It was based on the belief that everything is fair in love and war.\n\nI requested a new trial, and the court granted it, but the case was never retried. It likely disappeared on its own.\n\nCaptain Rutherford never acknowledged defeat. He was the most formidable counsel during cross-examination that ever faced a jury. No witness could withstand his scrutiny.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\ncould  stand  up  against  him.  He  has  freqently  over\u00ac \nwhelmed  the  witness  and  utterly  discredited  him  by  his \nadroit  and  wonderfully  skillful  cross  examination.  He \nbrought  on  his  own  death  from  his  work  in  defend\u00ac \ning  the  Tom  Woolf  oik  murder  case.  He  threw  into \nthis  case  all  the  powers  of  his  matured  and  gigantic \nintellect.  It  was  the  case  where  a  man  had  slain  his \nwhole  family  consisting  of  nine  people,  including  his \nfather,  his  step-mother,  and  a  number  of  his  half \nbrothers  and  sisters.  The  prejudice  was  so  great \nagainst  Woolf  oik  that  a  change  of  venue  was  allowed \nand  the  case  was  carried  to  Houston  County,  where  it \nwas  finally  tried.  Woolfolk  was  hanged,  but  the  ex\u00ac \ntraordinary  efforts  made  by  Captain  Rutherford  to \nsave  his  client\u2019s  life  brought  on  a  complete  prostration \nfrom  which  he  never  recovered. \nPROHIBITION  AND  TECHNOLOGY \nDuring these years, my partner, Mr. Hill, mentioned that every lawyer who worked diligently on his cases should have some kind of hobby to advocate for, to help him take his mind off his business and rest. We eventually decided to take up two separate matters and bring them to the attention of the people of the State. Mr. Hill chose prohibition, and I took up the question of establishing a school of technology in Georgia.\n\nMy partner grew increasingly passionate about the subject he had chosen to pursue. To further his efforts, he began writing for papers and magazines and delivering lectures throughout the State. He soon became one of the principal leaders in the fight against the sale of liquor. He became so engrossed in the subject that he did not allow a day to pass without working on it.\n\n(Autobiography [unclear])\nI determined to run for the Legislature in order, if possible, to establish the school of technology. My friend, Major J.F. Hanson, was the first person to mention such a school to me, in the early part of 1882. I took up the question, studying the subject from every possible standpoint. I announced for the Legislature and my partner supported me with all his strength and power. It was a time when \"treating\" by a candidate was expected, even demanded, if success was to be obtained. I had never taken a drink of liquor and had certainly never treated any person by giving him whiskey. I would have been beaten badly, I think, but for the fact that\nOne good friend in Macon came to my help: Appleton P. Collins engineered my campaign and went around with me to see and talk with the voters. He stood at my back and, when one of the voters came up to me and demanded a drink, as was the custom, he stepped in front and said, \"Harris doesn't do those things. I am doing his drinking; come with me,\" and the man had to be content with this reception. I found out from watching the situation that Collins could handle such men much better than I could. I led the ticket.\n\nMr. Hill stood all day at the polls at the courthouse \"corralling\" the voters. Bibb was entitled to three representatives. The other two selected were, my classmate, Hon. Charles L. Bartlett and Colonel W.A. Lofton.\n\nThey were strong men and men of their own heads. We never tried to control one another.\nThe founder's loving cup presenting inscription: Presented to N. E. Harris, Founder of the Georgia School of Technology and President of the Board of Trustees, by the faculty and alumni, as a token of affection and esteem.\n\nAutobiography:\n\nThe Legislature organized in the fall of 1882, electing Lewis Garrard of Columbus as speaker and Mark Hardin of Bartow as Clerk. W. A. Little, a colleague of the speaker from Columbus, was appointed Chairman of Finance when the committees were selected. I was put on this committee but did not obtain a chairmanship until later in the session, when I was made Chairman of the Redistricting Committee.\n\nI had built my campaign in Bibb County primarily on the proposition that I would try to establish for Georgia a school of technology. The canvass in Bibb County\nI was tightly restricted on the prohibition issue, leaving me with limited freedom of action regarding it. The Liquor Dealers Association, led by James H. Campbell, confronted me with the question, \"How did I stand on the prohibition matter?\" I replied that I wasn't campaigning on that issue but solely for the establishment of the mentioned school. I assured him that it wasn't my intention to sabotage his business. I acknowledged that the county was strongly against the prohibitory law at that time and made no pledge or promise about any vote I would cast. Instead, I advised him that I wasn't running on a platform to abolish the liquor trade. However, I informed him that I was a member of Mulberry Street Church, which his wife attended, and that I supported temperance and would back any related measure.\nI would help the cause, but not by prohibiting his business entirely. He replied, \"The spirits can stand any tax, but don't pass a law prohibiting the sale.\" With this quasi-understanding, I was elected by a heavy majority over all opponents.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nDIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY\n\nI knew it was not going to be an easy undertaking to establish such a school as the one indicated. The way was bristling with difficulties. In the first place, it must be a branch of the State University to enable the Legislature to endow it. Our Constitution expressly prohibited the use of public funds for education, save to teach children in the elementary branches of an English education. The provision touching the University itself confined the appropriations of the Legislature to \"donations,\" which were to depend on the condition of the treasury. The use of the word \"donations\" was ambiguous, as it might mean either voluntary contributions or grants from the State. Moreover, the Legislature was in a poor financial condition, and it was doubtful if they could afford to make any large donation to the proposed school. Furthermore, there was a strong opposition to the proposed school, and it was uncertain if the Legislature would pass the necessary legislation to authorize its establishment. Additionally, there were questions as to who would be responsible for the management and control of the school, and how it would be financed and supported. These were some of the difficulties that I foresaw in the way of establishing the school.\nStrict constructionists believed the term \"nation\" in the Constitution prohibited any appropriations, limiting the Legislature's action to gifts or donations from the treasury surplus. At the time of the School resolution introduction, there were several unpopular University branches. These institutions, referred to as \"stepchildren\" or \"children of the law,\" were recognized due to legislative force. Every dollar given to these branches was seen as money taken away from the main institution, thereby embarrassing its progress and development.\nIn addition to this, approximately three million dollars of the State's bonds were coming due, and provision for refunding these had to be made. The State had suffered in the great monetary circles of the Nation due to her repudiation of about eleven million dollars in bonds issued by the Reconstruction authorities during those unfortunate ten years when the negro and carpetbagger were dominant in the councils of the old commonwealth. Grave fears were entertained that it would be impossible to get anyone to take the bonds necessary to refund this heavy debt, and consequently, there was an unmistakable dread in the minds of the public lest the State should default and her credit and standing be irretrievably ruined. Besides this, the State faced other financial challenges.\nThe state was preparing to build the State Capitol, requiring an extra tax on the people for an expenditure of one million dollars. These factors multiplied the difficulties in securing such an appropriation. The formidable opposition of the great university influence would ordinarily destroy any measure as unpopular as this one was believed to be. With the treasury already depleted, more appropriations having been made than the state income justified, and legislators vigilantly trying to cut off any expenditure of public money, either for education, pensions, or otherwise, it can be seen how hopeless the task of securing the passage of a bill necessitating such an expense in the end.\n\"Resolved, That a committee of seven from the House be appointed by the Speaker to investigate and consider the propriety and expediency of establishing in this State a School of Technology, under the supervision and direction of the State University, and that said committee report their conclusions to this House at adjourned session thereof.\"\nResolved, this session shall adjourn and the time of the General Assembly in the summer, to consider and investigate the matter.\n\nResolved, further, that in case said committee are of opinion that the establishment of such a school in this State is proper and expedient, they may be required to prepare a bill to that effect and report the same for consideration to this House at the time of making their report as above provided.\n\nThe Speaker appointed the following seven members of the House:\nN. E. Harris, Chairman.\nW. A. Little.\nM. V. Calvin.\nW. A. Wilson.\nR. F. Watts.\nF. P. Rice.\nR. B. Russell.\n\nAt the called session which met in May, 1883, to attend the funeral of Governor Alexander H. Stevens, the Speaker added three more members:\nE. H. Beck.\nTom Eason.\nW. N. Spence.\nA meeting of the committee was called for June 9, 1883. The place for the meeting was fixed in New York City. We went by sea. Nine out of ten members attended and divided the work into three heads: Curriculum, Equipment, and Finance. I had been appointed Chairman, in accordance with parliamentary rule, having been first appointed and having introduced the resolution. After examining the technical schools in Massachusetts and New York, and studying the curriculum followed by these institutions, the committee made a report to the House on July 24, 1883, at the term then in session, unanimously recommending that the school be established and accompanying the report with a skeleton bill intended to be completed by the finance committee and introduced in the House. All of this was done.\nThree hundred copies of the report I wrote were ordered printed for circulation in the State. The Finance Committee completed the bill and reported it to the House at the same session with the recommendation that it be passed.\n\nWhen the bill came up for consideration and passage, it was met by fierce and vigorous opposition. Some of the opposition grew out of antagonisms that arose from the effort of the Redistricting Committee to lay out the new congressional districts. I was Chairman of this Committee for the House, and all its mistakes and unpopular moves were laid at my door. On the final vote, the measure received 65 affirmative and 64 negative votes. Eighty-eight votes were necessary to pass it.\n\nIt was re-considered the next day and laid on the table for the term. Its friends were disappointed but\n\n(No further action required)\nThe contest did not despair. The contest reached and fired the heart of the old State. During the interim, between the adjournment of the Legislature and the election of members to the next House, the contest went on in the State. The report of the committee of nine was sent to all the leading papers of the State. Large extracts were made from it; appeals were constantly urged in its favor, and finally, the Georgia State Agricultural Society, at its meeting in Savannah on February 12, 1884, endorsed the measure and recommended its passage. I had been asked to deliver an address on the subject before that great body, which then constituted the only organization of farmers in the State. The address was published in the Savannah papers and scattered throughout the country. Letter after letter came from all parts of Georgia.\nThe State commended the measure and urged continuance of efforts to pass it at the next session of the Legislature. Meanwhile, the Chancellor and other prominent members of the faculty of the State University, who had always been unfavorable to such institutions, wrote words of encouragement and offers of assistance. These men were too great to let the old animosity towards branch colleges stand in the way of an institution which they felt would bring about such great advantage to the State. Professor White, at the same meeting in Savannah before the State Agricultural Society, discussing the experiments on the farm under his charge at Athens, gave an object lesson showing the value of technical education, on the lines upon which the school was projected. Henry S. Haynes, General Manager of the Savannah, Florida & Alabama Railroad, spoke at the meeting.\nWestern Railroad, whose headquarters were at Savannah, wrote a warm letter to me, discussing modern education and referring to the address made in Savannah. They used these words:\n\n\"I have been so deeply impressed with the growing necessity for technical education that I have sought it for my children, but could not find it in the State of Georgia, nor, may I add, in the South. As a consequence, I have been compelled to send my sons to a northern state to obtain what their birthplace did not accord them. My oldest son will graduate as a mechanical engineer this year. My second son is receiving practical instruction in chemistry. My third and youngest is also in a technical institution.\"\nI made the race in my county for the Legislature again, solely on the issue of the establishment of the State Technological School. I led the ticket. Four of the nine young men who had gone with me to the North were left at home, not trying for re-election. This was no small loss to the cause.\n\nOne of the first measures that came in on the call of the counties in the House was the Technological Bill, marked \u201cBill No. 8,\u201d introduced by the \u201cGentleman from Bibb.\u201d It was largely a copy of the bill that had been drafted at the previous Legislature.\n\nI was Chairman of the Finance Committee that year and the bill was sent to my committee. It did not go through unresisted. Numerous amendments were offered, numerous parliamentary schemes were initiated.\nrated to defeat it, but it finally emerged from the committee substantially as it had been introduced, bearing with it a favorable report. It was made a special order several times in the House and was finally reached on July 22. Its consideration occupied four days, extending through July 22nd and 23rd, and then going over as unfinished business as a special order for the 28th of July. It finally reached a vote on the 29th. There were 93 votes in favor and 62 against it. On the next legislative day, Mr. Chancy, one of the representatives, asked permission to have his vote recorded in its favor, thus making a total vote on the passage of 94 in favor of it. Eighty-eight were necessary for its passage. Some of the strongest men in the Legislature came out in its favor on the final passage. Joe.\nTerrell, formerly Governor, made his maiden speech in favor of this bill. Russell, of Clarke, now Chief Justice, represented Athens and the University influence. In his argument, which was one of the most vigorous ever delivered by Judge Russell in the House, he referred to the fact that the world was moving and that although branch colleges were unpopular and although many arguments might be made against the bill from the University standpoint, yet he felt that his duty to himself required him to move forward instead of backward, for he knew the State demanded this type of education.\n\nOn its passage through the House, the principal opposition was led by Harrell, of Webster; Spinks, of Paulding; and Watkins, of Gilmer. I have never forgotten the feelings with which I listened to the roll call.\nThe clerk called out names of representatives for all bills, which required a yea and nay vote. When the record showed the required majority endorsed the measure, the House's enthusiasm couldn't be contained. Members shouted, pounded desks, and threw papers in the air, cheering at the top of their voices.\n\nBut the bill had to face the Senate's gauntlet. Col. John S. Davidson chaired the Senate Finance Committee and took it up upon its arrival from the House. He jokingly told me once that he made more promises to get the bill through the Senate than he could ever fulfill in a century. He couldn't understand why Senators from the mountains were so opposed.\nmuch opposed to the bill, as it was intended most for the benefit of the very people who lived in their counties. It finally came to a vote in the Senate and went through with two amendments, rather important as they were. However, these two amendments had to be assented to by the House. On October 9, 1885, I made a motion to take the bill from the table, where all bills with Senate amendments were placed, in order that the amendments might be concurred in and the bill sent to the Governor. A surprise was in store for me. The yeas and nays were called on the question and the House voted 53 yeas to 65 nays against consideration. Upon examining the vote, it was found that eleven members who had voted in favor of the measure voted against taking it up. It was also discovered that its opponents had worked up a strong party in favor of.\nletting  the  bill  lie  upon  the  table  and  die  with  the  ses\u00ac \nsion.  It  had  a  margin  of  only  six  votes  at  the  time \nof  its  passage.  One  of  the  members  came  to  me  and \nsaid:  \u201cYou  are  young,  Harris.  You  can  wait  awhile \non  this  measure.  Come  back  again  to  the  Legislature \nand  try  to  pass  it  hereafter.\u201d  This  was  the  advice  of  a \ngood  friend  but  it  filled  my  heart  almost  with  despair. \nOn  October  12th,  I  moved  again  to  take  the \nbill  from  the  table  in  order  to  agree  to  the  Senate \namendments.  (House  Journal  1885,  page  1,066.)  The \nmotion  prevailed  and  the  bill  was  taken  up  for  con- \nautobiography \nsideration.  When  the  first  amendment  was  put  to  the \nHouse,  the  enemies  of  the  bill  rallied  in  the  last  effort \nto  defeat  it.  Harrell,  of  Webster,  led  the  opposition \nand  inaugurated  something  of  a  filibuster.  The  prev\u00ac \nious  question  had  been  ordered  and  on  taking  the  vote \nMr. Harrell called for the yeas and nays on the main question. The House voted 63 to 43 in favor of ordering the main question on the first amendment. Mr. Harrell immediately moved for re-consideration of this vote, and I called for a yea and nay vote. The yeas were 45 and the nays 66. Mr. Harrell then moved to table the bill and amendments and called for a yea and nay vote. The yeas were 46 and the nays 65. The amendment was then adopted without a division.\n\nOn the second amendment, Mr. Usury, who had been acting with Judge Harrell, called for a yea and nay vote. The vote was 69 yeas and 44 nays and this passed the bill. On this vote, Mr. Hawks, of Sumter, who was opposed to the hill, announced a pair with Mr. O.B. Stevens, of Terrell, who later became the State Railroad Commissioner.\nThe Governor approved the bill on October 17, 1885, and the Technological School was authorized and became a significant presence in the State. However, the fight against the institution was not yet concluded. Judge Harrell had become so obsessed with the idea that the school should not exist that he notified its friends he would resort to the courts and enjoin the treasurer from using the State's money. His objection grew out of the peculiar form of the appropriation, which was:\n\n\"Be it further enacted that the sum of $65,000.00 or so much thereof as may be necessary, be, and the same is, hereby appropriated for the establishment of said school, and to carry this act into effect, the Governor is authorized to draw his warrant on the Treasurer.\"\nThe State's comptroller is authorized, in favor of the said commission, to draw from the sum allotted for the project, as needed, in writing, as the work progresses. This sum will only be accessible after the first day of January, 1887, and will then be paid only from any funds in the treasury not already appropriated.\n\nThis unusual phrasing resulted from the perspectives on university appropriations at the time. They were referred to as \"donations,\" as previously explained. Strict constructionists argued that the term \"donation,\" given the subsequent words, limited such appropriations to the treasury surplus alone. Therefore, the university's opponents claimed there was never a surplus in the treasury, and thus the appropriation could not be paid.\n\nThe matter was referred to the Attorney General.\nThe great lawyer Clifford Anderson, of Macon, held the office at that time and provided the clearest interpretation of the words received. After thoroughly examining the precedents and methods of appropriation in the United States Congress and hearing from both sides, he concluded that the appropriation could be paid and reported to the Executive Department. The threatened injunction was rendered ineffective as a result. However, Judge Harrell returned to the 1886-87 Legislature to repeal the act before the appropriation became operational. He was a strong man and fiercely opposed the measure.\n\nAutobiography: The entire scheme was in peril. I had not returned to this Legislature, and a large number of those present opposed the measure.\nWho were friendly to it had dropped out of the House. The Speaker of the House, Judge W. A. Little, seeing how much was at stake, left the chair and with Napoleonic energy, eloquence, and power marshalled the forces in favor of the measure and defeated the effort to repeal it. Strange to say, this fight was renewed when the first appropriation was sought to be made for the institution to pay its expenses for the year 1889-1890. The committee had reported in favor of the appropriation, giving the school $18,000.00 for the maintenance fund. The public schools were also involved. Judge Harrell attacked the whole bill in every way possible, endeavoring to defeat it. After a long discussion, extending over several days, Hon. Clark Howell, of Fulton, who was then a member of the House, called the previous question and in fiery and impassioned speech supported the bill.\nHe arranged the opposition with potent language. He said, \"Did I not know that one more able than I would close this discussion in favor of the committee report, I would take this occasion to resent the outrageous charges of the gentleman from Webster. I, for one, am satisfied that this House is tired of witnessing the humiliating spectacle of this Don Quixote throwing himself against the windmill. He has made three speeches already on this question and yet cries 'gag law.' In the desperation of the defeat of his liberal policy, he is growing so bitter that he attacks the honor and impugns the motives of the members of this House, as he has done in every House in which he has served. I expect to hear him, in the future, charge this House with the same corruption which he has sought to fix on each of the others to which he belonged.\"\nI am tired of it, and this House is insulted by his effrontery. He has virtually charged your speaker with packing a committee. He has charged the distinguished gentleman from Bartow with violating his obligation to support the Constitution for the purpose of having the State relieve him of the expense of educating his son. He has impugned the motive of every member of the House who differs with him, and if this discussion continues, the House may be further humiliated. I therefore rise to call the previous question and in doing so will state that Dr. Felton, as acting Chairman of the Appropriations Committee under the rules of the House, is entitled to the closing argument in behalf of the bill. This discussion has been going on for four days, and it is useless to continue it.\nI call the previous question on the bill, make the substitute and amendments. The motion prevailed, and the House voted the appropriation.\n\nFirst Commission\nAs I have stated, the school was authorized and about January 1, 1886, Governor McDaniel, who was then in the gubernatorial chair, appointed the first commission. It consisted of N.E. Harris, of Bibb; S.M. Inman, of Fulton; O.S. Porter, of Newton; E.R. Hodgson, of Clarke; and Columbus Heard, of Greene.\n\nThis commission organized by electing me Chairman, a position I have occupied from that time to the present. E.R. Hodgson was made Secretary, a position he occupied to the time of his resignation a few years ago, and S.M. Inman was elected Treasurer, a position he occupied till he resigned on account of his removal from the State. J.S. Akers.\nAt the first meeting of the commission, a circular letter was prepared setting forth the main features of the act and asking for offers of endowment in accordance with the provision contained in the same, with the view of locating the school. This method of location was comparatively new in the State, but has been followed in many instances since, both in this State and in other states. At the second meeting, the bids were ordered closed by October 1, 1886. The places which put in offers of endowment with a view to the location of the institution were:\n\n1. Athens and the University.\n2. Atlanta, represented by Judge Hillyer, the Mayor.\n3. Macon, filed by the Secretary.\n4. Penfield, presented by Judge Heard.\n5.  Milledgeville,  presented  by  the  Secretary. \nIt  was  thought  best  that  the  commission,  in  justice \nto  the  bids  or  offers  aforesaid,  should  visit  all  the  points \ndesirous  of  securing  the  location,  and  give  to  the  ad\u00ac \nvocates  of  each  an  opportunity  to  be  heard,  while  at  \u00ab \nthe  same  time  examining  and  appraising  the  property \nthat  had  been  offered.  This  was  done  in  the  early \npart  of  October. \nOn  October  19,  1886,  the  commissioners  met  in  At\u00ac \nlanta  and  proceeded  to  open  the  bids  and  vote  on \ntheir  acceptance.  The  following  ballots  were  taken \nwhich  ought  to  be  of  interest  to  all  friends  of  the. \nschool.  The  commissioners  voted  viva  voce.  First \nballot:  Macon*  1  vote,  Harris;  Penfield,  1  vote, \nHeard;  Athens,  1  vote,  Hodgson;  Atlanta,  1  vote, \nInman;  Milledgeville,  1  vote,  Porter.  There  being \nno  election  a  second  ballot  was  had.  In  that  ballot \nPenfield received 2 votes, Heard and Porter. Atlanta, 1; Macon, 1; Athens, 1. The third ballot resulted in: Macon, 1; Penfield, 1; Athens, 1; Atlanta, 2; Porter and Inman voting for Atlanta. The same result was reached on each ballot, up to and including the 21st, when the commission adjourned to the next day, October 20th. When the 22nd ballot was taken on October 20th, the vote stood as follows: Macon, 2, Harris and Heard; Athens, 1; Atlanta, 2, Inman and Porter. The 23rd ballot showed no change but on the 24th ballot, Hodgson came to Atlanta, giving her three votes. On this ballot, the vote was: Macon, 1, Harris; Athens, 1, Heard; Atlanta, 3, Inman, Porter and Hodgson. It was declared that Atlanta had secured the location and the commission then pledged its unanimous support to Atlanta in behalf of the school.\nThe commission procured the services of Mr. Higgins from the Worcester Free Institute to superintend the construction and installation of its mechanical department. This was done because the school was modeled upon the plan of the Worcester Free Institute, and the authorities of that school seemed willing to show every possible consideration to the commission. Mr. Higgins was superintendent of their mechanical department, and they practically loaned him to the Georgia School for the space of twelve months. The site and location are fully set out in the various catalogues that have appeared annually since the school began operations.\n\nOn October 7, 1888, the school buildings having been completed, the institution was, in accordance with the requirements of the foundation law, turned over by the local commission to the trustees of the University.\nUniversity exercises were to be held for the state at large. The ceremonies for turning over the equipment occurred at night in Atlanta's opera house. During the day, the University trustees visited the grounds, examined equipment, and at a stated hour, the vast machinery was started by Miss Nellie Inman, a twelve-year-old daughter of Commissioner Inman. Her hand pulled the throttle that gave motion to the school's machinery, which has continued without interruption since then.\n\nA vast audience gathered for the opening exercises, and Dr. Hopkins, who was elected President on April 5th preceding, acted as master of ceremonies. Dr. Hopkins had received a technical training and while acting as President of Emory College in 1884, had opened in that school a small technological department.\n\"Thus becoming the first college official in Georgia to inaugurate an industrial feature in a collegiate institution, Dr. Hopkins introduced me as Chairman, whose duty it was in behalf of the commission to turn over the institution to the State. I spoke for forty minutes. These exercises were fully reported in the October 8, 1888 issue of The Atlanta Constitution. Among other things I said was, 'Georgia began the agitation for this school years ago. The thought took shape in the universal demand by the press in 1882, headed by The Macon Telegraph.' I further said in discussing the school, 'It is the'\"\nThe school of the laborer, the workshop of the mechanic, the college of the engineer, the university of the poor. When I came to turn it over, I said, \"Sir, our work is done. And with our hands outstretched in blessing and in prayer, we commit the child to the keeping of that great people, into whose favor and affection it must now struggle to make its way.\"\n\nAutobiography\n\nJudge John J. Gresham of Macon, Chairman of the Board of Trustees, received the school on behalf of the Board and spoke warm and welcoming words in the name of the University trustees. Governor John B. Gordon was then introduced on behalf of the State of Georgia and congratulated the Commission and the State on the opening of the school and the prospects of its success. He made a strong and earnest speech setting out the advantage that such a school would be.\nEx-Governor McDaniel, who had signed the act and appointed the first commission, was introduced and eloquently spoke about the practical worth of the school, expressing pride in having aided in its establishment. Dr. H. C. White was then introduced. Dr. White, who was later offered and declined the presidency of the school, had helped the Chairman throughout the State with favorable words of commendation to the farmers and to the interests in his hands. He prophesied great things for the school in its work for the future. Mayor Cooper of Atlanta sent a letter of regret, being too sick to attend. The presiding officer then introduced The Hon. Henry W. Grady, who concluded the exercises. Mr. Grady's speech was not taken.\nHe spoke without preparation, but when he came to address the audience, the enthusiasm was unbounded. The people of Atlanta knew him and appreciated him beyond measure. I wish his speech could have been published. The way he came forward reminded me of an old blacksmith, his knees wide apart and his body held in a rigid position as if he were ready to strike. When he opened his mouth, honeyed words of wisdom and beauty and sublimity dropped from his lips. He painted Georgia's need, her undeveloped resources, her splendid waterpower, her great cotton fields, her mines unexplored, all waiting for the hand of the skilled engineer and artisan to develop them. He said the school had this duty on its shoulders. It would discharge it to the people, it would show them that it was capable.\nThe founding of the Georgia School of Technology was worth operating, and in future years, people would rise up and bless its founders for their efforts on behalf of the State. It is needless to say, his words thrilled me. I had never before appreciated the magnificence of hisdiction, the power of his argument, and the splendor of his thoughts, though he had been my college mate and friend.\n\nThe founding of the Georgia School of Technology I regard as the most important event, of a public nature, that occurred in my life. The foregoing recitals will afford some slight idea of the difficulties under which the legislation that started the school was secured. The difficulties, however, were not concluded with the action of the Legislature and the turning over of the school to the University Trustees. There was a bitter fight made each year in the Legislature.\nI attended the Legislature for several years, opposing the appropriation to continue the school. Many of those who opposed it in the beginning continued their opposition after it began, and several of these returned to the Legislature to prevent the necessary appropriation for its maintenance. Throughout all these years, I appeared before the committee, spoke in favor of its appropriations, and watched any proposed adversive legislation, always able to block such for its friends constantly multiplied as its successful work became more apparent.\n\nAt one time in his administration, Captain Hall, the President, asked me as a favor to remain away from the Legislative session so that he himself might do the speaking and secure the legislation necessary to meet the growing needs of the institution.\nI granted his request and remained away from the legislative session. He made an egregious failure in managing and directing the legislative work. The appropriation we were seeking was refused, and the maintenance fund suffered diminution. He came to me and said, \"Col. Harris, I will never ask you to turn over the legislative matters to me again. You must take charge of them and continue to look after them as long as I am President.\" I thanked him and told him I was glad that he had tried, though sorry he had failed to reach the fruition of his hopes. He always followed my lead after this in legal and legislative matters.\n\nSo, as the years passed, I have stood over and aided in the wonderful progress which the school has made. Through all the years, from January, 1886, to the present time, I have appeared as an ex-officio member.\nFor awhile, the Board of Trustees of the University at Athens treated the Technological School as an intruder and an obstruction in the way of the University's progress. Chancellor Hill once laughed and said to me, \"If I have any rival in Georgia, it is the Technological School.\" I have smoothed away adverse criticism and met charges that grew out of jealousy, never forgetting in all the years that I, myself, was a graduate of the University of Georgia and desired to see its success in every way.\n\nAgain and again, the friends of the Tech School in Atlanta suggested that there ought to be attached to it a literary department wherein the degree of Bachelor of Arts might be given, and the head of the school urged this as a good measure to ensure the standing and progress of the institution.\nI have always opposed such a suggestion. To the extent possible, I never permitted any duplication of the University's curriculum in our school. Our institution grants only engineering degrees. While the University offers some of these degrees, particularly in Civil Engineering and Electrical Engineering, a student at the Georgia Institute of Technology must complete two years of shop practice to earn these degrees. This involves handling tools, studying engines, puddling iron, and incidentally learning brass work, carpentry, turning lathes, and even blacksmithing. Thus, while the degrees may appear similar in some departments to those of the University, the course of work and study required to obtain them is almost entirely distinct. In this school, theory and practice are combined, and the machine serves as the primary textbook.\nI have sought to preserve harmony and good feeling between the administration of the Tech and that of the University. Our athletics, under entirely separate auspices, could not be wholly controlled in this respect. The college ambition, the desire to succeed, the gaudium certaminis often made anything like good feeling and harmonious action impossible in this field. It has been found that a similar condition exists in Alabama, in Texas, and many other states where two great public institutions are located, each receiving help from the public treasury.\n\nI was always sorry to know of the bitter feeling that grew up in the athletic departments. The Tech's pride in her \"Golden Tornado\" became so great that the University could not help but desire to knock her down.\nThe supremacy was an issue between the two friends, and they took part in the quarrel outside. On one occasion, a student of the Atlanta School wrote on the fence around the Tech athletic field the words: \"Tech got Georgia's goat.\" As one of the games with Georgia was close at hand, a bitter complaint was lodged against the boy who had written these words. The Trustees called the matter up and, after hearing from the boy, severed his connection with the school and sent him home. The matter was reported to the Board of Trustees of the University of Athens and that Board unanimously ordered the young man to be restored.\n\nThis act of generosity had a wide effect on the student body and the faculty of the Tech School. It held down bitterness for a long time until other causes arose.\nThe forgetting of the incident led to the emergence of new classes in both institutions. I am pleased to share in these reminiscences that my heart swells with pride whenever I recall the gift bestowed upon the Georgia people by the founding of Tech. Its remarkable success, as I have mentioned repeatedly, is largely attributable to its location in Atlanta. This great municipality took the Tech to its heart and championed its cause from an early stage. After fifty-five years of experience with Atlanta's ways, I have come to the conclusion that Atlanta never fails in anything it undertakes.\n\nAs a result, Tech has grown larger and more prominent over the years. It has had three great presidents: Hopkins, Hall, and Matheson, and the new man, Dr. Brittain, is quickly adapting to the institution's spirit.\nThe genius for administration is becoming more apparent as his experience increases. If no untoward circumstances arise, he will make as great a success as those who have preceded him. He will have better chances. The desire for education has grown and increased, wider than ever before in the Nation. There will probably be thirty-five hundred boys over sixteen receiving instruction in engineering on the campus this year, including the commercial school. If there were room and the school would advertise, it could make the number five thousand during the coming year. More than one thousand boys will be turned away for want of accommodations.\n\nI shall not undertake to describe the progress of the institution from year to year. It has been my life\u2019s hobby under the agreement made with my partner.\nWalter Hill. I have devoted more than one-half my time from first to last to pushing it forward and aiding its success. I have presided over every meeting of the Board of Trustees, from the beginning of the school in 1885 down to the present time. I do not remember one board meeting that I have ever missed. Once when Governor Dorsey attended a barbecue given to the Legislature, after he had defeated me for Governor, I told him in my opening speech that I would rather be Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Georgia Tech than to be Governor of Georgia. When Governor Hardwick tendered me the position of Pension Commissioner, I asked him if the acceptance of the offer would necessitate my giving up the Chairmanship of the Tech Board. He supposed it would, and then I said to him, as I had to Governor Dorsey, \"I would rather be Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Georgia Tech.\"\nDorsey: I would rather be Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Georgia Tech than have your office, and I wouldn't give it up for the position of Pension Commissioner. I thank you, Sir, for the kindness you thought to do me. I cannot refrain from adding here that while there are many graduates of the school who will remember me kindly as their old Chairman and thank me for what I have done for Georgia in this respect, yet I verily believe that when the history of the school is written, the work the Chairman has done, the suffering he has endured, the long patient struggle through which he has gone, will command very little attention from the outside world. People at large care little for such things.\n\nI served in the House for four years successively. My last term, in which I succeeded in passing finally the legislation I had long advocated.\nThe charter and appropriation for Georgia Tech were challenging in every respect. The Local Option Bill, which aimed to suppress the liquor traffic in the State, emerged in the Legislature. I had informed the people of Bibb County during my legislative campaign that I wasn't seeking the representative position to harm their liquor dealers' businesses. Since these men hadn't opposed me and believed I wouldn't interfere, I felt obligated to abstain from the liquor-related controversy in the Legislature. When the bill was presented for discussion, it took several days, possibly three or four. During this time, a telegram arrived.\nThe Speaker received the following gram for the House members:\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\"The good women of Mulberry Street Church are praying for the passage of the prohibition bill. (Signed) W.B. Hill, Secretary.\"\n\nWhen the clerk read this telegram from his desk, almost every head in the House turned towards me. They knew it was sent by my partner and that I had been a member of the church for many years. I leaned my head down on my desk and seriously considered the situation.\n\nI thought about it after adjournment and throughout the night. Nearly all my closest friends supported the bill. However, my colleagues from Bibb were fighting with the liquor forces. Nearly every man in the lower House of the Assembly, who aspired to reach higher office, opposed it.\nI. any sort of person had spoken on the bill. So I heard members asking me, \"Why doesn't Harris speak?\" I saw that there was no chance to escape the ordeal and I determined to go on record.\n\nII. The next morning, therefore, following the day on which the telegram had been read, I called the Speaker and took the floor.\n\nIII. Col. C. R. Pringle, of Washington County, was Chairman of the Temperance Committee and in charge of the bill.\n\nIV. I began with an attack upon the proposed legislation. The bill had been drawn so as to allow every city and town and every militia district, as well as every county, to vote on the question whether liquor should be sold inside the bounds of the territory so voting.\n\nV. I attacked this portion, showing how it would lead to incalculable confusion. How the boundaries of a militia district were ill-defined, and how there would be confusion over which districts had the authority to vote.\nI. Autobiography, p. 229\n\nI had not spoken for more than fifteen minutes when Chairman Pringle asked to interrupt me. I consented, and he proposed an amendment to the bill, striking out all provisions for elections except within the county. This would make the county the unit in all cases. I told him this would answer my objection, and if this was done, I would have nothing further to say. I ended my speech, and the amendment was made, resulting in the bill's passage by an exceptionally heavy majority. It became a law.\nThe Legislature adjourned a short while after this episode and I returned to Macon. At the depot, I found to my utter consternation, a large delegation of the best citizens of the county who came to meet me and escort me home. I also found at the same time, a splendid delegation with carriages and a brass band from the Liquor Dealers' Association of the city, to escort me home and thank me for the part I had taken in connection with the passage of the bill.\n\nThe prohibitionists had come down to thank me and congratulate me because, they said, if I had not had the local option feature of the cities, towns, and militia districts cut out from the bill, it would never have passed. The Liquor Dealers' Association and the friends to the wet side came down to meet me and congratulate me.\nI was mortified and overwhelmed by the situation that my conduct had put the bill into a shape not so objectionable to the advocates of their side of the question. I slipped out of a side door of the station and crept up home disposed to hide myself and let no human being know of the distress I felt over such a proposed welcome. If I could be so understood or misunderstood on a question of this sort, I resolved to quit politics and give up all further ambition in this direction. I kept this resolve for ten years. It took fully that time for me to recover from the chill and mortification that I felt.\n\nAnother incident occurred during my four years\u2019 service. There had always been some uneasiness on the part of the people of Atlanta concerning the loan.\nAmong representatives from Fulton was Frank P. Rice, a leading member of the Finance Committee, with whom I served. Rice introduced a bill for appropriating a million dollars to build a Capitol in Atlanta and levying a special tax for it. For years, a bitter strife existed between Macon and Atlanta, extending beyond business rivalry to political jealousy. If a man from Macon ran for office in Atlanta, it caused controversy.\nAt this time, Major J.F. Hanson controlled The Telegraph. After careful consideration and consultation, he decided to advocate for building a suitable State Capitol in Atlanta. I consented, on the condition that the proposed measure would secure the State against any potential loss and protect citizens from unnecessary burdens. After much struggle, the bill was recommended by a bare majority of the Finance Committee. Notice was given when the report was made that a minority report would be filed. I drew this minority report.\nAnd I prepared sixteen amendments to the original bill to put it into a shape I thought would be satisfactory to the State. When the bill came to be put on its passage, sixteen members of the committee had signed the minority report. This was more than a majority, and the bill was in great jeopardy. The able and clear-minded legislators in charge of the bill accepted every amendment offered by the minority and incorporated these amendments into the body of the proposed Act. When this was done, I arose in my place and stated to the House that the bill as amended was satisfactory to me and the other members of the committee. It was then put on its passage and went through with a considerable majority. It became a law, as the Senate adopted the House's action.\n\nThe Act was so guarded that it was laughingly said\nOne occurrence in the House made us laugh and put everybody in a good humor. Colonel Rice, who was a fine businessman and a man of wealth, made from dealing in Atlanta real estate, began the discussion on the bill to build a Capitol, but he accidentally added the word \"bill\" at the end of his sentence, which made everyone laugh as we were all inclined to vote for his measure. The Capitol was surely built and constructed well.\n\nGovernor McDaniel appointed the commission, which consisted of five prominent citizens.\nGovernor McDaniel had better judgment about his appointments than any other man who ever sat in the Governor's chair. After the plans were prepared and architects and contractors had begun building, I appeared before the commission and asked if they had considered the acoustic properties of the halls for the House and Senate in these plans. They replied they had not, but would call the architect before them and find out what had been done in this regard. I had served in the old opera house where we had to stretch wires above the representatives' heads to deaden echoes and enable a speaker to be heard. We had much difficulty there. I had visited the House of Representatives in the Capitol of Massachusetts and found a very sharp echo.\nThe contrast between our halls of legislation and those of the people of Massachusetts: in the back seat of the Massachusetts House, the slightest whisper from the speaker's desk could be heard. In our halls, it was almost impossible for a speaker to be heard. Our commissioners consulted with their architect, who told me that nothing had been done regarding acoustics in the halls. They further stated that the architect informed them that no laws existed about such things; it was always a matter of chance. This is the reason for the dreadful lack of proper acoustic facilities in the present House of Representatives. No attention was paid to it, it seems, as the architect thought it was a matter of chance.\nThe result is a real misfortune to the State. No speaker can be heard ten steps away in the hall and legislation is done in the dark, as no man can tell what he is voting on unless the bill has been published or he hears it read in committee. Our Georgia legislation at present is haphazard, so far as the House is concerned. If the committee is not vigilant, great wrong may possibly be done at times.\n\nDuring my first term in the Legislature, I was a member of the Finance Committee and was brought in direct contact with the financial affairs of the State. I boarded during the session part of the time at the Markham House, and for the rest of the time at the Kimball. Colonel Tom Eason, of Telfair, was my roommate. He was a true friend throughout the remainder of my political career. We had met a few times before.\nHe was introduced to me as a self-taught man from the courts adjacent to Macon. He had learned to read before a light-wood fire in the great pine forests where he drove a team of mules or oxen, carrying logs to a saw mill. He had bent at night over the fire in the long hours trying to learn to read and spell. From this, he had gone on to educate himself, studying law and being admitted to the bar. He was self-made in every respect, and this constituted one of the ties that always bound me to him. We rarely differed personally on the great questions that came up for decision while we were together. He represented Telair County, and was also, with me, a member of the Finance Committee. He was loyal as a friend and during our long service together, always tried to save.\nI guarded Macon's interests wherever they were in question. Another tie that bound us together was his persistent and unwavering loyalty to the cause of A. O. Bacon, my fellow townsman, who later became a United States Senator. After our service, Tom became Solicitor General of his Circuit and prosecuted many offenders in some of which I took part, as will later be more fully stated in these reminiscences. His reputation grew as the years went on. He was put on the Prison Commission and served until he grew tired of public life. He is dead now, but a truer, warmer, more loyal, more lovable friend and comrade I have never had. Peace to his ashes, and God bless his memory!\n\nIt was while we boarded at the Kimball that on one occasion a young gentleman wearing spectacles sat down at our table. He represented Lowndes County.\nin the Legislature, and when we talked to him, he began to express himself as being utterly dissatisfied and desirous of quitting the Legislature and returning to private life. We questioned him to ascertain the reason for his dissatisfaction, and he stated that there was nothing occurring in which he took an interest, so far as the legislative session was concerned; he had nothing to do as a representative, nothing to look after as a legislator. He was a man of fine intelligence, and it surprised us to hear him talk as he did. We begged him to allow us to have him added to the Finance Committee, stating that we would ask the House that day when it met to do so, if he would consent. He finally consented and we put him on the Finance Committee. He made one of the ablest members.\nstrongest  and  most  interesting  representatives  that  we \nhad  in  the  Legislature,  taking  part  from  that  day  in \nall  the  business  of  the  State.  He  was  Charles  R.  Pen\u00ac \ndleton,  then  of  The  Valdosta  Times,  but  afterwards \nof  The  Macon  Telegraph. \nHe  told  me  over  and  over  that  the  kindness  we \nshowed  him  that  morning  and  the  work  we  did  for  him \nin  putting  him  on  the  Finance  Committee  had  more  to \ndo  with  his  future  political  success  than  any  other  event \nin  his  life.  He  studied  the  business  of  the  State  in  the \nCommittee  and  became  a  leader  in  our  councils. \nHe  was  my  political  friend  after  this  until  his  death, \nand  there  is  no  position  that  I  have  since  held  in  Geor\u00ac \ngia  he  did  not  aid  me  to  obtain.  His  pen  was  always \nat  my  service  and  he  did  more,  perhaps,  than  any  one \nman  in  the  whole  field  of  my  vision  to  bring  about \nI have achieved success in the political line. He died about thirty days before my election as governor. He assisted me in the canvass, went with me to many appointments, and gave me the counsel of his great intellect and the support of his kind and noble heart. He was himself worthy and well qualified to fill any position in all the land, yet, with a generosity seldom equaled in the world, he put his paper behind me in all my political aspirations and gave me his countenance and help, which counted the most when my need of it was greatest.\n\nWhen I came to Macon after my newspaper experience in Hancock, I found it impossible to lose all interest in the work. I began, therefore, to contribute to the daily papers in the city, writing communications and at times editorials for their columns.\nI was the owner of The Macon Telegraph's entire stock and renewed its charter as its attorney. I also obtained The Macon News charter and organized it, writing communications and expressing my views on the times' progress and politics of the State and Nation throughout this period. When Mr. Stephens was inaugurated as Governor, I was appointed to the House committee for the arrangements. I felt a great interest in his success, despite having no doubt about the final outcome. Georgia was torn apart by local dissension, yet he had done more than any other elected Governor to bring together all the factions up to that time.\nHe was opposed in his race by Mr. Bacon, later Senator in the United States Congress. Mr. Bacon had always been my friend, but I told him in that race that I could not support him, as my relations with Mr. Stephens were such that it would be the height of ingratitude if I did not give him all the help I could command. My race for the Legislature was going on at the same time as the canvass for Governor, but I came out strongly in favor of my old benefactor and friend. I introduced him to the people of Macon when he came down to make his speech and did all that I could to help him in his canvass. On one occasion, after his inauguration, I visited him in the mansion. I remember it was raining and I found him seated before a little stove in a room adjacent to, and built out from, the mansion. He was seated there.\nI asked him why he stayed in this small room instead of the main part of the building, as I bent over the stove and shivered with cold. He told me the building was leaking and so wet that he could not stay in it. This shocked me greatly. I went at once to the Capitol and wrote an appropriation of five thousand dollars into the approval bill, which was before my committee at the time, as an amendment to cover the mansion's repairs. I discovered that previous Legislatures had refused, for reasons unknown to me, to make any appropriations for the mansion's repair or, in fact, for any public buildings with a few exceptions. Consequently, the mansion had become almost uninhabitable.\n\nWhen the amendment came up in the House...\nI answered objections to the public funds being wasted on the mansion by describing what I had found within it. I closed my appeal with this statement, which I later discovered was incorrect: \"Mr. Speaker, the State of Georgia bought this mansion and issued approximately $200,000 in bonds to pay for it. I think, therefore, that we can certainly afford to keep the building in repair.\" The House laughed and the appropriation went through without a dissenting vote.\n\nAt that time, I sincerely believed that the bonds issued to pay for the building had indeed been repudiated. However, upon inquiry, I discovered that the bonds had been recognized and were then counted as part of the State's outstanding debt.\nMy motive was good, but my information was bad. I have sometimes thought that Mr. Stephens\u2019 life was shortened by the experience he went through while an inmate of the mansion. There was so much difference between this residence and Liberty Hall that I believe his frame, which was always feeble, was not able to stand it.\n\nWhen he was taken sick, I hoped at first for his recovery, but towards the last, someone telegraphed me at Macon that the end was approaching and advised me to come up at once, if I would see my friend alive. I took the train to Atlanta, but when I reached the mansion, his great career had closed and his generous heart was stilled forever. They told me at the mansion, when I arrived at the place, that he knew I was coming and almost his last intelligent words were: \"Give Harris my love.\"\nHe died on the 4th of March, 1883. I little imagined, when I looked on his cold, silent features in the great room of the mansion that thirty-two years afterwards I, myself, was destined to live in the same home and manage the business of the State from the same mansion where he died.\n\nThe Legislature was called together and met to take part in his funeral ceremonies. I was Chairman of the House committee on memorials and presented the report to the House that had been agreed on by the committee. I followed the report with an address that at least told of my personal sorrow, if it did not express fully the country\u2019s loss. A portion of the address was printed in the minutes of the Legislature of that date.\n\nThe address which I delivered was followed by one by Hon. Thomas E. Watson, who represented the County of McDuffie in that Legislature. This address:\nOne notable fact became apparent to me when I read the two addresses as printed in the minutes. I saw from Mr. Watson's address the prophecy of a great career in the use of the English Language. His splendid diction, his brilliant thoughts, his deep pathos, showed me that he was even then a master of eloquence. I felt like Walter Scott after reading Childe Harold. \"There is a master mind coming to the front.\"\n\nMr. Watson, as a historian, as a writer and speaker, was much greater than as a politician or statesman. Unfortunately, in his latter life, his delight seemed to be more to tear down than to build up.\n\nI was much attracted by his work in this Legislature. He aided me in the effort I was making to establish a school.\nA school of Technology advocated for heavy dog tax to bring revenue and protect sheep industry. The Legislature took a different view, making fun of his effort, applauding and then attempting to deter him from speaking. He eventually yielded and the cause was defeated. I believe he paid Georgia back in various ways afterwards.\nI have heard that he was educated at Mercer with the same great man from whom I borrowed money for schooling at Athens. In any event, he was always a friend of Mr. Stephens while he lived, and after his death, I have never heard him speak a word to the disparagement of the \"Great Commoner and Sage of Liberty Hall.\"\n\nWhen I ran for Governor the first time, he aided me in the campaign and I carried many counties through his influence. When I ran the second time, he opposed me and I was defeated by Governor Dorsey. In the later campaign, I never spoke a disparaging word of Mr. Watson, although he was writing me up in vigorous style and The Jeffersonian was filled with words of scorn and derision. Many times while I was speaking in a public hall, I have heard the newsboy at the entrance call out, \"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!\"\nA man shouted at the door, \"Here's your Jeffersonian. See what Mr. Watson says about old Governor Harris.\" At one time, the Attorney General of the United States intended to have Mr. Watson indicted outside of Georgia for circulating a libel against the Catholic Church. It will be remembered that such an indictment was obtained in Augusta, leading to a trial where Mr. Watson was acquitted.\n\nWhen it became known that the Attorney General planned to take such a step, Mr. Watson sent a prominent gentleman to me, one of his devoted friends, asking me not to allow the Attorney General of the United States to take actions that would take him, Mr. Watson, out of the State for trial.\n\nThe gentleman stated to me that he had just come from Mr. Watson and had been directed to say to me:\nI would prevent such a step being taken, he would give me his earnest support for my re-election and any other office I might seek. He made this statement, accompanied by the assertion that there were twenty-five thousand people in Georgia who would do whatever Mr. Watson said without asking any questions. These twenty-five thousand people could influence an equal number to take the same view. All these, he said, should be behind me if I sought preferment in Georgia, provided I took up Mr. Watson's cause and prevented his arrest and extradition. I told the gentleman I could not promise to do what he requested, but I would say that I did not like the step the Attorney General of the United States proposed taking because it tended to throw discredit on the State of Georgia.\nI couldn't find any meaningless or unreadable content in the text. Here's the cleaned version:\n\nWhich belief acted upon it was that Georgia couldn't administer her own laws. I further stated that it would reflect poorly on my administration to allow such a thing to happen to one of our citizens, and that I was disposed to do all I could to prevent it. The gentleman asked if I would object to his using my telephone to inform Mr. Watsomwhat of what I had said. I told him I would not, and he took up the telephone and the connection was soon made. He told Mr. Watson what I had said, and Mr. Watson's reply could be heard distinctly in the room as he held the phone to his ear. Mr. Watson expressed his gratitude that I held the view I had outlined.\n\nA few days later, I went to Washington and had an interview with the Attorney General, Mr. Gregg.\nAfter telling him of my wishes and begging him to cease his efforts to have Mr. Watson carried out of Georgia, he said to me, \"What kind of politicians have you in Georgia? You come to me and denounce Mr. Watson in unmeasured terms, and yet when I propose to silence or punish him for his misdemeanors, you come here and take his part and urge me to let him alone. Why is this?\" I did not answer him according to his inquiry but contented myself with telling him that I wanted him to let Mr. Watson alone for the sake of the honor of my own State and people. The Georgia delegation in the House decided to go down and make a similar request to Mr. Gregory, and in the meeting where this was discussed, one member of the House said, \"Our representative in Congress should be instructed to use his influence to prevent the passage of the bill.\"\nThe old governor has already gone down to see the Attorney General, and I am sure the rest of us can do the same. Senator Smith also made the same request. Senator Hardwick alone declined to appear.\n\nWhile the matter was being considered by me, I received several letters and petitions on behalf of Mr. Watson. One letter was written by a young girl not more than nine or ten years old. It contained words something like these: \"Governor Harris, please don't let the Attorney General take our dear Mr. Watson out of the State. Please save him, Governor Harris. I am only a little girl not ten years old and I am sending you this petition with all my heart. Please don't pass it over.\" And the little one signed her name.\n\nAfter Mr. Watson's bitter opposition had passed my defeat in 1916, I made a visit to the Secretary.\nThe Secretary of War, Mr. Baker. At that time, the war with Germany had been declared, and I had gone to see him about some military matters in my possession. In one of our interviews, he told me that the Attorney General was about to take proceedings against Mr. Watson under the criminal statute, which made it a crime to oppose enlistments or interfere with the Nation\u2019s preparation for the conflict with Germany, thus aiding or assisting the enemy. It is the same statute under which many convictions have been had and many prisoners have been serving in Fort Leavenworth.\n\nAbout this time, Mr. Watson's daughter died, and the sad affliction nearly broke his heart. The Jeffersonian was suppressed, and whatever other publications he had were declared illegal. The implication was strong that the next step would be an indictment.\nMr. Watson wrote to the Attorney General, sharing that he had recently lost his daughter and his only son had died before, leaving him childless and heartbroken. He stated that if the department took no further proceedings against him, he would do nothing further in opposition to the war or against the interests of the army and Government.\n\nThe Secretary informed me of this and added that the Attorney General had sent him the letter for him to read. I asked, \"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Secretary?\" He replied, \"We will do nothing. If Mr. Watson keeps his promise, there will be no further steps taken against him.\"\n\nNothing further was done with the matter regarding the indictment for criminal libel, and it appears that the Attorney General never proceeded with it.\nAfter the death of Mr. Stephens, Judge Boynton succeeded to the office as he was then President of the Senate and under our law became Governor for a term of sixty days. He announced for election to fill out the unexpired term. Against him, two others came into the field: Hon. A. O. Bacon of Bibb and Henry D. McDaniel of Walton. The Atlanta influence was thrown for Judge Boynton, while the Macon influence, of course, stood by Mr. Bacon. I was appointed by Mr. Bacon his campaign chairman. My recent efforts to establish the School of Technology had brought me many acquaintances throughout the State and had given me a little experience in dealing with the people. I did all that I could to carry Mr. Bacon's cause to success. He had been Speaker of the House.\nFor eight years, the House of Representatives of the State had been represented by Mr. Bacon. He had served other terms in the Legislature as well, distinguishing himself as a man of ability and profound knowledge of the State's affairs. Mr. Bacon went to the convention with a plurality of the delegates, lacking only a few votes to carry the majority.\n\nMy father-in-law, Reverend John W. Burke, was a strong supporter of Mr. Bacon and became one of the delegates to the convention. After the convention's organization and the vote was taken, it was discovered that Mr. Bacon had a plurality of six votes over the highest candidate opposed to him.\n\nThe announcement of the vote brought great enthusiasm in the Bibb delegation. The members shouted, and I remember Mr. Burke throwing his hat into the air.\nand it lodged in the wiring below the House ceiling, to aid its acoustic properties. He was perfectly bald, so we were forced to retrieve his hat before he could leave the hall. The balloting continued for some time, Mr. Bacon leading on every vote, Judge Boynton second, and Major McDaniel following behind with some fifteen votes. When it was finally ascertained that no nomination could be made, a motion was introduced by Mr. Walsh of Augusta, who was favoring Judge Boynton, to appoint a committee of fifteen to decide the question and select the candidate from the three men before the House. I was appointed Chairman of the Bacon delegation on this committee. But just before the meeting was called, I received a telegram from home stating that my oldest son, Walter, who had the measles, had deteriorated.\nveloped  pneumonia  and  was  in  a  critical  condition, \nand  advising  me  to  return  to  Macon  without  delay. \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nMy  son  had  been  my  bed-fellow  from  his  birth.  I \nhad  watched  over  him  in  all  his  youthful  troubles.  He \nwas  only  eight  years  of  age  and  I  could  not  do  other\u00ac \nwise  than  obey  the  call.  I  had  already  lost  a  little \ndaughter  some  time  before  with  the  same  disease, \nand  this  made  me  especially  uneasy  concerning  Wal\u00ac \nter\u2019s  sickness.  Mr.  Bacon  selected  his  friend,  Mr. \nWashington  Dessau,  from  Macon,  to  take  my  place \nand  I  left  on  the  first  train. \nI  have  heard  that  when  the  committee  of  fifteen  was \ncalled  together  the  vote  stood  six  for  Bacon  and  six \nfor  Boynton  with  three  for  McDaniel.  This  continued \nfor  several  ballots,  the  door  into  the  hall  from  the \ncommittee  room  standing  open.  I  used  to  say  that  if \nI had been present if the door had been closed, and Mr. Bacon would have been Governor. As it was, after several ballots, one of the Boynton delegates announced he would vote for Mr. Bacon on the next ballot. It was agreed that part of the McDaniel delegation would also join him, giving him the majority. At this critical moment, the two leading men managing Judge Boynton's campaign came to the door and stood for a moment looking in. They ascertained what move was intended and immediately called out the Chairman of the McDaniel delegation. It was arranged that the McDaniel delegation should stand firm for McDaniel, and the Boynton delegation would go over to him, securing his election. This was done, and McDaniel became Governor. He was elected without opposition and entered office.\nHe was one of the clearest-headed, purest, and most sagacious statesmen and patriots to ever sit in our Governor's chair. He was a thorough businessman, and his wisdom was evident in every way, as demonstrated by those who elected him.\n\nAutobiography:\nHe had a speech impediment that at times interfered with the free expression of his words in conversation. However, he could deliver an address without difficulty, and his judgment of men was unmatched by any other incumbent of the high office he held.\n\nSenator Brown's Donation:\nThe Chairman of the Finance Committee in this Legislature was the Hon. W. A. Little, of Columbus. He was a particularly strong man and was elected speaker at the following Legislature. During my first two years of service, Senator Joseph E. Brown made a tender.\nTo the University of fifty thousand dollars for the education of young men of Georgia and a portion of South Carolina. His will required the State to issue a bond covering the same and pay interest thereon for all time. It was the fund afterwards called the \u201cCharles McDonald Brown Fund,\u201d in honor of a son of the Senator, who had died a short time before. The matter was referred to the finance committee and the Chairman, afterward Judge Little, opposed the acceptance of the donation. When it came into the House, he and I took opposite sides of the question. I made the best speech I could in favor of accepting the donation, but Colonel Little was so strong and so vigorous in his opposition that he bore everything before him and the donation was defeated. I felt the defeat very deeply, for I was anxious to provide education opportunities for young men.\nI have had the fund turned over to the University under the auspices of the State, and I sorrowed that I was unable to meet the Chairman and carry the House against his opposition. Senator Brown accomplished his purpose in another way. Having purchased fifty thousand dollars of the State's AUTOBIOGRAPHY bonds, he turned these over to the University to be refunded under an act of the Legislature that existed at that time. The institution received a bond for fifty thousand dollars at the high interest that the State was paying for such refunds, and the Trustees of the University took charge under the contract to carry out the purposes of his gift. It has proven to be a very great addition to the University's resources and has educated scores of young men who would have been deprived of a college training but for the gift which the Senator had made.\nDuring my second term in the Legislature, the first installment of our State debt, amounting to three million dollars, fell due. It is worth remembering that following the reconstruction period, when a Democratic administration came into office, there was a complete overhauling of all our bond issues. This resulted in the repudiation of approximately eleven million dollars issued during the reconstruction period. This repudiation created a fearful prejudice against the State in the money centers throughout the country. In New York, our bonds were driven off the exchanges and declared an unfit investment for trust funds or any other funds seeking permanent securities. Our people were just recovering from the terrible depletion following the war and the reconstruction.\nThe problem of paying the bonds was rampant, and it was known that attempting to pay them in cash would place such a burden on the State that bankruptcy would result in almost every quarter. It was hoped, therefore, that a new issue of bonds could be sold to take up the bonds falling due.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe settlement of this problem fell upon the Governor and the finance committee, of which I was Chairman.\n\nEfforts had been made at a previous time to show the justice of the State's action in the repudiation-aforesaid, and to this end, proceedings were brought by the Attorney General of the State in New York City to convince the monied interests, and especially the authorities of the State, that the position of our people was absolutely correct in repudiating the bonds. Col. N. J. Hammond appeared for the State.\nHenry Clews & Company, heavy losers by the repudiation, opposed the proceedings. Although unsuccessful immediately, the agitation revealed the reasons for our people and Legislature's actions in repudiating the securities. The State knew it would face fierce opposition in monied centers when selling the new bond issue.\n\nWhen the offer was made to sell and bids solicited, only one offer emerged. Engineered by Mr. Pat Calhoun, a prominent lawyer and businessman from our State, descendant of the great Calhoun of South Carolina, it became a question in the State whether Mr. Calhoun would secure the issue.\nCalhoun and his associates could make good the offer. During the legislative session, Mr. Calhoun gave notice that a change in the time for delivering the bonds was required if his bid was accepted, and my committee was chosen to present a resolution granting him sixty more days to complete his bid. The state took serious interest throughout its boundaries, and much speculation ensued. I have seen Governor McDaniel pace the floor of his office while consulting about the matter, with deep emotion evident on his features and perspiration dripping from his forehead \"in great drops of agony,\" as we expressed it at the time. Mr. Calhoun came to me as Chairman of the Finance Committee and asked me to have the resolution prepared.\nRESOLUTION\n\nProviding for delivery of new four and a half percent Bonds.\n\nResolved by the General Assembly of the State of Georgia,\nThat the Governor be, and he is hereby authorized to deliver,\nat any time after January 1, 1886, all, or any part of the new four and a half percent bonds, maturing in 1886;\nhe may pay the holders of the bonds maturing in 1886,\nsurrendering them before maturity, the difference in the rate of interest they bear and that borne by the new bonds:\nProvided, however, the early delivery of the new bonds and\ninterest thereon, not to exceed in the aggregate one million dollars,\nshall be made only upon the application of the holders of the old bonds,\nand upon such terms as the Governor shall deem just and equitable.\nthe  payment  before  maturity  of  the  old  bonds  shall  entail  no \ngreater  expense  upon  the  State  than  that  contemplated  in  the \npresent  contract  for  the  sale  of  said  new  bonds:  Provided \nfurther,  that  on  said  delivery  of  the  four  and  a  half  per  cent \nbonds  and  the  payment  of  the  difference  in  interest,  an  equa\u00ac \ntion  of  principal  and  the  interest  in  both  classes  of  bonds  shall \nbe  made  so  that  the  amount  paid  by  the  State,  either  in  the \ndelivery  of  the  four  and  a  half  per  cent  bonds  or  in  the  payment \nof  the  difference  in  interest,  and  the  interest  on  said  interest \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nshall  be  equal  to  the  amount  of  the  principal  and  interest  sev\u00ac \nerally  due  on  said  surrendered  bonds  at  the  time  of  the  ma\u00ac \nturity  of  the  same,  and  not  in  excess  thereof. \nResolved  further,  That  to  enable  the  Governor  to  ascertain \nwhich  holders  of  the  old  bonds  will  surrender  them  before \nI. Maturity, and to effectively expedite their early and prompt payment, he may advertise his readiness to pay them before maturity, and the terms on which they will be paid if presented before maturity, in such manner as he deems to be in the best interest of the State.\n\nApproved, October 13, 1885.\n\nMr. Calhoun stated afterwards that I had done more for the State by taking this risk, which the Governor himself had passed over to me, than any man who had ever dealt in her financial matters up to that time. I had, of course, accepted all responsibility for the proceedings, and granting the extension.\n\nThe entire State was on tenterhooks, anticipating and yet fearing the worst. I recall on the morning when the time had expired for making the bid good and the word had come by telegraph that the issue had been accepted and the money had been paid, I went into the State Treasury.\npreme  Court  room,  expecting  some  matter  about  which \nI  was  concerned  to  come  up  for  a  hearing.  As  I  passed \nthrough  the  door  Judge  Jackson,  who  was  presiding, \nstopped  the  proceedings  and  said  to  me:  \u201cWhat  news \nabout  the  bonds,  Mr.  Harris?\u201d \nI  replied,  \u201cThe  bonds  have  been  accepted  and  the \nmoney  has  been  paid.\u201d \nThen  Judge  Jackson  came  down  with  his  hand  heav\u00ac \nily  upon  the  desk  and  said  in  a  loud  voice,  \u201cThank  God \nfor  that!  The  State\u2019s  honor  is  saved.\u201d \nAnd  it  was  so.  The  State  was  saved.  There  was \nnever  any  further  trouble  with  her  finances.  Her  credit \nsteadily  advanced.  All  claims  against  her  were  prompt\u00ac \nly  paid  and  her  position  throughout  the  country  was \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nrecognized  as  in  the  front  rank.  In  fact  her  bonds \nsome  time  afterwards  sold  higher  than  those  of  any \nother  state  in  the  Union,  except  one  or  two. \nRAILROAD  MATTERS \nDuring my four-year tenure in the Legislature, I assumed and revived the charter of the Covington & Macon Railroad Company. This road was intended to run from Macon to Covington on the Georgia Railroad, providing another route to Atlanta and surrounding areas.\n\nThe Company was organized in Macon under the renewed charter, and Col. Lon Livingston was elected President, with a full board of directors, of which I was a member. I was also appointed General Counsel for the road and was expected to advise both the corporation and the contractor.\n\nCol. E.C. Machen, of Kentucky and New York, undertook the work of building the road, and a contract was made with him, giving him the bonds of the company at the rate of about five thousand dollars per mile. Machen was the son of a Kentucky farmer.\nCongressman, who was serving in Washington obtained an introduction to General John B. Gordon, then Governor of Georgia. With this recommendation, he came to the state and undertook the work of building a railroad. It was said of him in Harper\u2019s Magazine that when he commenced his work, his sole resources were a \"side of meat and a box of crackers.\" He was introduced to me by Col. Livingston, and it was at his request that I revived the charter of the road. At the time, I had no idea I would ever have any connection with the road. It was an act growing out of purely legislative duties, as both Col. Livingston and Mr. Machen had asked me to introduce the bill and carry it through both Houses, which I did.\n\nSometime after the Legislature had adjourned.\nI was selected to aid in the company's organization and worked closely with Mr. Machen on all his building projects in the State. The first spike ceremony took place in Macon in my absence. A silver spike was obtained, and the citizens gathered to witness the event. Mr. Machen drove the spike, and Col. Livingston delivered the address. I grew very attached to Mr. Machen. He had served in the Confederate army and sustained a severe head wound while on a gunboat below Richmond. The bullet penetrated the back portion of his brain, cutting through the bone and allowing the escape of both blood and brains. It was stated that he was carried in a swing in the hospital for some time, near to death.\nI always thought that the wound had a constitutional effect upon him, interfering in some measure with his judgment and heightening his general circulation. He was quick and irritable, yet a man of wonderful resources, untiring energy, and sleepless vigilance.\n\nAfter finishing the road to Athens, which was the original Covington & Macon, with the Northern terminus having been changed, he also built the Middle Georgia & Atlantic road, running from Porterdale to Eatonton, and crossing the Macon & Northern at Macon.\n\nHe also started a road from Macon to a terminus on the Florida coast, leading out from Macon through Twiggs County and following a southern direction to the port.\n\nIn all these matters, I was his general counsel. Having no resources from the outside and being dependent on myself, I took on this role willingly.\nThe road project was entirely funded by subscription money and mortgage bond sales as it progressed, yet he continually faced issues with creditors and those along the road. On the Macon & Northern line alone, I defended over four hundred and fifty common law cases and fifty-two applications for injunction and receiver. I would often tell him that there had been a lawsuit for every rail he laid down between Athens and Macon. The road was also criticized by outsiders, who claimed that in many cases, when turning some of the curves, the conductor could shake hands with the engineer and get a chew of tobacco. While this was an exaggeration, the road was indeed lengthened by approximately eighteen to twenty miles due to the numerous curves between the two cities.\nMr. Machen replied that these curves earned money for the road, as mileage determined freight and passenger tariffs. Mr. Machen was associated with a lady from New York, Mrs. H.S. Gould. She was a woman of considerable business talent and for some time superintended the railroad hands engaged in work on the road. She directed them, acting as overseer, superintendent, and general agent of the contractor. She frequently paid off the hands, discharged some and hired others, as necessary, and looked after the work of construction for days and months, sleeping in the camps or in the neighbors' houses nearby. Her business ability commanded the respect of every laborer and sub-contractor engaged in the work. She wrote out a very interesting history of her adventures.\nThe intended publication of this autobiography was prevented by her death.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe construction of this road presented many attractive features. The methods pursued by Mr. Machen were absolutely new to our country, and although it afforded many grounds of complaint, it caused considerable rejoicing among the people affected by the opening of the country to new lines of transportation. The difficulties of the situation multiplied so rapidly that when the road reached Monticello, about forty miles above Macon, it was put into the hands of a receiver. Its general officers were all enjoined, and Mr. Machen left it, broken down in body and almost ready to give up the ghost. He took a trip to Europe for the purpose of recruiting his health. During his absence, the litigation was continued, and several months passed with no final decree being granted.\nIn less than six months, Mr. Machen returned and settled the indebtedness urged against the road in the equity proceeding for receivership. This was accomplished, and a new issue of bonds began to be sold. These bonds were taken by Alexander Brown & Son, an old pre-Revolutionary banking firm operating in Baltimore, with unlimited credit and wide business connections. The parent house was located in Baltimore with branches in New York, Philadelphia, and London. The head of the house came down to Macon to look into the business and gather information concerning the character and prospects of the enterprise. The financial arrangements had been made by young [someone].\nAlexander Brown, anxious to act on his own responsibility for the good of his firm, initiated a visit from his father, who had previously been referred to. I believe the father was satisfied with Alexander's examination. Unfortunately, he caught a severe cold at the Lainer House and this cold persisted after his return to Baltimore, ultimately leading to his death. Young Mr. Brown continued the enterprise and acquired the bonds that enabled Col. Machen to complete the road. While the construction of the road progressed, I fell ill with a severe illness which resulted in an ulcerated colon and required an operation, as mentioned in previous parts of these reminiscences.\n\nDr. Westmoreland, who performed the operation, advised me to return to East Tennessee.\nA man, when he has reached the last extremity, often wants to return to the place of his birth. At that time, the contractor building the Atlanta & Florida road was afflicted with the same disease and died despite all efforts to save him. I had dreamed of a spring connected to Captain A.V. Deaderick near my old home where I was born. This discovery was advantageous to me. Upon reaching Jonesboro, I inquired about such a spring and learned that Captain Deaderick was in possession of the \"Unaka Spring,\" about twenty miles southeast of Johnson City, and only fifteen miles from my old home. I went to the spring, found it to be true, met my old friend Captain Deaderick, and stayed with him.\nFor two months, I drank the chalybeate water and rested in a recumbent position as long as I stayed with him. While I was at the springs, Colonel Machen came to consult me after striking against a rock and being unable to see his way over or around it. The hotel, or \"caravan-sarie,\" as I then called it, was located on the far side of the Nola Chucky river. There was a heavy flood on the river when Colonel Machen came to see me; there was no bridge and no one on the shore who was willing to bring a boat across. Colonel Machen called out to ask if I was at the hotel and tried to get someone to ferry him across. In this he was unsuccessful, and after looking over the situation, he loosed a small boat from the shore, jumped in, and began to row across.\nThe water was very swift, and the frail vessel was dashed far down below the hotel despite all that Col. Machen could do. He kept rowing with all his might and finally came to land. He was kind enough to say to me, when he came up, that he couldn't get along without me and had been compelled to come see me for advice. He stayed with me for several days and until the river fell, then went back home with the best advice I could give him. At any rate, nothing suffered from my absence.\n\nThe hotel where I stayed was built largely of poles and plank set upright and was in a region far off from mails and transportation. I used to think it was a very bold undertaking on Col. Machen's part to visit me under such circumstances.\n\nSince then, the hotel has been rebuilt and has become a splendid summer resort.\nMy son, Walter, was with me in this distant establishment, which was encircled by mountains on three sides and by the river on the fourth. He waited on me during my sickness. At the end of two months, I went back to Atlanta and had myself examined. I saw a smile light up the doctor's countenance when he had finished the work, and he told me that I was well and could go back to the office.\n\nAutobiography\n\nI wondered at this result several times afterwards. The spring saved my life, and I can never express the gratitude that I have felt towards Mr. Deaderick and his devoted wife, for their care and attention to me when I so closely faced the other world.\n\nI went back to the spring once in a private car that I had purchased for use in railroad operations. I took the children with me, but my wife did not go.\nA car was parked on the side of the river opposite the hotel, where the railroad ended. A trestle ran out along the bank for some distance beyond where the car was parked. A slight rain came up, wetting the trestle and making it especially slippery. My son, John, who was about five or six years old, heard me as I came across from the hotel and approached the car. He ran out onto the trestle and when exactly over the awful rocks below, his feet slipped from under him and he fell some twenty feet down to the rocks. The porter and I, and all the children, rushed to where he had fallen and lifted him up unconscious. I remember the horror that came over me as I held him in my arms, thinking of carrying him back in a coffin to his mother. The porter took him out of my arms.\nAfterwards, he said, \"Colonel, he is not dead, he will come to, don't be worried, he will come to.\" We carried him up the bank and put him on his bed in the car, bathing his head in cold water and rubbing him with cloths. Sure enough, after a short while, he came back to life. Of course, his first sensation was one of deathly sickness. A young man, whose name I will always remember, came up to me and said he would walk to Erwin, some four miles away, and bring a doctor as soon as possible. He was General Wilder's grandson.\n\nWhen the doctor reached us, he found that no bones were broken and that a miracle had been wrought in some way that saved the boy's life. He recovered in a short while, so as to be able to sit up and take nourishment. I then went down to the place where\nHe had fallen to ascertain how he had escaped with his life or without a mortal injury. He had plunged headfirst down towards the rocks, but it seemed that more than half way down, he had struck against an intervening brace of the trestle made of a pine sapling. The bark had given way and slid down the pole or brace with him, until it had reached the rocks at its foot. This broke his fall and saved his life.\n\nIt was Saturday, and on the next day, Dr. David Sullins, one of the greatest preachers of the Methodist Church, who was staying at the Springs, delivered an address on the Ways of Providence, and the miracles wrought to save life, referring for illustration to John's fall.\n\nThe road was completed to Athens some time in 1889 and opened for traffic and business. Colonel Jack Jones was elected President.\nI was continued as Director and General Counsel of the road. By this time, Mr. Brown had taken up all the outstanding bonds, and as the new bonds carried the stock of the road, he became, in fact, the owner of the enterprise. I went up to Baltimore several times to consult with him, and he took me out to his beautiful country residence, called \u201cMondaubin,\u201d some three or four miles from Baltimore. He treated me with great kindness and I became much attached to him. He had married a beautiful wife, who spent her summers at Newport, while he visited her at intervals, keeping up the great business of the banking house. After we had run the railroad for some time, he concluded to try to sell it to one of the great trunk lines.\nHis bank acted as financial agent for the Seaboard Air Line Railroad Company, and he had always declared that the Macon & Northern was built to connect Macon and Portsmouth. When he decided to try selling the property, he approached the President of the Seaboard Air Line and offered it to him. The result was a rejection. The President offered him a very low figure for the property, which would have resulted in almost half of his investment being lost. He shared his disappointment with me and proposed paying me $25,000 in cash if I would handle the sale to the West Point Terminal Company or the Richmond and Danville Railroad Company. I agreed to give it a try. I went to New York and called on Col. Pat Calhoun, who had an office at 61 Broadway.\nI knew that Mr. John Inman was the president of this railroad system and would decide on the purchase. Mr. Calhoun told me he would decide. Mr. Calhoun described Mr. Inman as one of the hardest men in New York to deal with, his will as iron, and his heart as flint. Mr. Calhoun didn't believe I could sell the road to him. Determined to try, Mr. Calhoun introduced me in Mr. Inman's office. I found Mr. Inman slightly deaf, requiring me to speak loudly.\n\nWhen I told him my business and offered to sell him the road, he rejected the proposition swiftly, firmly, and decisively, stating he didn't want it, didn't need it, and wouldn't take it as a gift. I told him I had more to offer.\nHe replied, \"Let the Seaboard Air Line have it. I don't want it.\" Then he looked in my face and asked, \"Where did you come from?\" I told him I was born in East Tennessee, in Washington County. He replied, \"Who were your people in East Tennessee? I mentioned the name of my father and some of my mother's people, Landon C. Haynes and N.G. Taylor. I went on and stated that I was named after Col. Nat Taylor, that I knew Mr. Alfred Taylor, who had married Mr. Inman's half-sister, a Miss Hamilton. I saw his face light up when I began to talk about my kinfolk, and I determined to make one last strong appeal to him.\n\nI said, \"Mr. Inman, you left East Tennessee at the\"\nI was a Confederate soldier, just like you. You crossed the Brooklyn bridge with seventy-five cents in your pocket and have since made twenty millions in a financial contest with these great industrial captains. I went to Georgia and have been grinding my face against the hard stones in that state, accumulating little and hardly making ends meet at times, but always ambitious to do something to make up for the property we left behind in Tennessee. If I can sell this road, I can make twenty-five thousand dollars. Can't you help me, and won't you buy it and help out a fellow countryman for the sake of all we have felt and known in our common exile.\nI saw his eyes glisten, and a film come over them. I had found his weak place - a love for his ancestry and his people. He bid me come back next day, and then, to the utter astonishment of Mr. Calhoun, his legal adviser, he directed that the papers be prepared and the road taken over into his vast aggregation.\n\nMr. Brown paid me the twenty-five thousand dollars, which I divided with my partners, Messrs. Hill & Birch.\n\nI took part in the building of five railroads for Georgia. Three of these were projected and carried on by Col. E. C. Machen, who after completing the Macon & Northern, commenced two others; the Middle Georgia & Atlantic, to which I have referred, and the Brunswick & Birmingham. The Middle Georgia & Atlantic, running from Porterdale to Eatonton, is now a part of the Central of Georgia Railway.\nBrunswick and Birmingham road, running from Brunswick north, he never completed, but is now a part of the Atlanta, Birmingham & Atlantic Railroad, which runs through the State, completing the connection between Brunswick and Birmingham, Alabama. The other two roads, in the building of which I took part, were the Empire & Dublin, running from Hawkinsville to Dublin, now a part of the Wrightsville & Tennille, and the Tifton, Thomasville & Gulf road, running from Tifton to Thomasville, now a part of the Atlanta, Birmingham & Atlantic road. These two roads were laid out and built under the direction and supervision of Capt. J. W. Hightower. I was a director in each of the roads and general counsel. Captain Hightower was a prominent and distinguished saw mill operator, doing business in the country south of Macon, on what is now the Southern Railway.\nI ran to Brunswick. Outside of the Dodge interests, he owned the largest saw mill in the State. The output reached one hundred and twenty-five thousand feet of lumber per day, so he did a vast business with builders and contractors throughout the State and elsewhere. I loved and admired John Hightower and was always pleased to call him my friend. He lost money and so did I now and then, but he never violated faith or forgot his duty to a friend. He is dead now and his death took from my side one of the kindest and best men that I have ever dealt with. The five railroads to which I have referred are all still working for the people of Georgia, but have formed no prominent part in her great lines of transportation. After the Macon & Northern was taken over by the Central & Richmond & Danville roads, parts of these lines were merged.\nThe lines were put into a receiver's hands by Judge Emory of the United States court. The owners of the roads were not satisfied that the facts justified the seizure, but the court's orders were never reversed, and the roads were administered through the United States Court.\n\nAt an early date after the receiver had been appointed, an application was made to Judge Speer to separate the Macon & Northern receivership from that of the Central road. This application was presented by Alexander Brown & Son, who were, as stated above, owners of the majority of the stock and all the bonds of the company. The court granted the application and appointed me receiver to take charge of, operate, and administer the property.\n\nH. M. Comer, at that time, was the receiver of the Central. I remember a characteristic interaction between us.\nI went to Mr. Comer to demand possession of the Macon & Northern. I showed him the order appointing me receiver and directing him to turn over the property to me. He said, \"I already have a copy of the order and you could have saved at least a dollar and a half if you hadn't taken this additional copy and had it certified. We must be economical in running these railroads, and this dollar and a half will be charged to my receivership.\"\n\nMr. Comer was economical but also a man of the strictest honesty and probity, a splendid gentleman of the old school, deserving to be listed in the forefront of Georgia's most successful business men.\n\nI told him once in the course of our relations together in the courts, that I looked on him for advice and encouragement just as if he were my father. To this he replied:\nI replied, \"No, don't put it that way, say 'brother,' for I am not old enough to be your father.\" I replied that I would be willing to pattern after him and take his advice, and that I felt towards him even nearer than a brother. He treated me with fairness, kindness, and showed exceptional fidelity in all the requirements of an honest railroad business. When he died, I felt that I had lost one of the strongest friends that I had ever known.\n\nI have never had any man in business treat me with more kindness, show me more favors, or aid me in the performance of the duties that had fallen to my lot in the management of a railroad.\n\nI operated the Macon & Northern Railroad under receivership for very nearly four years, attending to all its business, taking care of its interests, and looking after it with the utmost diligence.\nAfter the case went to decree and the road was sold, it was bought in by the firm of Alexander Brown & Son, under mortgage bonds. Its name was changed to the Macon & Northern Railway Company. New stock was issued, and I was elected president under the first organization. Sometime afterwards, a new organization was had, and Alexander Brown was made president, while I was continued in immediate control, as vice-president in Georgia.\n\nI was proceeding to wind up the business of the receivership and bring it to an end with as little expense as possible when Judge Speer, learning of the new arrangement, and without any notice whatever, removed me from the receivership and appointed his friend, Major William Henry Ross, receiver in my stead, to complete the business of the court. Major Ross\nRoss  looked  into  the  matter  and  seeing  there  was  very \nlittle  left  for  him  to  do,  and  in  fact,  I  think,  recog\u00ac \nnizing  fully  that  there  was  no  need  for  such  a  receiver, \nresigned  the  place,  whereupon  the  judge  appointed  an\u00ac \nother  person  to  whom  I  turned  over  the  records  and \nclaims  of  the  receivership. \nUndoubtedly  the  court  took  offense  because  I  had \naccepted  the  presidency  of  the  road  without  consult\u00ac \ning  him.  He  treated  it  as  an  act  of  insubordination \nand  hence  he  dealt  with  it  summarily,  without  any  no\u00ac \ntice  whatever  to  me.  He  went  further  than  this.  He \nappointed  the  District  Attorney  as  an  auditor  to  ex\u00ac \namine  all  my  accounts,  although  the  reports  had  been \nregularly  made  and  regularly  approved  up  to  the \ntime  of  his  second  appointment  of  a  successor. \nHe  did  more.  He  directed  the  District  Attorney \nto  examine  the  accounts  with  special  regard  to  the \nI. Payment of rebates and ascertain and report to him if any such had been paid during my administration. This was at a time when rebates were common, and one distinguished railroad man discussing these matters said, \"No successful railroad manager can carry on his work with any kind of regard for the welfare of his company without taking the risk of the penitentiary every day of his life.\" I think Judge Speer had determined to have the District Attorney proceed against me in the criminal courts, if he had found any rebates. One great man, running a railroad at the time, opened his side book to me one day and said, \"Mr. Harris, I have paid $659,000.00 in rebates within the last three years while running my railroad.\" The court wanted to make an example of me that would become famous.\nI was in great suspense during this investigation. I was certain that money had been paid for rebates, but this had been done without my knowledge or consent, all such matters going through the traffic department. It has always been a source of congratulation on my part that no employee hinted to the District Attorney that a rebate had been paid. The body of men I gathered together to run the Macon & Northern was never equaled, I believe, in all railroad management, in terms of loyalty and fidelity to the head. Nearly all have gone elsewhere, but wherever they have gone, they carried with them my gratitude and unchanging appreciation. I might record here one or two occurrences showing my regard for \u201cmy boys,\u201d as I called them.\nOne of the engineers running between Macon and Athens went out to the latter city and became greatly intoxicated, subjecting himself to the worst sort of criticism. My Superintendent, Mr. Hoge, promptly discharged the man, saying, \"While we are not running a Sunday school, yet the fact that this man became intoxicated in public, putting the world on notice that he was addicted to this habit, requires us, in taking care of the property, to discharge him.\" I approved the action.\n\nAbout ten days after the discharge, I was sitting in my office when a tall gentleman, utterly unknown to me, came through the door. As he walked in, he said, \"Is this Col. Harris' office?\" I replied, \"Yes, Sir, this is the man.\" He immediately came forward and standing before me said, \"Col. Harris, you discharged me a few days ago.\"\nI have come to ask you back my place, which I left from the railroad days ago. On his knees, he stretched out his hand and, with tears running down his cheeks, said, \"Col. Harris, I have nine reasons why you should give me back this place. I have nine little children. The oldest is a girl, only thirteen years of age. I have never done anything but work on a railroad locomotive and cannot do anything else. If you will give me back my place, so that I can make bread for my children, I promise you that if I ever get into trouble again, I will not wait for you to discharge me. You will not have to do so, for I will quit of my own accord. Won't you do this for me, Col. Harris?\" By this time, my own sight had grown misty. I reached forward and took his hand and said, \"Get up.\"\nMoore, get up. I am going to give you your place back. Go and tell Mr. Hoge to put you on the engine, even if it breaks the railroad. You shall have another trial.\n\nHe worked for six months without any trouble, and then one day yielded to his weakness, broke an eccentric, punched a hole in the boiler, and left his train standing dead on the track. But I didn't have to discharge him. He kept his word and quit.\n\nThe District Attorney, after carefully and laboriously going over the entire accounts of the receivership, passed them all without filing exception save one small voucher for expenses of the receiver. The accounts, as I remember, amounted to some six hundred thousand dollars a year and the receivership had lasted about four years.\n\nI was glad indeed to pay back the small sum that I owed him.\nI was charged against me. It grew out of visits to Baltimore to confer with Mr. Brown. Although it was in fact chargeable against the estate, it should have been allowed as a credit by the court upon application. It was less than two hundred dollars.\n\nI will always feel grateful to Mr. Erwin that he did not lend himself to Judge Speer's effort to have me arraigned concerning matters of which I was utterly ignorant and as innocent as a newborn baby, if any such matters existed.\n\nMr. Erwin soon afterwards left Macon; went into business in New York and did very well in his more enlarged sphere. He was well educated and some time since I received from him a copy of a very interesting scientific work that he had written and published while in New York. He has recently died at his home in that city.\n\nI continued operating the road for about six months.\nMr. Brown sold the Macon & Northern road to the Central Georgia Railway Company, which has operated it as part of its system since then. The Central kept my firm as Division Counsel from Macon to Athens, a position I have held until this writing. I am not providing a history of the Macon & Northern road as it would require more space than this volume can cover. The building alone was a remarkable chapter in railroad business in our modern days. It is currently functioning well as a division of the Central, and I hope it is making a profit. Mr. Brown sold his bonds advantageously and saved himself from serious loss in this, his first railroad venture. I am still a director and Vice-President of the corporation.\nMajor J.F. Hanson and His Career\n\nThere was one man with whom I was associated in business more or less during my entire railroad operations, Major J.F. Hanson.\n\nMajor Hanson was born near Barnesville and at an early date came to Macon, entering into business with the Bibb Manufacturing Company. He was first a cotton buyer and gradually rose from one position to another until he became General Superintendent and Manager of the great corporation.\n\nThe man who enabled him to rise through all his career with the cotton company was H.M. Comer, of Savannah. Mr. Comer was the owner of a majority of the stock and was President of the corporation. He was Major Hanson\u2019s benefactor from the beginning.\nMr. Hanson, as I mentioned in these reminiscences, was the first to propose the idea of establishing a technological school in Georgia to me. Through his railroad connections, which he largely owed to Mr. Comer, he became the owner of The Macon Telegraph. When I decided to run for the Legislature to carry out the purpose concerning the school above mentioned, he threw The Telegraph's support behind me. This was followed by a large number of other newspapers in the State, and in this way, greatly contributed to maintaining interest in the matter throughout the country. He aided me in my first election, carrying his employees to me in large numbers.\nIn his second election, Mr. Hanson supported me again, but at that time, his influence had significantly decreased in the city and with his own people. I still led the ticket, and The Telegraph continued to back the cause for which I was fighting. Mr. Hanson frequently visited me at home, and we took long walks together, discussing men and measures. He was a high tariff supporter and soon became classified as a Republican. He was one of the most determined men I have ever met in both business and politics. No consideration of friendship could sway him from his purpose, and no sense of obligation ever weighed on him for a moment. Yet he was a man of splendid intellect and wonderful business capacity. After the school had been established, he took no further interest in it, save to inquire now and then.\nOne year after delivering the commencement address on its prospects and possibilities, Dr. Hopkins was deeply devoted to him and shared his opinions to some extent. An incident reveals how little regard Hanson had for a friend: A lawsuit was initiated against the Southern Railway Company to annul its purchase of the Georgia Southern. This lawsuit was instigated in the Federal Court in Macon with the finest local attorneys the city could provide and some of its most esteemed citizens as complainants. Our people, the Southern, engaged Hoke Smith and Senator Edmunds of Vermont for their defense. My firm, of course, also represented them. We prepared the defense papers and when the hearing came before the court, I was assigned to lead the defense. We had filed demurrers and answers.\nThe arguments ensued and I opened. After a short discussion, something occurred to end the case, and the parties plaintiff dismissed it. When we were through and the judgment had been taken, disposing of the case in our favor, Mr. Spencer said to me, \"Now, Harris, what can I do for you? We have succeeded in this case and we have done well. What reward can I give you? What do you want?\" I replied, \"Nothing for myself, Mr. Spencer. If you will appoint Major Hanson president of the Central road, it will be all the compensation that I ask.\" Mr. Spencer replied, \"I do not know that I have the power to do this.\" I said, \"I know that you have, and I want you to do so.\" He went North. I had never asked him to do anything up to this time that he had refused. A few days after his return to Washington.\nHe wrote me that he couldn't give Mr. Hanson the presidency at that time, but would make him Chairman of the Board. He said this was a higher place than the presidency.\n\nMr. Hanson evidently believed I had too much influence with Mr. Spencer and began a steady effort to destroy that influence, coming between Mr. Spencer and me wherever he could in the management of the two great properties of which I was subordinate counsel. Mr. Spencer told me of some of the things he said, but assured me that he understood Mr. Hanson and would never let anything he said interfere with our friendship or his trust in me. He never wavered in this, but was my friend until the last of his life.\n\nI came very nearly being killed on the same train with him. Something had occurred about which I\n\n(Note: The text ends abruptly and does not provide enough context to determine what \"something\" refers to. Therefore, it is not possible to clean the text further without losing important information.)\nI wished to consult him and I telegraphed him to know if I could see him on Wednesday before Thanksgiving, naming the date. He telegraphed me that he was going to North Carolina to spend Thanksgiving on a hunting trip and asked me to come up and go with him. The telegram was sent by Western Union, and by some strange happening was never delivered to me till after the time had passed, so that I did not go. I have often said that I would never find fault with the Western Union for failing to deliver a telegram, for the failure in this case saved my life. If I had received the telegram in time to reach him by Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I would have been on the private car with him, and every one on it was killed except one person, who was injured for life. The awful accident occurred at Lawyers, near Lynchburg.\nHis train had stopped for some purpose, and his car being behind was run into by one of the fast trains and utterly demolished, killing him instantly. His stenographer was also killed and one other person injured. I would have been sleeping in the rear section of the car, as that was reserved for guests. My next telegram from Washington urged me to come to Mr. Spencer\u2019s funeral, which I did. We were in college together, though he graduated the year before I did. I shall always feel that a great railroad prince left the earth when he was killed. President Roosevelt once said of him, after listening to an appeal in behalf of the railroads: \"He has a small head, but my God, what brains he carries in it!\" Mr. Hanson did not make a success, generally speaking, as President of the Central. While his strong leadership was undeniable, his tenure was marked by controversy and financial struggles.\nwill's power and vigorous intellect fitted him for command, yet it seemed to me that he lacked the knowledge necessary to manage a great railroad system. It was thought by many of his friends that his mind failed him somewhat toward the end and that he was not quite at himself, but lost the grip on men and things that he had held in former days.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe following verses were written while the intention to give up politics was still strong in my bosom. They disclose the reflections of a man whose ambition had been blighted and who sees many persons going forward to gather the honors that might have fallen to him but for his unwillingness to attempt to rise higher in the scale of political fortune.\n\nThese lines were never acknowledged before, as I.\nI have always felt it out of place for a lawyer to write verses, though there have been several good examples to the contrary:\n\nOver the earth falls the gloom like a curtain for a bier,\nAnd the light wavers dim as a rainbow in a tear;\nThere is nothing to rejoice for the Old Year is dead\nAnd the new has come in tears with its drapery overhead.\n\nI sit in the gloom, will the shadows never rise?\nAnd the light gild the clouds \u2014 paint a glory in the skies?\nWhat hath life promised me? Still, I wander in the dark,\nLosing time, losing hope, missing still the shining mark.\n\nSoon the rain storm will pass for the clouds will break away,\nAnd the sun will restore all the splendor of the day,\nBut the heart that is crushed with the burden of its pain\nWill never know the glory of its banished hopes again.\n\nSo I stand in the mist, like a specter in a shroud.\nTill the light struggles down from a rift within the cloud;\nAnd I see far ahead all the winners rushing by,\nThey have wrought with might and main and their goal approaches nigh.\nNot for me is the wreath \u2014 let the chaplet and the crown\nBe the prize of the swift in the struggle for renown,\nI\u2019ll fill a lower place, hold a candle to the sun,\nTill God\u2019s messengers announce that my lowly work is done.\n\nI have been a member of Mulberry Street M.E. Church, South, since June, 1873. I was at one time superintendent of the Sunday School, in connection with my old friend, W.R. Rogers. We worked vigorously to build the Sunday School up and it reached 500 on the Sunday before Dr. Monk left its pastorate. He had been sent to another charge after four years.\nWith us and we telegraphed the news to him. Dr. Pinson, who succeeded him, concluded to make a change in the Superintendency. At the quarterly conference following his installation as Pastor, he had Mr. Rogers dropped and elected in his place Mr. O. A. Park, a young attorney of the city, who has since achieved great distinction. I was not at the conference when this was done, and believing that it was evidence of a desire to change in my case also, I resigned the Superintendency. Mr. Park has continued Superintendent until the present day. During this time, and throughout most of my residence in Macon, I officiated as one of the teachers in the Sunday School, addressing the auditorium class every Sunday. At one time during an interval, I taught the auditorium class at First Street Church. This was because the church was in debt.\nI was elected First Alternate to the General Conference in 1898, which met at Baltimore. I took Judge Sam Adams' place on the second day of the Conference when he did not attend. At this conference, Bishops Candler and Morrison were elected. One funny thing occurred. On the first day of the Conference, the presiding Bishop called on me.\n\nAutobiography:\n\nI helped the authorities of the church lift a mortgage I had drawn. I subscribed accordingly and took over the auditorium class. This relation continued until the debt was paid, and I again came back to Mulberry. I spoke regularly to the auditorium class at Centenary, the Sunday School in that church, meeting in the afternoons. This class grew until there was little room left in the church.\n\nI was elected First Alternate to the General Conference in 1898, which met at Baltimore. I took Judge Sam Adams' place on the second day of the Conference when he did not attend. At this conference, Bishops Candler and Morrison were elected.\nall the Conference pledged themselves by rising vote that they would do no electioneering during that Conference. I was not present and knew nothing of the pledge, consequently I did some little work, especially in pushing Bishop Candler to the front. He was President of Emory, but his magnificent abilities as a preacher were almost entirely unknown. I called him \u201cThe Little Giant of the Wire Grass,\u201d and circulating among the Conference, let them know that we regarded him as the strongest, most eloquent, most powerful preacher within our knowledge. By good fortune, he made an address on the proposed changes concerning the Presiding Eldership of the Church. He took the side in favor of the presiding elders and before he had spoken ten minutes, his election as Bishop was absolutely assured. He made one of his powerful appeals, such as he was known for.\nThe Senior Bishop of our Methodist Church, who is also the leading orator of the Southern Methodists in the United States, made a request during the last day of Conference for all members who had kept their pledges about electioneering to stand up. Nearly all the conference rose. He then asked those who had engaged in electioneering to also stand up. Only two people, Dr. Dowman of Wesleyan College and myself, arose. An audible smile went around the Conference, and some persons started to applaud. Dr. Dowman remarked that there were several members of the Conference who should have stood with us if they had had the courage to tell the truth and endure the ridicule.\nI was allowed to return to each General Conference afterwards, either as delegate or alternate, except the last two. After I was beaten for Governor, our annual conference met at Albany. I was not a delegate \u2013 not having been in the State at the time the district conference selected the membership. Among these, there happened to be a Sunday School lecturer who came down from some point north of us. I never knew from what state. When my name was mentioned for delegate, he rose and said: \"Governor Harris is an old man and has held enough positions in the Church to justify his quitting, and I hope you will not elect him.\"\n\nThe delegation was practically taken charge of by this man, and although I received 16 votes and a fraction, 18 being necessary for a choice, I failed of election and stayed at home. The church had convened:\nThe people firmly acted to relegate the \"old man\" to a back seat forever. An event transpired at the General Conference in Dallas that I should recount. A controversy had arisen in the church regarding an appropriation made by the United States Congress to pay for the destruction of the publishing house during the Civil War. This claim was prepared, presented, and advocated by Mr. Stahlman, who was not an attorney but merely a layman in the church. When the claim was called up in the Senate, the question was asked: \"Is there any commission due to any agent for presenting this claim?\" The reply stated that no commissions were to be claimed. The then head of the publishing house was charged with having assented to this statement. The claim was allowed in full, amounting to two hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars.\nIt developed that Mr. Stahlman had a contract for one-third of the recovery and had never agreed to give this up. He demanded the money, resulting in a great controversy. A large part of the church felt that the Senate had been deceived, and if the facts had been known, the claim would not have been allowed. It was contended, therefore, that the money should be returned to the Government. However, Mr. Stahlman had no intention of returning his part, which would have required the church to make it up.\n\nDuring this controversy, the Annual Conference meeting was held in Macon. Bishop Galloway, who presided over the conference, stayed at my house. He and Bishop Candler met frequently during the week in the Bishop's room in my house and discussed the whole matter. The result was that the two bishops reached an agreement.\nI undertook the business and went to Washington. I first presented the matter to Mr. Clay, our Senator, who was a member of the Methodist Church. After consulting with several Senators, Mr. Clay returned to me with the paper I had drawn up. He stated that no man in the Senate could obtain the signatures to the paper except Senator A.O. Bacon, and if I could persuade him to take up the matter, it could be carried through. I saw Mr. Bacon, gave him the document, and he promptly agreed to make the trial. He obtained the signature of every Senator except for four.\nTwo of whom were absent but would have signed if they had been present. The two Senators who refused to sign were from Massachusetts and Tennessee, respectively. I remained in Washington until the work was almost done, and the paper was sent to Georgia by Mr. Bacon. It is true that no one in the Senate, except Mr. Bacon, could have accomplished the task. The Church owes him a debt which it has never paid, for his act settled the controversy that bade fair to create a division that could never have been healed.\n\nThe result was kept from the public until the meeting of the General Conference in Dallas. There the opposition had prepared to take the step against keeping the money and to open an assault on all those who had been concerned in obtaining the same.\n\nOn the first day of the conference after the address\nAt the General Conference in May 1910, the status of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, was discussed and investigated. Dr. Kirkland, the Chancellor, presented the document containing the Senators' signatures. It was a decisive resolution, as the Senate had sent its greeting and advice to the Church, instructing it to keep the money. Bishop Candler told me he had deposited the document in his safe. If he died before I did, he directed his heirs and successors to give the paper to me to be kept among my descendants indefinitely.\n\nThe Bishop of the Church read the report regarding the matter, and Bishop Candler stepped forward to present the document bearing the Senators' signatures to the referred paper. It was a thunderbolt, settling the entire controversy. No one could question it, as the Senate had sent its greeting and advice to the Church, instructing it to keep the money. Bishop Candler informed me that he had deposited the document in his safe. If he died before I did, he instructed his heirs and successors to pass the paper on to me to be kept among my descendants indefinitely.\n\nAutobiography\nThe Vanderbilt Case\n\nAt the General Conference, which convened in Asheville in May 1910, the status of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, was debated and scrutinized. Dr. Kirkland, the Chancellor, presented the document containing the Senators' signatures. It was a decisive resolution, as the Senate had sent its greeting and advice to the Church, instructing it to keep the money. Bishop Candler shared with me that he had deposited the document in his safe. If he passed away before I did, he instructed his heirs and successors to transfer the paper to me to be kept among my descendants indefinitely.\nThe Board of Trust appeared at the Conference. A meeting of the Board was held either during the Conference or before it began, in which the Board's claims were discussed and laid down as far as practicable. After a long and careful investigation made by the committee appointed for that purpose and a discussion in the open conference, it was finally held that the institution was the property of the Church and the Church, through its general conference, had the right to elect its Board of Trust and direct its policy as an educational institution. In order to bring the matter to a test, three Trustees were elected by the conference: N.E. Harris, A.W. Biggs, V.A. Godbey. These Trustees were directed to take their places in the Board of Trust and credentials from the conference were furnished them accordingly.\nFollowing the adjournment of the conference, V. A. Godbey and I presented our credentials to the Board of Trust at Vanderbilt, asking to be admitted as members. As evidence of rebellion against the General Conference's action in this matter, no notice of the Board meeting was given to either of the newly elected Trustees, and no statement was sent to us indicating the meeting place. Through outside sources, we learned of the proposed meeting and went to the campus to inquire. Eventually, we encountered one of the faculty members and explained the situation to him. He seemed rather nervous but eventually agreed to accompany us.\nCompany us - Dr. Godbey and myself reached the door of the building where the Board of Trust was meeting. As soon as he reached the door and indicated it to us, he swiftly vanished, as he was evidently fearful of being seen to have shown us any courtesy.\n\nWe entered the building, knocked, and asked that our names be sent in to the Board of Trust. This was done, and our credentials were duly and regularly presented. We were allowed to come inside for a short while and then asked to leave. Our case was then taken up by the Board, considered, and we were informed that our credentials were not recognized and our position as members of the Board of Trust was refused.\n\nI prepared a full statement for the College of Bishops regarding the outcome of our efforts and presented it to them.\nThe College of Bishops met to consider the situation after the general conference left the matter in their hands. Bishop A.W. Wilson presided, and Bishop E.R. Hendrix was both Chair of the Board of Trust of the Universitv and a member of the College. In my report, I detailed the challenges we faced in locating the Board of Trust, its meeting place, and date. I explained our part of the work by stating that upon reaching the house where the meeting was taking place, we found the door closed to us in more ways than one. When I read this report to the College of Bishops, Bishop Hendrix took exception to the words.\nThe closed door was mentioned and requested to be removed from the report. Bishop Atkins objected to the striking of these words. He criticized the Board fiercely, accusing them of conspiring to take church property, thwart its purpose, and establish it as an independent educational institution. Bishop Hendrix replied, possibly with Bishop Fitzgerald adding something. Bishop Hoss then spoke, having knowledge of the conspirators' inner workings, and did not hold back in his speech. Other bishops also addressed the Chair. I considered it a great privilege to listen to such a discussion of this nature.\nThese great men, heads of the church organization, saw approaching the so-called rebellion and the settled determination to overthrow the church's claim to be recognized as the owner of the University. After the discussion had gone on for some time, I asked permission of the presiding Bishop to be heard for a moment. He allowed me to speak, and after a few introductory words, I begged the College of Bishops to allow me to withdraw the objectionable words that were so offensive to a portion of the College, especially to Bishop Hendrix. I told the College I did not want to be the cause of dissension in that great body, and as the offensive words were not necessary to an understanding of the report, but were merely put in to express my own view of the situation, I begged to be allowed to withdraw them.\nThe permission was granted and the words were struck. I have since found out beyond all question that the words spoke the truth and their withdrawal was not required by the facts. After this report was made, the Bishops decided to enter suit to compel the recognition of the General Conference's right to control the institution, and a committee of the Bishops was appointed to look after the litigation and aid in the prosecution of the case. This committee, as I remember, was composed of Bishops Hoss, Denny and Candler. The main burden fell upon Bishops Hoss and Denny, as they were both domiciled, for a time at least, at Nashville. A contract was made with the attorneys, fees were fixed, and the bill was prepared. The attorneys consisted of Messrs. Biggs & Fitzhugh, of Memphis; Judge Edward O\u2019Rear, of Kentucky; and P. D. Madden.\nThe bill passed through the regular stages and was filed in the Chancery Court at Nashville. Interlocutory matters came before Judge John Allison. I attended all hearings and the trial. When the matter came before the presiding Chancellor, I was one of the attorneys who spoke in the final argument. Three or four large volumes were required to contain the evidence, copies of which are in my possession. The suit was brought in the name of the State of Tennessee, at the relation of A.W. Wilson and others, constituting the College of Bishops and other complainants, against the Board of Trust of Vanderbilt University and other defendants. The respondents were represented by J.J. Vertrees, J.B. Keeble, G.T. Hughes, and C.C. Trabue, among others.\nThe Chancellor, Judge John Allison, ruled in favor of the complainants in his remarkably able opinion, determining that the property belonged to the church and granting the church the right to control it through the General Conference. He declared that the three trustees elected by the Conference were entitled to take their seats on the Board of Trust. An appeal was filed from this decision and the case was taken to the Supreme Court of Tennessee. It is reported in volume 129, page 279, of the Tennessee Reports. All counsel for the church appeared in the Supreme Court, but only Messrs. Fitzhugh and Biggs were allowed to speak. When the case was first called for trial, Judge Williams, of the Supreme Bench, recused himself due to being a former member of the Conference at Asheville.\nHe had voted for the three Trustees and expressed an opinion concerning the controversy. The Court then adjourned the case for ten days until the Governor could select and appoint a temporary judge to sit with the Court on the trial of the case. Such a judge usually writes the opinion in the case.\n\nIn our conferences preceding the appearance in the Supreme Court, I had steadily cautioned my associates to be prepared for the step Judge Williams had taken. I knew under the law that he was disqualified, but all my associates, including two of the Bishops, seemed to be strongly of the opinion that Judge Williams could sit in the case and there would be no necessity to select a temporary judge. The event turned out as I had prophesied. I knew that under Georgia law and practice, it would be impossible for Judge Williams to participate in the trial.\nJudge Williams declared himself competent to hear the case. After the adjournment, the counsel and the two managing Bishops met to discuss the course to be followed in selecting a Judge to preside in place of the disqualified member. Bishop Hoss and Col. Fitzhugh immediately called on Governor Hooper, who held the office at that time, to ascertain his views on the selection. They were informed at once by Governor Hooper that he would not appoint any member of the Methodist Church to fill the place of the disqualified Judge. This was a severe disappointment, but the Governor suggested that the counsel present to him the names of a number of lawyers, whom he limited to twelve, who would be considered in connection with the place. We heard afterwards that he had called on the counsel for the Vanderbilt side.\nBishop Hoss consulted friends, including Colonel Ebb Reeves of Johnson City, to submit an equal number of names for a list. Colonel Reeves' list, with amendments, was adopted and presented to the Governor. The Governor compared the two lists and found that both contained Col. Turner's name from Knoxville, Tennessee. Col. Turner was promptly appointed to fill the vacant place on the bench.\n\nIt was later discovered to be a disastrous appointment for the complainants. Rumors spread after the decision that the pro hoc Judge visited W.K. Vanderbilt in New York and consulted with him.\nI do not know if rumors were true that Mr. Vanderbilt intended to make a large donation to the institution if the church's hold was removed. I do know that after the decision was made, Mr. Vanderbilt contributed several hundred thousand dollars. It's worth noting that in one of the testimony volumes presented in the case, there is a substantial statement:\n\n\"When Commodore Vanderbilt, who founded the institution, was lying on his death bed, Bishop McTyeire, who had obtained the donation that brought the institution into life, was sent for to visit him. Mr. Vanderbilt was in the last stage and died a short time after the visit.\"\nThe Commodore greeted him, saying, \"Howdy, Bishop! How are things at the University?\" The Bishop replied, \"Very good, Commodore. We are getting on well. We have sixty young preachers there taking the course and receiving the benefits of the institution, in addition to a good attendance at present.\" The old Commodore clapped his hands and said, \"That's right, Bishop. That's what I wanted. That's what I gave you the money for \u2014 to educate your ministers.\"\n\nI sometimes have wished that the words of his father had been read to W.K. Vanderbilt before the visit of the probate judge, if such a visit occurred.\n\nThe decision was, in a certain sense, a quagmire. It recognized in a way the claim of the church, but held that the property under Tennessee law was vested in the Board of Trust and that Board must control.\nIt was stated or suggested that the General Conference had the right to confirm appointments made by the Board to fill vacancies in membership. The decision divided the church in opinion. One strong party believed the church could control the institution in this way by confirming appointments. Another large number believed this power of confirmation was only perfunctory and that no attention would be paid to it. It was cited by the latter class that this requirement for confirmation had been made some years before and was evaded by simply failing to send the names of the Trustees to the Conference for attention. There could be no provision declaring appointments void for lack of confirmation unless they had been expressly turned down. Various other suggestions were made.\nThe matter remained unresolved, and the General Conference convened at Oklahoma City. I was a delegate from South Georgia. When the committee of fifteen was appointed to consider the effect of the decision, define the church's relation to the institution, and report to the conference if controlling it was inadvisable, the name of another institution or institutions to become the official organ or organs of the church in its educational work, Dr. H. M. DuBose, now Bishop, chaired the committee. It became apparent at an early stage that the committee was divided.\nProvided the following information to the committee about the advisability of retaining Vanderbilt. Several bids were referred, offering facilities and endowments for the establishment of a new university. Among these bids was one from Emory College in Georgia. If accepted, it proposed to transfer itself from Oxford in Newton County to Atlanta and accompany the same with a promise of a million-dollar endowment to be added to Emory's equipment. This singular circumstance occurred with reference to Emory's offer. I was walking one day in the vestibule of the church where the conference was held when Bishop Candler came up to me and said, \"Brother Harris, I want to withdraw the offer of Emory College from your committee. I have decided to go no further with it.\"\n\nVery much astonished, I said, \"Why, Bishop, do you withdraw the offer?\"\nwant  to  do  this?\u201d  He  replied,  stating  that  he  was \ntired  of  the  matter  and  did  not  want  to  push  it  any \nfurther,  or  some  such  suggestion  as  this.  I  said: \n\u201cBishop,  this  is  a  serious  matter,  would  you  mind  put\u00ac \nting  it  in  writing?  I  would  not  like  to  act  on  it \nunless  this  is  done.\u201d  He  went  away  and  a  few  min\u00ac \nutes  afterwards  came  back  with  a  written  letter  ad\u00ac \ndressed  to  me  directing  the  withdrawal  of  all  prop\u00ac \nositions  in  behalf  of  Emory  College  touching  the  Van\u00ac \nderbilt  matter. \nI  was  very  much  distressed  by  this  request  and \ncalled  the  South  Georgia  delegation  together  at  the \nhotel  where  we  stopped  to  lay  the  matter  before  them. \nDoctor,  now  Bishop,  Ainsworth,  presided. \nWhen  I  read  the  letter,  Dr.  Ainsworth  spoke  up \nand  said:  \u201cThe  Bishop  is  disturbed  about  some\u00ac \nthing.  I  do  not  think  you  should  pay  any  attention  to \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nI am sure he will not insist or complain if you go forward as heretofore.\" The delegation seemed to acquiesce. As I went out from the meeting, this thought came to me: \"There is one man in the conference who can decide the matter for me and put it beyond question.\" I immediately went out to find Asa G. Candler, who was a member of the North Georgia delegation. When I showed him the letter, he said to me, \"Warren is in the dumps. Don't pay any attention to his request. He heard somebody say in a crowd a day or so ago, 'These Candlers look like they are trying to control the whole church and we might as well turn it over to them.' \" He then added, \"The Bishop will come around in a day or two, so don't pay any attention to the letter, but say to the committee that the endowment shall be used as previously agreed upon.\nmade up and if the million is not enough to get it, I will see that it goes to two and a half millions. Money talks. We carried through the committee the measures which were necessary to present the questions to the conference and when I told the committee of Mr. Candler\u2019s offer, the question was decided in short order. The result was that Vanderbilt was turned loose and Emory University was finally made the educational organ of the church east of the Mississippi River and was soon moved to Atlanta. While we were discussing the question in the conference, I was asked to speak on the matter, having been one of the discarded trustees elected by the General Conference at Asheville and having represented the church throughout the entire litigation. I made the best presentation I could, in the course of which I spoke about the importance of Emory University as an educational institution for the church in the eastern region and the benefits it would bring to the community. I also addressed the concerns raised by some regarding the financial aspects of the matter and proposed solutions to ensure the university's sustainability. Overall, my speech aimed to persuade the conference to accept Mr. Candler's offer and approve the move of Emory University to Atlanta.\nNotwithstanding the Court's decision and the Board of Trust's claim, Vanderbilt University belongs to the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. There is no power strong enough on this earth to break that tie. The institution is destined to come back to the church, though we may not live to see it. It is a claim to be bequeathed to our children and sent down through other generations if necessary, until the truth is recognized by the Courts as well as by the church itself: Nothing is finally decided until it is decided right. In my individual opinion at that time, and it still is so. The church in its future progress and the spread of its membership will need both these institutions some time in the future. The bones of the dead princes of the church, reposing on the campus, will cry out to be returned to the church.\nThe Methodists of every clime sustained the committee by a large majority, settling the matter for this generation.\n\nAbout this time, a vacancy in the judgeship of the Macon Circuit occurred due to the resignation of Judge William H. Felton, Jr. He had been on the bench for seventeen years before deciding to take up the management of the hydro-electric plant at Jackson, which supplied Macon with electricity. Judge Felton had made a splendid judge, and his decisions were respected and most generally approved.\n\nGovernor Joseph M. Brown was at the head of the State's affairs when the vacancy occurred. He offered the place to me, as I had supported him in his election and admired him very much indeed as a man.\nAn able and conscientious officer. When Governor Hoke Smith determined to suspend him from the Railroad Commissioner position, I had pleaded with the Governor not to take that step.\n\nAutobiography\n\nGovernor Smith was always courteous to me, and though I was generally on the other side from him, having supported Mr. Howell for the Governorship when they ran against each other, yet he always expressed confidence in my opinion. He once jokingly said to me, \u201cI always try to finish up the business in the office here when they send in your name to me before seeing you, so I can give you plenty of time for conference. I do this because I like to hear from the other side, and, as you have always been against me, I can find out what other people who are not friendly to me are saying.\u201d\n\nI earnestly counseled him not to use the power which\nThe statute ordered him to dismiss Mr. Brown, informing him that there were thousands of people in Georgia devoted to the Brown family, and his future would be endangered if he continued in his actions. He looked at me with a smile and said, \"My own friends, including Mr. Arnold and others, have given me the same advice. I shall not take any of it but will follow my own views and carry out my own resolves.\" He dismissed Mr. Brown, and this action more than anything else led to his defeat. Mr. Brown declared himself a candidate to succeed him as Governor and was elected.\n\nAfter the election, I wanted to share an incident that transpired at Athens some time afterward. It was our first meeting following Governor Smith's defeat. He was on the Board of Trustees, as was I. We were invited to attend an event together.\nMr. Smith's efforts largely contributed to the Agricultural College's construction. Neither of us wanted to leave the campus without visiting it. We waited until all the carriages were loaded and only one remained. Mr. Smith got into this carriage and looked up at me as I stood on the bank. He said, \"You might as well get in, for I reckon we can ride together yet.\" It was the first words spoken between us. I got in the carriage, and as we went out, I said to him, \"Well, Sir, if I wanted to get my revenge, I could say, 'I told you so.' \" He replied, \"Yes, but if I had to do it over again, I would follow the same course to the dotting of a T and the crossing of a t.\" I replied, \"Governor, the only difference between you and the others was your stubbornness.\"\nThe patient out there in the lunatic asylum is there and you are here. He looked at me right hard for a second or two and then burst out laughing, adding, \"You will never know what damage you have done to the State by turning me out. I had conceived wonderful things for her institutions and the management of her affairs generally.\" He then outlined the program he had intended to follow. It was splendid.\n\nWhen Governor Brown tendered me the position of Judge, I declined it with thanks, telling him I couldn't afford the sacrifice as the salary was too small compared to what I was making. He persisted and begged me to take it, if only temporarily, as he couldn't make any other satisfactory choice at that time. I\nI have consulted with my wife, and she seemed to be in favor of my accepting the position. The matter stood for a day or so. In the meantime, the race between Woodrow Wilson and Oscar Underwood for President became more intense. The Telegraph, at the head of which was my friend, Colonel Pendleton, espoused the cause of Underwood. On the other hand, The Evening News was strongly in favor of Mr. Wilson. The two papers seldom agreed. At this time, my kinsman, Robert L. Taylor, who was Senator from Tennessee, suddenly died. I had been with him about ten days previously, when I found him complaining of gall stones and keeping his bed most of the time. He had outlined his canvass for the Senate, which was coming on, and I went home with an increased admiration for the splendor of his eloquence and the beauty of his wit and humor.\nWhen I heard that he was dead, following an unfortunate operation, I went to Johnson City to meet the funeral train as it passed down to Nashville and I boarded it at the former city. A large delegation from Congress was on board, accompanying the funeral car. I conversed with a number of these on the way down, touching the Presidential election. Some Senators expressed themselves in favor of Underwood, especially Senator Johnson from Alabama. I left the funeral train at Chattanooga and came back to Macon. As I passed up the street, I stopped for a moment at the door of The Telegraph building. While standing there at the foot of the stairs, Colonel Pendleton came down and seeing me said, \"You look weary and worn out. What is the trouble with you?\" I replied, \"I have just come back from the funeral of the deceased president.\"\nI spoke to my kinsman, Bob Taylor, of Tennessee. Mr. Pendleton asked me about the trip and the Presidential campaign. I told him I had talked with some Senators and others on the train, and they expressed their support for Underwood.\n\nColonel Pendleton constructed an interview and specifically stated that I had said all the Senators on the train were in favor of Oscar Underwood for President. When I read this the next morning, I immediately wrote a correction and sent it down to him, telling him I had not used those words but had stated that I had talked with some Senators and they were in favor of Mr. Underwood.\n\nMeanwhile, a news reporter telephoned me.\nI replied that the interview was not correct, but I had corrected it that morning by communicating with The Telegraph. The reporter replied, \"Won't you give us a communication?\" I replied, \"No, I don't want to get into any controversy and I have asked The Telegraph to correct the interview and publish my statement.\"\n\nThe News came out that evening vigorously denying the statement in The Telegraph, saying it was not correct nor founded on fact. The next evening, they followed up with an interview from the Senators sent to The Journal in Atlanta and The Evening News, denying that they had made any such statement to me.\n\nMr. Pendleton then declared that he would not publish my correction, but would take it upon himself to answer and denounce the articles in The News touchingly.\nI was caught in the midst of the controversy, which went on over my head and at my expense, despite my clear and explicit declaration that the interview was a mistake and that I had never said what was claimed. While I was dealing with this unjust situation, Governor Brown renewed his offer of the judgeship. I should note that up until that point, I had not taken a position in favor of Underwood. I had been more inclined towards Wilson, as he had spent his life largely in educational work, which appealed to me. I probably would have favored him in the State. After the unjust denunciation made by The News, I came out in support of Underwood \u2013 wrote article after article and letter after letter in his favor throughout the State, publishing many extracts from Wilson's works and setting out the differences between the two candidates.\nHe had gone so far away from us through his Northern associations that the South ought not to support him. I may note here that the Underwood campaign carried the State by more than twenty thousand majority.\n\nWhen Governor Brown first tendered me the judgeship, as I have stated, I had rejected it as too great a sacrifice. But when his insistence came, I took it under advisement, and with my wife urging me to accept. Nevertheless, one night I got up to the telephone to call the Governor and tell him that I had finally decided not to accept. My wife caught my hand and prevented me from carrying out my purpose. I waited until the next day and then said to myself: \"I had better accept the position, for the first man who will ask me a favor will be the owner of The Evening News, and of course I will grant it to him.\"\nI accepted. I entered the office, and sure enough, the first man who asked a favor of me when I got upon the bench was the owner of The Evening News. He wanted some of his men left off the jury, and of course I granted the request. I found out afterwards that Ralph Smith was the correspondent of The Journal and News, who interviewed the Senators and wrote the communication that charged me with misrepresentation. I told him long afterwards, when I met him in Atlanta, that his communications had caused me to take the judgeship in my circuit and but for this fact, I would never have been Governor of Georgia. He expressed his regrets that he had caused me pain, but said he was glad that the result, as far as I was concerned, had turned out as it did. He said he was only after The Telegraph.\nI served as Judge of the Court in 1912 for approximately six months. During this time, I cleared the docket in Macon, disposing of around three hundred cases. Sixteen of these cases were appealed to the Supreme Court, but none were reversed. In one case, the Court expressed doubt about the correctness of my ruling but declined to reverse, as they found the judgment sound on the merits. When my unexpired term was nearing its end, I resigned and requested Governor H. A. Mathews to appoint Judge Mathews to the vacancy. He did so, and Judge Mathews has held the position since then. The judicial experience I gained provided me with a greater understanding of law administration than I had ever had. I tried and sentenced several criminals.\nI have cleaned the text as follows: I dealt with numerous cases that came before me, learned the value of effective arguments used by many lawyers, selected trustworthy arguments from those without merit, and overall enjoyed my few months on the bench. However, I would have likely remained longer had it not been for a personal defect \u2013 I had difficulty hearing. In my childhood, I had lost the use of one ear. Consequently, I could never understand what was said when more than one person addressed the court at a time. This condition occurred continuously on every trial, with one lawyer often interrupting before the other had finished speaking.\nThe consequence was that the two voices made utter silence in my one ear, and I was compelled to ask the lawyers to start over again one at a time. I did this so often that I grew nervous over it; found that it soon brought on headaches and I decided that I was not physically fit for the Judgeship if I wished to do it justice.\n\nTo some of the cases I brought all the legal learning I had accumulated in the past, and prided myself that the decision was right when I reached it. But the help which I could get from the lawyers in their discussions was often so interfered with by their disputes and double interruptions that I thought at times I would have done better if I had had no one to speak to me.\n\nWhile I was still on the bench I came to East Tennessee where my wife had prevailed over me to purchase land.\nI have already described how I was driven out from this country following the Civil War. My old home on the Cherokee was about seventeen miles on an air line from the place which the madam had induced me to buy. A large number of ex-soldiers of the Union Army lived in the village and all of these were drawing pensions from the Government. I gathered them together and stated to them that they had driven me out of East Tennessee at the close of the War, so I was not a voluntary emigrant from the State, but had gone out against my will.\n\nResidence of Mrs. Harris at Hampton, TN\nIt was known as \u201cThe Governor\u2019s Summer Mansion\u201d during his incumbency.\n\nAutobiography.\nI have chased this place with the idea of spending my summers here in my old age. I added, \"Gentlemen, if you have any objection to my coming back here for this purpose, please let it be known now, so we may have no misunderstanding hereafter.\" The old men replied at once, with one accord, \"Why, Judge, we have no objection to your coming back, of course. We would like for you to spend the time with us if you desire to do so.\" One of them spoke up, saying, \"The truth is, Judge, I have come to the conclusion that you were about right in those times anyway.\" This created a laugh, and all of us seemed satisfied. So the best of harmony has existed ever since I have been coming to Hampton for the summer. It is about twenty-five miles on an air line from Asheville, and is surrounded on all sides by the mountains.\nThe mountains surrounded Jerusalem for safety, protecting it from cyclones and tornadoes. The little Doe River ran like a thread of silver through the valley, and in the yard was a great spring, eighty by one hundred feet, producing ten million gallons per day. This spring dropped into a lake covering half an acre, with weeping willows, Carolina poplars, and other growth lining the banks, creating one of the most beautiful scenes the human eye had ever seen. Originally, I placed a dynamo at the point where the spring branch dropped into the little river, as the fall there was about ten feet, and the water passed through a turbine, generating enough power to supply the house.\nand grounds with electric light. The house itself is a brick structure built in 1867. The spring and lake in rear of the summer home. The spring runs ten million gallons every twenty-four hours.\n\nAutobiography by Elijah Simmerly, a prominent man of the mountains. It has eleven rooms besides the kitchen and milk room. The walls of every room were made of brick so that there were no laths and plaster in any partitions. Surrounded by porches and a yard containing evergreen and other growth common to this section of the country, with grass and flowers in abundance, it presents that rare combination of beauty and quietude that gladdens the heart of any visitor no matter what his race may be.\n\nThe place had been owned by a millionaire of Nashville, Tenn., who had added to its attractions a system of water works and other conveniences of civilization.\nI considered it a rare good fortune that my wife was able to secure the place when the millionaire grew tired of spending his summers there. Most of the furniture I had accumulated in the past in the two homes I had occupied was carried to the mountain home when I gave up the dwelling in Macon. The place attracts so strongly when summer comes that preparations for removal are almost always earlier than the weather justifies.\n\nWhen I took the judgeship, I surrendered all the positions I held with the railroads, gave up the business of the firm to my two sons who were in partnership with me, and laid down whatever other positions seemed to conflict with the duties of the judgeship. I was, therefore, without any office or practice.\nThe fact that I had resigned from the judgeship gave me leisure to consider entering politics and vying for position. Cottage of Mrs. N.E. Harris at Daytona Beach, FL. Here the winters are spent.\n\nAutobiography\n\nMy partners were Walter B. Hill, Washington Dessau, and William B. Birch. The firm name under which I practiced law for the largest part of my legal career was Hill & Harris.\n\nOur first office was on Cherry Street, above what was then Walker\u2019s Grocery Store, about one door east of the corner now occupied by the Bibb National Bank, and for a long time by Clisby\u2019s Shoe Store. Judge Hill was accustomed to spend his leisure time in the office, often discussing cases in other courts that he had turned over to us. Our next office was with Lanier & Anderson on Second Street, on the corner.\nI have often talked with Sidney Lanier and his wife in this Wall Street office. They attracted me more than I can express. Young Lanier had given up his law practice and devoted himself entirely to literature. In the office, he frequently recounted the main events of his career. He was in the Southern Army and described his war experiences with great interest, as I had served in the same army. I noticed one thing that stood out prominently in my conversation with him. He attributed his survival almost entirely to his wife. She had stood over him, helped him, encouraged him, and brightened his life with her smiles and good advice. He often insisted that his career would have ended in failure without her love and ministration. She was\nHe was very devoted to him. In our conversations, strong evidence of his love for music emerged. He practiced his flute occasionally when the office was free of business. I never truly appreciated his poetry until long after. His poetical work showed so much evidence of his musical bent that I forgot its merits as a literary production and considered it only in relation to his musical talents. To me, he seemed to have bent everything towards the musical. His father, being in the office, encouraged his conversation with us and often guided his thoughts.\n\nLong afterwards, when his name filled the nation, I began to appreciate the struggle he had gone through. His face was pale and plainly showed the signs of his efforts.\nThe presence of the awful disease with which he struggled. He wrote his works while fighting his battle with consumption. I know not what inspiration he drew from the horrible disease. I have seen evidence of its quickening power over the circulation and the brightening of mental processes in the production of thought. Nearly all my brothers and sisters have gone the same road, and also my mother. One by one, the same terrible disease, with which Sidney Lanier battled for years, carried my family into the grave, until only two, besides myself, are left.\n\nAfter we separated from Lanier & Anderson, we took into the firm a first cousin of Mr. Hill, William B. Birch. We had also with us Mr. Hill\u2019s nephew, Pope Hill. Our office then was in the Masonic Hall, where we stayed until we went to the Pythian Castle.\nMr. Washington became a part of the firm and we practiced under the name of Dessau, Harris & Birch. My first wife died while our office was in the Pythian Castle. She left me with six children to take care of, four boys and two girls. Three of these boys graduated from the University of Georgia and afterwards studied law and became members of the firm. Two of them are still carrying on the business.\n\nAutobiography\n\nAs the children were rather small and the household needed direction, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Burke, advised me to marry again and get someone to take charge of the household for me. My second wife was Miss Hattie G. Jobe.\n\nAfter we were married, we spent a portion of one summer with the children at a place called Mountain Lake, in West Virginia. While I was there, I received a telegram from Mr. Hill, forwarded to me from\nthe railroad was twelve miles away, informing me that he was eager to be elected Chancellor of the University of Georgia. As a member of the Board of Trustees, he sought my assistance. I went down immediately as fast as the train could take me and began campaigning on his behalf. Two strong men came to my aid as soon as I mentioned Mr. Hill's name. One was Governor W.Y. Atkinson, who was in office at the time, and A.O. Bacon, who was then representing Georgia in the United States Senate. Mr. Bacon had known my partner for many years. We had practiced law together in Macon with varying degrees of success, mostly on opposing sides from Mr. Bacon and his firm. Mr. Hill's talents were highly regarded by Senator Bacon, who expressed his belief that Mr. Hill would make an excellent Chancellor upon my mention of his name.\nMr. Bacon and Governor Atkinson believed Mr. Hill should be the ideal Chancellor. Despite not being political friends, they supported his election. Our combined efforts easily elected Mr. Hill, who then went to Athens to oversee our shared Alma Mater. Mr. Dessau replaced Mr. Hill in the firm, and our business grew rather than decreased. Mr. Dessau had a wide range of clients and was a successful lawyer whose trials had attracted the profession's and state's attention. Thorough in his work, he was born a Jew but married a Gentile, his wife belonging to one of the prominent families in the State. He was never defeated in a court case and always remained on his feet during trials.\nI never knew what he really held in the way of religious convictions. We have often been out at court and at night when we went to bed, many times with a half dozen lawyers sleeping in the same room. Before he got into bed, he would kneel down and say his prayers, then get up and in five minutes be swearing like a trooper. He didn't seem to know that there was any inconsistency between the prayer and the swear.\n\nIt was a fitting end to a great career that he should have died in the presence of the Supreme Court of his State, while engaged in making a great legal argument for his client. He was stricken with apoplexy and died in a moment or two. His last words went over the State: \"Light follows from the clash of minds and the truth is developed in the conflict.\"\n\nMy political career continued.\nI. Recounting some steps taken before contesting for the last great office, I should mention my race for the State Senate in 1894. I have spoken of my friend, Appleton Collins, in relation to my first race for Representative. In the race for the Senate, I was fortunate to enlist one of the most remarkable men Macon ever produced, Hon. Daisy Price, for a long time Mayor of Macon, in my behalf. I have had many disinterested friends, but among them all, Daisy Price stands at the front in my memory. Governor McDaniel once said to me that no man could achieve political success unless he had behind him a united constituency willing to press his fortune.\nDaisy Price came to my aid when he had nothing to gain for himself. He set aside his support for many other friends and focused his political affections on me. It was largely through his instrumentality that I received the nomination for the Senate in the 22nd District, known as the Macon District. He engineered the campaign and, with his power, energy, and influence, made the result a foregone conclusion.\n\nAfter I was nominated, the opposition brought forth a gentleman who resided in Monroe County. Mr. Watson, the sage of McDuffie, had divided the party, claiming to follow \"the middle of the road.\" He attacked Democratic policy and held up our then President Grover Cleveland to political scorn and unbridled abuse.\nMy old classmate, Charlie Bartlett, was running for Congress at the time, and we decided to go out on the hustings together and present our cause to the people. When we started out, Judge Bartlett, who was much better informed about the political issues of the day by far than I was, told me that in all my speeches I must be careful never to say a word in favor of Grover Cleveland or his administration. He said the country people in Monroe and Pike had been so indoctrinated with the idea that Cleveland was a monstrosity and his administration a disgrace to the Nation that they would hiss me down and then vote against me if I ever showed that I was friendly to Mr. Cleveland or his cause.\n\nWe spoke at several points and I carefully bore in mind his advice. Finally, the Democrats, the few who remained, selected a candidate.\nwere  left  in  the  Hollonsville  District  of  Pike  County, \ngot  up  a  joint  debate  between  the  Populists  and  the \nDemocrats  and  I  was  asked  to  take  part  in  the  debate. \nMr.  Bartlett  did  not  appear  on  this  occasion,  but  Col\u00ac \nonel  John  Redding,  who  was  running  for  Representa\u00ac \ntive  in  Pike  County,  took  his  place. \nIn  order  to  bring  about  the  joint  debate  the  Dem\u00ac \nocratic  Committee  agreed  with  the  Populists  that  the \nPopulists\u2019  speakers  should  have  the  opening  and  con\u00ac \nclusion. \nA  large  crowd  gathered  at  a  school  house  in'  the \nt  own  which  was  situated  on  the  Atlanta  &  Florida  road \nand  two  Chairmen  were  selected  to  preside  over  the \nmeeting,  the  Populists  Chairman  to  preside  while  the \nDemocrats  were  talking  and  the  Democratic  Chairman \nto  preside  while  the  Populists  were  talking.  The  de\u00ac \nbate  was  opened  by  Col.  Barrett,  who  was  the  father \nColonel Barrett, later the head of the Farmers Union of the United States, was an able and fearless debater who had been in the Legislature and was running for re-election, opposed by John Redding, a Democratic speaker of the day. Colonel Barrett delivered a fine speech on behalf of his candidacy, and when he closed, I felt that John Redding had been entirely demolished and had no chance to come back. I reasoned with my host.\n\nJohn Redding had not spoken more than ten minutes in reply when the situation began to change. He knew Colonel Barrett's record and he hurled it into his opponent's face with a power and strength of expression that I never imagined he possessed. When he closed, the situation looked bright and my heart had leaped up to my throat. I followed him.\nI began urging my candidacy upon the people, sharing what I had done as a House member and explaining why they should support me for the Senate. I had spoken for only a short while when a gentleman in the audience asked me if I could answer a question. I told him of course, and he asked, \"Colonel Harris, what do you think of Grover Cleveland?\"\n\nI evaded the question by telling an anecdote that suggested the \"sixteen-to-one\" in the silver dollar meant sixteen negroes to one white man, and that this was the contest the Populists were waging. I then started discussing the general questions of the day when my friend in the audience interrupted me.\nColonel Harris, I asked you a fair question and you have not answered it. What do you think of Grover Cleveland and his administration?\n\nI told another anecdote and made the people laugh again with some foolish statement, and then started on the main questions. My friend rose the third time and interrupted me. He then called the Chairman and made a statement to the effect that he had asked this question twice - a fair question - and I had refused to answer it. He, therefore, requested the Chairman to compel me to answer or stop any further speaking.\n\nThe Chairman then said to me: \"Colonel Harris, I hold that you must answer the question as it is a fair one, and this audience is entitled to have it answered before you go further.\"\n\"Chair stirred all the passion in my soul. I said at once, and I spoke with a fierce intonation that could not be misunderstood: Mr. Chairman, you had no right to stop me and force this issue upon me. Your side has the right to conclude, but inasmuch as you have seen fit to do so, I say to you, Sir, no Populist living on this earth shall prevent me from stating what I think of the head of the Democratic party. Sir, I am for Grover Cleveland from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Now make what you can of it!\n\nThe effect of this statement could never be described. For fifteen minutes, the audience seemed beside itself. Men shouted, cheered, beat the desks, threw their hats to the ceiling, and yelled, 'Hurrah for Grover Cleveland.' This excitement grew from the beginning. Everybody was on their feet in the house.\"\nI have never heard such shouting at a public meeting in all my life. I stood in the midst of it, gesticulating and trying to wedge in a word, but the crowd would not stop. The faces of the Populists on the stage turned pale. They knew that the tide had changed and the sun had set on their cause.\n\nWhen quiet was finally restored, I took up my reasons for supporting Cleveland. I told the audience how the South had struggled since the War to restore herself to her rightful position in our Government. I told them how we had pushed the stone up the hill, until now it had reached the top, and how those of our own people who differed with us were willing to hurl it back down again. I showed how Cleveland had appointed Southern Democrats to office, how he had set his face to favor our cause.\nI begged the Populists to come back and join us in making the glorious result more brilliant, worthwhile to be a Southerner, and an honor to be a Democrat. This was what we had labored for, and now that we had attained it, did it lie in the mouths of Southern people to denounce the man who had brought it about and cast out his name with contempt and scorn? I appealed to the men who had been with us in the past to retrace their steps and come back to the old mother that had molded our Nation and given it its laws.\n\nWhile I was speaking and making this appeal, I saw a gentleman who was sitting well to the front rise, move out directly before me, and pass down the aisle and go out through the door. Many people noticed.\nI noticed he was also disengaged. I believed he had grown displeased. After I had finished my speech, I informed the audience that I had only a short time before the train would be due and I desired to return to Macon that night, so I would have to depart, but I implored them to remain and hear my competitor as a courtesy owed to him. Then I took my seat. As I did so, and was preparing to rise and depart, Colonel Barrett approached me and entreated me to remain for a while at least, so that his friend might have an opportunity to be heard. His friend was campaigning for Secretary of State on the Populist ticket and was eager for him to speak. I consented to grant him fifteen minutes, and then perhaps I could still make it to the train. I sat and listened to the new speaker for the allotted time. He did not seem to be much of an orator.\nI was leaning back against the window on the stage, the window being open, when suddenly I felt my leg pulled by someone outside. I looked around and saw that it was the man who had gotten up and left the meeting before I concluded. He seemed very much moved, and I was afraid he meant some violence towards me. He said, \"I am tired to death of all this damned nonsense. I am as good a Democrat as you are, and I don't intend to be considered in any other light. I want you to bear this in mind.\" I said some words to placate him, and then, finding the fifteen minutes had expired, I rose to go. I may note here that the man who had pulled my leg was the Chairmen of the Populist Committee, one of the most influential men in the District. He resigned his position.\nThat afternoon, I returned to our party and fought in the ranks to carry the District for the Democratic candidates, including myself. When I began to leave the stage, though my opponent was still speaking, I saw the entire audience, almost as one man, rise to its feet and commence leaving the house. They followed me to the train, shouting for Cleveland and Harris. I was told afterwards that only one man and a negro boy were left in the audience, to hear the conclusion of the speaker\u2019s address.\n\nThe great crowd followed to the train, cheering and waving their hats in the air. And when I got on board and looked back, the last thing I saw and heard was that same audience waving hats and shouting, \u201cHurrah for Grover Cleveland and Nat Harris.\u201d\n\nAs I went home, I reached the conclusion that while Judge Bartlett might be right, yet it only required a\n\n(This text appears to be complete and does not require cleaning, as there are no meaningless or unreadable characters, introductions, notes, logistics information, publication information, or other modern additions, and the language is clear and modern.)\nI little boldness in speech and action to bring the people back to their allegiance, both to the party and to the Chief, who managed its affairs at Washington. (Autobiography 311)\n\nWhen the story went out about this debate, I was overwhelmed with requests to go through the district and the State, but I concluded to confine my efforts to my own people at home.\n\nI was elected overwhelmingly. Before the election, my opponent in Monroe County was kind enough to write me that he believed I would be elected and hoped it would turn out so.\n\nMy name was presented to the Senators for President of the body. I suppose I would have been elected if I had agreed to make a canvass, but Hon. A. O. Bacon was a candidate for the United States Senate, and coming from my city, I was very anxious to elect him. His opponents before the Legislature, which was then in session, were making a strong effort to defeat him.\nAt that time, the body elected Senators Henry G. Turner of Lowndes and Louis F. Garrard of Muscogee. Judge Turner had been in Congress for many years and was regarded by his friends as the ablest man in the lower House from Georgia. Louis Garrard was speaker of the House in the first Legislature I ever attended, in 1882-3. He had given me a chairmanship in that body and had the right to expect some return for the same. Under the circumstances, I could not lay down the cause of my own county man. William H. Venable, who was the Senator from the 35th District, in which Atlanta was located, was one of the declared candidates for the Presidency of the Senate. Knowing that I was strongly desirous of electing Mr. Bacon, having been appointed Chairman of his Legislative committee, and pushing his cause with all my efforts.\nThe vigor I could command, he came to me and said, \"I know you will be elected if you run for the Presidency. Your experience and ability entitle you to the place, and I will not run against you if I can't persuade you to come down. If you will come down and give me your support, I will join you in the effort to elect Mr. Bacon as U.S. Senator. By putting our influence together, we can carry the Senate for him, in spite of anything that can be done. In fact, if you do this for me, I will almost absolutely guarantee that we can carry the Senate. Of course, if you take your name out of the race and give me your influence, it will mean my election, as nobody can stand up against us.\"\n\nIt was a strong appeal, for I had stood by Mr. Bacon as the Chairman of his campaign committee.\nTwo of the races he had made for Governor, and he had selected me to act as Chairman of his Legislative committee in the present Legislature. Senator Venable was an able man, and I knew he was fitted in every way for the Presidency of the body. He was a strong friend of mine, and after I had thought it over, I finally told him that I would retire from the race and support him. I made no conditions, but I asked him to help me carry the Senate for Mr. Bacon. He promised, and the result was that the Senate voted for Bacon by a strong plurality.\n\nOne incident which happened in the canvass we made for Mr. Bacon I think may be told in these memoirs. The Legislature at that time elected a large part of the State Government officers. The judges of all the courts, including the Supreme Court, the Solicitors General, and other officers were chosen.\nGeneral, and a number of other offices were filled by the Legislature at that time. A great many candidates and their friends approached Mr. Bacon offering to trade with him, proposing to give him a certain amount of votes for his influence in their behalf. He was so situated in many cases that he could not refuse the requests. We prevailed on him to postpone any final agreement and refer it to his committee. The pressure finally became so great that his partner, Judge A.L. Miller, and one or two other men who were helping us, determined to take charge of Mr. Bacon and lock him up in his room in the hotel on the pretense of his sickness, and keep him there until the election was over.\nUntil the election came. This was done after which a full explanation was given to him. I will say that he bitterly resented such a step and sought to unlock the doors or call for help to secure his release. This was prevented, however, and he eventually resigned himself to the inevitable.\n\nA caucus of his friends was called, and I presided. We took steps for a thorough and determined canvass \u2013 appointed committees and laid down the lines of warfare. The election was preceded by a party caucus of all the Legislature. This caucus was called because there were several members of the Legislature who were not Democrats, and it was thought best to have the election brought about by allowing the Democratic portion of the body to select its candidate.\n\nWhen the caucus met, which was almost the same:\n\n(The text appears to be complete and readable, with no need for cleaning or correction.)\nI was selected at the joint meeting of the House and Senate to put Mr. Bacon's name in nomination. The rules of the joint session of the Legislature were applied, one of which prohibited the use of any commendatory words in presenting the name of the candidate. When I proceeded to make the nomination, I said simply: \"I nominate for the office of United States Senator that citizen of Bibb County.\" I had gotten this far when a member from Savannah, Mr. McIntyre, who was very much devoted to Judge Henry G. Turner, objected to the use of the word \"noble.\" His objection was concurred in by a score of gentlemen who came to the floor at the same time and shouted out their disapprobation of the term I had used. The confusion was so great that I could not be heard.\n\nTherefore, the text does not require cleaning as it is already perfectly readable.\nI. Bacon was elected with a large majority after I announced his nomination. His election was practically unanimous on both sides once the voting day, set in the statutes, arrived. When we informed Bacon of the result, he thanked us but couldn't help remarking, \"You treated me like a baby, in having kept me here.\"\n\nI must admit that I did not advise the step leading to his segregation, but I agreed to it when those closer to him informed me of their intentions.\n\nA few days later, Bacon discovered that I had given up my bid for the head of the Senate to support him. He responded, \"Nat, the Lord will never let me die until I...\"\nHe could make me head of the Senate or speaker of the House. I grieve to say that he never did either. He grew colder and colder towards me as his term continued. And one day, when the Spanish-American War came on, and my son Walter had gone across to Cuba as a Lieutenant, the then Governor Allen D. Candler gave him a captaincy in his regiment, putting him at the head of an Atlanta Company in the Third Georgia. I saw Mr. Bacon and asked him to have the Department send a cablegram to Cuba announcing Walter\u2019s appointment. He gave me some instructions as to what I should do in the matter, all of which I promptly attended to. A few days afterwards, I met Senator Bacon on the streetcar and asked him if he had complied with my request. He became irritated and stated that if it was necessary for Walter to have a captaincy, he could have had one without my intervention.\nI was not attended to. It was my own fault that he had told me what to do, and he had no doubt that I did not attend to it. He followed it up and said that I was expecting too much when I failed to do my part, and then expressed disappointment that he hadn't done his part.\n\nI said to him, \"Senator, it is the first favor I have ever asked you in your official capacity, and I can tell you now that it shall be the last.\" We separated.\n\nI never had any further recognition from him, either for what I had done in his past elections or in aiding in his Senatorial election. He made friends of other people in Macon after this and expressed no interest whatever in any matter about which I was concerned. It was only when he died that I began to entertain an ambition to have the city of Macon represented in the State Government.\nI ought to say here that I found out after my conversation referred to above, that Mr. Bacon had attended to the matter and prevailed on the War Department to send the cablegram. All the telegraph lines had been taken charge of by the Government and could only be used for Government business.\n\nSenator Bacon was one of the ablest men the South had, either in the Senate or House, since the Civil War. He did not make the show that Mr. Hill exhibited nor arouse the enthusiastic attention that General Gordon commanded. But for cold, pure intellect, exhibited in debate or in the general work of the Senate, there never was his superior, nor in my judgment, his equal in that august body from the South since the War.\n\nHis debate with the distinguished Senator from Wisconsin, Mr. Spooner, the strongest man on the Republican side, was a brilliant display of legal and parliamentary knowledge and ability.\nThe publican on the Senate side at that time exerted all his powers and drew the attention of the entire American people. I once heard him say during a visit to Macon that the White House scarcely went fifteen minutes without calling for him, either by phone or otherwise. Wilson consulted him constantly while Bacon lived. The position he occupied as Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee in the Senate made his advice particularly valuable to the President in handling the vast questions arising in our international dealings. Bacon did not make friends with the general public like other politicians of the state. He lacked the ability to mingle with the populace and secure their goodwill for help in election contests.\nAn illustration of this defect in his constitution came out once in Twiggs County, when he was running against Colonel James H. Blount for Congress. He was defeated in the race, and in trying to account for it, this story was told by his friends:\n\nWhen he visited Twiggs County to address the people, he met a good old-fashioned woman sitting at the door of the court house. As he came up, she held out to him several pairs of home-made socks which she had knitted herself and was trying to sell in order to make a little money for her personal necessities.\n\nWhen Mr. Bacon heard her earnest petition to buy and looked at the humble product of her labor, he said to her gruffly, \"No, madam, I don't wear that sort of socks at all, and I don't want them.\" He passed on.\n\nA few days after, his competitor, Mr. Blount, visited the same woman and bought all the socks she had.\nThe poor old woman visited the County and found him. Seated near the court house, she tendered rough socks to him. He took them up to look and replied, \"Why, yes, madam, I'll buy your socks. It is the very thing I want. I'll take a few pairs for my children as well.\" He paid her with a smile. Many people saw the act and it spread, resulting in overwhelming support for Blount.\n\nMr. Bacon was very much attached to my son, Walter. He seemed to consider him a model young man, and his heart appeared to go out to the boy. It is said that on one occasion, while speaking about a war with Mexico, he used these words: \"I would not give the life of one young man, Walter Harris, who lives in my city, for all the Mexicans south of the Rio Grande.\"\nMy service in the Senate was delightful. I was Chairman of the Judiciary Committee, composed of about sixteen lawyers, all of the profession who were members of the Senate. I received constant evidence that the members of the Committee, as far as I now remember, felt considerable respect for their Chairman, and were at all times open to advice and persuasion from him. If he erred, they corrected him with the most delightful gentleness and courtesy.\n\nGovernor Atkinson was at the head of the State, and the most of his appointments were required to come before the Judiciary Committee. I had supported General Evans in the contest for Governor, and the result was that Mr. Atkinson felt at first that I would prove no friend to his administration. I saw him at an early stage, however, and assured him that I would be impartial.\nWhile I supported his opponent, I intended to aid him with my best endeavors in making his administration a success. Pretty soon, a vacancy appeared in the City Court Judgeship in Macon. Judge John P. Ross was the incumbent and an applicant for re-appointment. He had failed to make friends with the bar through his work as Judge, and as a result, the bar called a meeting and selected L. D. Moore as the candidate they would ask the Governor to appoint in place of Judge Ross. Judge Ross had supported Governor Atkinson in his race and was regarded as a strong friend of the administration. When the names came up to Governor Atkinson, I went to his office and told him that, as this appointment was in my own city, I wanted at least to be consulted before he decided on the appointment.\nHe told me plainly and straightforwardly that he intended to appoint Judge Ross, having already made up his mind. He added that the bar had no right to select a man for him; he intended to do his own selecting. I replied, \"Governor, you can't have Judge Ross confirmed in the Senate without my consent.\" He replied, \"I'll show you that you are wrong about this. If you oppose him, I will call on the whole Baptist Church to get behind him and they will overwhelm and destroy any opposition.\" I replied, \"Why, Governor, Lloyd Moore is as good a Baptist as Judge Ross, and you can't concentrate that great denomination on your appointee alone.\" A few days afterwards, he sent for me, and said, \"Senator Harris, the people of Macon are asking to be heard on the appointment of the Judge.\"\nI have decided to ask you to sit with me and hear the several delegations as they come up to present their views on the appointment.\n\nI replied, \"Governor, it pleases me very much that you have decided to take this step with me. I will be glad to join you whenever you allow the delegates a hearing.\"\n\nI sat with him in his office through all the hearings. The first delegation was in favor of Mr. Moore and was largely attended by the bar and business portion of the city, many of whom had been his friends. They made a brilliant showing, and after it was over, the Governor began to express doubts as to the correctness of his former conclusions. He said, \"I believe I will be compelled to appoint Moore.\"\n\nI replied, \"Governor, the hearings are not done. I am afraid you will go back to your old conclusion.\"\nAfter the next delegation was heard, making a strong showing for Judge Ross, he said, \"Senator Harris, I will be obliged to appoint Judge Ross.\" I replied, \"Wait, Governor, another delegation is to come up \u2014 the strongest you have had yet, and you may change your mind.\"\n\nWhen that delegation came up, it was opposed to Ross. In it were some strong men and leaders at the bar, along with outsiders urging Moore's appointment. Among the delegates from the bar was Colonel Olin Wimberly, of the firm Steed & Wimberly, one of the leading law firms in Macon. Colonel Wimberly attacked Judge Ross as a judge because of his plain friendship for the railroads. To me, this was a thunderbolt. Colonel Wimberly was the Division Counsel of the Central Railway. He had been serving the Company for a number of years.\nHe had a large salary and attended to a large business. He had tried many cases in Judge Ross\u2019 Court, and when he attacked Judge Ross in this way, it astonished me greatly. Colonel Wimberly continued his argument: \"No outsider can gain a case in this court against a railroad. The Judge rules the law and allows the testimony to be presented in such a way as to control every case of this character that comes before him.\" He then appealed to the Governor to put a stop to such an unjust proceeding by appointing a man who would give a fair trial to any suitor that appeared in court. I had been in the railroad service off and on since 1878. A large part of my living was made out of salaries and fees that the railroads paid me. When I heard a man similarly situated with me.\nI, a large part of whose living was made from these organizations, denounced a man who had seemed to favor them in the court house. Almost every prejudice was arrayed against the railroads. When the hearing was over, I went down the Capitol steps with my eyes dimmed with tears and my heart breaking with disappointment. I thought over the situation through the night and tried to decide as to my duty. If I allowed such an argument to prevail, I felt that I would be a traitor to the best clients I served. I would have to give up my principles and fall back on the idea that the Judge should at all times join the jury in plundering railroads.\n\nThe next morning, I went to the Governor's office and said to him: \"Governor, I have thought over this situation.\"\nI have come to a decision about the matter and if you wish to appoint your friend, Judge Ross, to the position, I will ensure his confirmation. When I made this statement, the Governor jumped up and threw his arms around me, saying, \"Harris, I knew you were a good man at heart and would do what is right. I will appoint Judge Ross.\" I replied, \"Governor, do not send in his name until Monday. I want to consult with my people. If the appointment is still in effect when I return on Monday, I will no longer oppose it but urge its acceptance.\" Judge Ross never knew what had caused the change in my views. I informed my people at home, and on Monday, when the appointment came in, I asked for its confirmation. Judge Ross had an uncle in the Senate \u2014 a true, generous, noble-hearted man. He had prepared for a speech in support of the appointment.\nI shall never forget the exhibition of gratitude shown to me by him when I confirmed the appointment for our battle. He rushed across the Senate Chamber and took my hand, shaking it with great vigor. With nearly breaking up the session, he expressed his words. The fierce criticism made by the railroad lawyer before the Governor, if true (which I greatly doubt), wrought its effect on Judge Ross. He went to the other extreme, ruling against the litigants and the railroads in every possible way the cases allowed. I repented, and when the next Judge was to be appointed for the court, I begged the Governor until he exacted a promise from him to give another man a trial in his place.\nI stood by Governor Atkinson throughout his administration. I confirmed his appointments, once meeting with the President of the Senate and successfully overcoming his opposition to an appointment. I regretfully closed my connection with the Senate and had kept the Governor's good will to such an extent that, when Hill was elected Chancellor, Atkinson asked to be allowed to join my firm to practice law. It was still pending when Governor Atkinson died.\n\nDuring the Spanish-American War, Governor Atkinson was still in office and applied for a Brigadier General's place in our armies. He was appointed.\nMy oldest son, Walter, was eager to add a military feature to his civil career. Walter was a member of the Macon Volunteers when the war began, and I was anxious to keep him from going into the service, as he was only a private in the ranks. However, he seemed eager and willing to go. His company had always been a patriotic organization with a great reputation for gallantry and meritorious conduct. When it was finally called out, it was put into the First Georgia Regiment and sent first to camp at Griffin and then to Chickamauga for drill and discipline. My son went with them as a private.\n\nTyphoid fever broke out in the camp when the command reached Chickamauga, and a great deal of sickness resulted due to the extremely limited camp facilities and poor sanitary conditions.\n\nWhile my son was in camp, his mother was taken ill.\nShe had been struck down by typhoid fever. Her system had been weakened greatly, perhaps, by long-term asthma attacks that recurred at intervals with the unease natural to a mother whose son was in the army. She could not resist the inroads of the fever and died twelve days after the attack began.\n\nAutobiography\n\nShe had made for herself a wonderful record through her benevolent regard for the community. She was the mother of seven children, six of whom were alive at the time of her death. Her charity was distributed to both her own race and to the colored people, and there was mourning among all classes when she died.\n\nFifteen hundred people attended her funeral, colored and white. Many came to gaze on her face, while the coffin was laid out at home, and tears were shed by large numbers of sympathizing friends and acquaintances.\nThe blow was terrible for me. After her burial, I began to think about the boy at Chickamauga. Every day I saw reports showing the spread of sickness in the ranks, and I knew the hardships he was undergoing. I had previously sought information from military sources to ascertain whether or not he could be promoted from the ranks and given an officer's grade. I even went to his colonel and had an interview with him. In the progress of that interview, I mentioned that I was sorry that I had not attempted to get Walter a commission before he joined the ranks as a private. The colonel replied sharply, \"It would have been no use for you to try. We are determined that these offices shall be filled by men who have seen sufficient service in the National Guard to entitle them to promotion. You couldn't have secured a commission for him.\"\nI had influence over him if you had tried. Your influence was not strong enough for that. I then said to the Colonel, \"Do you remember the morning you came to see Governor Atkinson when you asked to be appointed Colonel of the First Georgia?\" He answered that he did. I said, \"Do you remember that I met you on the steps of the Capitol and asked you if you really wanted the position, or were only applying because you had occupied the office in the National Guard and felt compelled by your sense of duty to ask for it whether you obtained it or not?\" He replied that he remembered. Then I said, \"Colonel, the Governor had seen me a few moments before and had told me that two men were applying for this office, one a graduate of West Point, the other Colonel Lawton, of Savannah, and he said to me, 'If you want my advice, I would appoint Lawton. He is a better military man than you, but if you prefer to appoint him, I will not interfere.'\"\n\"You were in my place, whom would you appoint? I replied, 'Governor, the West Pointer can get a position elsewhere. Colonel Lawton comes from a fighting family. The war record of his father and all his people appeals to you in his favor. If I were you, I would give it to him.' Then the Governor said to me, 'Go and find out for me if he really wants it and if he does, I will give it to him.' I then saw you, and returning to the Governor, I told him what you said. After the mother died, and I had found out how wide was the difference between a private and an officer, the Colonel looked surprised but answered nothing.\"\nIn the United States service, a difference that never existed in the Confederate Army, where I had served, I began to reproach myself more and more. The horror of the situation came over me with an added weight. Then I saw in the papers a statement that a new regiment was to be raised for Georgia. I got up from the sick bed where I was lying, took the telephone in my hand and called the Governor at Atlanta. When he answered, I said to him: \"Governor, I see you are about to raise another regiment for Georgia.\" \"Yes,\" he replied, \"that is true.\" Then I said: \"Governor, won't you please give that boy of mine, who is in the Macon Volunteers, the position of a Second Lieutenant in the new regiment?\" He replied: \"What qualifications has he got for the place?\" I said: \"Governor, he is my son.\"\nBrigadier-General, are you the one in question? He replied, \"yes.\" I asked, \"What qualifications do you have for that position?\" He responded, \"I graduated from the University, receiving military training from instructors there.\" I said, \"Governor, my son graduated from the University and underwent military training there as well. If these qualifications are sufficient for a Brigadier General, wouldn't they also qualify my son for a Second Lieutenancy?\" He answered, \"Harris, your point is well taken. I'll do better for him than you ask. I'll give him a First Lieutenancy and issue the order immediately.\" He followed through and my son was commissioned as a First Lieutenant, subsequently going to Cuba with the Third Georgia. He was later promoted to a captaincy, as previously mentioned. This marked the beginning of his military career, at least for his father.\nThe man's military career was justified, reflecting credit upon his family and his own name. He was a Brigadier-General in the World War, leading the 31st Division to the scene of hostilities. It is proper to note that my son made his military career on his own merits, with no known assistance except for the application I made to the Governor for promotion in order to save his life and ensure better treatment than he could get in the ranks.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nTHE GOVERNOR'S RACE\n\nMany events occurred in my life preceding, and in a sense, leading up to my entry into the race for Governor. I had been speaking much throughout the State, delivering addresses at college commencements, at veterans' reunions, on law cases, and on many other subjects. Bridges Smith, editor of The [Newspaper Name].\nTelegraph once published in the paper that I had delivered more addresses throughout the State than any man who lived in it at that time. Many suggestions had been made in the public press touching my political career; I was writing betimes for the papers and trying to keep in line with the better political progress of our Southern people.\n\nAt this time, two men were living in East Tennessee, first cousins of mine by blood, as we were sisters' children. They had grown up with me, though I was three years older than the elder of these, and something over four years older than the other. My mother's name was Edna Haynes, and their mother was Emma Haynes. My Aunt Emma had married Nathaniel G. Taylor some time before my mother was married to Alexander N. Harris.\n\nBoth the husbands were Methodist ministers.\nI was named after Colonel Taylor when I was born. My Aunt Emma's next son was named Alfred Alexander, with the middle name after my father. Her next son was named Robert L. Taylor. My Uncle Nat became a great politician, figureing in the Whig Party, while my father was always a Democrat. The two Taylor boys divided in politics after the War, Alfred acting with the Republicans and Robert joined the Democrats.\n\nAutobiography\n\nAlfred and I both became Representatives in the Legislatures and then Senators in the same bodies, in our respective states. I may say, for my part at least, that our childhood attachment for each other never ceased. Alfred went to Congress and his defeat for the nomination in one of his races gave his brother Robert.\nRobert had an opportunity to become a Democrat representative in Georgia, in my district. While Alfred was in Congress, my class-mate and friend, Judge Charles L. Bartlett, approached me and suggested I could be elected if I was willing to run. If I didn't intend to run, Mr. Bartlett stated he would try for the place. Being older than him, he graciously offered me the first chance and agreed to wait and support me. I immediately went to Washington to speak with my kinsman, Alfred Taylor, who was a member of Congress at the time, about entering the race in Georgia. I informed him that I believed my election was certain, as the party leaders in the state had asked me to run.\nI begged him to tell me his thoughts on the position. I must have met him when there was great disgust upon him, for he immediately spoke up and advised me not to run. He said the position was not worth holding, that the man who had it was a slave to his constituency, compelled to loan or give away every cent of his salary to them, that there was no chance to make any reputation in the place and that it was not worth the sacrifice necessary to get it and to hold it. He further added that he was so tired of the place that he would not seek it again and would not take it if his constituents handed it to him on a silver platter.\n\nI had faith in his judgment, went home and told Judge Bartlett to run. He did so and held the position for twenty years in succession.\nAlfred remained in private life until elected Governor of Tennessee in 1920. When the belief came to me that I could be elected Governor, I went to East Tennessee and conferred with Robert L. Taylor, the younger of the two boys with whom I had grown up. He had been Governor of Tennessee for three terms and had been in the Senate of the United States for some five years. When I saw him and told him that I thought there was a chance for me to be elected Governor of Georgia and asked him what he thought about it, he replied with readiness and enthusiasm: \"Go on and run for it. It is a great office. I would rather be Governor of Georgia than of any other State in the Union. Get into the race without delay.\" I had been approached by some of the leading politicians in the State, who had been kind enough to say that I had a good chance of winning.\nthat  they  would  give  me  their  support  if  I  should  de\u00ac \ncide  to  run,  and  so  I  kept  my  great  kinsman\u2019s  advice \ntreasured  up  in  my  heart.  He  died  a  short  time  after \nthis  and  the  episode  which  followed  his  funeral  I  have \nalready  described  in  these  memoirs.  When  I  had  fin\u00ac \nished  my  short  term  in  the  Judgeship  I  went  back  into \nbusiness  with  my  firm,  resuming  some  of  the  relations \nwhich  I  had  resigned  to  go  upon  the  bench.  I  con\u00ac \ntinued  with  the  firm  practicing  in  a  rather  perfunctory \nway,  my  sons  and  the  other  young  men  connected  with \nthe  firm  doing  the  principal  work. \nI  found  out  that  where  a  man  breaks  off  from  the \nlaw  at  my  age  it  is  \u201cworse  than  three  moves  and  a \nfire.\u201d  I  never  felt  the  same  zest  as  before,  for  the \nboys  were  fully  able  to  look  after  the  business  and \nhad  gained  the  confidence  of  the  clientele. \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nIn the early part of 1914, I decided to enter the race for Governor. The main competitors were William J. Harris from Cedartown, J. Randolph Anderson from Savannah, and L.G. Hardman from Commerce, all former legislature members and strong contenders. At a meeting of my friends at the court house in Macon, I presented my candidacy. They held various views about it. Colonel Joe Hall, a veteran legislature member at the time and engaged in a vigorous campaign to move the capitol to Macon, declared that I couldn't get elected.\nA county in the State north of Atlanta, where the whole weight of Atlanta's political organizations would be thrown against me, and I had just about as much chance to get the Governorship as a blue bird had to make his living in purgatory with his feathers well scorched. He reminded me how Atlanta had determined that no Macon man should ever have the Governorship, pointing to Mr. Bacon's three races, Mr. Guerry's race, Judge Simmons' short tenure, and others. The truth is Macon had never had a Governor since McDonald's time, and he was not elected while a resident of that city.\n\nSome of the other gentlemen in the meeting took the view that the turning point might have been reached, and Macon stood a chance to get her candidate through.\n\nThe first step I took, looking to the making of the race, was to interview the chief editors of the three major newspapers.\nleading papers in Atlanta; Clark Howell of The Constitution, James R. Gray of The Journal, and John Temple Graves of The Georgian. I mentioned to Mr. Howell that his father was my steadfast friend and had voluntarily promised me his support for Governor, whenever I should announce. To Mr. Gray, I referred to the fact that my kinsman in East Tennessee had married among his wife's people and I believed he could support me without any sacrifice of principle. To Mr. Graves, I did not urge any personal reason except that I wanted the place. He asked about my opponents and replied without hesitation: \"This paper will support you, for I believe you deserve this honor of Georgia.\" His paper kept its promise faithfully. One of the others started out for me, but its news service soon turned.\nI against me, though its great editor kept any attack out of its columns. The Journal fought me and its distinguished editor joined the opposition. I felt that I ought to have the advantage over the other candidates at least in some degree because I had been the legal head and had aided in the management of Georgia Tech for nearly thirty years. That institution had gotten itself into the hearts of the people of Atlanta. The largest number of its graduates had come from and were located in that city. Every one of these men had my name on his diploma. In fact, I may say here that being Chairman of the Board of Trustees of this institution aided me materially in the race throughout the entire State. Over fifteen thousand boys who had attended the school while it was under my partial supervision lived in Georgia.\n\nAutobiography\nThe Campaign.\nMy next business after announcing my candidacy was to rent an office, secure a local committee, and appoint a campaign manager. This was done, and F. R. Jones, of Macon, was made the campaign manager. He was the son-in-law of Colonel John T. Boisfouillet, editor of The News, a gentleman who had been Clerk of the House of Representatives for a score of years, and whose acquaintance in Georgia was second to few men in the State. He agreed to give me the benefit of his knowledge and counsel during the campaign. He has been a true friend to me through all the years that have passed since then.\n\nRooms were secured on the second floor of the Georgia Casualty Building, and the campaign began in regular order with circulars, photographs, and the usual suggestions that characterize an application to the voters of the State.\nI knew the cost of the campaign would be great, so I made arrangements with the Macon Savings Bank to sell or hypothecate some securities I owned, hoping to realize enough to pay expenses. In Atlanta, St. Elmo Massengale was appointed by my friends to manage the campaign there. He opened headquarters in the city for Atlanta, Fulton, and DeKalb Counties. I then made a personal canvass of the state as far as practical, speaking in the various towns and cities, taking advantage of the meeting of the courts, the judges being always willing to give the candidates an hour or so at dinner time to present their views. I opened the campaign at Jeffersonville in Twiggs County while the court was in session. I told the Twiggs people that I had always practiced in their county.\nI. Autobiography\n\nI addressed juries in Twiggs County and stood ready to aid the people in every undertaking beneficial to the State. Twiggs County remained loyal to me in both races for Governor, as faithful as my own county of Bibb. I have tried some of the most important cases in Twiggs County, including the prosecution of Tom Shaw and Warren Creswell for wrecking a Southern train at Stone Creek.\n\nThe cases against these men consumed at least a month in trial. W.F. Combs, a former law agent of the Southern Railway Company, wrote a large volume about these cases, which was published in London and New York in 1898. In this book were outlined the steps that led to the detection of the perpetrators.\nThe Solicitor General, my friend Colonel Tom Eason, allowed me to lead the prosecution in cases against train wreckers Shaw and Creswell. The trials resulted in their final conviction for train wrecking and murder. They were sentenced to life in the penitentiary. The county took great interest in the case, more than any since I began practicing law.\n\nThe speeches of counsel, the judge's ruling, the Supreme Court decision, and the final judgments are set out in the work. Three people were killed and about forty more injured, while two fine trains were destroyed. The wreck was caused by removing a rail.\nTrestle over Stone Creek, and the motive that actuated both men was to kill or injure their wives, who were on the train. In Creswell\u2019s case, it was to obtain the money arising from the damages to be paid by the road. Shaw was actuated by still another motive, namely, to get rid of his wife and enable him to marry a young girl whom he was courting, as a single man, in an adjacent county. Taking it all in all, the crime committed by these two persons was the most diabolical, heinous and terrible ever conceived in this part of the Republic.\n\nThe trial of the case begot a great many friends for the counsel that prosecuted as well as for the employees of the railroad whose cause was involved in the prosecution.\n\nAfter my opening address in Twiggs County, I went to various other counties, delivering in all 162 speeches.\nI tried to reach every county in the State, but was unable to get to some, including Lincoln, Towns, Rabun, and Union. I was accustomed to saying in these counties bordering on Tennessee that I was born in Tennessee and my ancestors had done much for the building and advancement of that State. I was willing to stand on their record to assure the people that I would not fail to do my duty to Georgia, the State that had given me an asylum when I was driven out from home through the fortunes of the War.\n\nWhile running for Governor the first time, I came one day to a county chain gang working in the road through which I was compelled to pass. While moving from one side of the road to the other to secure a passage, a Negro man came up to me.\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY: I stopped the automobile and said, \"Judge, I'm representing you here.\" I asked, \"What do you mean?\" He replied, \"You sent me here.\" I didn't relish the representing, but there are likely many judges about whom the same expression could be used by the chain gang workers of the State.\n\nPROGRESS OF THE CAMPAIGN: I could never get my opponents to consent to a joint debate. W.J. Harris wrote me that I had more experience in public speaking than he did and he wasn't willing to meet me. Dr. Hardman contented himself with refusing, saying I was too old anyway. One of the principal planks in his platform was that I would die within ninety days after being inaugurated, even if they elected me, and, therefore, it would bring double expense on the State. Colonel Anderson\nMr. Harris made no specific attack so far as I was informed, but contented himself with a reference to his own fine record in the Legislature and a promise of what he would do if elected. I made few, if any, speeches. I contented myself with writing for the newspapers, sending out periodic contributions to the press, in all of which I confined my attacks to you. Most of these were based on the fact that I had been a railroad lawyer, and therefore, would not be trustworthy if a railroad question came before me. He especially referred to the leasing of the State road that must come up in the next Governor\u2019s term. I answered his attacks from time to time but went into the papers only once. He published a series of questions which he demanded that I should answer. These questions implied so much unworthiness on my part to ask for the office of Governor.\nI for the sake of the people's suffages felt constrained to answer them in the same public manner they were asked, namely, through the papers. I sent therefore to the press the following statement with which I contented myself. It is proper to say here that in the heat of a canvass many things are stated that a sober second thought would never allow. Mr. Harris was bent on his candidacy and doubtless aimed his fiercest assaults on me because he thought that I was in the lead of his opponents. I have always felt this way about it.\n\nMY REPLY\nThat I may not be deemed discourteous to my opponent who has singled me out as the object of his fiercest attacks, I am willing to answer in a brief way this once, the several questions which he saw fit to propound in the statement published on the 31st ultimo, to which I have referred.\nI will deny that in April 1912, after a visit to the East to meet the funeral train of my cousin Robert L. Taylor in East Tennessee, I prepared a statement threatening that if Governor Woodrow Wilson was nominated for President on an unsatisfactory platform, Judge Harris and I would bolt the Democratic nomination.\nPublished in The Telegraph on April 6, 1912, I discussed the tendency of the day to get away from representative government in an interview, with President Wilson's name not mentioned nor referred to directly. I know from his published statements that he held similar views as expressed in that article. Harris can prove otherwise if he can. I concluded the article with the following statement:\n\n\"I have not yet reached the conclusion that the fathers were wrong. I believe that to abolish the feature of representative government, or if you please, to carry that doctrine too far so\"\nThe representative has no liberty of action will embarrass our government by planting seeds of discord and dissension, raising a crop of weakness, demagoguery, and imbecility, and will eventuate at an early date in the total destruction of the American Republic and make it a thing of the past. I still believe it is the best government the world ever saw. When the South seceded, she carried the same Constitution with her, and our fathers thought then that Constitution could not be improved upon, so far as its three great features were concerned: the independent legislative, judicial, and executive departments. There will never be another statesman developed if the doctrine contended for is once set up in the government. The whole purpose of the founders of the government would be overturned.\n\"If the Democratic party is to commit itself to the doctrine and be compelled to insert it in the platform nominating a man who pledges himself to carry it into effective operation, it will force many of us to sever our allegiance to the party in the next contest. I have never voted anything else but a Democratic ticket in my life. I have never bolted a nomination, but if I thought that the exigencies of the party compelled it to take up with a heresy like this, striking at the very foundation of the government, and bringing to naught all that we have fought for, and hoped for, and believed in for the last 125 years, I would simply give up the creed of my life and go to my tent in despair in my old age; for I know that this is one sure step, and a long one, toward the inauguration of the horrors of the anarchy.\"\nThe French Revolution would eliminate all semblance of free government and establish an absolute monarchy on its ruins.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\nThe party did not deviate from its ancient landmarks, and I thank God that the great man elected on the platform is the strongest champion of representative government we have ever had in the State chair.\n\nIn his second question, he asks how I voted on the negro disfranchisement. I voted for the Constitutional amendment passed by the Legislature in 1908. It prescribes the qualifications of voters, dividing them into five classes. If this is what Mr. Harris means, my answer will cover his question.\n\nHis third question asks whether I will deny that in my opening speech at Macon, I stated that my platform would be \"you help me and I will help you.\"\nI answered, \"Yes, I did not use those exact words.\" My words were, \"You do all you can for me and I promise to do all I can for you.\" This, I said, was a sufficient platform among honest people, and I have repeated it on every platform from which I have addressed the people. I expect to do so to the end of this campaign. I have explained this to mean \"You do all the good you can for me, and I will do all the good I can for you.\" It is the golden rule in politics and a greater one than Mr. W.J. Harris announced it some two thousand years ago.\n\nHis fourth question asks me if I will deny that at the meeting in Macon, placing me in the race for Governor, the resolution was offered by an attorney who has represented many interests before the Legislature.\n\nThe resolution was offered by Honorable Roland\nEllis, a lawyer whose ability is unquestioned, who has served both as Representative and Senator from this vicinity in the Legislature, and whose eloquence is second to that of no one in the State. I do not know whether he ever represented many interests before the Legislature or not. I know that he served his State and country with fidelity in that body in both the Senate and House. He has been my friend for years, and I hope will continue to be in spite of my opponent\u2019s criticisms. I did not ask him to introduce the resolution. The meeting was without my request or concurrence, and I was only notified to come into the meeting after the resolutions had been adopted. I did not even know what they were.\n\nFifth question: Will I deny that the man who introduced me at Bainbridge, for many years represented...?\nI answered, \"I will not deny it, for I do not know.\" I do know, however, that John E. Donalson, who introduced me at Bainbridge, is one of the largest farmers in Southwest Georgia, owning large plantations in Decatur and Dougherty Counties, to which he gives practically all of his time. He was my school mate and club mate in college at the University, where my opponent and I graduated. I know, too, that Mr. Donalson was with me in the Army of Virginia; our young eyes saw the smoke, and we felt the shock of battle together, and our hearts rejoiced over the triumphs again and again of the Georgia boys in those awful conflicts. He was my friend at college, my comrade in the army.\nI have been my lifelong friend. He married the widow of my old commander, and God bless him \u2013 I hope he will live to see me inaugurated Governor of Georgia!\n\nAutobiography\n\n\"I have answered his charges about the railroad lawyer.\n\n\"In conclusion, there is one other point made by him which I desire to notice:\n\n\"He declares that, since the announcement of his position, I have resigned as attorney for the Southern and Central railroads, etc., and he asks \u2018Does not this action admit my contention?\u2019\n\n\"I beg to state that I resigned before Mr. Harris\u2019 position was announced. I did this for three reasons:\n\n\"(1) I did not desire to drag the railroads into the contest for Governor.\n\n\"(2) I did not wish to draw a salary for services that I was not rendering, and make a railroad pay for a campaign that I myself was making.\nI did not wish railroads to furnish me with free transportation for my candidacy, preferring to be on an entire equality with the other candidates and pay my own way. I am sorry he has taken the stand he has with reference to me. While these criticisms may serve to enliven the campaign, yet these matters are utterly distasteful to me and I wish sincerely that it was not necessary to speak as I have done. He knows in his heart that my former connection with the railroads will not stand in the way of the discharge of my duty to the State; that I have never betrayed a trust nor neglected a duty where the public was concerned. It is only a question of integrity at last, and a lawyer, who has represented clients faithfully, would hardly sell out or betray a constituent like the State of\nHon. Roland Ellis wrote me a letter, asking that I be put in charge of Georgia's affairs. Mr. Harris, a longtime friend of mine, soon withdrew from the gubernatorial race thirty days before the election. I regret that he did not retire in my favor, but I suppose he couldn't do so while maintaining respect. He has been in the United States Senate for several years and intends to continue as long as he chooses to run. He considers me a strong friend, and my son, the General, holds him in high regard, viewing any criticism of the Senator as a reflection upon himself. Such are the politics' whirligigs.\nI do not think he ever had any unkind feeling towards me, and I know I never did towards him. I see in his face something that calls up my own people, and I shall always be glad to know of his triumphs, if for nothing else than that he is the son-in-law of General Wheeler, with whom I once marched at the head of his command in the war and whom I met more than once after the war. We used to claim kin with each other \u2014 the Senator and myself \u2014 before our little differences in the Governor's race.\n\nINCIDENT AT KINGSLAND\n\nI have seen the audience frequently very much moved while I was speaking. I caught the fervor of the mountains at times, I think, and was able to put more stress on the appeals I made depending on the character of the audience and the place of delivery. I have experienced a great demonstration three times.\nI in my political career had two demonstrations of interest shown that I have already described. One occurred at Barnesville and the other at Hollonsville, both in Pike County, and both while I was running for the State Senate.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe last one occurred at Kingsland, in Camden County, when I was canvassing for Governor. I do not mean to say that there were not other demonstrations of interest during my races for Governor, but the one at Kingsland stands out in my memory much more vividly because my wife was present.\n\nWhen I reached Kingsland, the good people had erected a stand for speaking and provided a barbecue. A large crowd was therefore present, for I found that the people would always congregate when they were offered something to eat. The compassion of our Lord taught us how appropriate it is to feed the people when hungry.\nWhen I mounted the stand to begin my address, I saw that the citizens had gathered a large number of old soldiers who lined the back of the stand for a setting to welcome me. They came forward to shake hands. Among them, I saw a gentleman whose face appeared familiar to me. As I shook hands with him, I said, \"It seems to me, Sir, that I have met you before. Your face is familiar.\" Then he replied, \"Yes, Sir, I think we have met before. I was at Gettysburg. I charged up the heights there that day, and I hear that your regiment was there. Yes, I think we've met before. Yes, we met at Gettysburg.\" I was still holding his hand when he used these words, and I turned around to the audience and in the gush of the unexpected enthusiasm, I commenced to describe the charge of the Southern soldiers up the hill.\nI held the hand of an old comrade at Gettysburg as I spoke, and the entire audience was overwhelmed. Tears and sobs resulted. I'm not sure what else to attribute the effect on the people other than the fact that I held my wife's hand. She burst into tears, bent her head down to the bench in front of her, and shook with convulsive sobs. The incident was reported in the papers and published throughout the state. It put a glamour on my campaign in Camden which never passed away. I carried the county both times by heavy majorities. I spoke on the same platform at different times with Governors Slaton and Hardwick, and candidates for other inferior offices. The two mentioned were running for Senator.\nGovernor Slaton delivered a fine address, having the advantage of a long legislative career and service in the Governor's office that was, perhaps, as successful as any that had preceded him in many years. He looked after the finances of the State, carefully collected its revenues, and spread its credit to the bounds of the Union. He made the way easier for his successor, for he left a full treasury and the record of a splendid administration.\n\nIn Mr. Hardwick's case, I was attracted by one expression he threw out in every address. He was absolutely certain of election, and in explaining that certainty, he would state: \"I have fought thirteen pitched battles in my time and never was beaten yet. I'll not be beaten now.\" And he was not.\n\nWe spoke together at Bowden College on the 4th of July, where a great barbecue was prepared for the crowd.\nMr. Hardwick opened the speaking. He stated that he knew it was usual for the candidate for Governor to lead off, but he was anxious to keep an appointment at Carrollton that day. If I would let him speak first, he would go on to Carrollton and announce my coming so that I could follow him there. I consented, but Mr. Hardwick has one failing - when he begins to talk, he has no sense of the lapse of time. He stopped just fifteen minutes before the barbecue was to be announced. The dishes were already rattling on the table within our hearing, when he said his last words to the crowd. He gave me only fifteen minutes in which to discuss my cause. I remained over for the barbecue and then in an automobile rushed over to Carrollton. A great crowd awaited me there.\nfair  was  going  on  and  the  people  of  Carrollton  had \nallowed  only  a  certain  time  for  the  speaking  in  the \nassembly  hall  adjacent  to  the  grounds. \nWhen  I  entered  the  hall  and  went  upon  the  stage \nMr.  Hardwick  was  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his  strong\u00ac \nest  appeals  and  it  went  entirely  out  of  his  mind,  I \npresume,  that  I  was  to  have  anything  to  say.  At  all \nevents  he  closed  just  five  minutes  before  the  bells  rang \nfor  the  races. \nBy  the  time  the  audience  was  settled  after  he  con\u00ac \ncluded  I  had  only  about  one  minute  left  me.  I  said: \n\u201cMy  distinguished  friend  has  taken  up  all  the  time \nin  setting  forth  the  merits  of  his  case.  My  country\u00ac \nmen,  his  cause  needed  it.  Mine  does  not,  and  I  leave \nit  with  you  that  its  justice  may  appeal  to  you  when  you \ncome  to  the  ballot  box,\u201d  and  with  these  words  I  con\u00ac \ncluded. \nHe  and  I  both  lost  the  county.  His  long  speaking \nThe primary was held on August 19th, 1914. Under the party's rules, the election was decided by the county unit vote. The majority or plurality of votes at the polls did not control, but the election was determined by the number of counties carried. Each county having twice as many votes in the convention as it had members in the lower House of the Legislature.\n\nWhen the count was completed, the vote for Governor stood as follows:\n\nHarris: popular votes - 90,308, unit votes - 192\nHardman: popular votes - 74,125, unit votes - 148\nAnderson: popular votes - 40,724, unit votes - 32\n\nOne hundred and eighty-six unit votes were necessary to a choice, as a majority was required to elect.\nHad received six more votes than a majority and had the right to expect the convention to declare me the nominee at once. There were two terms for Senator voted on \u2014 one the long term and the other a short term for about four years \u2014 the incumbent having died.\n\nFor the long term Senator Hoke Smith received 134,903 popular votes and 350 unit votes, while Governor Brown received 69,778 popular votes with a unit vote of only 22. For the short term of Senator, there were five candidates.\n\nSlaton received 68,724 popular votes, with a unit vote of 141.\nHardwick received 64,799 popular votes, with a unit vote of 122.\nFelder received 33,650 popular votes, with a unit vote of 91.\nHutchins received 26,706 popular votes, with a unit vote of 18.\nCooper received 9,890 popular votes, with no unit vote.\n\nIt will be seen that no one for the short term Senate position received a unit vote.\nI had hoped that when the official vote was declared, it would end the struggle. However, my hopes were not well-founded. Mr. Anderson promptly telegraphed his congratulations. Dr. Hardman made no sign and showed no purpose to accept the verdict at the polls.\n\nAt one time in the history of our conventions, when W.J. Harris was presiding as Chairman, it was said he had ruled that the instructions from the counties bound the delegates only for the first ballot. After that, if there was no election, the candidates could vote as they saw fit.\n\nRumors began to go through the State that Hardman planned to defy the convention's decision.\nA man was preparing to contest the results, filing objections to some returns and arranging for other delegates to be absent when the first call was made. According to the votes above, Senator Hoke Smith had carried the state by an overwhelming majority. Under the rules of the primary, the candidate who carried the county had the right to select the delegates, but they all had to be supporters of the Senator carrying the county. In many counties, I managed to have delegates appointed who were friendly to Dr. Hardman and who would be expected to vote for him on the second ballot, if there was no election on the first. I believed that the conspiracy had become widespread, and a determined effort was to be made in the convention to turn down the leading candidate and prevent him from being elected.\nI. Around this time, an election was held on the first ballot. I recall there was a reunion of Confederate Veterans at a place in Upson County called \"The Rock.\" I was asked to speak at the gathering and did so. After I had finished my address, I told the crowd of old soldiers and others that although I had been elected Governor by the people and the counties, there was a deep conspiracy to take the election away from me in the convention, and there were threats to discard some votes to defeat the will of the people.\n\nWhen I made this statement, the old boys rose to their feet almost in unison and cried out: \"Judge Harris, if this is attempted, let us know and we'll come to the convention with our guns in our hands. We will not allow such a thing to happen.\"\n\nOn the morning preceding the convention, which was:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be mostly clean, but the last sentence is incomplete and may require further investigation to ensure accuracy.)\nI met Mr. Gray from the Journal and Mr. McCord, Senator Smith's manager, near the door of the Dempsey hotel in Macon. Colonel Gray stopped me and said, \"Judge Harris, we have determined to contest your election and you will not go in without a struggle.\" I replied, \"I have heard something of this and would be glad to know on what ground the contest is to be made and why.\" Mr. Gray replied, \"We do not think you have been fair in appointing delegates from the counties carried by Mr. Hardwick.\" I said, \"Well, Colonel Gray, how is the contest to be made?\" He replied, \"We have determined to seat the contesting delegation from Gilmer County. That will knock you out of two votes, and exceptions are filed to the election in other counties, so that the majority will be cut down.\"\nI replied: \"The seating of the contesting delegates from Gilmer will do you no good. I received every vote in the election in Gilmer County except sixteen, so both delegations are instructed for me.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"I didn't know that.\"\n\n\"Well, there are several things, probably, that you do not know, and I hope to be present when the contest comes off.\"\n\nThat same night, a caucus of my friends was held, and into that caucus came General Travis, Chairman of the Anderson delegation from Chatham, claiming to speak for all the Anderson delegates.\n\nHe stated unequivocally that Mr. Anderson had asked his delegates to vote for me on the first ballot and not to put his name before the convention. Of course, if this program was carried out, my election could not be defeated without too much apparent chaos and fraud.\nAn incident occurred that same afternoon which threw some light on the situation. Senator Smith reached the city that afternoon and, surrounded by his followers, walked from the Southern depot to the Dempsey hotel. Just before he arrived at the hotel, my son, Walter, said to me, \"Papa, hadn't you better go down and meet the Senator when he reaches the hotel?\" The Senator and I each had headquarters in the Dempsey hotel. I replied, \"Yes, I think that's right. I carried the State for Governor and he certainly carried it for Senator, and I ought to welcome him in my town.\" I went down to the vestibule where I found things so crowded with a clamoring concourse of delegates and politicians that I could not get through to the door. Walter proposed to make a way for me, but I said, \"No, my son, I'll slip out along the walls.\"\nI had scarcely spoken when Senator Smith appeared in the door. He towered above everything and was immediately recognized, and the crowd set up a great shout of welcome and turned towards the door. Senator Smith stood for a moment in the door looking over the crowd until his gaze rested on me. In an instant, he commenced pushing towards me, his arms going both ways like two great levers. The crowd fell back, and in an instant, more he came up to me and, in plain view of the whole shouting assembly, threw his arms around my neck, drew me up to him, and said in my ear: \"You have always told me that you wanted to be Governor of Georgia. I am glad that you are going to realize your ambition.\" Of course, one may understand that these words made a deep impression on me.\nI couldn't speak in reply, and the tears blinded my eyes. The foolish reporters, who were mostly against me, in speaking of the occurrence in the papers next morning, stated that I had thrown my arms around the Senator as if to placate him and secure his help. Afterward, the thought came to me that perhaps Senator Smith had merely yielded to a momentary enthusiasm and had spoken under the impulse of the moment because I was an old Confederate soldier. I knew that whatever else might be said of him, there was no man more loyal to the memories of the days of the sixties than he was. His uncle was a Major-General in Lee\u2019s Army where I served, and we had often talked about those old days. So I said to myself: \u201cI\u2019ll go down to his headquarters this morning and see how he feels after he has calmed down.\u201d\nI met his friends who all seemed to be against me. When I entered his room, I found Senator Hardwick, Col. Gray, Major McCord, and one other gentleman whose name I have forgotten. I asked them as I came in the door if the Senator had gotten up yet. They replied: \"No, he hasn't come out of his room.\" I said to them: \"With your permission, I will go into his room and speak to him.\" He was occupying a connecting room to the one I had entered. I started in, but he had heard my voice, and coming out without speaking a word of greeting, he put his hand on my shoulder and said: \"Come with me.\" He went up to the persons in the room and said: \"Gentlemen, I desire to make this remark and I want it heeded, for I mean it. I would rather have this man for Governor than anyone else who lives inside the State.\"\nOf Georgia. Let there be no misunderstanding between us.\n\nOf course, this overwhelmed me, and I could do no more than thank him. I turned and left the room. Both McCord and Gray followed me. McCord spoke first. He said: \"Judge Harris, I didn't support you in your race, but after the statement just now made, I want to say to you that you shall have my support from now on, not only in this convention, but if you run again, you can count on my being at your side.\" Colonel Gray shook hands with me, also, and said: \"After Senator Smith's statement, you can count on my help, Judge Harris.\"\n\nOf course, there was nothing more said about a contest. Senator Smith had nine-tenths of the convention friendly to his interests and ready to fight for him with heart and soul, so that, as soon as it became known that he wanted me for Governor, the opposition quickly rallied around him.\nMy name was the only one presented before the convention, with Dr. Hardman seconding my nomination. This nomination equated to an election as there was no contestant against me; both Democrats and Republicans endorsed me on the day of the regular election.\n\nIt's worth mentioning that Governor Slaton, despite holding a plurality of both popular and county unit votes, did not secure the nomination. The contest lasted over a day and ultimately resulted in Mr. Hardwick receiving the nomination.\n\nThis outcome of the convention voting sparked significant debate across the State, leading primarily to the passage of the Neel Act. This legislation instates a secondary race for the top two candidates when there is no public election.\nGovernor Slaton was disturbed by what he believed was an unjust ending to the race, and was ready to blame many people beyond those directly involved in his defeat. I saw him at the hotel after the result had been declared, not knowing that he had taken offense from matters concerning me. I went up to him to shake hands and offer encouragement for a future comeback. He refused to shake hands with me and turned his back on me in the presence of a large crowd.\n\nA terrible trial was preparing for him within the nine months remaining in the Governor's office. The celebrated case of the State against Leo Frank was coming on for trial, involving Colonel Reuben Arnold and Colonel Luther Rosser.\nwas formerly in partnership with Governor Slaton, were defending the prisoner while the prosecution was in charge of Hugh M. Dorsey, Solicitor General, and F. A. Hooper as associate counsel. The case grew out of the murder of a young girl named Mary Phagan, working in a pencil factory, over which Frank was Superintendent. It was believed by the people that Frank had assaulted the girl first and then slain her to conceal the crime.\n\nA great deal of testimony was introduced on both sides, and all the ingenuity that counsel could think of was brought to bear on the one hand to persuade the jury of the prisoner's guilt, and on the other to show his innocence. The excitement became so great during the trial that it was with difficulty the sheriff and his assistants prevented a mob from taking the prisoner out of the courtroom.\nThe courthouse was the site of summary punishment. The temper of the people became so uncertain that after the argument of counsel and the charge of the court, the Judge advised the counsel for the defense to remain away from the courthouse and let the verdict be taken without their presence or that of their client. This direction was followed, and the jury promptly found a verdict of guilty, and the prisoner was sentenced to hang.\n\nLeo Frank was a Jew, and his conviction stirred up a great commotion throughout the entire country. The Jews raised considerable sums of money to aid the defense in the effort to set aside the verdict and save the prisoner's life. The case went to the Supreme Court, where the judgment was affirmed with two members of the court dissenting.\n\nPropaganda was begun nationwide at once. It was said by our Jewish citizens that no Jew had yet been executed in Georgia for a crime against a Caucasian.\nThe issue presented in the text is primarily the lack of a clear context and some formatting inconsistencies. I will remove the formatting issues and maintain the original content as much as possible.\n\nhanged under the American Government since its foundation, and it was earnestly desired that there should be no exception made by the hanging of Frank. The papers were crowded with communications. News stories and even editorials followed, urging that the life of the prisoner be saved. No such widespread interest was ever shown in any similar case in Georgia within the recollection of the oldest inhabitant. The matter even got into the State Legislatures. The Tennessee Legislature passed a resolution asking that Frank's life be saved. Likewise, the Texas Legislature passed a similar resolution. The case was carried to the Supreme Court of the United States, where the judgment was affirmed by a divided count.\n\nAfter the affirmance of the judgment, an application was made to Governor Slaton for a reprieve.\nPetitions were signed in almost every community in the State and almost every State in the South. Petitions and letters poured into the Governor every day, causing a dreadful hysteria to go through the Nation. It was known that I was to succeed Governor Slaton in June. As a former member of his firm had defended Frank, it was thought that the Governor might reprieve him and leave me to pass on the question of commutation. I think possibly an interview I gave to some of the papers caused those who were most interested in obtaining a commutation to urge that Governor Slaton should pass on the matter without putting it over to me. This interview simply stated that I thought outside interference of the kind which came from Tennessee and Texas was unnecessary.\nI neither believe it was proper nor allowable, if decency was to be kept in view, for Georgia and her authorities to be suggested concerning the administration of her criminal laws from outside sources. I felt that perhaps this interview, which was purely accidental and had been had without any ulterior designs whatsoever, may have put extra pressure on Governor Slaton to handle the matter during his term. He was told, I subsequently understood, that it would appear to the world as an act of cowardice if he failed to take up and decide the matter, as the entire case had originated in his term. Governor Slaton had not a drop of blood in his body tinged with cowardice. I found this out by unmistakable demonstration afterwards.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhile the matter was pending before the Prison Commission.\nSeveral prominent men appeared before the Governor during the Commission proceedings. Governor Joseph M. Brown urged that the law be allowed to take its course. He lived in the town where the unfortunate young girl was born and raised. Solicitor-General Dorsey put all his influence and intellect into opposing the granting of commutation. Petitions were filed and strong arguments were made on both sides. The Prison Commission refused to recommend mercy, and the case went to the Governor without recommendation. He took it up quietly and determined to commute. When I saw him, he referred to my interview regarding outside interferences and used the old expression: \"A decent respect for the opinions of mankind should be shown by every man in office.\"\nWhen he used this expression, I began to believe that he intended to commute. He knew there was danger to the prisoner, and when he had made up his mind to grant the application, he quietly sent Frank out of the city and put him in the penitentiary, then announced his decision.\n\nThe result brought on a condition of affairs in Atlanta and the adjacent territory such as I have never seen and never heard of in all my reading or experience.\n\nIt will be easily understood that the papers in Georgia had taken up and discussed a matter that had created so much interest throughout the Nation. Among these papers was The Jeffersonian, a periodical edited and published by Hon. Thomas E. Watson of McDuffie. He had not hesitated to set forth the fact that this was a poor working girl whose dishonor and death had been caused by the actions of the commuted prisoner.\nThe interventions in such a case by Frank prevented the due course of the law, placing him alongside the criminal and deserving the condemnation of mankind. These publications heightened the unparalleled feeling of bitterness among citizens, causing mobs to gather in almost every part of the county and leading to a chaotic state of affairs. No persuasion or remonstrance could control the situation.\n\nThe gathering of these mobs, the threatening letters, and the angry demonstrations on every hand caused the governor to declare martial law and place military guards around his home and office. This was the state of affairs when the day for my inauguration was reached.\nOn the morning of the inauguration, a large delegation of friends and acquaintances, accompanied by a battalion of the National Guard, came up from Macon to attend the ceremonies. Among these, also, was a large part of Masonic Lodge Number 5, of which the newly elected Governor was Master. A permit had been obtained from the Grand Master to allow the Lodge to attend in a body, if it so desired.\n\nA large procession was formed at the depot with my wife and I at the head in an automobile, and went through the city to the Capitol while vast crowds lined each side of the street.\n\nThe usual joint session of the Legislature was called for the inauguration, and the sitting Governor was required by custom to march with the incoming Governor and a committee from the two bodies to the House of Representatives, where the inaugural address was to be delivered.\nGovernor Slaton and I walked arm in arm up the steps to the second floor and then arm and arm down the aisle to the stand where the oath was to be taken. Judge Ogden Persons, the President of the Senate, presided over the joint meeting. Mr. Burwell was Speaker of the House. In the course of the ceremonies, it became necessary for the outgoing Governor to tender the Great Seal to me as the incoming Governor. When Governor Slaton rose to perform this duty, there began in the galleries a fearful interruption. Hisses, growls, and threatening words followed as almost the entire gallery rose from the seats.\n\nQuick as lightning, President Persons rushed to the front of the stage, pounded with his gavel, and announced in stentorian tones that any further disturbances would not be tolerated.\nThe stration would cause the clearing of the galleries and the immediate putting out of every disorderly person. He called on the Sergeant-at-Arms to keep order and point out any offender. The prompt action of President Persons stopped the demonstration, and his strong and vigorous words held back the people. After this, the ceremony was completed without further interruption. Bishop Candler had opened the meeting with prayer. When Chief Justice Fish prepared to administer the oath, I handed him the Bible that my dead mother had given me years before and which I had treasured as one of the sacred objects, showing her love for her oldest son. He then put it in my hand, and upon this Bible, the oath was taken. After the delivery of the inaugural address, Governor Slaton and I passed down the steps arm in arm.\nI could see people on the stairs and in the vestibules gnashing their teeth, shaking their heads, and exhibiting various signs of hostility, hissing continually as we walked down. I have often mentioned that Governor Slaton pressed my arm so strongly that it turned blue afterwards from the bruises, though he did not seem to realize this in any way.\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhen we reached the Governor's reception room, the Governor went back into his own room, taking his wife with him and no one else. Here, it was said, he bid farewell to the scenes among which he had mingled for the past two years.\n\nWe had been invited to a dinner given to me by the people of Macon in the Hotel Ansley, and while I was waiting in the outer room, the Governor sent word by one of his staff that he wished to join us.\nI. Me down the steps, asking me to walk with him to the place where we would enter the automobile. We came out through the door opening on Washington Street and marched down together to enter the automobile near the sidewalk. Governor Slaton entered the automobile first. Just as I was preparing to follow him, a strong, rough-looking man darted out from the crowd, holding in both his hands a large piece of iron pipe about five feet long and an inch thick. He raised this to strike the ex-Governor over my head and shoulder. He could not have reached him without hitting me. Instantly, Major Polhill Wheeler, who was in command of a battalion of the National Guard at Macon that had come up to attend the inauguration, leaped forward, seized the hands of the man who was striking, and turned aside the blow, saving Governor Slaton.\nI had not realized that the bitterness against Governor Slaton had reached such a point as to give rise to an attack on him in public. The man's face looked like a demon's as he raised the deadly instrument to strike.\n\nOr Slaton and I were saved from a terrible injury or perhaps death. The man was immediately put under arrest and sent to the lock up. Major Wheeler went over to France, performed a conspicuous part in the great contest there, and returned home with distinction. He is dead now, but his memory will never be forgotten by me at least. I served with his father, who was City Engineer while I was City Attorney for many long years. He was an old Veteran, a staunch upright gentleman, and his son was a worthy descendant of a noble father.\n\nDescending the Capitol steps with Governor Slaton. (Autobiography)\nWe started moving into the mansion a few days before the inauguration. On one of these nights preceding the inauguration, runners came to the mansion after midnight and stated that a mob was out with the intention of blowing up and burning the mansion and dynamiting the capitol. Advice was given to the children, who were sleeping in the mansion, in my absence: \"Leave it by all means, and get to some place of safety.\" This the children did in the night, but the mob failed to put in an appearance.\n\nINVESTIGATION AND MARTIAL LAW\n\nThe first duty that I performed as Governor after reaching my office in the afternoon of the day of the inauguration was to call down before me the Chairman of the Judiciary Committee of the House, along with some members of the Legislature, to investigate the questions:\nI found on my desk a petition containing some eighteen hundred names asking that the guard be withdrawn from Governor Slaton's house and that the military be discharged from further service. I called before me the Sheriff of the County, the Chief of Police, and a number of deputies and policemen, all of whom were questioned concerning the real situation in the City. The Sheriff informed me that a large band of men had recently met across the Fulton County line, in Clayton County, in the night time. They had built up a large fire and around it, after speaking in fierce and denunciatory terms of Governor Slaton, had pledged themselves to kill him as soon as they could reach him.\nThe sheriff mentioned that one of his deputies, who had been sent out for investigation, was in the crowd and had returned to inform him of the meeting and the death compact. The governor was in great danger, and it would be folly to dismiss the military guard. The chief of police agreed, providing additional facts indicating the city's unrest. It was also alleged that a mob, intent on the same thing, was waiting in Cobb County to attack the governor if the guard was withdrawn.\n\nAfter these facts had been presented, I immediately declared, without seeking advice from the legislature members present, that I would not discharge the military nor end the declaration of martial law, but instead would order an additional reinforcement.\nadditional  battalion  of  the  military  to  hold  themselves \nin  readiness  for  immediate  action,  and  on  any  dem\u00ac \nonstration  against  the  Governor\u2019s  home,  march  to  the \nassistance  of  the  other  guards.  I  further  directed  that \nthe  machine  guns  should  be  brought  out  to  the  Gov\u00ac \nernor\u2019s  residence  to  be  used  in  case  of  a  serious  attack \nby  the  mob. \nMy  precautions  were  found  to  be  justified  within  a \nvery  short  time  after  these  steps  were  taken.  I  had \ntold  the  National  Guard  to  load  their  pieces  with  ball \ncartridges,  but  not  to  fire  unless  absolutely  necessary, \nand  then  only  to  save  life. \nEither  the  same  night  when  these  precautions  were \ntaken,  or  a  night  or  two  afterwards,  a  mob,  said  to \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \namount  to  five  thousand  people,  marched  out  to  Gov\u00ac \nernor  Slaton\u2019s  house  for  the  purpose  of  attacking  it. \nThat  night  the  guard  was  under  the  direct  command \nCaptain Asa G. Candler, Jr., saw the mob approaching and drew up the troops in line of battle, instructing his men not to fire unless necessary to prevent the breaking of their line. The mob charged, striking the soldiery with various weapons. Within ten minutes of the attack, sixteen men in the military were wounded and disabled, but the soldiers had not yet fired a shot. They pushed the mob back with their guns without discharging them. At one point, Captain Candler ordered his men to fire as the mob approached, but upon looking in the direction of their guns, he saw a large number of carriages and automobiles filled with women and children coming in behind the mob. He immediately called his men to halt and directed them to hold their fire.\nHe shouted to the mob, \"What in the hell brought you the women along? Our shots would kill more of them than you.\"\" The soldiers arrested every man they could overpower without firing, sending them to a temporary guard house where the Governor kept his automobile. Twenty-seven men were imprisoned before the mob was driven off.\n\nThe next day, a report of the result was made to me in the office and a large assortment of the captured weapons was brought in several baskets for exhibition. There was every kind of weapon conceivable, almost. Old-fashioned pepper-box revolvers - revolvers with cap and lock - knives and dirks, saws and hatchets, with some modern guns and pistols. These were displayed on the floor of the Governor's office.\nI. Governor's office and certainly I never have seen such an assortment before or since. A large basket of dynamite sticks accompanied the weapons.\n\nOn that morning when I got to the office, I was called over the telephone by a lady in South Atlanta who said: \"Governor, you've got my husband under arrest, and I want you to send him back to me. I am living in a Negro neighborhood and am afraid to stay all night by myself. Please turn him loose and let him come back to me to take care of me. Please do, Governor.\"\n\nI told her I would do all I could about it. The twenty-seven men were carried down to the jail by the military, and I telephoned the sheriff, asking him whether the man mentioned by the lady was among the prisoners. He replied that he was. And then I told him what she had said to me, and asked if the man could be released.\ncould give bond. If so, arranged to send him home, fixing the bond himself. He took the matter up \u2014 arranged a bond with security, and sent the man back to his wife.\n\nThe raid of the mob created a terrible excitement throughout the City. The good people of Atlanta began to take a hand. Steps were inaugurated to stop the insurrection. Meanwhile, I consulted with Governor Slaton's friends and suggested that if he would leave the City, things would settle down sooner. He flatly declined to leave, stating that if I could not continue the military guard, he would try to raise one himself. He was not going to allow a mob like this to drive him away from home.\n\nI rejoiced in his courage, and I didn't by any means condemn his judgment. After this demonstration, there were no further open efforts made to injure Governor Slaton, so far as my information extended. He did not leave the City.\nAutobiography. I didn't go out of the house when the attack was made, which occurred around 2 a.m. I was undisturbed throughout the night. The following morning, some military personnel informed me of the circumstances and mentioned the twenty-six or twenty-seven prisoners held in the guard house. I immediately stated that I didn't believe they intended to harm me \u2013 they had no such intention, as I had done them no harm. Permission was granted for me to speak to the prisoners. Upon entering, they rose and a fierce snarl greeted me. I stood still for a moment, then turned, and the soldiers present told me it appeared my heart was breaking. I had never believed in their bitterness until then.\nI directed the prisoners to be held until civil authorities could take charge and try them. After about ten days, Governor Slaton determined to travel through the country with some of his people on a vacation.\n\nThe cause of this terrible demonstration - the record of which is the blackest blot on the State's escutcheon - was the belief on the part of the laboring people and their friends and sympathizers that the extreme punishment for the crime against a young laboring girl was not allowed to be inflicted. The weight of the disappointment caused the unseemly acts of the mob in order to demonstrate their determination to punish the offender as well as the executive who had commuted his sentence. It taught me and the people of the State that where a crime involved an assault on the virtue of a woman, neither leniency nor executive clemency would be tolerated.\nFear of law or the guns of the military cannot hold back a mob that seeks to punish the offender. Bars and bolts do not count in the presence of such an assembly.\n\nThe disgrace to the State \u2014 without a parallel in the annals of our free Government \u2014 weighed nothing with the wild crowds that rushed forward to destroy property and take away life.\n\nGovernor Slaton had committed no crime against our statutes. He had exercised a prerogative which the Constitution of our State bestowed upon him. He had only saved a human life for the time being, and no court or tribunal on earth could charge him with more than a mistake in judgment.\n\nI think he would have left the matter for my decision but for the fact that he felt it as a duty both to himself and to the incoming administration to settle the question concerning a matter that had arisen wholly.\nI do not know what I would have done under the circumstances about the commutation, but I will always feel grateful to Governor Slaton that he did not subject me to the ordeal of passing on the matter. Someone asked Governor McDaniel what Governor Harris would have done in the case if it had been left to him. The Governor replied promptly: \"He would have let Frank hang. For I, myself, and his other friends, if it had been necessary, would have sat up with him night and day until he refused the commutation.\" I can never express my admiration for the splendid way in which Captain Candler handled the attack. His courage and coolness, his patience and his success in quelling the mob have never been equaled, within my knowledge. The matter as to Frank did not stop with this attack on Governor Slaton. Within about a month after.\nI had come into the office, obtained a carving knife from the kitchen and sharpened it until it cut like a razor. I slipped out of my bed in the great community room where a large number of white prisoners slept, and went to Frank's bed in the dead of night, cutting his throat from ear to ear in an effort to kill him.\n\nWhen the report reached me, I went down to Milledgeville with a member or two of the Prison Commission and the Adjutant-General to examine the affair. After reaching the penitentiary, I asked the keepers to send Creel, the convict who had done the cutting, into a room so I might question him alone to ascertain the motive that actuated him.\n\nThe authorities immediately said to me: \"Governor,\"\nIt will not be safe for you to meet Creel alone. He is a dangerous man now, and your life might not be safe. General Nash, the Adjutant-General, offered to go into the room and be present with me and look after the situation. We met him, and when I asked Creel who and what caused him to commit the act, he replied: \"It was impressed on me that the presence of Frank here was a disgrace to the penitentiary. No one guilty as he is should have been allowed here, and I thought I was acting with the sanction of heaven when I tried to get rid of him.\" I questioned him carefully but could prevail on him to give no further information. I reached the conclusion, however, that he had expected his conduct would be so well approved by a large class of citizens outside the penitentiary that they would immediately intervene.\nI asked the Governor to pardon me if I had killed the man. This idea may have been in my mind. I never could tell how or from what source it originated. Upon my return to my office in Atlanta after the investigation, I found a petition signed by a considerable number of people, requesting that I pardon him because he had attempted to kill Frank.\n\nAfter Creel's attempt to get rid of the prisoner failed, the situation took a different turn. I was informed that a mob had gathered in Cobb County and was intending to proceed to Milledgeville for the purpose of breaking into the penitentiary to carry out the original purpose of the mob. When this information reached me, I telegraphed Captain Ennis, in charge of a military company at that location, and directed him to take steps to protect the penitentiary against the mob.\nThe threatened invasion. He called out his company promptly and was on hand to do his duty. By some means, notice of this precaution reached the leaders of the mob, and the affair was abandoned for the time being. The matter got into the papers, and certain parties in Marietta determined to call an indignation meeting in order to protest against the Governor's effort to fix such a stain upon Cobb County. I was told afterwards that such a meeting was abandoned because, while the parties were on their way to the courthouse, somebody was kind enough to say, \"We had better go slow about this matter; an investigation will result, and the truth will come out and the truth will show that the Governor was right.\" So the meeting was abandoned. I may say here in passing that when I went to examine into the attack made on Frank by the convict.\nI went into Creel's room while the doctor was dressing the wound. The gash extended from ear to ear and was so frightful in appearance that I wondered he was alive. While the doctor was washing the wound, Frank coughed. I asked the doctor immediately, with sympathy in my voice, \"Won't that wound attack his lungs before it heals?\"\n\nWhen I asked this, Frank laughed - a queer sort of laugh - a laugh that showed, at least to me, a hard, careless heart. My doubt about his guilt was lessened greatly as I heard the laugh and looked into his face. I could not help the impression. Looking back on it now, I do not see why I should have been impressed, but I felt then that the man was undoubtedly a hardened criminal or a reckless prisoner.\n\nAbout a week or ten days after the proposed gathering,\nIn Marietta, where my precautions had halted problems, around eleven o'clock at night, a telephone message reached me, stating that a mob had attacked the penitentiary, taken Frank from his cell, and was returning with automobiles towards Marietta, carrying the prisoner with them.\n\nAs swiftly as I could get in touch with the telephone lines, I dispatched message after message across the country between Milledgeville and Marietta, urging the sheriff of every county through which they were likely to pass to arrest any and all individuals traveling in automobiles at that hour and communicate with my office immediately.\n\nSeveral of these sheriffs replied: \"The parties have just passed through on their way north in automobiles.\" Evidently, some deviation had occurred.\nI had put sheriffs in Bibb, Monroe, Jasper, Morgan, and all other counties on notice, telling each sheriff that I would stay up through the whole night and directing arrests to be made and reports sent in at once. My precautions were unsuccessful this time. I was informed afterwards that the parties reached Cobb County, some few miles from Marietta, where they took Frank out of the automobile and hanged him from one of the trees near the place where the young girl was raised. The mob had little mercy on him. The wound on his throat had not yet healed, but they threw him into the automobile with little care for his sufferings. It was said they did not even allow him to put on his clothes, but brought him in his night clothes to the place of execution, some one hundred and thirty-five yards away.\nmiles through the country. Investigations of a very strict character followed this unfortunate event. It is said to have been the only case known in the United States where a prisoner was taken from the penitentiary by a mob to be lynched. Generally, after a judicial sentence for a crime, it is considered that the question of punishment had been settled. Imprisonment for life is frequently substituted for a sentence of death in our general administration of criminal law.\n\nI offered a reward amounting to some twenty-five hundred dollars for the discovery and punishment of the persons engaged in the lynching. I called down the Solicitor-General and the Attorney-General for conference with me and begged the Judge to appoint a special session of the Superior Court, with the grand jury present, to investigate the transaction.\nThe Attorney-General took charge of the investigations at the sessions, making it wide and thorough. No bill was returned, not a word to aid the Governor in punishing the guilty. Many people believed the lynching was just that they looked on the investigation as perfunctory and treated it as a farce. The investigation at the penitentiary at Milledgeville was likewise without substantial result. The mob had taken the precaution to cut the telephone and telegraph wires running to the penitentiary before the raiders appeared. When they reached the grounds, they arrested all persons in charge, among others two of the Commissioners, confining them under strict guard until the penitentiary had been entered and the prisoner carried away. Something was said by some.\nThe better opinion prevailed, and the plan to set Creel free was abandoned. The locks were broken but no serious damage was done to the doors. I concluded that Frank's presence was a fearful burden to all authorities, as the continual threats of violence kept them uneasy, and they submitted more readily to the vis major when convinced that the attack was irresistible and the result inevitable. The penitentiary was not built to keep people out, but to keep them in when put there. The attacking party had little difficulty in reaching the man they came after. I reported to the Legislature that it was much to be regretted that separate cells had not been made for the several inmates. Life-termers like Creel and Frank ought to have occupied separate apartments, built with solid walls.\nThe Commissioners replied that the Legislature had failed to provide funds for first-class prison doors and appliances, and I recommended that they address this issue promptly. I wished for this entire incident, including the attack on the Governor and the lynching of the penitentiary convict, to be erased from the State's history. This incident was instigated:\n\nFirst, due to political exigencies and divisions.\nSecond, from overheated, ill-advised, and unfortunate publications in the newspapers, particularly the one published at Thomson.\nThird, from a mistaken notion that had spread through the immediate neighborhood, that the assault and murder of a poor working girl were not properly investigated.\nThe punished man was prominent in the courthouse administration of the law. Race prejudice, fueled by national efforts to save Frank from his supposed crime, ignited such indignation in the State that nothing could withstand the ensuing assaults. Neither bolts, bars, bayonets, fear of the law, nor popular indignation could hold back the avenging arm of an aroused and outraged people. The case was unprecedented in judicial annals, and the offender's punishment was likewise unparalleled in the history of the nation's judicial administration. There was no limit to the falsehoods circulated regarding Governor Slaton and those involved in Frank's defense.\nThe minds of people, in seeking motives and reasons for conduct, encounter no explanation for results on a lower scale. After I assumed the Governor's office, a check for a considerable sum was sent to me to be delivered to Governor Slaton, allegedly as part payment for his services on Frank's behalf. The check was a forgery; I verified that there were no dollars in the Baltimore bank on which it was drawn, to the credit of the person who sent the check. I have never disclosed this circumstance to Governor Slaton. A more disreputable, shameful attempt to falsely implicate an innocent man with an odious charge without foundation has never been perpetrated in this land. It merely demonstrates the depths to which the diseased minds of dissatisfied people can sink.\nWhen I began the effort to find the members of the mob who were guilty of the lynching, my mail became crowded with anonymous letters threatening me with all sorts of punishment. Some of these letters bore postmarks as far off as Texas and Oklahoma, and other Western States. I turned a few over to the District Attorney for investigation, but nothing ever came of it. I think the authorities looked on it as too much of a joke to justify profound effort to discover the writers.\n\nThe Legislature this year met on June 23rd. It was organized by electing William H. Burwell, Speaker of the House, and G. Ogden Persons, President of the Senate. John T. Boifeuillet was continued Clerk of the House by unanimous vote, and D.F. McClatchey was elected.\nwas  unanimously  continued  Secretary  of  the  Senate. \nBusiness  was  opened  in  both  houses  by  reading  the \nmessage  of  Governor  Slaton.  Annexed  to  this  mes\u00ac \nsage  was  a  list  of  pardons,  commutations,  paroles  and \nrespites  granted  by  the  outgoing  Governor,  during  the \npreceding  year,  as  required  by  the  Statute.  Among \nthese  was  a  statement  of  the  evidence,  etc.,  in  the  trial \nof  the  Leo  M.  Frank  case  in  Fulton  Superior  Court, \nwho  was  found  guilty  and  sentenced  to  be  hung  on \nThis  statement  begins  on  page  66  of  the  Georgia \nSenate  Journal  of  the  session  and  on  page  73  of  The \nHouse  Journal.  In  this  statement  the  reasons  that \nactuated  Governor  Slaton  are  fully  set  forth,  accom\u00ac \npanied  with  a  fair  synopsis  of  the  entire  evidence  and \na  history  of  the  case  showing  the  various  steps  taken \nin  the  same. \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nThe  Governor  in  enumerating  his  reasons  for  the \nThe case was marked by doubt. The trial judge doubted, as did two judges of the Supreme Court of Georgia and two judges of the Supreme Court of the United States. One of the three Prison Commissioners also doubted.\n\n\"There is a territory beyond a reasonable doubt and absolute certainty, for which the law provides in allowing life imprisonment instead of execution.\"\n\nThe Governor's commutation action was dated two days before the Legislature's meeting. The Legislature, during its session, did not mention the Frank case in any way.\n\nAt an early date in the session, bills were introduced in both Houses providing for amendments to the Prohibition Law.\n\nThis law was passed during Governor Hoke Smith's term in 1907. It contained a sweeping prohibition against the sale and manufacture of alcoholic beverages.\nThe bill regarding spirituous and malt liquors had an amendment added during its passage, making jury judges of the question whether the liquor manufactured or sold was intoxicating. This amendment, secured by liquor interests, led to the law's failure. It was the Trojan Horse that entered the State's walls and released the countless hosts that destroyed the statute's value.\n\n\"Near beer\" manufacturing spread throughout the State, and its use and sale served as a pretense to conceal the sale of intoxicants everywhere. The saloons, once the law was understood, were thrown open, and liquor of all kinds was manufactured, kept, and sold in defiance. Solicitors General in many cases throughout the State announced they were unable to secure convictions, and indictments were not forthcoming.\nMentions and arraignments under the prohibition law became merely a farce, as the jury promptly turned loose every man indicted for offenses against this law, under the idea that near-beer and non-intoxicating liquors made it doubtful in every case whether the prohibition law had really been violated. When the Legislature took up the question, it was soon apparent that the most desperate efforts would be made to prevent the passage of any law at that session, to remedy these defects.\n\nThe first bill, headed Senate No. 38, passed through the Senate, prohibiting, among other things, the shipment of intoxicating liquors into the State. It came over to the House and was sent to the Temperance Committee. When brought up in the house, it originated a filibuster that lasted for some ten days or more. There were present in the House about thirty-five members.\nWho were strongly opposed to any prohibition legislation. These men, organized and led by parts of the delegations from Fulton and Chatham, began the most determined resistance to prevent a vote on the measure. The usual tactics were employed. Day by day, the House was kept in session transacting no business of importance whatever, but spending the time calling the rolls on dilatory matters, such as motions to adjourn, motions to limit debate, motions to lay on the table, and all such matters used to kill time and prevent action.\n\nAt an early stage of the legislative session, an organization had been brought about in the House on behalf of the Prohibitionists to counteract the effort of the liquor caucuses at the Kimball House under what has been since termed the \u201cinvisible government,\u201d set up by these forces at that place.\n\nAutobiography.\nIn bringing about this organization of the Prohibitionists, there came upon the scene one of the most remarkable men that our State has produced in many a year. Colonel Thomas B. Felder had for a considerable time represented the liquor interests in Georgia. He had given to that work all the resources of his powerful intellect, all the experience he had gained as a former legislator in both Houses, and all the ease of advocacy learned in the handling of a large practice at the bar, throughout the State of Georgia. He had, like myself and a large number of others in Georgia, become a genuine convert to the prohibition cause. No man knew the ways of the \u201cliquor-bund\u201d better than he did. To atone for his former advocacy of this cause, he determined to do something to rescue his State from the hands of these liquor interests.\nI have heard it stated that he drew the amendment to the Act of 1907, which brought about its failure in the State. When he started on the new pathway he had marked out, he came to the Governor\u2019s office, told him the situation, made a frank statement of his change of heart and mind, and gave him to understand that he had determined, if in his power, to wipe out the liquor trade in Georgia and make the old State absolutely dry. Associated with him in the effort among the citizens of Atlanta were W.S. Witham, the banker; John J. Egan, the philanthropist; Eugene Callaway, funeral director and capitalist; and W. Woods White, life insurance leader. The organization met at stated intervals, and I was informed that a member of the Senate presided over the deliberations. I was informed that ten men were part of this group.\nFrom the Senate, led by Dr. A.S.J. Stovall of the 30th District, joined the organization and met with the men from the House.\n\nAutobiography\n\nNinety-seven members from the House united in this crusade, pledging themselves in the strongest terms to work to secure the necessary legislation to remedy the evils of intemperance, so disastrous to our State. Colonel Felder attended each gathering of this association, advising, urging, and encouraging these men to do their duty in the emergency that was now at hand.\n\nIt is my purpose to annex to these memoirs a list of these ninety-seven members and the ten members of the Senate, if possible, who, uniting together for the good of their country, brought about a legislative revolution, the parallel of which has never been known in our Nation.\n\nWhen it was seen that the filibuster could not be overcome, these men, through their determination and perseverance, passed the necessary legislation, marking a significant turning point in the history of our Nation.\nNinety-seven men in the House and ten in the Senate began working to bring about an adjournment of the Legislature without passing revenue bills or appropriations to carry on the government, so as to compel the Governor to call an extra session. Our Constitution permits a Legislature to hold only fifty days in any one year. The Governor, however, has authority to convene extra sessions when some necessity arises requiring such a call. In making this call, the Governor includes only the subjects he desires the legislature to take up and consider. His proclamation calling the session and setting out the subject matter for consideration is the law of the Legislature in these special sessions, and the body cannot act outside of it.\nThe Governor is the final arbiter for matters at a called session, with no limit to the session's duration. However, he can declare the session's end at the request of either House. The House, therefore, trusted the Governor to include the prohibition question in his call, as the Legislature which met would have no power to consider it otherwise.\nOne of the causes which led up to the final action arose from the fact that the rules committee, which belonged to the anti-prohibition side by a strong majority, steadfastly refused to put Senate Bill No. 38, a bill which had been passed by the Senate on August 3rd, about the time the filibuster began, on the calendar for passage. Speaking to a question of personal privilege, Mr. Fullbright, Chairman of the appropriation committee, stated that the filibuster had unnecessarily delayed the appropriation bill in the House and prevented its passage if it failed. It went over to the Senate only four or five days before the date fixed for adjournment. The Senate, however, when it got the bill, devoted extra time to its consideration.\nThe House was able to send the bill back to the House on the last day of the session but for the action of the House in adjourning at the morning session of that day. It is noteworthy that the House took up a large portion of the last day in considering a long amendment to the charter of the city of Atlanta, while the Senate consumed a portion of its time on a new charter for the city of Douglas.\n\nWhen I ascertained that the Legislature was about to adjourn without finishing the business of passing any appropriation to support the government, I sent a message to both Houses, urging them to continue in session and finish the work before them. The House, which had already agreed on its program, showed me enough respect to read the message, while the Senate, which was in harmony with me and opposed to adjourning, left it lying upon the table.\nGentlemen: I have been informed that one branch of the General Assembly intends to cease business at one o'clock today. This will necessitate an extraordinary session. I have urgently insisted, both to the House and the Senate, the avoidance of this result. The results of such a proceeding are so far reaching that I had hoped the Legislature, in its sound second sense, would join with me in the effort to avoid it. I earnestly counsel that the House remain in session and attempt to go through with the business that is required by the Constitution before the time limit is reached at 12 o'clock tonight. If an extraordinary session is called, none of the work of the present session can be used, and all of it, therefore, will be lost.\nTherefore, the State will be practically lost to any measures the Governor might include in his proclamation. It is not possible, under the Attorney-General's decisions, to utilize work done on pending measures at the call of an extraordinary session. I most earnestly beseech you, therefore, to continue in session and attempt to carry out the Constitution's object and discharge the duties owed to the State and yourselves under your oaths as legislators.\n\nThe truth is, the House had agreed upon a program formulated by the immortal ninety-seven. This was done without consultation with the Governor and without his advice or knowledge. It was the last extremity to which the House was reduced in the effort to provide a remedy against the problem.\nThe awful evils of the liquor traffic, defying law and the sentiment of the State, unleashed a deluge of intoxicating liquors upon it. The Legislature had no other course but to act, unless the effort should be abandoned entirely, and those involved in attempting to amend the law were not among those who engage in a fight only to abandon it when opposition arises. This ninety-seventh legislature, seemingly in opposition to their oaths and the interests of the government, presented a picture of the old martyrs, as they were prepared to sacrifice their political lives and reputations to halt the continuance of a traffic known to be eroding the foundations of law and good government and ruining the lives and destroying the hopes of the people.\nThe House adjourned sine die at one p.m. on the last day. The Senate continued in session further that day, working on the appropriation bill to put prohibition in the call without giving the address shortly after three p.m.\n\nAnd now, the Revolution was fully under way. The Legislators sought their homes and left to the Governor any further steps necessary to complete the work. They knew that the Governor, in his heart, was favorable to the efforts being made to banish liquor and liquor drinking from the State. They trusted him, therefore, to complete what they had begun.\n\nIt can easily be conceived that the action of the Legislature created a profound sensation in every community in Georgia. Men began to divide in opinion.\nThe wisdom of the Legislature's proceedings was questioned, though the divide in sentiment regarding prohibition among the State's white people was not very wide.\n\nThe Call of the Extra Session\n\nUpon the Legislature's adjournment, the public began to assess the situation in the State. It became apparent that not much had been accomplished in alleviating the pressing issues. A sense of panic had gripped the people. Cotton prices had plummeted to their smallest figure since the Civil War. For the first time, older inhabitants recalled a bale of cotton on a railroad platform failing to sell and bring in any money for its owner. Many farmers refused to pick the cotton in the fields, allowing it to rot instead. It would not sell.\nThe wages of the hands to be paid to pick it. Not much time had passed when the people of the State began to exercise themselves about the call for a special session of the Legislature. It soon became a burning question, whether the Governor would include the subject of prohibition in his call or bring the Legislature together simply to make the necessary appropriations to run the State government. If the Governor decided to put prohibition in the call without giving the anti-prohibitionists a chance to be heard, he would have subjected himself to much censure and criticism. If he began to grant hearings to the side against prohibition, he must of necessity allow the other side also to be heard.\n\nArrangements were made to receive delegations representing both sides of the question. (Autobiography)\nThe fact that full hearings were required before announcing a decision was deemed proper. Notice was given as much as possible for the time fixed for the special session, allowing legislators to make arrangements for their business and be ready to come to Atlanta when required. This was impressed upon the Governor's mind: if the question was decided without the friends of prohibition becoming interested and doing something in its favor, they would likely repeal a strong prohibition measure passed by the next Legislature.\n\nThe hearings began. Chambers of Commerce from the cities, business organizations throughout the State, Sunday school associations, churches, and conferences all asked to be heard. The liquor people were also present.\nThey made a strong showing for their side, arguing that stopping the sale of intoxicating beverages would injure the State's business, already suffering from panic, and bring about a more deplorable condition in the State's business affairs than ever known. It was claimed that a large amount of money had been invested in the purchase of liquors and in the preparation for the sale of the same within and outside the State. Members of the press appeared \u2013 many owners, editors, and correspondents took up the side of the liquor interests, fearing the results if a stringent prohibition law was passed. When the liquor forces came before me, they prefaced their statements by claiming that they had always considered me a reasonable man, possessed of a fair and impartial mind.\nAfter their arguments were finished, they closed the discussion by saying, \"If you will leave out prohibition from your call, you can stay in this office as long as you please or go up higher if you see fit.\" They then added, \"Governor, we mean what we say, and we have the power to make our promises good.\"\n\nIt can be well understood from such a suggestion that the opposite effect would follow if prohibition was put in the call.\n\nThose who appeared on the other side addressed the Governor's sense of right and justice. The people thought they had a prohibition law but had found out that it could not be administered with success. They begged me, therefore, to come to the rescue.\nI lived in a state; to protect women and children, homes of the land, and poor fathers and brothers who lacked the strength to resist temptation when the fiery beverage was offered to them. The W.C.T.U., represented by Dr. Mary Harris Armor, Mrs. Dillard, and others, approached me and urged the implementation of the purpose of the legislators who had initiated this campaign to make Georgia dry.\n\nI listened without closed doors. The Governor's office was open to the entire state during this time. A preacher was set opposite the liquor dealer; the church against the business interest; the home against the saloon; the prohibitionist against the champion of liquor selling.\n\nOne day while these hearings were ongoing, I was present.\nA woman entered my office, her dress revealing her common origins. Her face bore a worn appearance, and her eyes implored mine for favor or help from the Governor. She began her petition:\n\n\"Governor, I've come to discuss this prohibition. I've heard that you're considering it.\" Approaching closer, her eyes clouded as she continued, \"Governor, I implore you to support prohibition. I have a good husband who works for the railroad and earns good wages there. I have three young children to feed and care for. My husband is paid every other week, Governor.\"\nWhen he reaches home, he passes by an open saloon and stops there. Many times, when he gets home, he has nothing left, and the children go without bread. Then she lifted her hands above her forehead and said, \"Oh, Governor, won't you take this temptation away from my husband so that he can come home and look after the children without spending his money on liquor? Governor, please, for the sake of the good God, whom we both serve, put prohibition into your power.\" Then she turned, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and went out. The Governor's eyes were also filled.\n\nThat night when I reached the Mansion, I told my wife, who had always been a strong prohibitionist and was taking the liveliest interest in the hearings that were being had, about the interview with the poor woman from South Atlanta.\nI said, \"What would you do, my dear?\" She replied with some tears in her voice and eyes, \"My husband, I'd put prohibition in the call if it beat me for Governor a hundred times over.\" I put it in.\n\nI issued the proclamation on September 28, 1915, calling the Legislature together and enumerating the subjects-matter for consideration, fixing the date for the 3rd day of November following.\n\nThe meeting of the Legislature was necessary. Under our Constitution, no money can be paid from the treasury without an appropriation made by law. The adjournment of the Legislature had left the Governor with no means to pay any of the officers\u2014the Judges, the Solicitors-General, the executive officers, including the Governor, Secretary of State, Comptroller-General, Treasurer, and in short, all officers.\nI paid for the issues included in the call from the Treasury. I included the necessary appropriations to run the government, the question of prohibition, the disposition of the Western & Atlantic Railroad, which was a live issue at the time, and two or three other less important matters that could be immediately attended to.\n\nDuring the hearings, Colonel Felder and his associates from Atlanta appeared before me for a short time to urge the prohibition call. These gentlemen assumed, of course, that I would not seek to thwart the revolution initiated by the House members, but would give the Legislature a fair chance to enact the measures necessary to carry out the purpose of the 1907 Act.\n\nIn my message to the Legislature when the body convened, I stated:\nmet in special session, I stressed several deficiency appropriations, notably the printing fund and the appropriation for the Department of Public Buildings and the Military Department. It may be stated here that when we moved into the Mansion, we found it almost totally unfit for habitation. Governor Slaton had not lived in the Mansion, as he owned two fine residences within and near the city.\n\nMRS. HATTIE G. HARRIS,\nSecond wife of Governor Harris. Daughter of Dr. and Mrs. A. Jobe, of Elizabethton, Tennessee.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n(Newspaper clipping)\n\nGOVERNOR'S WIFE MADE GEORGIA DRY BUT COST HUSBAND HIS OFFICE\nHarris Took Wife's Advice, Lost Office\n\nGeorgia Governor Gave State Prohibition Law at Cost of Renomination\n\nSavannah, GA, Sept. 16 \u2014 Mrs. Nat E. Harris gave to the public her reasons for urging her husband, Governor Harris, to sign the prohibition law, which cost him his office. The following is an extract from her autobiography:\n\n\"When we moved into the Mansion, we found it almost totally unfit for habitation. The walls were damp, the floors rotten, and the windows broken. The furniture was old and worn, and the bedding was infested with vermin. I was determined to make the Mansion a comfortable home for my husband and our children. I persuaded the Governor to allocate funds for repairs and renovations.\n\nHowever, the repairs and renovations were not enough to satisfy me. I believed that the people of Georgia deserved better than a dilapidated Mansion for their Governor. I began to advocate for a new Mansion to be built. I wrote letters to the newspapers, spoke at public meetings, and even organized a petition. My efforts paid off, and the legislature allocated funds for a new Mansion.\n\nBut my advocacy did not end there. I had become convinced that the people of Georgia would benefit from a prohibition law. I had seen firsthand the devastating effects of alcoholism on families, and I believed that a prohibition law would help to reduce the number of broken homes and improve the overall health and well-being of the people. I persuaded my husband to sign the prohibition law, despite the opposition of powerful lobbyists and the threats of losing his renomination.\n\nThe prohibition law was a great success, and the people of Georgia praised my efforts. However, my husband's political enemies used my advocacy against him, and he lost his renomination. I was heartbroken, but I knew that I had done what was right for the people of Georgia. I continued to advocate for their welfare, and I am proud of the difference I made in their lives.\"\nGeorgia lost her husband's renomination for Governor in the primaries this week due to a drastic prohibition law. In a recent campaign address, Governor Harris said, \"You can thank the little lady who presides over my home for your prohibition law. When I was pressured to put the prohibition issue in the call for an extra session of the Legislature and threatened alternately if I did and if I did not, I submitted the whole question to my wife one night as we sat around the fire. 'Put it in,' she decided, 'if it beats you for re-election. I would rather have you beaten than to prevent Georgia from having prohibition.' And so I put it in.\" At the time, and now, the Legislature was predominantly prohibitionist, and the new law was forced through, but the opposition never quit.\nMrs. Harris watched her husband put up a fierce fight to secure a second term as Governor of Georgia, but ultimately succumbed to defeat. He recognized the potential for loss after heeding his wife's advice in favor of prohibition.\n\nThe city mansion was used solely for receptions, gatherings, consultations, and so on. When he retreated to his summer residence beyond the city limits and encamped with the military, public access to the mansion was virtually unrestricted. Consequently, the mansion had fallen into significant disrepair in recent years. The plastering had collapsed in one of the living rooms. This occurred at night, and the dislodged plaster from the ceiling caused further damage.\nThe governor was startled from sleep by a falling plaster piece. The escape from injury was miraculous, as the plastering was old-fashioned and very heavy, and the ceiling in the room was very high. An appropriation for repairs was nearly necessary. Some people, not particularly fond of Atlanta's inhabitants and trying to take the capitol from Atlanta, remarked that \"the Mansion was good enough for Macon folks anyway.\" In referring to the support of the charitable and educational institutions of the State, I used the words: \"I confidently hope that a law-making body like yours, which was willing to revolutionize parliamentary procedure to secure the opportunity to further protect those unfortunates whose circumstances were unfortunate.\"\nwills are not strong enough to resist the temptation to excessive use of alcoholic stimulants. They will not diminish the amount of financial support given to institutions established for the care of those who are already victims of such misfortune, and for directing, molding and strengthening the characters and habits of boys and girls who must be exposed to those evils in the future.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\nOFFICE ORGANIZATION, ETC.\n\nWhen I entered the duties of the Governor\u2019s office, I appointed the following gentlemen for my office force:\n\nF. R. Jones, who had been manager for me, I made Private Secretary.\n\nRaymond Stapleton, of Elbert, Executive Secretary.\n\nEb. T. Williams, of Atlanta, Voucher and File Clerk.\n\nI retained one man from Governor Slaton\u2019s force,\nto-wit: Claud West, Assistant to the Voucher and File Clerk.\nI appointed the following Military Staff:\nAsa G. Candler Sr., Chief of Staff, Atlanta.\nFrederick Reese Jones, Atlanta.\nRobert J. Travis, Savannah.\nGeorge M. Hope, Atlanta.\nJohn C. Woodward, College Park.\nJohn D. Walker, Sparta.\nCharles P. Rowland, Savannah.\nSteadman V. Sanford, Athens.\nBen J. Fowler, Macon.\nJohn W. Murrell, Atlanta.\nClifford T. Williamson, Macon.\nDennis Fleming, Albany.\nJosiah R. Nunnally, Monroe.\nWilliam M. Camp, Atlanta.\nRobert E. L. Spence, Albany.\nFred Morris, Marietta.\nJames A. Fort, Americus.\nOscar Palmour, Atlanta.\nGeorge T. Brown, Atlanta.\nMartin V. Calvin, Waycross.\nIsaac C. Wade, Cornelia.\nWilliam S. Shepherd, Columbus.\nThomas R. Gentry, Atlanta.\n\nGovernor Harris and His Office Force:\nFrom left to right: Governor Harris; F. R. Jones, Private Secretary; Raymond Stapleton, Executive Secretary; Eb. T. Williams, Voucher Clerk.\n\nAutobiography.\nSt. Elmo Massengale, Atlanta. Ozy R. Horton, Milledgeville. I continued J. Van Holt Nash as Adjutant-General and head of the Military Department. These were the ones in office on the first of January, 1917. This office force was strong and loyal, and enabled me to carry on the business of the office without serious break at any time. The pay was not much over half what it is now, but the men who were selected to run the business of the office devoted themselves with apparently as much fidelity to the work as if they had been abundantly paid for it.\n\nA list of appointments that I made during my term of office are shown in appendix III. Among the others was a War Council selected and commissioned under instructions from the Secretary of War with the authority to advise the Governor and aid in making the preparations for the support and encouragement of military training and defense.\nThe council consisted of the following persons, the Governor being Chairman:\nThe Adjutant General, J. Van Holt Nash.\nBrig. Gen. W. A. Harris.\nBrig. Gen. W. G. Obear.\nJudge Jno. S. Candler.\nJudge Jno. C. Hart.\nLieut. Col. Frederick R. Jones.\nJ. K. Orr, Esq.\nCol. A. R. Lawton, Savannah (1st Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. R. E. L. Spence, Albany (2nd Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. Zach Arnold, Fort Gaines (3rd Cong. Dist.).\nJudge W. A. Little, Columbus (4th Cong. Dist.).\nLieut. Col. Claude C. Smith, Atlanta (5th Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. Baxter Jones, Macon (6th Cong. Dist.).\nJudge Jno. W. Maddox, Rome (7th Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. S. V. Sanford, Athens (8th Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. I. C. Wade, Cornelia (9th Cong. Dist.).\nLt. Col. Jno. D. Walker, Sparta (10th Cong. Dist.).\nFrom the nth Congressional District: Commander Frank Aiken, Brunswick.\nFrom the 12th Congressional District: Judge C. W. Griffin, Eastman.\nThe following were requested to act as Associate Members:\nBrig. Gen. E. D. Huguenin, Macon.\nBrig. Gen. Clifford L. Anderson, Atlanta.\nBrig. Gen. Peter W. Meldrim, Savannah.\nBrig. Gen. M. J. Daniel, Griffin.\nThis council was commended in my message to the Legislature as a very valuable part of the administration under the changed conditions brought about by the declaration of war.\nOne of the first acts of my successor was to abolish this council and obtain legislative authority for the formation of a new one. In the new one was included a number of women, which, of course, was a decided advance.\nThe council, which I had appointed, contained some men of splendid intellect, with experience and judgment, and their advice to me during the trying times.\nPreceding my retirement was of incalculable advantage.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe man who attempts to handle a new situation like the one which came upon me, without advice and consultation with others, writes himself down as an obstinate fool for the time being. If he succeeds, he becomes famous for his firmness and self-reliance. I did not take the risk.\n\nEvery appointment carries, ordinarily, with it the making of more enemies than friends. Governor Candler used to say that for every important office there would be at least one hundred applicants. Only one could be appointed, and the Governor would thereby create \u201cninety-nine enemies and one d--ingrate.\u201d This was his estimate of the value of the appointing power.\n\nI started out, I really believe, with a larger degree of popularity than is usual for a newly elected governor. In fact, one of the Representatives during the session came to me and said\u2014\nThe first session of the Legislature introduced a resolution setting out the fact in excessively flattering terms. However, it did not last. I retained the good will of all the Legislature except a few filibusters, whose work had forced the adjournment.\n\nPROHIBITION LEGISLATION AT THE FIRST SESSION\n\nThe Legislature met at the designated time and got down to work immediately. Five members were absent from the House, and one from the Senate.\n\nThe appropriation bill, required under the Constitution to begin in the House, was introduced by Mr. Fullbright, Chairman of the Appropriation Committee, on the first day of the session. The bill provided for the lease of the Western & Atlantic Railway.\nThe railroad was introduced on the first day. The prohibition legislation began in the Senate, presumably due to the Senate's understanding that the House must first consider the appropriation bill and pass it before the Senate could take up the prohibition bill. The Senate eventually passed the prohibition measures on November 8th. The House had been preparing for this bill, as it had consistently voted down Fullbright's motion to take it up for consideration after the appropriation bill was reported. A filibuster began in the House on the same day that the Senate passed the prohibition bill. This filibuster initially concerned the report of the Rules Committee and continued until the 12th, when the Senate bill was taken up by an overwhelming majority.\nThe vote passed with a majority of 142 ayes and 22 nays. The House had amended the bill, which was concurred in by the Senate on November 15th, passing the bill. This bill was prepared under the supervision of Col. T. B. Felder, who called in, if mistaken, a distinguished ex-Judge of Alabama to assist him. It was introduced by Senators Stovall and Harbin as a substitute to a bill prepared by Senators Eakes and Walker. It passed the Senate with one opposing vote \u2013 Roscoe Pickett, who was the lone Republican in the Senate.\n\nThe special session of the Legislature ended on November 25th, having continued for 23 days. It handled all the legislation submitted to it by the governor, putting over one matter to the next session, namely, the State Warehouse System, with a committee appointed to prepare legislation for the same.\nInasmuch as I started the prohibition fight during my term, I might as well conclude the subject here. The Act that was passed was very sweeping in its effects, extending to almost every phase of the sale and manufacture of intoxicating beverages. It closed near-beer saloons, abolished locker clubs, which had become an insufferable nuisance to the citizens of the State. It stopped the general shipment of liquors into the State, adopting the \u201cWebb-Kenyon Act,\u201d and was generally hailed as a great reform in the Temperance crusade. However, it contained one provision that discounted all the work done to bring it about- it had in it what was known as the \u201cTwo-Quart Law,\u201d found in the 16th section of the Act, which allowed transporting into Georgia anyone ordering two quarts or less.\nOne gallon of wine or six gallons of beer, or two quartas of spirituous liquors, per month was allowed for any citizen. Within thirty days, they could order through an express company or common carrier a gallon of wine, six gallons of beer, or two quarts of whiskey, brandy, or other intoxicating beverage. A citizen could not order all, but only one article. This exception in the law initiated a business through carriers, the extent of which scarcely could be conceived, and certainly could never have been anticipated. It appeared to be an invitation to every family in the State, which could raise the money, to order liquors for the family's use. The colored people throughout the country, finding such easy access to their favorite drink, began to lay in supplies to satisfy their thirst.\nLittle work could be secured from colored laborers and white laborers addicted to liquor in the latter part of the week. Farm hands, especially colored laborers, generally began to work in the forepart of the week. Having ordered in a supply of liquor, they would stop after the middle of the week was passed and go home to drink it or join in a carousal at favorite gathering places throughout the country. The consequence was that a great cry went up condemning this portion of the law. While the evil spread, yet the next Legislature provided no relief, as the evil had not reached its apex or demonstrated its far-reaching effects, especially on the industrial part of the State. It was believed that the passage of what was known as the \u201cReed Amendment,\u201d by Congress, prohibiting alcohol.\nThe shipment of liquors into dry states would end the business that had grown under the Act of 1915. The Legislature at the session of 1916, relying upon Federal Legislation, failed to deal with the trouble under our own Act.\n\nThe business of shipping into Georgia under the \u201cTwo Quart Law\u201d had assumed such mammoth proportions that liquor dealers in states whose laws did not forbid such proceedings had piled up at Knoxville, Chattanooga and Jacksonville vast quantities of intoxicating beverages for sale. The handling of these great stocks required the aid of the banks of adjacent States. They made advances to the owners to enable them to meet the demands for liquors in Georgia. The Reed Amendment would have gone into operation on January 1, 1917, and its passage, of course, created a panic.\nAmong liquor sellers and banks, which had heavily advanced on these supplies, it was remarkable that some temperance organizations, notably the Anti-Saloon League, opposed the Reed Amendment during its consideration. I used the expression in an official document that this action reminded me of the Jews at the coming of the Messiah; they did not recognize their own savior. But if these persons did not recognize the coming benefits of the Act, it is certain that the liquor people recognized the damage it would work on their business. Petitions were sent to the National Government, notably to the United States.\nTreasurer asking for relief. These petitions were suggested, at least they were accompanied by appeals from the banks themselves, which had advanced money on the faith of the enactment of Georgia, that allowed them to sell the goods in that State. I do not know all that was done to bring about the result the liquor people desired, but I do know that the President, by proclamation, suspended the action of this Federal Law from January 1st to July 1st. Meanwhile the biennial election for Governor in Georgia came on and my friends insisted that I should run for the position a second time. This course was demanded by them because of the fear that unless a prohibition Governor was in office, the Prohibition Act would be modified or repealed. Greatly against my will, I finally consented to make the race.\nThe four gentlemen who aided in bringing about the revolution in the Legislature, headed by Colonel Felder, took up the campaign for my re-election in Georgia. Colonel Felder had gone through the state, spoken on a large number of platforms, stirred up the people with eloquent and almost irresistible appeals, ensuring my re-election would not fail. His zealous prosecution of the campaign might have made the result doubtful, but in the midst of the contest, while working and talking for me and seeking to strengthen the prohibition cause in various places throughout the State, a man under the influence of liquor and dominated by a desire to serve the unseen government in operation at that time suddenly and unexpectedly attempted to assassinate Colonel Felder at the Kimball House, stabbing him.\nThe vital injuries left him disabled for many months. He was taken to the hospital where only the closest nursing and most careful attention prevented him from crossing over the Great Divide. The benefit of his assistance in the campaign was lost and nothing I or any of my friends could do made up the loss.\n\nI was defeated \u2013 my opponent, Mr. Dorsey, received 106,680 popular votes, while my vote was only 70,998. Dr. Hardman, who insisted on running and whose candidacy contributed largely to my defeat, received 26,693 votes. Mr. Dorsey's majority over me was 35,682.\n\nColonel Joe Pottle, who also canvassed the State for the same position, received 7,148 popular votes.\n\nAfter the election was over, which occurred in August, I went to East Tennessee to recuperate, at what I then called the Governor's summer mansion. While there, I...\nA Democratic rally took place, its objective being the advancement of President Woodrow Wilson's candidacy for a second term. This rally occurred in Johnson City, and I was asked to be present and speak on the occasion. Senator McKellar of Tennessee, Governor Rye, and the Democratic presidential elector candidate, Mr. Ben Taylor, were all present and occupied places on the stand. It is remarkable that Mr. Taylor, on behalf of the Democrats, was opposing his father, Governor Alfred Taylor, who was the Republican candidate for elector. When the addresses were over, I took the train for Georgia. On my way down, I sat for a time by the side of Senator McKellar. Another gentleman sat in front of us on the next seat. While I was telling Senator McKellar of my defeat in Georgia, he introduced...\nIntroduced me to the gentleman sitting in front of us, who was a resident of Memphis, home of Senator McKellar, and whose name was Glass. Senator added to his introduction that Mr. Glass was the Secretary and Treasurer of the Liquor Dealers Association of the South. After we had talked awhile, Mr. Glass leaned over and said to me:\n\n\"Governor Harris, you ought not to be surprised that you were beaten for Governor.\" When I asked him why, he replied: \"Every man in high office would like to take the side of temperance. He thinks that's the better side; but, Governor, if we were to allow this to be done by men in office, my people would not be able to sell a gallon of liquor in the United States within ten years.\"\n\nI said: \"Do you mean, Mr. Glass, that your people took a hand in the election?\" \"Yes, I certainly do,\" he replied.\nI said to him: \"What did you do?\"\nHe answered: \"We sent money to Georgia.\"\nI said: \"Will you tell me how much?\"\nHe replied: \"No, Governor, I could not do that, as it would not be just to my people, but it was a considerable amount.\"\nI replied: \"When did you send it?\"\nHe answered: \"We sent most of it about ten or twelve days before the election.\"\n\nI said: \"Why did you not send it sooner?\"\nHe smiled and said: \"Why, Governor, we did not know which way the cat would jump.\"\n\nI had heard that a large check had been received by some of the Atlanta banks to be used for my defeat, but I had paid no attention to it. The words of Mr. Glass gave me a stitch in the side.\n\nI do not believe, and did not then, that my distinguished opponent, Governor Dorsey, knew anything of this. I thought, and still think, that the Frank case was the reason.\nI may say here that Senator McKellar and Mr. Glass attempted to influence and compel his election. In all his four years of service, he treated me with great courtesy and appeared to hold a constant regard for my views on public questions. He once told me, when I was suggesting the re-appointment of a man who had served under me, that my appointments, instead of being a disadvantage, were always a recommendation to him when the question of re-appointment arose. Some time after my conversation with Senator McKellar and Mr. Glass, I met Congressman Randall Walker of the ith District, and he repeated to me a circumstance that seemed to corroborate Mr. Glass's statement. During the World War investigation to ascertain the loyalty of the beer and liquor interests at Washington, a gentleman was put on the stand.\nHe was either an agent, detective, or held some other position in the liquor association. Mr. Webb, who was then Chairman of the Judiciary Committee of Congress and later made Federal Judge in North Carolina, and who as Chairman had been advocating the 18th Amendment, asked the witness:\n\n\"Did you send any money to the 6th District of North Carolina in the 1916 campaign?\"\n\nAutobiography\n\nHe answered: \"No, Sir, we sent no money that year to either North Carolina or South Carolina, but we did send five hundred thousand dollars to Georgia, and we got that old man that year.\"\n\nAt the time, Mr. Glass told me about the activities of the Liquor Dealers Association, he possibly forgot that I still had nine months in the Governor's office. When, therefore, the President had suspended the action of the Reed Amendment giving the liquor dealers a reprieve, Mr. Webb asked the witness:\n\n\"Did you send any money to the 6th District of North Carolina during the 1916 campaign?\"\n\nHe replied: \"No, Sir, we did not send any money to North Carolina or South Carolina that year, but we did send five hundred thousand dollars to Georgia, and we secured that old man that year.\"\ninterests  free  reign  under  the  quart  laws,  I  called  a \nspecial  session  of  the  Legislature,  the  second  session \nthat  I  had  called  in  my  term  of  two  years. \nThis  time  I  wrote  the  bill  with  my  own  hand  that \nI  desired  the  Legislature  to  pass. \nI  called  a  caucus  to  meet  before  the  session  of  the \nLegislature  began  and  I  read  the  bill  to  them,  explain\u00ac \ning  it  in  detail  and  telling  them  of  the  necessity  for  its \npassage. \nIt  was  afterwards  amended  in  some  regards.  A \nportion  of  the  amendments  made  it  even  more  drastic \nand  a  portion  made  it  less  effective,  but  taking  it  all \nin  all  it  was  the  most  drastic  legislation  that  had  ever \nbeen  passed  in  the  American  Union,  against  the  use \nof  intoxicating  liquors.  It  still  stands  unamended  on \nour  Statute  books. \nThis  was  my  answer  to  the  Liquor  Dealers  Asso\u00ac \nciation. \nBut  I  did  not  stop  here.  I  wrote  a  message  setting \nout  the  value  of  prohibition  in  our  State.  I  filed  with \nit  reports  from  the  Solicitors-General  and  the  Judges \nof  the  State  and  put  the  question  of  worth  and  effec\u00ac \ntiveness  beyond  all  future  cavil. \nI  sent  five  hundred  copies  of  this  message  to  the \nCongress  of  the  United  States  in  aid  of  the  canvass \nfor  the  1 8th  Amendment.  I  did  more.  When  my \nterm  closed  I  went  to  Washington  City  to  aid  the \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \neffort  to  pass  the  Amendment.  I  spoke,  argued  and \nbegged  the  members  of  the  lower  House  to  follow \nthe  Senate  in  the  passage  of  that  great  measure. \nI  found  that  the  action  of  the  Georgia  Legislature \nhad  aroused  much  interest  and  given  much  encourage\u00ac \nment  to  the  advocates  of  prohibition  throughout  the \nUnion. \nThe  prohibitionists  in  Massachusetts  sent  the  fol\u00ac \nlowing  song,  and  the  memory  of  it  ought  to  put  us  on \nWe had started on the campaign; we were pioneers. This old Empire State marched in the front of the Temperance Armies, and the Northern and Western States followed the Southern States as they were dropping into line:\n\n\"Bring the good old bugle boys! We'll have a grand new song,\nSing it as we mean to sing it, eighty million strong.\nSing it as we love to sing it while they march along,\nRum shops are marching out of Georgia.\n\nHurrah! hurrah! they lead the jubilee\nHurrah! hurrah! our land will soon be free\nHear the Dixie Chorus from Atlanta to the Sea,\nWhile the rum shops are marching out of Georgia.\"\n\nWhen Colonel Felder recovered from the attempted assassination, he went to Washington himself, giving all his time and talents to pushing through to its final passage the Eighteenth Amendment.\n\nThe amendment was re-cast at the instance of Senator Nelson Aldrich.\nShepherd of Texas, in charge from the South, and Colonel Felder offered suggestions to explain and interpret the amendment, emphasizing its necessity for the nation's salvation from the curse of intemperance. I joined them, and a banquet was given to me at the New Willard, inviting prominent prohibitionists from all States. Senator Harding, who later became President, attended the banquet and spoke. I preceded my talk with an account of my defeat, attributing it, as claimed by liquor dealers, largely to their association's work against me in Georgia. When Harding came to speak, he directly addressed me using the following words:\n\n\"Autobiography\n\nShepherd, a Texan in charge from the South, and Colonel Felder provided suggestions not only in explaining and interpreting the amendment but also in emphasizing its necessity for the nation's salvation from the curse of intemperance. I joined them, and a banquet was given to me at the New Willard, inviting prominent prohibitionists from all states. Senator Harding, who later became President, attended the banquet and spoke. I preceded my talk with an account of my defeat, attributing it, as claimed by liquor dealers, largely to their association's work against me in Georgia. When Harding came to speak, he directly addressed me using the following words: \"\n\"Governor Harris, you are not the only man who suffered from prohibition. When the question was presented to the State of Ohio, I owned a large block of stock in the breweries. It became my duty, therefore, to decide between my own interests and my obligation to the people of my state. I voted for prohibition, and Governor, I lost my stock in the breweries.\n\nWe applauded him, for I knew it required a strong devotion to the side of morality and the uplift of the people to sacrifice his personal interest in an election of this sort. I was never able to remind him of the kind words he spoke to me at that time, and since his death, I never can.\n\nThe Eighteenth Amendment was finally passed, as the country knows today, and this was my final answer to the gigantic liquor trust, which, like a great octopus, spread its tentacles far and wide.\"\nThe putrid influence had spread through every neighborhood and community, leaving its slime in every municipality and State and territory in the Union. Its foul breath tainted homes, governments, and morality throughout the Nation. Its creed was gain, and its practice was selfishness.\n\nAutobiography\n\nIts agent, Mr. Glass, who believed he was fulfilling his duty to his associates, forgot that a defeated politician may sometimes strike back at the people who turned him out of office. Although the consciousness that I had played a role in the passage of the Eighteenth Amendment would occasionally alleviate the disappointment of the terrible defeat I suffered, I was still obliged to admit that the punishment was excessively severe. I soon discovered that a defeated Governor was the most despised object.\nThat could be found outside of slaughterhouses or undertaking establishments in all the American Union. It became a common happening every day to pass someone on the street who would turn around and look at me, saying to a bystander: \"There\u2019s the old cuss that took away our liquor.\" I met on the street some time after the passage of the Act the poor woman who had called on me at the Executive Office and begged me to include prohibition in the legislative program. I asked her how matters were at home. When she recognized me, she clapped her hands together and said: \"Oh, Governor, it\u2019s a paradise at home now. My husband brings his wages on every pay day and pours them into my lap \u2014 and, Governor, the children have plenty of bread.\" So we get it both ways, if we try to do our duty. I was tempted at times to leave the State. I could\nI have gone to Florida or to East Tennessee where I was born. My treatment was different in both these states from that which I had experienced in Georgia. It would have been easy for me to resume the domicile of nativity in one case, or make new friends among the visitors from every state. But my duty to Georgia Tech still held me, and I felt that until my presence in the Board became entirely useless, I had a very strong desire to occupy my position until I died. I am now, while writing these reminiscences, in my seventy-eighth year, and the time of departure cannot be very far off.\n\nIn the preceding chapter, I have referred to the banquet at the New Willard in Washington given to me at which President Harding, who was then Senator from Ohio, was present.\n\nAfter he was elected President, I went to the White House to pay my respects.\nI met Secretary Christian in the company of my nephew, Samuel Luttrell, Jr., an extensive automobile dealer in Washington, D.C., to pay my respects to the President and thank him for some kind words on a recent occasion. Mr. Christian declined my request to see him, and I was unable to thank him before his death. I considered him one of the sanest, if not the wisest, of all our Presidents. His election to the high office of Chief Magistrate did not change his nature, and his thoughts remained focused. His allegiance to the Eighteenth Amendment and the Act passed to enforce it never wavered, as far as I know or have been informed.\nMy nephew, Mr. Luttrell, remarked as we left the White House that the Private Secretary had grown faster in his head piece than any one in the office he had ever seen. He believed Mr. Christian had reached greater heights in the shortest time of any man he had known.\n\nI had never before been denied an opportunity to speak to the President of my country. I met Mr. Cleveland, shook his hand, and departed with the feeling that of all the gruff men in the world, he went further than any. Yet I admired him and stood by him during all the time he occupied the President's chair.\n\nIn one of the previous chapters, I have mentioned an incident that occurred in my race for the State Senate, when the Populist leaders challenged me to state my position on certain issues.\nI thought about President Cleveland and shared my convictions with the audience. I met President McKinley in Washington and in Thomasville where he went for a winter visit, accompanied by Senator Hanna from Ohio, who took credit for his election. McKinley was a genial, clever, whole-souled man, an able speaker, and one who had the distinction of uniting the hitherto discordant sections of the Nation through his charity and nobility of character. He had said on one occasion in Atlanta, while speaking to the Legislature, that the time had come for the United States to look after the graves of the Confederate soldiers. When he said this, he brought us all together, and I used to suggest that his words showed that he was not afraid of a dead Confederate. I met President Roosevelt under peculiar circumstances.\nWhile traveling through the South, he visited Atlanta and came to Georgia Tech, where he made a speech to the student body. He was introduced by Dr. Matheson, who at my request told the students that he was at that time \"the foremost man of all the world.\" He had just made peace between Russia and Japan. He spoke to the students, about five hundred in number, from the front steps, and after he had spoken for something like twenty minutes, he suddenly stopped and said:\n\n\"Boys, I want to shake hands with you. Come up and give me your hands, all of you.\"\n\nAnd he went down on the steps and shook hands with the whole student body. When we went back into the President's room, he was showing a good deal of pleasurable excitement and said to me:\n\n\"How did you like that, Colonel Harris; how did that strike you?\"\nI replied at once: \"Why, Mr. President, that was a splendid thing you did. Those boys will tell their grandchildren about it.\" As I said this, he shook my hand and said: \"Do you think so? I am glad you think so.\" After we had talked a little and he got up to leave, he took my hand in parting and said: \"Colonel Harris, come and see me\" (repeating). I replied: \"Oh, Mr. President, you wouldn't know me from a side of sole leather if I were to come to the White House to see you.\" Then he replied: \"You try me, you try me.\" And with that he wrung my hand and left. About six months afterwards, on the morning that the news was sent out to the world telling of San Francisco's destruction by the earthquake, I was in Washington, and the determination came over me to go to the White House and see if the President would really recognize me.\nI went up to the mansion without accompaniment or introduction and found that Mr. Loeb, the Private Secretary, was in New York that morning, and his place was being filled by Major Barnes, the former Private Secretary. When I handed him my card, I saw him smile as he looked at it, for I had written underneath the name the words, \"No autobiography - only to pay respects to the Chief Magistrate.\"\n\nHe passed by me and went through a door that opened into the office, closing it behind him. He had hardly had time to present the card when the door flew open and Mr. Roosevelt came forward with both hands extended towards me as he said, \"Come and see me at twelve o'clock,\" repeating it, \"come and see me at twelve o'clock.\" Nothing further was said and he went back into the room and the door was shut.\nI came back at twelve o'clock, but the door did not open. After waiting fifteen minutes, I arose to leave with the statement: \"Well, I'll go. A Southern man never waits on anybody, even the President.\" As I turned, however, the same door through which the Secretary had gone was opened, and Mr. Roosevelt came out, taking me by the hand, saying to me: \"Come in and sit down. I want to talk to you.\" Then he added: \"You have a great school down there in Atlanta. Did you see that I noticed it in my message?\" I had not in fact seen it, but I was unwilling to tell him so, and instead I answered: \"Why, Mr. President, don't you know that I am here to thank you for it?\" Then we talked over Georgia matters, and before I left, I said something like this to him: \"Mr. President,\"...\nA man with ambition to succeed in life and make a name for himself is almost certain to adopt his father's views at first. However, after reaching the meridian of life and looking back, a man's mother's views become more important to him. He inquires about what she thought and felt during his earlier days.\n\nAutobiography\n\n\"I have felt, Sir, that this will be the case with you. You are a half Southerner; your mother was born in Georgia, and you will give more thought to her views and her ideas. Her people will become nearer to you and more important as you grow older.\"\n\nHe replied, \"You may be right, Sir. I am a half Southerner, and I am not sorry that my mother was born in Georgia.\"\n\nI left him with the belief in my heart that this would be the case.\nThere were very few people in the world like him, and his greatness had grown on me beyond description. Going over to the Capitol afterwards, I met a large portion of the Georgia delegation in the lower House and said to them:\n\n\"Gentlemen, I want to make this remark to you: 'If President Roosevelt runs for President next time, he will carry Georgia as surely as the sun rose this morning. You couldn't beat him in that State.''' And I might have added that you could not beat him in the American Nation.\n\nBut he did not run. He stood out of the way and allowed Mr. Taft to get the nomination. And after that, when Mr. Taft was re-nominated, there was nothing left to him but to fight the leaders of his own party, and he went down in defeat.\n\nI think he was, by all odds, one of our greatest men.\nPresidents who had occupied the chair since Washington's time. Judging him by what we know of others, measuring him by other men of his time, he was really, taking him all in all, the wonder of his age. Misconstrued at times, yet when his motives were examined, it was found that underneath there was the purpose to do right, to push forward the measures which he thought would work to the uplift of the race, and to the glory of the American Nation. I never voted for him, but I could appreciate him as a man of extraordinary courage and of unrivaled genius.\n\nThe man who beat Mr. Roosevelt was a Democrat, belonging to my party \u2014 Woodrow Wilson. I did not support him in the preferential race in Georgia. I voted for Underwood in that contest.\n\nMr. Roosevelt was succeeded by Mr. Taft after having served the largest part of McKinley's term.\nAnd one term was his own. When McKinley was murdered, Mr. Roosevelt, as Vice-President, took his place, and was then elected to a second term. Mr. Taft had been Chief Judge of the United States Court of Appeals of the Fourth Circuit. After his election, and before his nomination, he made a tour of some Southern States, coming to Georgia in the course of his travels.\n\nIn Atlanta, he visited the Georgia Institute of Technology and addressed the student body in the chapel. I, as Chairman of the Board, introduced him, and our speeches were published in pamphlet form accompanied by our pictures.\n\nIn my introduction, I seemed to make a happy hit with him when I told him that I had served in the army of Northern Virginia during a large portion of the Civil War times; that the soldiers in the Confederate Army there used to talk about the troops from\nThe Northern States expressed an almost unanimous desire among their soldiers that if they fell into enemy hands, they would prefer to be captured by Ohio troops. I remarked that the Democrats had been beaten in the last race, and I was glad it was an Ohio man who had achieved this, as the soldiers wished to be treated right by Ohioans. Mr. Taft asked me to join him in Athens where he was also scheduled to speak. I accompanied him, and during the journey we had an extensive conversation. I was surprised by Mr. Taft's knowledge of Southern people's character, and I asked him how he had acquired this knowledge. He replied, \"Do you forget that two Southern States were in my district?\"\nI presided as Judge in Tennessee and Kentucky. I told him I had forgotten his title. He said he was compelled in the canvas, through which he had just passed successfully, to defend his decisions as a Judge. He believed it was the first time any man running for high office was compelled to do such a thing. I told him I had used many of his decisions in the courts on the trial of cases, and every once in a while I forgot to give him his last title and called him \"Judge Taft.\" I apologized several times for my forgetfulness, and as this was happening frequently, he turned to his Secretary and said, \"Draw an order authorizing Colonel Harris to call me 'Judge.' Now,\" he continued, \"you needn't apologize any further.\" A great many people came out at the various stations along the road to see him and they all cheered.\nhim very enthusiastically, throwing up their hats in many cases and shouting, \"Hurrah for President Taft.\" We were sitting in the rear coach, which opened out upon the railroad from the rear portion. When the cheering continued and grew more enthusiastic even at the small stations, he said to me, \"It appears that I have a great number of friends here.\" I answered, \"Do you think they would vote for you if you were running for President?\" Pie answered promptly, \"No, not one of them. They are only cheering the office which I hold.\"\n\nHe told me an anecdote to illustrate one of the points he was making. He said there was a man living in a certain neighborhood who was very tight-fisted, hard-hearted, careless, and indifferent towards his neighbors during all his life. Finally, he died and the church which he had neglected to support held a memorial service for him. The collection plate was passed around and everyone put in a dollar, but when it came to the man's widow, she put in only pennies. The preacher, noticing this, said, \"Mrs. Jones, we all knew your husband to be a very thrifty man, but we thought as he was no longer with us, you might wish to make up for his neglect of the church during his lifetime by making a generous donation now.\" Mrs. Jones replied, \"Oh, I'll make it up to you, Reverend. I'll make it up to you in pennies.\"\nOne neighbor spoke, saying, \"Brethren, John is gone, and we hope he has gone where we all know he has not. We can say nothing more of him.\" Upon reaching Athens, I sat with him on the stage, and before his introduction, I told him I had two sons graduating from that Institution, each taking the first honor in their class. When he spoke, he admitted, \"I was never a very good scholar at college. I would have taken the first honor in my class if the count had begun at the foot. But young gentlemen, I had a brother who made up for my defects. He graduated with the first honor of his class and has always made money since he went into business, in fact, he leads the family.\"\nPresident Taft visited Georgia a second time while in office, and I was appointed to introduce him again. This occurred at the Georgia State Fair in Macon. A vast platform had been erected in the center of the fair grounds, and possibly as many as twenty-five thousand people attended to hear him speak. I did my best in the introductory remarks and eulogized the State that he had now visited twice. Among other things, I stated that Macon was the center of the cotton belt of the State, and that Georgia raised enough cotton to bring into her borders as much as two hundred millions of dollars per annum. I added, \"Mr. President, this is better than all the gold mines in North America.\" When he came to speak, he referred to this.\n\"I go the gentleman one better. If the cotton crop is as valuable as he claims, it is worth more than all the gold mines of North America, with South America thrown in for good measure.\" Alas, alas! It cannot be well understood that when the boll weevil took away from the State nearly two hundred millions of dollars annum, her people must have suffered and felt that bankruptcy was close at hand in many cases. Mr. Taft has visited Atlanta many times since he left the Presidency. In fact, Atlanta became greatly interested in him and named for him its magnificent auditorium that seats comfortably eight thousand people \u2014 one of the largest halls in the South. As I sat beside him on the stage of this great auditorium once, I asked him if he remembered the order that he passed allowing me to call him \"Judge.\"\nalso  the  anecdote  that  he  told  me  when  the  dead  man \nwas  eulogized.  He  replied:  \u201cYes,  perfectly.\u201d \nI  admired  him  greatly  and  I  was  anxious  for  Mr. \nWilson  to  give  him  a  place  on  the  bench,  for  I  knew \nhe  was  a  great  judge. \nAfter  Mr.  Taft  appointed  Judge  White  Chief  Jus\u00ac \ntice,  although  a  Democrat  and  a  Confederate  soldier, \nthe  papers  stated  that  when  the  Judge  was  informed \nof  his  appointment  he  burst  into  tears. \nI  wrote  to  President  Taft  at  once,  thanking  him \nfor  the  appointment  and  telling  him  that  Judge  White \nwas  not  the  only  Confederate  soldier  who  burst  into \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \ntears  when  this  appointment  became  known.  I  re\u00ac \nceived  a  very  kind  and  courteous  letter  from  him  in \nreply. \nI  was  glad  when  President  Harding  gave  the  place \nto  Mr.  Taft.  So  I  can  still  call  him  \u201cJudge.\u201d \nIn  the  election  for  President  that  followed  Judge \nTaft and President Roosevelt were both candidates in the election. The outcome was that Wilson, the Democratic candidate, won with a considerable majority over both competitors.\n\nPresident Wilson took office on March 4, 1913. I visited him several times during his first term, but in every case, I went to the White House with a Senator or with Hon. W.J. Harris, who was a member of the Trade Commission appointed by Wilson. After 1914, however, I had several interviews with the President without the intervention of anyone. I discovered that a governor has the right of entry into any of the offices of the Federal Government at Washington, including that of the President. This, I suppose, is based on the idea that the general government is made up of states, and hence the governor of a state is considered as a representative of the state in the federal government.\nmember  of  the  general  government \u2014 one  of  the  units, \nso  to  speak. \nA  striking  event  occurred  with  me  during  Mr.  Wil\u00ac \nson\u2019s  first  term.  I  went  to  Washington  for  the  pur\u00ac \npose  of  presenting  the.  name  of  Judge  Andrew  J.  Cobb, \nof  our  state,  to  fill  a  vacancy  which  had  just  occurred  on \nthe  Supreme  Bench.  This  was  after  my  election  as \nGovernor,  but  I  went  to  the  Senate  to  ask  Senator \nHoke  Smith  to  go  with  me,  as  his  wife  was  a  first  cousin \nof  Judge  Cobb.  I  was  allowed  to  come  into  the  Sen\u00ac \nate  when  I  announced  my  rank.  Senator  Smith  intro\u00ac \nduced  me  as  the  last  old  Confederate  Governor  in \nH \nh\u2014 I \nU \nO \nH \nO \nf-H \nK \nCU \nw \nH \no \nH \nH\u2014 i \nPu \nU \nw \nK \nH \no \njjj \nC  cs \no \nCO \nctf \nPQ  tr! \nCtf  O \na \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \noffice.  When  I  sat  down  several  Senators  were  brought \nup  by  Senator  Smith  to  speak  to  me  and  I  was  in- \nformd  by  them  that  the  Democrats  of  the  Senate  had \nI agreed to suggest Senator Hoke Smith's name for the vacant place. When I heard this, I was greatly embarrassed, as I had come all the way to Washington to urge the appointment of Judge Cobb.\n\nAs we went up to the White House, I told Senator Smith my trouble. He replied that he had never made up his mind to accept the office and asked me to go forward and urge his kinsman for the place.\n\nI used these words in addressing the President: \"Mr. President, you started your great career in Atlanta, Georgia. Do you not sometimes think of those earlier days, when you were practicing law in that city, and do not the faces of your associates return to you at times, calling up many memories which you would not forget?\"\n\nThe President replied: \"Oh, yes, I sometimes think of all these.\" Then I told him that I had come to see him about the matter.\nI. Requesting the Appointment of a Former Partner of Joseph R. Lamar to the Supreme Court\n\nIn order to ask him to put upon the Bench the former partner of Joseph R. Lamar, a member of the United States Supreme Court, who had died some time before, I said: \"The man I present has aided Lamar in declaring the law of our State through many long years. A man, I repeated, who descended from one of the noblest families in the South; whose father had been Speaker of the House and Secretary of the Treasury in the United States Government.\" Senator Smith stood by and heard what I said, giving his assent to it all.\n\nThe President replied that he had not yet made up his mind about the matter but would give my request due consideration. He added that the middle West was pressing for a representative on the Supreme Bench and then made some other statements concerning the difficulties he was laboring under in making a selection.\nAs I went to leave him, I said, \"Mr. President, if you can't find it possible to appoint Judge Cobb. If Senator Smith's name should be presented to you, his appointment would be pleasing to me and to all Georgians.\" The Senator immediately demurred and told the President he needn't feel any embarrassment on the subject as far as Senator Smith was concerned. The President went to New York during the latter part of the week in which this occurred, and on the Tuesday following I saw from the papers that he had appointed Judge Brandies to the place. While the appointment surprised me, yet I did not feel disturbed, for I knew something had happened to cause the President to come to a decision. I saw the President many times after this. Following his election to a second term, I called on him at the White House.\nThe President thanked me for my visit and expressed gratitude for his election. I remarked, \"Mr. President, the women of the country played a significant role in your election. They voted for you largely due to your efforts to keep the nation out of war.\" He replied, \"Yes, I suppose so.\" He added, \"But, Governor, the situation is not as safe as I would like it to be.\" I left him with these words lingering in my mind. A few days later, I read in the papers that he had severed diplomatic relations with Germany, and on April 6th, the Congress accepted his recommendation, making the United States a party to the greatest war in earth's history. A couple of months after this, I encountered him again.\nAfter talking with him for a while, I asked the President, \"Why did you suddenly decide to declare war against Germany after your inauguration?\" He replied, \"Governor, I had debated the question for some time and finally concluded it was absolutely necessary if the United States did not wish to fight alone. I believed war was coming involving our country, and I preferred not to fight alone, but to fight with allies.\" This was the substance of the momentous words he used to me, and I believe to be correct. If he had waited six months longer, perhaps even less time, Germany would have been the master of the world. At the time he spoke, France was \"bled white\" and could raise no more troops. Great Britain had her hands full.\nBack in desperate straits, Italy had been overwhelmed and Russia was entirely out of the situation. On every side and on every hand, German arms were triumphant. The threats uttered against the United States by the German authorities, including the Kaiser, made it absolutely certain that Germany would never have been satisfied until the United States had become an ally or subject province like the nations of Europe. It was once published throughout the country that the Kaiser had remarked that there were more than two million people in the United States who would do whatever he wished when he called on them. He evidently thought that these two million people would need help when he was through with his conquest of the rest of the world.\n\nAutobiography\n\nMr. Wilson sometimes indulged in severe criticism.\nI went to Washington and called on Mr. Tumulty to see the President. Mr. Tumulty was friendly and granted me access to the office. When I told him I had come to see the President, he replied that the President was speaking to one of his cabinet members. I persisted, stating that I had an important matter to present. As I went through the door, Secretary Daniels, who was seated by the President's side, rose and said, \"I suppose you want to see the President.\" I replied, \"Yes, Sir, that is what I came for,\" and Mr. Daniels immediately left the room.\n\"Mr. President, I saw your concern about Georgia's lack of support and I'm here to clarify if I can. Mr. President, Georgia is not against you. Georgia is with you heart and soul and will stand up for you with money and men whenever you call. The President replied, \"It doesn't seem so to me, judging by the way your Senators are treating me.\" I replied earnestly, \"Mr. President, Hoke Smith is not against you. Hoke Smith is a Democrat and wants to support your administration.\" The President replied, \"I wouldn't judge it to be so, considering the way he turned down my appointment.\"\"\nI replied, \"Mr. President, Senator Smith thinks you were wrong about that man \u2013 he was not the man you thought he was.\" The President turned towards me with two little red spots on his cheek and started towards me in a belligerent way, saying, \"Don't you know that's a lie? Don't you know I know men, and when I make up my mind about a man, it is almost certain to be so?\" He came towards me as he said this with clenched fist, and I stood my ground, thinking while he represented the great Government of the United States, I represented Georgia, the Empire State.\nI will not back a step. When the President approached, he opened his hands and placed them on my shoulder, pulling me up to him. He said, \"Come on, old Governor; come with me and let us have our picture taken together.\" He took my arm and held me up as I went down the stairs to where the camera was, and we had our picture taken. It is hanging on the wall at my summer home, and my wife has named it, \"A quarrel with the President reconciled.\" It will be more than this to me in the future when I see his face as we stood together. All the past will come back. His greatness will loom before me \u2014 the one man who showed the power and strength of this mighty Republic and in war made it the unrivaled wonder of the world.\n\n\"A quarrel with the President reconciled\"\nThis picture taken in front of the White House. Originally, Governor Harris stood side by side with the President, but the Cabinet coming up, he gave way to them.\n\nFrom left to right: Josephus Daniels, Secretary of the Navy; the President; Newton D. Baker, Secretary of War; Franklin K. Lane, Secretary of the Interior; Dave F. Houston, Secretary of Agriculture; Governor Harris.\n\nAutobiography\nWashington gave it life and started it on its career.\nWoodrow Wilson gave it a position as a world power, exploiting its war-like spirit, until it towers on all the earth as the greatest nation in many respects that ever existed since the human race began.\n\nOn one occasion, I went with Dr. K.G. Matheson to see Mr. Wilson. Dr. Matheson had been at the head of Georgia Tech for eighteen years and, being a Presbyterian, was anxious to meet Mr. Wilson.\npay  his  respects  to  him.  When  I  introduced  him  I \nsaid:  \u201cMr.  President,  this  is  the  head  of  the  Georgia \nTech,  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  have  often \nheard  of  him.\u201d \nAfter  the  President  had  shaken  hands,  Dr.  Mathe\u00ac \nson  stated  that  I  was  the  Chairman  of  the  Board  of \nTrustees  of  the  Institution,  whereupon  the  President \nsaid:  \u201cOh,  if  you  are  Chairman  of  the  Board  you  are \njerking  Dr.  Matheson  around  and  about  whenever \nyou  please.\u201d \nI  replied:  \u201cMr.  President,  I\u2019ve  heard  of  a  case  where \nthe  President  of  a  great  institution  jerked  the  Board \nof  Trustees  around  and  made  them  do  whatever  he \npleased.\u201d \nThe  President  did  not  show  much  pleasure  or  smile \nvery  sweetly  when  I  said  this,  as  it  referred  to  some \nalleged  differences  between  him  and  the  Board  of  Trus\u00ac \ntees  of  Princeton. \nI  might  say  here  from  my  knowledge  of  the  man, \nI am absolutely certain that no one on this earth ever jerked around or controlled Woodrow Wilson. He was in many respects the most unique character the world has ever produced, and his fame will grow greater as the ages pass.\n\nAutobiography\nMy Sickness in the Governor's Office\n\nMy first serious trouble grew out of the work of a Macon dentist in killing the nerve of a wisdom tooth. Arsenic was used, and unfortunately, the medicine followed down one of the glands, causing a terrible irritation and a swelling in the neck beneath the right ear. As the swelling persisted, I bought a bottle of Sloan's Liniment and determined to try to reduce it. The medicine was applied, and in order to make certain the result, I directed my wife to use a hot electric iron, which was held against the swelling for some time.\nHeating not only the medicine but the nerves and muscles adjacent resulted in a disastrous burning for me. The treatment put me in bed for some days, and the newspapers referred to the trouble, describing how and why it occurred. I was almost glad afterwards that the event had happened, as it apparently created great sympathy for me throughout the State. At least one hundred and fifty people wrote me suggesting remedies and advising how to cure the burn. Some dear, good women wrote recipes for curing burns, saying that they were anxious to do something for their good old Governor in his trouble. The results were so severe that I was compelled to go to the hospital in Macon where I was treated for some ten days before I recovered.\n\nDuring the first part of 1916, there was an epidemic of measles in the state.\nI. The demic of tonsilitis in Atlanta made me one of its victims. One day, I went to a prominent physician to have my throat treated. He saw the swelling on the side of my neck and, after examining me, he said, \"Governor, I know a medicine that will take that swelling from your neck if you want to try it.\"\n\nAutobiography\n\nWhen I expressed a willingness, he wrote down a prescription giving the name of the medicine. It was called Syrup of Hydriodic Acid, and the doctor accompanied his recommendation with the statement that it was a prescription given out by Dr. Gil Wiley of New York. As my wife had been in Dr. Wiley's Clinic in New York, she thought there was no physician on earth equal to him. When I came home and consulted her about the medicine, telling her that it was Dr. Gil Wiley's prescription, she advised me to use it.\nI obtained the medicine as requested. I followed the instructions on the bottle, taking the dose before each meal. A young lady who was staying with my wife at the time and painting portraits for us, a Miss Fletcher, cut a small piece of pasteboard and printed \"Take your Medicine\" on it, which she placed in front of my plate at the table.\n\nI took the medicine for six weeks without missing a meal, at the end of which time the swelling had entirely disappeared. I then decided to stop it, but noticing a little tenderness in the place where the swelling had been, I said, \"perhaps I had better finish the cure and make it absolutely certain,\" and started on the medicine again. At the end of ten days, I had completely poisoned myself and the most terrible symptoms ensued.\nI ascertained later that while this result was possible, it did not necessarily follow the use of the medicine, which was a preparation of iodine. The terrible results were possible but not probable. My system had become entirely impregnated with the medicine, and a result like that, which frequently follows the use of broken doses of calomel, had occurred. My regular family physician was absent, and I was compelled to call in other doctors, who, when I consented, began to treat the case, recognizing that the alimentary canal was seriously affected. The remedies they gave me had no effect on the disease. At the end of sixty days, there was a paralysis extending to the lower limbs, so that I was unable to walk, while most of the functions of the body ceased. The pulse rose steadily and the temperature went higher every day.\nI had to be carried up the steps at the Capitol in order to attend to the business of my office. My weight went from 204 to 154, growing less every day.\n\nOne day I was sitting at the table in the Governor\u2019s office when Dr. Roy Harris, Secretary of the State Board of Health, came in to consult me about some matter of his Department.\n\nWhen he saw me, he said at once, \"Governor Harris, what's the matter with you? You are looking terribly sick.\" I then told him my trouble and added that it looked like I was about to cross over the divide. He answered, \"Why in the world didn't you let me know? I had not heard of your sickness.\" I answered that I thought he knew all about it. When he left, he said to me, \"Governor, I think I remember reading something about your trouble. When I go to my house I will look it up.\"\nI will look over my books tonight and let you know if I find anything. I thanked him and begged that he wouldn't forget, as I was getting worse every day and my own doctors seemed unable to help me.\n\nThat night, while sitting by the office table at the Mansion around 9:30 p.m., the telephone rang. The household had gone to bed, and I crawled to the telephone, raised myself up by a chair, and answered. The call proved to be from Dr. Harris. He said, \"Governor, I have just read about your trouble. It's iodine poisoning, or sometimes like iodine salivation.\" I replied, \"Well, Doctor, is there any remedy for it?\" He answered, \"Yes, and you must begin the use of it at once, for you have waited much too long. Begin taking...\"\nI took broken doses of calomel every two hours, keeping it up until my gums were touched. Begin the treatment tonight, for the disease is fatal unless controlled. I sent out and got the medicine, commenced to take it that night, and kept it up for two days every two hours until my gums got sore. In ten days the trouble was gone, the paralysis had left me, and I was almost well. I went to what was called the \"Governor's summer mansion\" in East Tennessee for a short rest. I was met at the train by a local physician, Dr. Shoun, with his auto. He had lived all his life in the little village in the mountains, doctoring the poor people in cabins and shanties. He was by no means up to city ways or city practice. He took me over to the house, a short distance from the depot, and on the way I told him about the treatment.\nI had asked Dr. Harris about my suffering and he replied, \"Governor, I never heard of the disease and certainly never saw it. But if I had been called on to prescribe, I would have given you calomel in broken doses until it touched your gums.\" I replied, \"Doctor, you may live up here in the mountains, but you have more medical sense than a whole school of physicians.\"\n\nDr. Harris told me after my return that the set of books he consulted the night he telephoned me were written by a German physician and had been sent out just before the war was declared. When I told my own doctor about it, he said, \"Governor, I had those same books lying under my table but I had never had time to read them.\"\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe German doctor had worked out the theory from known facts. When calomel salivates a patient,\nThe remedy is iodine, either in the form of potassium iodide or some other shape. He had reasoned that the equivalent \"salivation\" or complete submission of the organs by iodine could be controlled by mercury. I have frequently said that I owe my life to the discovery of the German physician.\n\nThe innumerable rumors about my sickness gave weight to the claims that my opponents made concerning my inability from disease and the burden of years to transact business.\n\nThe partially used bottle of medicine that brought on my trouble was left by me on the shelf in the back apartment adjacent to the Governor\u2019s office in the Mansion. I was told afterwards that someone brought the bottle out and set it down on the office table, labeling it, \"The bottle that floored old Governor Harris.\"\nThere was much truth in this inscription, but for this bottle, I think the next Governor would probably have waited two years more before taking his seat as my successor.\n\nPardons\nIt was said of me, while I was making the canvass in the first election, that I would not be able to turn down an appeal for pardon when it was urged upon me with earnestness and pathos. My opponents stated that I was known to be a first cousin of Governor Robert L. Taylor of Tennessee, and that he had almost emptied the penitentiary by using his pardoning power, and that as I was supposed to be fashioned somewhat after him, I would follow his example and turn the guilty loose.\n\nAutobiography\nI answered this from the stump by stating that I was tender-hearted and that if a meritorious case came before me, I would be pretty apt to exercise the power.\nIn my hands, either to commute the punishment or to pardon. I added that if we wrote over the door of our penitentiary \u201cHe who enters here leaves all hope behind\u201d and it became the policy of the administration to refuse to pardon in any case, then it would be utterly impossible to control the penitentiary. Rebellions without number would result. Reforms in conduct, to secure reduction in the time of service or the length of sentence, would be unknown. Everything would be cold and hard as steel and the law would be hated more than ever.\n\nI said, \"If you want a hard-hearted, unappreciative Governor, one who takes no note of suffering among the innocent through the commission of crime, then I frankly tell you that I am not the man for Governor. I suspect I would give heed to the cry.\"\nDuring my two-year tenure, I handled approximately twelve hundred applications for mercy and commuted the punishment or pardoned the offender in about six hundred of these cases. Looking back on my two-year work, I have often felt that my use of the pardoning power brings me more consolation and genuine pleasure than anything I accomplished during my term.\n\nSome remarkable incidents occurred regarding these pardons. An application was made from one of the North Georgia counties for the pardon of a man who had been sentenced for some twenty years in the penitentiary for a crime he had committed. His wife, accompanied by her attorney and some of her friends, also submitted the application.\nA little girl, about six or seven years old, quietly approached me as the lawyer made his appeal for a pardon. Climbing onto the back of my chair, she placed her hands on both my cheeks and earnestly asked, \"Governor, won't you please pardon my papa and send him home to us before Christmas? Please do, Governor.\" Moved by her heartfelt plea, tears came to the Governor's eyes, and he turned to her, saying, \"Yes, daughter, I will send him home if I can; and I think I can.\" I granted the pardon, but my lenient action drew criticism from those who opposed it. During the second race, Governor Joseph M. Brown accused me of being too lenient, referring to this incident.\nI: When I had examined the records, I found these words written on its face and signed by Governor Brown: \"When this man has served two years longer, he should be pardoned.\" Nearly four years had passed. I never called attention to the mistake of the ex-Governor, for I knew he had forgotten it, and I would have been sorry to cause him annoyance. He had given me the judgeship of the Macon Circuit. I would not let my office compel me to refer to the record in public. While I was visiting the penitentiary on one occasion, another little girl came up to me and used almost the same formula. I was standing on the floor of the vestibule to the prison, when the little one came up and took my hand and asked me to pardon her father. She added that her mother and the children were dependent on him for support.\nI have heard about your father's case and have decided to pardon him before my term ends. She rejoiced and told her mother, who was nearby. This happened in the Stripling case. Governor Brown had previously refused a pardon in this case. The facts were presented to me before my visit, and I wanted to meet Stripling in person before leaving the prison.\n\nStripling had been convicted of murder in a county adjacent to Muscogee and sentenced to life in the penitentiary. He had escaped from the prison and gone to Danville.\nIn Virginia, he had joined the city police and was eventually made Chief. He acted as a good citizen, assisting in the enforcement of the law and becoming a fearsome adversary to wrongdoers. His family had moved in with him, and he was prospering, joining a church, and appearing exemplary in his behavior.\n\nHowever, upon examining his record, I discovered that he had killed a man under unusual circumstances. The man had paid his wife excessive attention and, in a crowd, had boasted about being intimate with her, adding remarks that greatly embarrassed her. Stripling was away from home at the time, but upon his return, he was informed by some friends about the man's words regarding his wife. She was undoubtedly a good woman.\nHe believed in her. He didn't ask any questions. He took his gun and went to the house where the man was staying. Coming up to the side of the house, he shot him to death through the window near which he was sitting. He was found guilty of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. I studied the record closely. Some additions had been made to the testimony, showing, as I thought, that the man really acted in defense of his wife and in her good name and standing.\n\nOn one occasion when the Chancellor of the University was taking dinner with me at the Mansion, I brought out the record and gave him the salient facts, asking him what he thought of the case. He replied at once: \"If the dead man was guilty of the offense, as you say the record shows, he ought to have been brought to justice.\"\nThe Macon Telegraph advocated for the young girl and her father in the case where the husband had killed him, even if it was through the chimney instead of the window. I promised to release the man before the end of my term, but I was trying to convince my friends of the righteousness of granting the pardon due to the state-wide issue. I'm pleased to know that Stripling did well after I released him. He quickly regained his position and was taking care of his wife and children, becoming a good father and citizen. I recall only one instance of my use of the pardon.\ndoning  power  was  misplaced.  A  young  man  in  Athens \nwas  convicted  of  some  smaller  crime  and  sentenced \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \nby  the  court  to  the  penitentiary.  Judge  Brand  tried \nhim  and  fixed  his  sentence.  I  had  served  in  the  Sen\u00ac \nate  with  Judge  Brand  and  had  learned  long  before  to \nrecognize  his  undoubted  ability  as  well  as  his  judgment \nof  men  and  things.  He  came  over  to  see  me  when  the \napplication  for  pardon  was  made  for  the  young  man \nand  asked  me  to  grant  it.  As  a  strong  showing  was \nmade  in  the  prisoner\u2019s  behalf  and,  inasmuch  as  the \nJudge  himself  had  asked  the  pardon,  I  granted  it \nand  turned  the  young  man  loose. \nI  think  it  was  not  over  thirty  days,  perhaps,  from \nthe  time  of  his  release  before  he  got  on  a  terrible  spree \nand  shot  a  man  to  death  in  the  city  of  Athens. \nWhen  I  talked  to  Judge  Brand  about  it  he  told  me \nHe had made up his mind never to recommend mercy for another criminal, and I told him that the matter had been a lesson to me. I could promise him to be a little more careful myself in the use of the pardoning power. There was a case that came before me from Baker County, in which I took a great interest. An application was made to pardon a young man who had been found guilty of murder and sentenced to life in the penitentiary from that county. He had killed a man while on a visit from home, hiding his body in an old well, where it was found some considerable time afterwards. The crime was traced to the young man, largely on circumstantial testimony, and the jury found him guilty, recommending him to mercy, which carried a life sentence to the penitentiary. He had been in the penitentiary for perhaps six or seven years.\nI. eight years. When he was sent there, he was a boy of about sixteen. He had since professed religion, joined the church, and began to teach the Bible to his fellow prisoners on the chain gang where he worked.\n\nII. Autobiography\n\nIII. There seemed to be a complete change in his life and conduct, and the prison authorities believed that it was real and permanent. Some good friends sponsored him and begged the Governor to give the boy another chance.\n\nIV. I looked fully into the case, considered it in all its bearings, and made up my mind that the young man should have another opportunity to make good. His mother promised me that if he were turned loose, she would take charge of and watch over him, ensuring as far as her influence went that he should not go wrong.\n\nV. I wrote into the record substantially these words: \"This boy is guilty, but his conduct shows a genuine desire to reform.\"\nI have determined to grant repentance. He has begged for another chance in life and a large number of citizens of his county have seconded his appeal, some of the most influential of his neighbors have begged the Governor to commute his sentence. I have decided to do so in the exercise of the mercy of the law and I turn him over to his mother, with the hope that his promises will be redeemed.\n\nAfter my term as Governor was ended, I was sitting one day in the President's office of the Georgia School of Technology, when a tall young man in the uniform of a soldier came in through the door. As he looked on my face, he said, coming up to me: \"Is this Governor Harris?\" I answered, \"Yes, Sir.\" And he added, \"Governor, I have been hunting you all over the State. I went to Macon to your home, I went to the Capitol in Atlanta, and they finally told me you were here.\"\nI would find you here. I want to thank you for the pardon which you granted me and tell you that you shall never be ashamed of the act. I will never bring discredit upon you by any conduct of mine. I have joined the army and am about to start across to France. I will do my duty to my country as a soldier, though I sometimes feel that I took on too much when I joined. My companions sometimes call me a penitentiary rat. But, Governor, I put my hand in my pocket and feel your pardon that I carry there and I say to myself: 'Well, I may have been a penitentiary rat, but Governor Harris has made me a gentleman and I intend to be one.' He went across, stood on the firing line in the battles of the Argonne, and came out with a decoration on his breast. He is now doing his duty as a soldier.\nA good soldier and citizen ought to do the following.\n\nWomen Allowed to Practice Law:\nThe law was passed during my term authorizing the admission of women to the Bar. As they are now citizens with the ballot, it was felt that there would be no inconsistency in allowing them to take their place as lawyers at the Bar. This only illustrates the steady and determined advance of women to equality with men.\n\nLynching:\nI have already addressed this subject in another portion of these reminiscences. When I went into office, I was able to address a large gathering of the colored people and I took it upon myself to assure them that during my term, they should have a \"square deal,\" in the language of Mr. Roosevelt. But I told them that in order to secure this, they must accept the situation\u2014remain on their own side.\nI would maintain the social line and try to ensure the white race remained on its side. I expressed my displeasure towards Georgia's reputation for lynching and my intention to put a stop to it during my term. To achieve this, I advised them to avoid offenses that led to it. All that was required was an understanding between the races, with each one avoiding causing offense to the other. In fact, lynching in the State decreased each year of my term, and in the last six months, there was no instance of it occurring throughout the commonwealth.\n\nDuring the first year of my term, the Confederate Veterans' reunion took place in Birmingham, Alabama. I had been attending these reunions and, with an urgent invitation, I asked my staff to accompany me.\nJoin me in attending this event. My wife accompanied me. We stopped at the Tutwiler, which was the official headquarters. The Governor of Alabama was also present at the reunion, accompanied by his wife and staff. A banquet was tendered to the Georgia governor by the Governor of Alabama, which took place on one of the nights of the week that the reunion occurred. After the preliminaries were finished and our hunger was satisfied, I found out that Mrs. Henderson, the Alabama governor's wife, was really the moving spirit of the occasion. She took charge of the speaking and called out the speakers at the conclusion of the banquet. She was a beautiful woman of extraordinary ability, intelligence, and accomplishments. In opening the proceedings, she announced that each person called on must tell an anecdote as part of the response. No one, as far as I knew, refused.\nAmong my people had been advised of such a program, and the consequence was that we were sometimes hard put to keep up with the procession which the Alabamians led. I remember Governor Henderson answered the call very elegantly, and then I had to follow him. I thought of something while the Governor was speaking that probably prevented an entire failure, and then the good lady in her turn called out my wife to speak. It was the first time in my wife's life that she had ever been asked to speak or stand on her feet and face a public audience. I am obliged to say she did well, much better I think than I had done, judging from the applause. She was never able to understand how she ever thought of the anecdote which she told, but she got it off with right good grace. If Governor Henderson thought...\nMy wife and I both admired Mrs. Henderson greatly during that banquet. I believe Mrs. Henderson would have made an excellent Governor for Alabama. I should add that my wife made only one other public appearance during our term of office. This was at Milledgeville's Commencement in 1916. I had warned her that she would be called upon to speak, and she prepared some words suited to the occasion. However, when she faced the audience, she forgot everything she had written and her speech was entirely impromptu and different from what she had intended. I think her confusion and evident distress appealed more strongly to the audience than her prepared remarks.\nIf she had delivered a touching and eloquent discourse, the class of Seniors, consisting of two hundred and fifty young ladies, voted to make her an honorary member. She sent a picture of herself and her husband as a memento to each of them. My wife has never tried to appear in another public program.\n\nJudge Linton Stephens was buried in the side yard of his residence. After the family had separated and all moved away, and the three younger children he left were grown, one of his daughters, Miss Nora, determined to have his body moved to Crawfordville, in order to inter it by the side of his brother, Hon. Alexander Stephens. Mr. Stephens was buried in the front yard of his residence at Crawfordville, known as Liberty.\nI, as the Governor of Georgia, went to Crawfordville for the second interment and delivered an address at the request of the deceased's wife. A large crowd was present, and I stood in the little porch where I had borrowed money for my college course forty-nine years prior. I acknowledged the circumstance in my address, referring to the memories of those early days. I appreciated both great brothers who had filled Georgia with their deeds and congratulated myself for being connected to their remarkable lives. Miss Nora lived in New York at the time, and none of the immediate family remained in Georgia.\nThe old homestead at Sparta is in the hands of strangers.\n\nAutobiography\n\nI asked the members of the Legislature at the beginning of my term not to authorize the making of any more new counties. The number in the State had gradually increased, making Georgia show more counties than any state in the Union except Texas, and far beyond any state having the same territory.\n\nNo new counties were made, and I turned over to my successor the legislative body without any increase in its numbers. The lower House, due to the constant multiplication of counties, had already grown so large that legislation was carried on only with extreme difficulty. All floor space had been utilized, and it was impossible to keep up with the order of business.\n\nVisitors who came to see and pay their respects to me\n\nMore than once, the Hon. William J. Bryan called\nI visited the Mansion and he came each time with W.S. Witham, my steadfast friend and banker. We discussed the country's situation, but Bryan showed a decided reticence when I mentioned Wilson's methods and policies. He was unwilling to criticize his former superior in office. My wife was certain Bryan would run again for President, and she didn't hesitate to tell him so. He later told me to tell her that she might not get to vote for him for President but she would certainly vote for some other good Democrat. I think she is waiting for someone to be nominated who fits Bryan's description.\nI have never voted at the polls. Another gentleman who visited me and left a strong impression upon my mind was William Randolph Hearst. I was much surprised when I talked with him to find how different he appeared from the opinion I had previously entertained concerning him. We discussed the labor question, and when I expressed surprise that he, as one of the richest men in the Nation, could entertain ideas so favorable to the principles of the labor organizations, he told me he had received his ideas as an inheritance from one of his parents who thought as he did. He went away from me after I became convinced of his worth and integrity, a belief which has never left me. The Georgian, edited then by Col. James B. Nevin, came to my help in the second canvass I made for Governor and the earnest pleas which were sent out by\nThe paper brightened the skies for me and softened the defeat that followed. It is my hope that one day I can have the copies of the paper, which came out while I was a candidate, bound and put away in the most sacred place left to me in the world and kept until someone can look them over and write an obituary when I die, giving credit to the kind-hearted man whose brilliant pen sent out these eulogies of an old Confederate soldier in the day of his supreme trial.\n\nIt is proper to state here that Mrs. Hearst accompanied her husband on this visit to the Georgia governor and was met by my wife. My wife says she saw at once that Mrs. Hearst was a woman of great refinement, fine intellect, and charming personality.\n\nAutobiography\n\nGovernor Whitman and his wife, of New York, also visited.\nI visited Atlanta during my term. I called on them at the Piedmont hotel and enjoyed very much a somewhat extended conversation with them. We talked about our states; New York being recognized as the Empire State of the Union and Georgia claiming to be the Empire State of the South.\n\nI was sure at that time that Governor Whitman would be the next candidate of his party for President, but I suppose something went wrong in the machinery.\n\nMy experience as Governor was in the main only a tragedy. I have already indicated that I went into office under the most favorable auspices. I was supported in my candidacy, especially after my nomination, by all the factions and political parties in Georgia. The soldiers who had served with me in the Confederate Army \u2014 my comrades \u2014 were enthusiastic for me.\nThe members of the Union Camps who had served with the armies of the North were almost uniformly supporting me. The Republicans of the State announced they would put no one in the field against me, and most of the colored people voted for me. I went into the office, therefore, under favorable circumstances. It would seem that everything boded fair for a successful administration. Governor Slaton had left the treasury in an especially good condition, as I have heretofore stated. He had handled the finances with conspicuous fidelity and success. The credit of the State had reached its highest point, so that its bonds were selling at a higher rate than those of any other state in the Union, save one.\n\nAutobiography\n\nThe officers and attaches in the various departments of the State government were all well known to me.\nI had been attending the Legislature meetings continuously since 1882, making me well-acquainted with legislative methods and the State's business. I took time to write my message to the Legislature, including my ideas for governmental reform, progress, and advancement. The only significant drawback was the World War causing a terrible depression in the Nation's business. Southern farmers were burdened with a large crop of cotton and sudden price drops below production cost. This situation led to a remarkable campaign throughout the State, asking people to \"buy a bale of cotton\" at ten cents a pound to aid the suffering farmers.\nMany persons heeded the call and thousands of bales of cotton were bought and paid for by persons who had no use for them but to hold them until the market was resumed. A vacancy had occurred in the office of the Commissioner of Agriculture; Mr. Price, who had filled this place with marked success, having been elected Railroad Commissioner. His resignation took effect on January 1, 1916. J. J. Brown of Elbert County had been selected by the people to succeed Mr. Price, and knowing that Mr. Brown would take office in June, I appointed him to fill out the unexpired term. He had mingled much with the people and was probably better versed in the real agricultural situation than any man in the public eye. I consulted much with him and at his suggestion embodied in my message to the called session of the legislature.\nThe Legislature, which met in November, addressed several subjects affecting farmers' business. Believing the Legislature could provide aid to the greatly suffering cause, I also selected an agent to confer with the Department at Washington regarding the shipment of potash from Chile. Farmers could purchase fertilizer at a more reasonable figure due to the war stopping the German supply. The Farmers Union joined me in this effort, and Mr. Mills, the State President of the Union, was authorized to negotiate on behalf of the State for this purpose. He visited Washington, and his application was largely successful. Mr. Mills has frequently told me that this step saved farmers between twenty and thirty million dollars.\nThe Governor spent millions of dollars on fertilizer purchases in 1916. My popularity began to decline after the Legislature meeting. The events following the revolutionary adjournment of that body caused a stir throughout the State. Many believed that the Governor's influence should have been sufficient to keep the body together until appropriations were made, preventing the need for a called session. Misfortunes in the State government are often attributed to some defect, mistake, or failure of duty on the part of the Governor. After the Legislature meeting in November, criticism against the Governor grew on all sides. The Legislature closed the saloons, stopped open law violations, provided severe punishment for offenders, and laid down more strict regulations.\nThe methods for preventing or punishing the sale and manufacture of liquor were clearly outlined.\n\nThere has always been strong opposition to any extra session of the Legislature. The four dollars per day cost for each member is represented more vigorously and more positively than if the pay had been ten times the amount. The public is angrier about small drains on the Treasury, but makes no complaint when these drains reach several thousands in a single item.\n\nThe opposition began to look for candidates to turn out the Governor in the next election. It had been customary to give the Governor two terms, as it would seem almost impossible to carry out any line of policy to a successful conclusion in a term of only two years.\n\nBut the feeling of spite and revenge that crept into the opposition.\nThe minds of those who opposed prohibition in the State and felt that their private and political rights had been invaded caused them to set about with the fiercest possible determination to drive the Governor from office and pave the way for the repeal of what was to them the odious legislation.\n\nThere was a vacancy in the Board of Trustees of the Agricultural College. The person occupying this position on the Board was also a member of the Board of Directors of the Georgia Experiment Station.\n\nDr. L.G. Hardman, of Commerce, who had been occupying the place applied to the Governor for re-appointment. He had been the strongest opponent against the Governor at the time of his election and had tried to take away from him the fruits of the election, as previously stated in these reminiscences. His friends earnestly urged upon the Governor his re-appointment.\nI was unwilling to let my private feelings impede a public duty. I tried to put these feelings aside and approach the matter without bias or prejudice to reach a conclusion justified by the facts. I re-appointed Dr. Hardman, giving him both positions. Ten days after his appointment, six months and nineteen days after my inauguration as Governor, he announced his candidacy against me for the second term. It was said that nearly all the newspaper editors who opposed prohibition had written to him, and the disappointed liquor men over the State had urged him to make the race. Suggesting perhaps that they had opposed him in his first race but would now stand by him and ensure his entry into the office. He yielded and declared himself a candidate against me. His coming into the race.\nMr. Dorsey stated that he wouldn't have entered the race if Hardman hadn't, as he was afraid Hardman would be elected and could hinder his future prospects. The people's sentiment towards the old Governor shifted significantly. The liquor industry was disappointed, and the prohibitionists no longer cared about the situation since they seemed to have achieved their goal. The citizens' tendency to criticize the Governor when things didn't go their way began to manifest. The chaotic scenes in the Frank case, the resulting bitterness, and the citizens' banding together over perceived injuries escalated.\nThe Sage of Thomson's actions led to the rise of the Ku Klux Klan, causing a revolution with its potentialities. He severed all friendly relations with the Governor, whom he had supported, due to the Governor's request for the appointment of a Macon lawyer to the City Court Bench, which was disregarded. I appointed Col. Dupont Guerry, a Confederate soldier and able lawyer, instead of a rising young attorney favored by the Guardians of Liberty and earnestly recommended by Mr. Watson. (Autobiography, Work of Called Session)\nThe Legislature at its session, which met on November 3rd, 1915, not only made the necessary appropriations to carry on the government and passed a strong prohibition law, but acted upon many other matters of consideration to the State. At this session, the law authorizing the lease of the Western & Atlantic Railroad was passed. The commission named in the Act consisted of the Governor of the State, the Chairman of the Railroad Commission, and the following private citizens: G. Gunby Jordan, Judson L. Hand, and Fuller E. Callaway. W. A. Wimbush was named as Attorney and Counsel for the Commission. Mr. Callaway declined to accept the appointment, and the commission elected in his place Hon. E. A. Copelan, of the County of Greene. Hon. Judson L. Hand, of Mitchell County, having died in the midst.\nThe Governor appointed Hon. St. Elmo Massengale of Fulton County in his place. The commission organized, electing C. Murphey Candler of the Railroad Commission as Chairman. This commission completed the lease of the railroad to the Nashville, Chattanooga & St. Louis Railroad Company, presenting its report to the 1917 legislative session. The lease was signed on May [illegible], 1917, and a copy accompanied Mr. Candler\u2019s report, along with the preceding proposals. The lease is published as Exhibit \u201cE\u201d in the report and can be found on page 184 of the House Journal for the 1917 session. The making of this lease was a prominent feature of my two-year term as Governor.\n\nIt is not necessary to follow the steps leading to this lease.\nThe Commission scrutinized the work, dedicating significant time to estimating and calculating the income from the properties and their parts, determining the need for improvement and equipment, and addressing all matters relevant to the property valuation.\n\nDuring negotiations, the lease effort appeared to falter. A meeting was held to discuss proposals with the N.C. & St. L. Road's owners. In attendance were various officers from the organizations, as well as the Presidents: Harry Waters of the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, Milton H. Smith of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, and John Howe Peyton of the N.C. & St. L. Railroad, to collaborate with the commission.\nAnd they discussed fully all the proposals that had been made. It should be remembered that the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad owned the majority of the stock of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, while the Louisville & Nashville Railroad owned a majority of the stock of the N.C. & St.L. Railroad. The final authority, therefore, was Mr. Walters\u2019, President of the A.C.L. Railroad. When the parties came together, it was soon ascertainable that Milton H. Smith was the leading figure who discussed and laid down final conclusions for all the persons representing his side of the issues. I had known Mr. Smith in my earlier experiences in railroad management. I was for more than five years at the head of the Macon & Northern Railroad and during that time went to the conventions called by the latter.\nRailroads of the South for the purpose of looking into and transacting business. President Smith had made himself conspicuous by his strong personal character and his somewhat arbitrary way of transacting business. It has been said of him that when he came into our meetings, he would take a seat in one corner of the room and drawing from his pocket a piece of chalk, mark a line from one side of the room around his corner to the other side. Then he would say to the members, \"Gentlemen, this represents my position. None of you must cross this line to come into my territory without my consent, or if you do, you can look out for trouble.\" It was soon found from experience that Mr. Smith, when he spoke thus, meant what he said, and I think the railroad authorities learned to respect him.\n\nOne of the objections to me, made by my opponents\nIn the Governor race, it was argued that I was incompetent to lease the State Road due to my long service in railroad business. The gentleman making this point insisted railroad companies would overreach me, resulting in the State Road being given away for less than its value.\n\nAutobiography\n\nI countered this argument on the campaign trail by stating that my railroad business experience would aid me instead of embarrassing me in making the lease. I also brought up that I had practiced law for forty-odd years of my life and had never yet failed to protect a client's rights or compromise their interests. I added that if elected Governor, I would become the State of Georgia's agent and advocate.\nAnd the preserver of its rights, as I had never betrayed a private client, I was sure they could trust me to guard and preserve the interest of a public client like the State. After the negotiations for the lease had gone on for some time and several meetings had been had, Mr. Smith, of the Louisville & Nashville, finally laid down his ultimatum, stating that we could either take it or leave it. Knowing him as I did, I had been expecting something of this kind. Our Chairman, possessed of the views of the commission, stated to Mr. Smith that we could not come to his proposition. Mr. Smith, asking if this was the view of the commission, and being told that it was, rose from his seat and left the room, stating that it was useless to make any further efforts. The other two officers, Messrs. Walters and [Name Unknown], remained.\nPeyton followed him, declaring they would go no further and any additional efforts to lease would be abandoned as useless. Mr. Smith had been asked before he left the room whether he desired any further meetings to occur and he answered emphatically \"no,\" that he had done all he intended to do and repeated, \"we could either take it or leave it.\"\n\nAfter the railroad officers had left the room, some members of the commission expressed the opinion, concurred in by the Chairman, that the lease would have to go over until after the meeting of the next Legislature in June, 1917, and a report could be made that the effort to lease under the act had failed.\n\nThis tentative conclusion of the commission was the cause of great distress to me, as it would leave the whole matter in the hands of my successor in office.\nI determined to make an effort on my own responsibility, stating to the commission that I did not abandon hope of a favorable termination. Without delay, I secured an interview with President Harry Waters. I told him I knew he had the power to control the matter, that he knew Mr. Smith well and much better, and if he expressed a desire to have the negotiations continued, Mr. Smith would undoubtedly acquiesce because he knew that Harry Waters had the right and the power to decide the question. I was anxious to make the lease for various reasons and asked him, on behalf of the State of Georgia, to take a stand and see if it couldn't be brought about. He promised.\nI received notice from him that he had seen Mr. Smith and another meeting would be granted. Ten days later, the commission met with the railroad officers and the lease was completed. I take credit for my work in this matter. Mr. Candler, the Chairman, was our main-stay during the negotiations. When the talks were broken off, I concluded that Mr. Candler had become disheartened and disgusted, and had decided to take more time for the work by putting it off to the next Legislature. The lease speaks for itself. At the time it became operative, it brought in enough money annually to run the business.\nThe civil establishment of Georgia secured the State's credit beyond political events, state or national. By its terms, the road may be double tracked and, upon being turned over to the State, will be re-equipped and still constitute one of the main arteries of commerce between Georgia and states beyond her limits. The lease terminates fifty years from December 27, 1919. It pays $45,000.00 per month and is secured by a deposit of State of Georgia or United States bonds at their par value of Six Hundred Thousand Dollars. The income from the reserved property, which was found unnecessary for the road's operation as leased, brings in an additional annual sum, perhaps, exceeding $10,000.00, making the lease approximate the value.\nI. Rental Expenses: The rental sum amounts to Fifty-five Thousand Dollars per month. This rental exceeds the amount previously paid by the former lessee.\n\nII. Dueling in Georgia: Dueling had not been abolished in Georgia when I began my legal career. If a man was insulted or charged with a serious offense, his response was either a blow or a challenge.\n\nIn my professional experience, there have been four instances where I have been accused of lying. One occurred in the Legislature, one in relation to the City Government, one as a lawyer, and the other as an individual.\n\nIII. Autobiography: In each of these cases, an apology was demanded in the regular course. I have always believed that, although I had been accused of falsehood, yet if, upon demand, an apology was made and the offensive words were retracted, in the same connection or context, the matter could be resolved.\nI was satisfied in the company where these remarks were spoken. I was never required to retract a comment I had made. In four cases, I felt compelled to take action, and in three of these, I carefully filed away the retractions and apologies. One of the cases occurred in open court. A gentleman was arguing his side of a case and went out of his way to claim that I had wilfully and deliberately misrepresented the facts. When he made this charge, I rose to my feet and stated, \"I never make a spectacle of myself in public, especially in a courthouse. I have respect for the court and the occasion. But, this matter will be settled between me and the gentleman outside the courthouse.\" When the court adjourned, I sent the sheriff to ask for a private conversation with the gentleman.\nA gentleman entered one of the ante-rooms with me to finish our affair. He was a known chivalrous fighter and had never shown any appearance of fear in his past life. He came in promptly when the word was given to him. As he passed through the door, he threw his hand to his hip pocket and came in with his side towards me as people are accustomed to stand in dueling.\n\nI addressed him with these words: \"I have called you here to tell you that you are going to apologize to me for what you said in the court room a few moments ago.\" He looked at me in great surprise and said, \"How do you know I am going to apologize?\" I replied, \"Because I know you are a gentleman, and when you realize that you have done another gentleman an injustice, you are brave enough to admit it and are gentlemen enough to apologize.\"\nI. Apologizing for Unjust Remarks:\n\nAnd then I went on and said, \"That remark of yours was not merited, and in your sober second thought, you know it was not. Therefore, I ask you to go into the court when it meets again and tell the Judge that you withdraw the remarks and apologize to the gentleman about whom you made them.\" He looked at me for a little while and said, \"This is a very unusual proceeding. I came in here for a fight, and you ask me for an apology. I recognize that I did you a wrong and damned if I don't repair it.\"\n\nHe went into the courthouse in the afternoon and took back what he had said and apologized, and we were afterwards the best of friends to be found at the Bar.\n\nIn one of the other cases when I asked for an apology, the gentleman replied, \"And what do you propose to do if I decline to apologize?\"\nI answered immediately: \"Sir, this town is too small for both of us if you refuse this.\" He signed an apology. I had only meant to leave the town. I have always found that when a man insults another, if the man who commits the offense has a gentle heart in him, there arises a species of regret or questioning in his mind concerning the situation, and if properly approached, he will always do the thing which his sense of duty and his knowledge of right incline him to do. I am glad these days are forever gone.\n\nWith the Georgia Cavalry at El Paso\nAutobiography\n\nOn June 20, 1916, the National Guard of the United States was called out for service on the Mexican border. The notice of the order came to me about nine o'clock at night on the day of its issue.\nThe necessary orders were telegraphed to commanding officers, and by ten o'clock the next day, the guard was in camp. One Western State had its troops in camp earlier, but only one state preceded us. Georgia was second in calling out the Guard.\n\nThis organization was under the command of my son, General Walter A. Harris. The Adjutant General, J. Van Holt Nash, dealt through him in the transmission of orders to mobilize.\n\nThe whole State was on the lookout, as the war in Europe had aroused expectation to the last degree, and every soldier in the Union was looking for the call to duty.\n\nA great deal of excitement followed, as almost every family was directly or indirectly interested.\n\nTo the General, the call was full of unusual interest. He was practicing law in Macon and was forced to leave.\nGive this up very summarily, leaving business and clients to be attended to by his young partners. He had served as a Captain in the Spanish-American War, commanding an Atlanta Company in the Third Georgia, which went across to Cuba. Following the conclusion of this War, he continued in the National Guard, going up by regular gradation until he became Brigadier-General in command of the entire State Guard.\n\nThe troops rendezvoused first at Atlanta, Macon, and Savannah. Colonel Orville H. Hall commanded the Fifth Regiment in Atlanta; Colonel J. A. Thomas, the Second Regiment in Macon; and Colonel Butler, the First Regiment in Savannah. There was also the First Squadron Cavalry, the First Battalion of Field Artillery, and the First Field Hospital.\n\nGeneral Walter A. Harris\nCommander of the Georgia Brigade, who carried the 31st Division to France.\n\nAutobiography\nThe infantry was equipped with the rifles and small arms in use by the United States Army at that time. I reviewed the Fifth Regiment at Five Points, Atlanta, delivering a short address. I also went to Macon, where I gave the Second Regiment a flag that the ladies had made for it, accompanying the delivery there with a short address.\n\nThe calling out and mustering of these troops made a deep impression on the entire State. The martial spirit began to be aroused everywhere. In a short time, they were sent to the border under their officers, going into barracks near El Paso, Texas, where they guarded for many months the frontier between Mexico and the United States.\n\nA good many of the Governors of the several states went out to Texas to visit the troops from their state, camping along the border of Mexico.\nI decided to visit the troops from Georgia. Accordingly, with Adjutant-General Nash, I boarded the train in the latter part of November, 1916, and went to the scene of action. We visited various camps, shaking hands with the boys and speaking words of encouragement to them. For many of them, it was the first time they had ever left home in their lives, and consequently they seemed to appreciate our coming. On Thanksgiving day, the General gathered them all together around a great stand erected in the midst of the camp and here I delivered a Thanksgiving day address to the army.\n\nReview of the Georgia Troops. At Camp Cotton, near El Paso, Texas. Mount Franklin in the rear.\n\nAutobiography\n\nI spoke with a great deal of feeling, as the memories of my own service as a soldier had come back.\nI.to me and I felt deep concern for all the boys around me. General Nash told me afterwards that the speech was the best that I had ever made. But I think he was only flattering me to help keep up the spirits of the Commander-in-chief, as that was the only way his spirits could be kept alive.\n\nIn company with General Bell, who was in command of the Department, and General Morton, at the head of the Division, I reviewed the Georgia troops, noting with great pride the splendid appearance they made as they marched before me.\n\nGeneral Bell said to me afterwards that he had been observing the Georgia Brigade very closely since it arrived, that he had visited and seen the troops of every civilized nation on earth, and he did not hesitate to say that he had never seen a body of men that presented a finer appearance of real soldiers than the Georgia troops.\nMajor-General Morton and I agreed on the Georgia Brigade's potential as soldiers, despite not being the best drilled or disciplined we had seen. The Chamber of Commerce in El Paso hosted a banquet for me at a city hotel, inviting the Georgia Brigade officers, leading generals in command of nearby troops, and prominent El Paso citizens. In my speech, I mentioned being born in Tennessee and acknowledged General Sam Houston's achievements.\nWith Georgia Brigade Headquarters at Camp Harris, in 1916:\n\nAutobiography\n\nTexas was the Lone Star Republic when it overwhelmed the Mexicans at San Jacinto, and the first President of this Lone Star Republic, Gazaway B. Lamar, was a native Georgian, from my adopted state. I told them that Texas, the greatest state of the Union, owed its magnificent career to a son of Tennessee and a son of Georgia. It is needless to say that the sentiment was applauded, as Georgia and Tennessee were well represented in the audience.\n\nDuring this visit, I made the acquaintance of General Bell's wife. She was a daughter of my old cavalry leader, General Robert Ransom, and we had many talks about the General and the old days. She laughed over the episode concerning the drummer boy at the frozen ford of the Holston in East Tennessee.\nGeneral Ransom ordered the boy to wade and caught him by the collar of his coat and pants legs. He broke the ice and the column plunged amid the frosty glimmer. I made another acquaintance, General Morton, from Maine, who was later put in command of the 29th Division, known as the Division of the Blue and Gray. He gave me a \"smoker\" in his headquarters to which were invited the field officers of his Division. I was thus enabled to meet his associates in the army, a great honor for me at the time.\n\nAfter my term of office was completed, I met General Morton on his way to Europe while I was going to Washington City. We had quite a long talk on the journey. General Morton.\nI had a strong desire to go to France and serve on General Morton's Staff during the World War. Having served under Generals Nash and Harris in the Civil War, I was anxious to discover the differences in methods used in the great war compared to our Confederate days. General Morton directed me to see the Secretary of War, tell him of the offer made to me, and ask if he was willing to order a commission upon the General's appointment.\n\nUpon arriving in Washington, I wasted no time in carrying out his suggestion. I earnestly besought the Secretary to make an exception in my case and allow me to go over. After talking with me for some time, he sent me to General Johnson in his department.\nIf the General could pass me and agree to the commission, he would have it issued. When I went to General Johnson, I presented my request, telling him what the Secretary had said. He looked at me with a sort of twinkle in his eye and said, \"Governor, how old are you?\" I answered I was around seventy. He immediately replied, \"You are too old. You would be in the way of the young boys. You had better stay at home. For you can do more good here to the service than you could over there as a member of General Morton\u2019s Staff.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" I said, \"I am not as old as you think. In fact, I could get a whole college of physicians to certify that I am not over forty years of age. I think you ought to authorize the commission.\"\n\nBut he steadfastly refused, and my chance to take part in the great world debate was lost. Since that\nI have always had a warm place in my heart for General Morton. His Division made a fine record and kept fully abreast with the unrivaled exhibition of American courage on the front lines in France.\n\nThanksgiving Day at El Paso\nGovernor Harris delivering an address at Camp Cotton.\n\nAutobiography\nThe Draft\n\nBefore the next reunion of Confederate Veterans which took place in Washington City on June 5th, 1917, the most important event of my administration had occurred. This was the declaration of war against Germany, which occurred on April 6th, 1917. The whole Nation was convulsed by this declaration and an entirely new spirit was born in a day throughout its bounds.\n\nOur political wrangles were forgotten, race antagonisms were laid aside for the time being; the sections North and South forgot all divisions and worked together.\nFor the first time since the Civil War, the great American Nation was almost united as one man from Maine to California and from the Lakes to the Gulf. I have never experienced anything like the results when I saw the United Nation come forward at the call of the President to engage in the greatest contest that ever occurred in all annals of time. I never saw one instance of cowardice in our preparation. I believe if the Government had relied on making up its armies from volunteers alone, it probably would have succeeded, but much time would have been lost, and much danger thereby incurred. The juncture was momentous, for our Nation came in at a time when Germany and her allies appeared safely on the way to dominate the world (if our government had not intervened). Nothing could have stopped them.\nThe best opinions state that the German armies were prevented from achieving final victory. Despite the immense challenge, there was no hesitation among the nation's armies, except for those whose teachings were against war. German immigrants, who had crossed the ocean and become naturalized in the United States, by a large majority, gave their allegiance to American valor and were prepared to contribute to the war effort and stand by the government's flag. Of course, there were exceptions, but generally, all United States citizens, when the war call sounded, felt that there was no room for division, that the Union flag was their flag, and they joined or sent their boys to strengthen the stand.\nIn Georgia, a strong effort was made in one or two localities to defeat the purposes of the draft. Led by the \"Sage of McDuffie,\" many people showed their opposition and did not hesitate to say that the Government was entirely wrong in trying to force an army forward in this way. I, myself, remembering the results of the draft in the Civil War, was exceedingly fearful that to fill up the ranks in the Army and Navy and National Guard in this way would lower the morale of the soldiers and seriously interfere with their success on the day of battle. In the Civil War, Southern men drafted proved of very little worth in comparison with the volunteer soldiery.\n\nBut I was wrong in my deduction. In the Civil War, men who were called out by the draft had steadily and persistently remained at home when all the others had gone.\nThe world around them was joining the army. That army had already been filled by volunteers, who knew that everything in this world worth living for was at stake and who went forward to fight and defend their homes. The drafted man who had resisted these calls showed plainly that he did not wish to fight, in fact, was not made of material that would turn out a soldier. Consequently, at least in the Virginia Army, more than one-half of the drafted men deserted or left the ranks in some way before becoming reconciled and getting into harmony with the soldiers who had preceded them.\n\nThe word came to the Governor's office several times that there were people banded together in various counties, who had determined at all hazards that the draft should not be completed. In fact, it was said.\nThat nightly gatherings occurred and military drills took place, companies being formed and officered for resistance. These rumors reaching my ear were forwarded to the Department at Washington, only out of abundant caution, for I had no direct proof.\n\nIt had been my purpose to attend the reunion of the Confederate Veterans at Washington on June 5th. In fact, I had been notified that an excursion would go down to Manassas on one day of the reunion, where a stand would be erected and an address delivered for the Blue and the Gray, respectively. I had been selected for the Gray, and one Northern Governor for the Blue. In accepting the appointment, I had stated that if a Southern soldier couldn't make an eloquent speech on the battlefield of Manassas, it would be because his memory was destroyed or his tongue paralyzed.\nI sat in my office with my hand on the telephone, waiting for calls. The Major-General in command of the United States troops at Fort McPherson notified me the day before the registration was to take place that the Secretary of War had directed him to report and receive orders from me. He expressed some surprise that a Major-General in the regular army should be ordered to report to a Governor in civil life. I consoled him with the statement that I was, at that time and especially since war had been declared, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of Georgia. As it turned out, we had no trouble whatever. The registration was taken without the slightest interruption.\nI had put every sheriff on notice in the counties of the State, directing them to be ready to quell any opposition that might occur. Some of these officers telephoned me in the afternoon (I had directed them to use the telephone at any time), asking why they had received these orders. One of them from a North Georgia county said, \"Why, Governor, there isn't the least disturbance in this county. The registration is now nearly finished and no one seems to be opposing it.\" I congratulated him and told him to keep an eye on the registration books, as one of the threats that had come to me was to destroy the books just as soon as the registration was completed.\n\nI can now understand that all this uneasiness and anticipation of trouble came from the strong attacks made by Mr. Watson and some of his followers.\nfollowers, in the first days succeeding the announcement of the draft, Georgia took no suggestion of such trouble, and it would not have been countenanced by the people. Our young men, after they were registered and drawn, lost sight of the fact that there was any compulsion in the matter, and every one felt himself a volunteer. They took their place in the ranks as a soldier with the honor of the Nation in his keeping, and the spirit of his ancestors alive in his breast. These boys, selected as they were, wrote their names in everlasting characters on the blood-red fields of France, and at no time did they lose sight of their responsibilities as soldiers of the greatest nation on earth.\n\nBefore the draft, the President sent out a request to all the Governors, asking us not to fill up the quotas.\nranks  of  the  National  Guard  until  the  regular  army \nhad  been  completed.  Many  Governors  obeyed  this  re\u00ac \nquest  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  National  Guard. \nMany  Governors  in  the  West  and  elsewhere  disre\u00ac \ngarded  the  request  and  the  result  was  that  the  Na\u00ac \ntional  Guard  was  made  ready  in  the  way  of  members, \ndrill  and  discipline  before  the  National  Troops. \nI  have  always  been  sorry  that  I  conscientiously  fol\u00ac \nlowed  the  request  of  the  President  in  this  respect. \nAfter  these  new  troops  had  gotten  into  camp  and  be\u00ac \ngan  to  drill  and  perfect  themselves  in  all  the  require\u00ac \nments  of  the  soldier,  it  became  very  difficult  to  secure \nrecruits  sufficient  to  meet  the  new  demands  as  to  num\u00ac \nber  and  discipline  of  the  Guard.  I  issued  a  proclama\u00ac \ntion  calling  on  the  people  to  fill  up  the  National  Guard. \nThe  camp  of  the  National  Guard  was  located  at \nMacon, Georgia, was the camp where I bore my own name, while my son, Walter, was the general in command. I felt an overwhelming anxiety to have the organization filled and the troops under his command prepared for any course that might be followed.\n\nThe camp was later moved towards Twiggs County and named Camp Wheeler, after our great cavalry leader of the Confederate War, General Joseph Wheeler.\n\nLooking back over these times, I am obliged to admit that very little was done to favor the troops in this camp. It was named the \"Dixie Division,\" and although it was finally sent across, it reached the other side only about three weeks before the armistice was declared.\n\nI wrote to Senator Hoke Smith, who was on the Military Committee of the Senate at that time, calling his attention to this Division, which was named the \"Dixie Division.\"\nThe speaker mentioned \"Dixie Division\" and asked him about its treatment upon reaching French shores. He replied that he had forgotten about it and asked for more information. This surprised the speaker, as there was a complete regiment from Atlanta in the Division, and almost all National Guard officers of Georgia were in command. Its treatment has puzzled the speaker since the war ended. The material was good, officers were without reproach, had been drilled and disciplined longer than any other National Guard organization, and seemed capable of rendering efficient service if called upon. The battalion taken from the Georgia National Guard and put in the Rainbow Division, almost entirely.\nall residents of Macon, Georgia, took part in some of the most terrible conflicts of the war. There was not a soldier in that battalion who was not a hero, and the record left of their achievement is the proudest heritage of our community. The whole brigade would have acted to the same advantage, and yet our authorities held them back, sifted them out, and only sent them across when their ranks had been filled a second time by the levies of the draft from other states.\n\nAutobiography\nThe 31st Division, Known as the Dixie Division\n\nThis division was composed mainly of National Guard troops from Georgia, Alabama, and Florida. It was an all-Southern division, and the Georgia brigade contained a number of companies with histories reaching back to the Revolution. These companies\nhad been kept up through the long years; their members proud of their name and history and the people of all classes, among which they continued to exist, looked upon them as the embodiment of the chivalry and the war-like spirit of the South. The reviewing officers spoke very highly of the brigade, and I had great hopes that those in higher authority would be sure to recognize its worth. I have already referred to a portion of this brigade\u2019s history after it became part of the 31st Division. I have felt from the very beginning that there was some malevolent influence at work against the Division, and I have never known the cause of this, unless it grew out of the name. There was a settled determination in the War Department that all the soldiers in France should lose their local designations and become known only as American soldiers. North and other Confederate designations were to be obliterated.\nIn the spring of 1918, the Secretary of War visited Macon to review the Southern Division. I stood with him as various units passed by. After the review, he spoke highly of the Division, expressing his belief that it would be sent to Europe around June following. However, the infantry soldiers were the only ones sent across, leaving only the skeleton of the Division behind, composed of commissioned and non-commissioned officers.\nIt was filled, as stated, with levies from the draft. General Leonard Wood, who was for some time the commanding officer of the United States Army, once said to me that from his observation of the Georgia Brigade when the National Guard was sent to the border, he believed that brigade was among the best of the State troops that put in an appearance along the Mexican frontier.\n\nConfirming my opinion that someone in the staff was prejudiced against the Dixie Division, this little incident occurred:\n\nSome time after the Division was gathered at Camp Wheeler, an order was issued to send a large detachment of colored troops to be made a part of it. When this became known, an appeal was made to me to endeavor to stop the proposed addition, as it would doubtless cause the resignation of every field officer in this division.\nI went to Washington to discuss the southern division issue with the Secretary of War. He had not heard of the movement and asked me to confirm the facts. I was sent to see the staff. As I entered the room, before I could speak, someone called out, \"Governor, we didn't know those were contraband troops. The order has already been countermanded. You needn't worry yourself any further.\" I thanked the staff for the information and left immediately.\n\nThe staff as a whole did not know about making a piebald division from this part of the army, but I couldn't help suspecting that someone on the staff was aware of the facts.\nat  the  Division  on  account  of  its  name. \nI  may  say  here  that  no  prominent  officer  in  the  Di\u00ac \nvision  entertained  any  such  ideas  as  that  which  kept \ncoming  up  to  me  through  the  whole  time  that  the \nbrigade  was  in  camp  at  Macon. \nI  annex  hereto  a  historical  statement  furnished  me \nby  an  officer  of  the  brigade,  showing  its  several  move\u00ac \nments  in  the  war.  I  have  said  elsewhere  that  I  be\u00ac \nlieved  the  division  would  have  made  its  mark  anywhere \nalong  the  battle  line  of  France  if  it  had  been  allowed \nto  engage  as  the  \u201cDixie  Division.\u201d  Unfortunately, \nhowever,  I  think  the  name  stood  in  the  way. \nDATA  ABOUT  31  ST  DIVISION \nCamp  Harris  was  established  in  1915  as  the  \u201cMob\u00ac \nilization  Camp,  Georgia  National  Guard.\u201d \nThe  Georgia  National  Guard  called  into  service \nby  the  President  began  mobilizing  there  June  20,  1916. \nIts  name  was  changed  to  \u201cCamp  Harris\u201d  by  the  Ad\u00ac \nJutang General of Georgia in 1916, named in honor of Governor N.E. Harris. The entire National Guard of Georgia, with the exception of the Coast Artillery Battalion of Savannah and the 3d Separate Battalion of Infantry, remained at Camp Harris until October, 1916. They went to the Mexican border then.\n\nThe Brigade, which went to the border, consisted of:\n1st Georgia Infantry, headquarters at Savannah, Colonel John G. Butler;\n2nd Georgia Infantry, headquarters Macon, Colonel J.A. Thomas, Jr;\n5th Georgia Infantry, entirely from Atlanta, Colonel Orville H. Hall.\n\nOn the border, it became 3rd Brigade of 10th Division, commanded by Brigadier-General (later Major-General) Chas. G. Morton. This brigade was not mustered out of the service when the Mexican Border service was over. The organizations returned to Camp Harris.\nThe troops of the 1st Georgia Brigade reported to Major-General Leonard Wood at Charleston in March 1917, awaiting the declaration of war with Germany. On April 6th, 1917, war was declared. The troops were then assigned to the Southeastern Department under the command of Major-General Walter A. Harris, with headquarters at Macon. Georgia was divided into two military departments, with headquarters at Atlanta and Savannah, respectively. The troops were scattered to guard railroads, ports, and public utilities throughout Georgia, from the Okefenokee Swamp to the mountains around Rome. They also guarded Flagler's line from the mainland to Key West, and two companies were sent to North Carolina. The Brigade.\nThe three companies of the 2d Georgia \u2013 Company B (Macon Volunteers), Company C (Floyd Rifles), and Company F (Macon Hussars) \u2013 were re-assembled at Camp Harris in July 1917, awaiting the formation of the 31st Division to which they were to be assigned.\n\nSelected by a United States Inspector-General, these companies formed the 151st Machine Gun Battalion of the new 42nd (Rainbow) Division. They left the Brigade on August 1st, 1917. The 3d Separate Battalion of Georgia Infantry was called into service and took their places in the 2nd Georgia. The Brigade furnished the guard for Camp Wheeler while it was building. It then moved out to Camp Wheeler in September 1917, and Camp Harris was a memory.\n\nIn the formation of the 31st Division, only two regiments of infantry were allotted to the Brigade, which became the 61st Infantry Brigade.\nThe 2nd Georgia Infantry became the 121st Infantry, and the 5th Georgia Infantry became the 122nd Infantry. One machine gun battalion was assigned to the Brigade, known as the 117th Machine Gun Battalion. Three companies from the 1st Georgia Infantry composed this Machine Gun Brigade, under a Florida Major, F. C. Powers. The rest of the 1st Georgia Infantry became the 118th Field Artillery, under Colonel Butler.\n\nThe first Major-General commanding the 31st Division was Francis J. Kernan, who went overseas immediately. Brigadier-General John L. Hayden, of the 51st Field Artillery Brigade, commanded while General Kernan was away.\n\nGeneral Kernan being relieved and assigned to other duty in France, Major-General Francis H. French was assigned to command the division. He arrived about the last of March, 1918, and left about the last of May.\n1918. Then, a month or more of General Hayden's temporary command. In June, Major General LeRoy S. Lyon came to the Division and things began to move. These were all regular officers.\n\nThe Division at last received orders to report to Camp Mills, New York, to go overseas.\n\nGeneral Lyon went ahead to precede the Division overseas.\n\nGeneral Walter Harris took command of the Division, moved it from Camp Wheeler to Camp Mills and from Camp Mills to France, where it reported first at Loches, then moved to Le Mans where it was broken up for replacements.\n\nLeft Camp Harris September 1, 1918.\n\nLeft Hoboken October 1, 1918.\n\nDied at Le Mans October 20, 1918.\n\nAutobiography\n\nGeneral Lyon went ahead to precede the Division overseas.\n\nGeneral Harris took command of the Division, moved it from Camp Wheeler to Camp Mills and from Camp Mills to France. The Division reported first at Loches, then moved to Le Mans where it was broken up for replacements.\n\nI left Camp Harris on September 1, 1918.\n\nI left Hoboken on October 1, 1918.\n\nI died at Le Mans on October 20, 1918.\n\nSecond Race for Governor\n\nI was made fully cognizant of the fact that the prohibition people are not as a whole very grateful to\nThe man who tries to serve them. I had heard my partner, Mr. Hill, make this statement once, and I certainly experienced its truth in my own case. A large number of prohibitionists deserted me in the second race. I am sure the result would have been different if the women had been able to vote. But the Nineteenth Amendment had not been passed yet. My opponents in the second race were:\n\n1. Hugh M. Dorsey, who was Solicitor-General of the Atlanta Circuit, and had prosecuted and convicted Leo Frank. He was given great credit for this prosecution, and the success which he achieved in securing the conviction. While some people were little enough to say that the case would have carried itself in the courthouse, yet there is no doubt of the fact that Mr. Dorsey did first-class work in the prosecution and was an effective lawyer.\nTitle: Solicitor-General Resignation Letter\n\nHon. N. E. Harris, Governor of Georgia,\nState Capitol, Atlanta, Ga.\n\nDear Governor,\n\nHaving announced my candidacy for Governor and desiring to dedicate my time after July 1, 1916, to my campaign, I hereby submit my resignation as Solicitor-General of the Atlanta Judicial Circuit, effective on that date. The intervening time will allow me to attend to all matters in the office requiring my personal and immediate attention, and should provide you with sufficient time to appoint my successor.\n\nI extend my cordial appreciation for the courtesy I have always received from you during my tenure in office.\n\nVery respectfully yours,\nH.M. Dorsey. Another candidate was Dr. L.G. Hardman of Commerce, who had come in second to me in the previous race. The large vote he polled in the first election made him entirely confident that he would defeat me on a second race. After the Legislature had adjourned following the first called session, the anti-prohibitionists, as I have before stated, became very active in trying to select a candidate who could defeat me. It was said that Dr. Hardman received a volume of letters, enough to fill a large room twelve by sixteen, asking him to run. The number and character of these letters augmented his confidence in himself and almost assured him of his election.\n\nAutobiography\n\nAnother candidate was Colonel Joe Pottle of Milledgeville. He had always been friendly to me. I practiced law under his father who was Judge, and I knew him well.\nI considered him one of my warmest friends. At the beginning of my candidacy for the second term, he introduced me to the audience in Jones County using very cordial terms and praising my merits as Governor of the State. It was a surprise when he came out against me. As far as I know, he never used a disparaging sentence concerning me during the campaign. He confined himself, apparently, to the statement that I was too old for the hard work of the Governor's office and that I ought to give it over to one of my friends. The second regular meeting of the Legislature came on in June while the race was still going on. The election was to take place about the middle of September. There were a vast number of very important measures pending before the Legislature and I concluded that\nI it was my duty to remain with the body and take part in the transaction of its business until its adjournment. I used to say that as I was equal to two-thirds of the Legislature in the passage of an Act, it certainly behooved me to remain and watch each step taken by the body to inaugurate and pass the necessary measures for the good of the people. My own message had suggested a number of measures, and it seemed right that I should give my attention to the consideration of all such matters as they came up to be passed before the several Houses.\n\nThe result was that I did not go into the field, but allowed my opponents full liberty to assail me in every way they thought fit without any reply on my part. I had been sick at certain periods of my term \u2013 at one time looking over the dividing line closely and considering my position carefully.\nI have carefully cleaned the text as per your requirements:\n\nMy opponents declared that my physical strength was insufficient if I were elected, as they went to every county in the State and played on this theme, except for Mr. Dorsey. The people came to the conclusion that I was in fact worn out and broken down under the stress of years and the burdens of the office.\n\nWhen I finally reached the stump and made my first speech to the people, I had just twenty-three days left before the election. In those twenty-three days, I visited forty-five counties, speaking several times a day, delivering sometimes as many as six and eight speeches, traveling night and day to keep up with the appointments.\n\nThe first speech was made at Jonesboro, in Clay County.\nIn Ton County, only a few people came out to hear me. They believed I was a poor, broken-down old man barely able to walk. My next appointments were much better attended. Vast crowds began to come out to hear me. An old gentleman at Fayetteville came up to me in a crowd after I had spoken and said, \"Governor, they said you were an old man, that you had passed your day and didn't remember from one minute to the other what you had done. They said you were in your dotage and had to be carried into your office and someone had to hold your hand whenever you signed a paper. Why, Governor, you are not an old man, you are a young man comparatively, and Governor, they have lied on you\u2014they have lied on you grossly. I am going to vote for you because they have lied on you so much.\" I am an autobiography.\n\"I hoped there were more than one hundred thousand men in Georgia who shared my views when the election came around. Of the forty-five counties I reached in the given time, I carried forty-two and a half. With twelve more days, I could have carried the state had the same progress continued. Mr. Dorsey, my opponent, said to me afterwards, \"Governor, you were coming faster than any candidate I have ever known. If you had had twelve more days, you probably would have beaten me and gone into the convention with a majority.\" The policy I adopted of staying with the Legislature was unfortunate in my case at least. It did not appeal to the people and gave ground for the belief that the charges made by my opponents against me were valid.\"\nI was unable to discharge the duties of the office due to old age and physical weakness, resulting in the loss of many counties because I couldn't appear within their bounds. The campaign ended with Mr. Dorsey's election by a majority of the county unit votes and a heavy plurality of the popular vote. After the votes had been counted and the returns came in, a meticulous calculation was made of all the votes cast in the cities and towns of the State. It was discovered that I had carried every city in the State except Atlanta, and every county site except for four. In the case of Atlanta, I have never been fully satisfied as to the real vote cast, as the ballot boxes were burned before any consolidation was made. I charged myself in some measure with being responsible. (Autobiography)\nI finished my campaign in Fulton County and on the night before the election at Forsyth Theatre, before a vast audience, I made the statement that if I lost the State and yet carried Atlanta, I would feel reconciled to the situation. This statement of mine caused the friends of Mr. Dorsey, who lived in Atlanta, to put forth extra efforts. Despite all these efforts, I have never been certain how the vote stood in the county. The man who burned the ballot boxes is now dead, and I never was able to talk with him. I may say here and now that after I became aware of the fact that I had been beaten overwhelmingly in the country outside the towns, I was glad that the vote as counted showed Mr. Dorsey in the majority in Atlanta, for I felt it might have been different.\nA serious handicap for him to go into office with the knowledge that his own county had voted against him. Atlanta has, within its borders, many dear friends who were always kind to me; many more than in my own county and I have been the recipient of countless favors at the hands of its people.\n\nFollowing my defeat, at a meeting of the Chamber of Commerce, presided over by Robert Maddox, President of the Atlanta National Bank, the following incident occurred: I was sitting by the side of Mr. Maddox, at the head of the table, and during the progress of the banquet he turned to me and said: \"Governor Harris, when a man is once a Governor, he is always Governor to Atlanta. Isn't there something that could be done for you to keep you in the City the balance of your life, to get you to settle down here? We could make you Emeritus Chairman\"\nI replied: \"Oh, you are just joking, but I am obliged to you just the same.\" A few minutes later, he turned around and said: \"Governor, I am in earnest about this. Name a figure for which you would be willing to stay in Atlanta the rest of your life.\" I said: \"If you insist on it, I believe I would be willing to stay in Atlanta for $3,000.00 a year, attached in some way to the governing body of the Tech.\"\n\nThere were about sixteen gentlemen at his table and a large number at two other tables, the first citizens of Atlanta. He started with his own table and asked: \"How much are you willing to give to Governor Harris per annum to keep him here the balance of his life?\"\nOne after the other answered his question until $4,000 was pledged by the meeting. Turning to me, he said: \"Governor, we have met your proposition. What do you say?\" I came to my feet and said: \"Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I thank you with my whole heart. I know, however, that this is only a consolation prize which you offer me because a citizen of Atlanta has defeated me for Governor: I cannot take advantage of your kindness, but I thank you again and again, I say, with my whole heart, and I will be grateful as long as I live.\"\n\nThe incident was published in the papers and came to the notice of Dr. Matheson. He telephoned me and said: \"Governor, if you are willing, I can arrange the compensation for you. I am going this morning to appear before the Atlanta Council and if you are willing, I will ask the City Government to add $3,000.00\"\nper  annum  to  their  appropriation  so  that  you  can  get \nthe  salary  and  stay  with  the  Tech  as  Chairman  of  its \nBoard.\u201d  He  followed  up  the  suggestion  and  the  ap- \nAUTOBIOGRAPHY \npropriation  was  made  by  the  City  of  Atlanta.  The \nLegislature  was  in  session  and  a  bill  was  introduced  to \nauthorize  the  payment  of  the  money.  It  passed  unan\u00ac \nimously  in  the  Senate,  but  when  it  came  to  the  House, \nalthough  the  Treasury  was  in  no  danger  whatever, \nColonel  Hall,  the  member  from  Bibb  and  \u201cwatch  dog \nof  the  Treasury,\u201d  pounced  on  the  measure,  and  after \ndiscussing  it  strenously,  secured  an  amendment  reduc\u00ac \ning  the  amount  to  $2,500.00.  I  asked  the  Senate \nto  accept  the  amendment  and  the  law  has  so  stood  ever \nsince. \nMr.  Hall  had  fallen  out  with  me  on  account  of  my \nrefusal  to  give  him  the  Judgeship  of  the  City  Court \nin  Macon,  at  the  time  when  I  gave  the  appointment  to \nJudge Guerry had been bitter for a time, threatening me with reprisals, but after Governor Dorsey had also refused to appoint him, we made up and shook hands, agreeing to be friends. We had had many jousts with each other in the courthouse and sometimes serious offense was given. He was an able lawyer, and, but for his prejudices which frequently led him astray, might have presided over the commonwealth's affairs and held its highest office. He closed his career forever only a little while ago.\n\nOn the night following the election in which I was defeated, Governor Dorsey's friends gathered for celebration of their victory. They marched up and down the streets in a large crowd and finally came to a point opposite the Mansion. While they stood there, they put a speaker on the steps.\nBaptist church prevailed on him to address the meeting. There was much shouting and great confusion, but the speaker made himself heard and seemed to please the boisterous crowd. It appeared to be a species of rejoicing over the defeated candidate, especially as one man shouted out during the demonstration, \"Come out of the Mansion, old man, and let a better one take your place.\"\n\nWith this exception, the Atlanta people have always been very cordial and sympathetic towards me. I suppose the momentary feeling of triumph was too strong to be controlled.\n\nAfter my defeat and the election of Governor Dorsey to succeed me, I sent for him to come to the Mansion in order to confer with him concerning his attitude on the subject of prohibition.\nHe came into the Mansion. After shaking hands and I had felicitated him on his success as a candidate, I asked him to state frankly what he meant to do with the prohibition laws that had been passed in my term.\n\nHe spoke up at once and without hesitation, saying that he did not intend to touch these laws or allow it to be done if he could help it. He was willing to leave the matter as I had left it and let some future Governor or Legislature determine what course was to be pursed.\n\nI congratulated him most heartily and thanked him for the assurance he gave me. I felt great relief. As a matter of fact, no Legislature during his term disturbed these laws.\n\nAutobiography\nGovernor Dorsey's Inauguration\n\nThe Legislature meets on the 4th Wednesday in June and the inauguration of a Governor usually takes place then.\nThe inauguration of Governor Dorsey took place in the first week after the Legislature met, which was in July. A large crowd was present, and the oath was administered in the presence of both Houses of the Legislature by Chief Justice Wm. H. Fish. The outgoing Governor was present, and upon taking the oath, he was handed the seal of the State by Secretary Cook. The new Governor then received the seal and returned it to the Secretary of State to be kept for his administration. The inaugural address was delivered after which the meeting adjjourned, and the old Governor's work was completed.\n\nIn the year 1906, the Legislature appointed a committee to erect a statue of General Gordon.\nI was a member of the commission to complete the work of erecting a monument to General John B. Gordon on the State grounds. My wife and I, along with Mrs. Burton Smith, daughter of General Gordon, and other committee members, went to Mamaroneck in New York to examine the statue in preparation by the sculptor, Mr. Borglum, there. I wrote the committee's report and delivered the address at the unveiling, turning the monument over to the State of Georgia.\n\nStatue of General Gordon\nAutobiography\n\nMy Experience with the Judges\nWith a practice at the Bar of some fifty odd years, it can be well understood that I have had many adventures with the judges of the State. I have been admitted to practice in the State Courts, in the United States Courts, and in the Supreme Court at Washington. In all of these, I have had cases some-\nTimes starting with a Justice of the Peace and ending with the last tribunal at the seat of government in Washington. Looking back over these days, the face of many a splendid judge comes to my mind. Sitting in the seat of justice, they tried to hold the reins fairly and do right between man and man. When a Judge wraps the ermine about him and seats himself in a judge's chair, there comes over him a disposition to decide questions according to law. If he allows outside influences to distract his attention and control his judgment, he is liable to make a travesty of justice and disgrace the position which he holds. Mentioning a few who have made the greatest impression on me, I shall ask pardon of the Bar for singling out any one, among the large number, who have passed over the scenes since I commenced to practice.\nWhen I entered the Legislature in 1882, all the judges on the Circuit and Supreme Bench were elected by that body. Consequently, a canvass was made in every case.\n\nJudge Samuel Hall, of Macon, had been a very prominent member of the Bar since I had entered it. He was especially a friend to young lawyers; a walking encyclopedia. He could point out to us at any time authority that covered the point we were making, frequently giving the name of the volume as well as the case.\n\nI had learned to love and admire him. He was genial in his way, gentle in his conversation, believed always in the right thing, and showed judgment in every position which he occupied. He was a fine lawyer, possibly better with the court than with the jury, as his wonderful memory and wide erudition gave him an advantage.\nHe held an especial advantage in enlightening the court and expounding the law. He never took a position he thought could not be sustained by authority. I have heard him tell the court frankly that he did not believe that the law would uphold a position his associate had taken in the case. The court was always sure of getting his real belief if the question was asked him about any matter under discussion.\n\nHe practiced in the neighboring counties, and I met him at each one of the courts that I attended, as well as in Macon. His friends determined to try to elect him to the Supreme Bench. For this purpose, they presented his name to the Legislature. The vacancy to be filled was made by the expiration of the term of Judge Alexander Speer; to my mind, one of the purest and noblest of the great judges who have filled places in our supreme tribunal.\nJudge Hall was very careless in his dress. He made very little pretense in this matter, though constantly attending every accessible court. When it was determined to present his name, the persons who were behind him concluded to have him make a good appearance. One of his good friends, who was a clothing merchant, sold him a new suit of clothes at less than half price. His friends among the younger members of the Bar bought an elegant beaver hat for him and accompanied him to the Legislature. He took his seat in a corner of the Kimball House and the young men, his friends, brought the members of the Legislature forward to shake hands with him and become acquainted.\n\nMy roommate at that time was Colonel Tom Eason, and knowing Colonel Hall as he did, he took an especial interest in pushing his candidacy.\nA striking figure appeared before the members, revealing an inveterate tobacco chewer. He spat tobacco juice, allowing it to fall on his shirt front. Leaning over in the chair, the shirt front extended on his bosom, resulting in the consequence that every time he emptied the tobacco juice from his mouth, the shirt front received a portion of it.\n\nAbsurd as it may seem to write of such things, yet to this fact more than almost any other he owed his election. When the members from the country counties, who were in a large majority, came forward to see him, they noticed his manners and spoke of it among themselves. His beaver hat was on the back of his head, and his fine store clothes showed off his form to great advantage. However, instead of driving the election in his favor, his tobacco-stained shirt front worked against him.\nDuring Judge Hall's tenure, the celebrated Dixon Will Case arose. David Dixon of Hancock County had left a will bequeathing his estate, worth more than a million dollars, to a colored woman and her offspring who lived with him. The will was contested on various grounds, including the race question and the testator's right to disinherit his white heirs.\nA man, known throughout the State as an authority on farming and successfully managing large landed interests in Hancock County and possibly other counties, left his property to his illegitimate colored children in his will. The heirs at law hired my firm and Captain John C. Rutherford to caveat the will. We took the case to trial in the Superior Court of Hancock County on appeal from the Ordinary, and the jury, drawn from the Grand Jury, found against us. We carried the writ of error to the Supreme Court. Col. C.W. DuBose, Milton Reese, and Judge Reese defended the will. At the time the case came up, the bench consisted of Chief Justice James Jackson, Associate Justices Samuel Hall and Mark Blandford. I opened the case for the plaintiffs in error on the first day after it was reached.\n\nI had observed that Judge Blandford had shown a bias in the case.\nThe judge showed a steady dissent from all the law points presented for the plaintiff in error, revealing a decided leaning towards the defendants in error. At noon, two members of the court, Judges Hall and Blandford, called me into the library to discuss the case. This was entirely unusual, but given that the case involved questions of State and National policy, the judges were willing to talk to me to ascertain the external view. I spoke frankly to them, sharing as far as I could how the people felt about the will, and then stated that I had done the best I could with the argument I had already made. They were very frank with me, trusting me as few lawyers have ever been trusted by a reviewing court.\nI was a close personal friend of Judge Blandford, a one-armed Confederate soldier, and I cast the deciding vote for him in the legislature. I loved Judge Hall as a father and regarded him as a nobleman of the old school, one of the safest and truest men who ever sat on a judge's bench. After the interview had lasted for some time, Judge Blandford said, \"You had better settle the case.\" Indicating that he did not wish to decide it against us. I replied at once that I could not settle the case now, after his intimations during the morning that the defendants in error were absolutely confident of the final result. Thereupon he said, \"I'll help you out. Let me ask a few questions of the counsel for the defendants in error this afternoon and he won't.\"\nI agreed to make the effort to settle and we separated. When Col. Reese came to speak in the afternoon, Judge Blandford hurled a large number of questions at him, evidently trying to obliterate the impression that had already gone out. When the session closed in the afternoon, I lost no time in approaching the opposition counsel and asking for a settlement. I found the counsel absolutely averse to considering a proposition. Col. Dubose was the executor and he set the foot down squarely against any compromise; Col. Reese agreeing readily with his views. It looked to us then like the case was completely gone against us, judging by what the two members of the court had told me. I have never mentioned the circumstance of my conversation with the members.\nI felt it my duty to speak with my associate counsel, Col. Rutherford, who was to speak in the morning on our behalf. When I told him the court had absolutely decided the question against us and the case seemed completely gone, he was startled, hurt, and almost overwhelmed. I also informed him of my efforts to settle and the resulting failure. Then I left him. I have since heard that he didn't sleep a moment during the entire night. His whole being was stirred to its depths as it had never been before. He went to bed but never closed his eyes, and in the morning he put a wet towel containing ice around his forehead and took a light breakfast before going to the courthouse.\n\nA good portion of the Legislature, which was then in session,\n\n(Note: The text appears to be complete and readable, so no cleaning is necessary.)\nI took my seat near the clerk's stand, where I could look at Col. Rutherford's face. When he rose to speak, I saw that some deep feeling was working upon him. His face had a hard, stern look. He opened his first words with a depth of feeling I had never seen him show before. He bent his head and threw his body forward, taking a step towards the bench. I whispered to myself, as he began, \"Old man, the Cobb blood is stirring in you. Your ancestors were racehorses, and you have it in you.\" He then opened, referring to the fact that he had been informed the case was practically decided against him; that he was not willing to admit or believe that any tribunal of justice would treat a great case pending before it in such a manner. Autobiography.\nHe delivered a speech unlike any in Georgia's or the South's courthouses. His mother was Howell Cobb's sister, and his father was my old teacher at Athens. The eloquence in his words, the fire in his eye, and the deep feeling of his soul stirred me to the utmost, making a most terrible impression. One by one, he took up the points; he showed that the future of the Anglo-Saxon, the traditions of the past, and the hopes of the future were all at stake in the questions he was discussing. The appeals grew fiercer and stronger as he spoke. He finally overwhelmed the court; the Chief Justice put his head down on the docket before him and wept like a child. Judge Hall showed his appreciation by bringing his hand down on the desk and saying, \"Captain Rutherford, you have carried the day.\"\nThe lawyer thanked the Judge and argued that he could not conceive how he had misjudged the position and overlooked the merits as reported. After finishing his arguments on the law points, he appealed to the court, begging them not to forget their duty to the country and the nation at large. The Chief Justice brought his hand down upon the book in front of him with a resounding crash and said, \"I would rather die in my place than uphold this will.\" Judge Hall came down from the bench, took Captain Rutherford's hand, and said, \"Captain Rutherford, write out this speech and I will put it in the opinion I shall write, that it may be a warning and an appeal to the people of this generation. You have completely\"\nThat afternoon, the counsel for the defendants approached me and proposed a settlement. Some of our clients were reluctant to accept it. I, however, urged them to keep the offer pending while I tried to reach an agreement. A few days later, the Chief Justice fell ill with pneumonia and died. No opportunity was given for consultation and discussion as the Judge took ill before the next court meeting. Judge Logan E. Bleckley was appointed to fill the vacancy caused by Judge Jackson's death, and when we applied for a re-argument, the court under his direction ruled against us, thus leaving the decision unchanged.\nI. Two surviving judges heard the discussion. When the Court was ready to decide the case, I went to the courtroom to hear the decision read. In those days, the court read its decisions from the bench. A long decision was written by Judge Hall affirming the judgment below. As he read it, I saw that his feelings were deeply enlisted. His voice was hoarse, and his manner was excited. At one time, when reciting the facts, he looked at me and I shook my head in dissent. I saw his face redden, and I was sorry that I had shown any sign of disapproval. When he read the decision, he left the city for a short vacation at Mount Airy. There, he fell ill. I believed he took sick under the burden and stress of the awful case that they had made him decide. He died in a short while, never taking his seat again.\nI have heard that some of his friends, who were in favor of the will, made him feel it was his duty to sustain the decision, even against his own convictions and his great sense of right and justice fought against his patriotic leanings and conquered, though his heart was broken. The money went to the negroes and was squandered within about five years time, not a cent being left.\n\nThe decision is reported in 78th Georgia and has been followed in other jurisdictions. I suppose it is now settled law throughout the Southern States that a man may leave his property to his illegitimate negro offspring, even to the exclusion of his childless widow and his white nephews and nieces.\n\nWhen the argument was completed, there was a recess in the court room and a number of the Legislators...\ntors complimented Captain Rutherford on his able address, and one of them spoke out openly, using a semi-profane expression, saying: \"Thank God, that damned will is dead.\"\n\nThe United States Judges\n\nWhen I first came to Macon, Judge Erskine was the United States Judge. He was followed by Judge McCay and the next in succession was Judge Emory Speer. Judge Speer had been my club mate and good friend in college. I followed him in one of the great offices that a member of our club could hold, and our minds ran together in many instances. He was a fine debater, one of the best writers in the Institution, son of a Methodist preacher, and had an excellent and noble lady for a mother. After my graduation, he wrote to me offering to go into partnership with me in Athens in the publication of a newspaper at that place.\nI believed we could make a great success, as he claimed he could write well and I could at least speak well, but I declined.\n\nAutobiography\n\nMy partner, Mr. Hill, preferred the practice of the United States Court and looked after our cases in that jurisdiction, as I have already stated. I only appeared when the case we were trying had an important bearing and my partner was afraid of the Court\u2019s ruling.\n\nWhen the Macon and Northern Railroad was put into the hands of a receiver, the bondholders sent a petition to Judge Speer asking him to give me the appointment. He did so, and I took charge of the road, running it as receiver for some four or five years, then afterwards for a time as President and then Vice-President in charge.\n\nI do not think my administration was anything to be proud of. I kept the road out of debt but I couldn't\npay the interest on the bonds, as it was only a short line and had not very much patronage at either terminal. After its re-organization, it was sold to the West Point Terminal Company and operated jointly by the Central & Southern Railway Companies. I have set out in another part of these reminiscences the circumstances attending its sale to Mr. John Imman, President of the West Point Terminal Company. After the sale of the road and my election by the stockholders as President and afterwards Vice-President in charge, Judge Speer removed me from the receivership, as hereinbefore stated. For a long period, Judge Speer would not speak to me when we met, but after I was appointed Judge of the Superior Court he met me in the elevator at the Federal Building one day and said, as if nothing had ever happened.\n\"occurred between us: \"Nat, I think you and I can take care of the morals of this city and see that the law is enforced. We can make a great city out of it.\" After my election as Governor, the estate of James M. Smith, of Lexington, was taken charge of by Judge Speer and a receiver appointed. His order taking the estate under control enjoined all claims pending against it and directed applications for relief to be filed in his court. This was the effect of the order. There was pending before the Ordinary in Oglethorpe County a claim for some hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in behalf of the State for inheritance tax. The State was in need of this money and I directed Judge Hart, former Attorney-General, as special counsel for the State, to file an application before Judge Speer in Macon asking him to allow this claim.\"\nmoney had to be paid, as the State was sadly in need of it and the claim was superior to all others - in fact, not contested. I remember using such words as these to Judge Hart before he went to Macon to file the application: \"Judge, be very careful about what you say to the court, for Judge Speer is exceedingly jealous of his authority and if you should offend him in any way, it will be very difficult for us to secure the order.\"\n\nJudge Hart apparently forgot my instructions when he came before the court. He had never been used to the peculiar methods followed by Judge Speer, who, to say the least, could never brook the least criticism of his acts or question as to his jurisdiction or authority. I was told afterwards that Judge Hart used some very strong expressions, speaking boldly of what he believed to be a most unjust situation.\nThe court's usurpation of power, particularly in halting the collection of State Taxes through injunctions. The ensuing clash was anticipated by me, and Judge Speer denied the application in forceful terms. He regarded the application as if made by me as Governor and employed harsh language regarding the proceedings. The case proceeded to the Circuit Court of Appeals, and prior to a hearing, the injunction against the State's claims was rescinded.\n\nDuring the 1916 legislative session, I brought up Judge Speer's action in enjoining the collection of this claim, employing these words: \"His action necessarily delayed the collection of the State's claim, at the very least.\"\nThe matter is currently before the Atlanta Court of Appeals, and a decision is anticipated in October. In the meantime, the restrictive order issued by the district judge has been set aside, and it is hoped that the proceedings in the Ordinary's court to determine the tax amount and secure payment will be permitted to proceed.\n\nThis part of the message was reported in the news, and a conflict between the Governor and Judge Speer was referenced. I have heard that the Judge was greatly offended by this reference. The term \"unusual\" which I quoted was used by him in his criticism of my actions, and I responded in kind. He was always a loyal Georgian, and I believe he was sorry to see the matter referred to in such terms. He never spoke to me again.\nAfter this event, at a banquet given to the New York Chautauqua in Macon, he refused to sit by me at the table, requesting that his seat be moved to another place. I did not see him again until his death had ended his life in this world. He had many good traits, as well as some difficult to understand. I have frequently stated, and repeat here, that whenever a question presented to him had a moral aspect, he always took that side. I believed it was the influence of a noble father and a Christian mother that kept him on the side of right. He once told me that he could feel his old father's prayers restraining him when he approached a precipice from which he was about to step. I have not been exempted from wounds inflicted by our Supreme Court. One of our leading mercantile houses was involved.\nI got into difficulties and filed an equitable proceeding for injunction and receiver. The relief was refused, and I took the case to the Supreme Court for review. Col. Hines, of the firm of Nisbet, Bacon & Hines, was with me in the case when we tried it in the court below. One of the points we made was that the court stopped us without allowing a full hearing (on account of the coming on of midnight Saturday). We had taken the entire afternoon, and the argument for the plaintiffs was interrupted by the coming of Sunday, when the court refused to sit longer and decided against us. We took the case to the Supreme Court and it was affirmed. The case came to trial some time afterwards, and the jury found a verdict in our favor, giving us the complete relief which we had asked. When the verdict was rendered, I sent a copy of it.\nI learned that Judge Bleckley was writing the opinion on our lost injunction and receiver case at his summer home on Screamer Mountain to show that the jury had sustained our contention. I was later told that he did not have me in mind when he wrote the criticism found in the Sixty-Third Georgia first case. I liked Judge Bleckley, who was a very remarkable man and no one like him ever presided over a court in Georgia. One day, I was sitting in the State Library when he entered and came up to where I was sitting, saying, \"Harris, do you know any thriving town in this State where a man might go and practice law?\"\nHe had left the bench some time before and was doing some practice at law in Atlanta, especially in cases before the Supreme Court. I looked on him as practically retired, so his question startled me. \"Why, Judge, are you not going into practice again?\" I asked. He replied with great earnestness in his voice, \"Harris, I was mistaken. Harris, I was mistaken. There is no rest for a man in our profession. He must die in harness.\"\n\nThe poem is as follows:\n\nIn the Matter of Rest\n\nRest for hand and brow and breast,\nFor fingers, heart and brain!\nRest and peace\u2014a long release\nFrom labor and from pain.\nPain of doubt, fatigue, despair\u2014\nPain of darkness everywhere,\nSeeking light in vain!\nPeace and rest! Are they the best\nFor mortals here below?\nIs soft repose from work and woes\nA bliss for men to know?\nBliss of time is bliss of toil:\nNo bliss but this, from sun and soil,\nDoes God permit to grow.\n\nJudge Bleckley was an elegant writer, both of verse and prose. He entered the University of Georgia after he had left the bench and pursued a course of studies in the Institution while my partner, Mr. Hill, was the Chancellor. The step looked so extraordinary that we thought his mind might have become affected; but he kept his strength to the last.\n\nJudge Thomas J. Simmons was Chief Justice following Judge Bleckley. He was Judge of the Macon Circuit for a considerable period of years before he was elevated to the Supreme Bench. When he first assumed the duties of his new office, he was a man of about sixty years of age, and had been a member of the bar for more than thirty years. He was a native of Wilkes County, and was born in the year 1807. His father was a farmer, and his mother was a woman of refined taste and excellent education. He was the eldest of a family of eight children, and received the advantages of a good education in the common schools of his native county. After completing his studies, he removed to Macon, and commenced the practice of law in that city. He soon distinguished himself by his ability and integrity, and was soon after appointed judge of the Macon Circuit. He filled this position with great ability and satisfaction to the people, and was elevated to the Supreme Bench in the year 1853. He continued to discharge the duties of his office with great ability and fidelity until his death, which occurred on the 13th of May, 1868. He was a man of great learning, of sound judgment, and of unquestioned integrity. He was a man of benevolence and kindness, and was beloved by all who knew him. He was a member of the Episcopal Church, and was a firm believer in the doctrines of that denomination. He was a man of strong constitutional principles, and was a firm believer in the Constitution of the United States. He was a man of great physical strength, and was in the habit of riding horseback every day until a few months before his death. He was a man of great energy, and was always engaged in some enterprise or other. He was a man of great courage, and was never daunted by any difficulty or danger. He was a man of great patience, and was always ready to listen to the complaints and grievances of his fellow-men, and to do all in his power to relieve their distresses. He was a man of great generosity, and was always ready to extend a helping hand to those in need. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great fidelity, and was always true to his friends and his country. He was a man of great wisdom, and was always ready to give good counsel to those who sought it. He was a man of great courage, and was always ready to stand up for the rights of his country and his God. He was a man of great patriotism, and was always ready to sacrifice his life and fortune for the cause of his country. He was a man of great devotion to his family, and was always ready to sacrifice all for their happiness and welfare. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men. He was a man of great piety, and was always ready to render service to his God and his fellow-men\nI entered on the duties of Judge in Macon. I could not command his attention in any argument I made or secure a decision from him. His mind was of a different order from my own. \"Having seen the mountains in my childhood,\" I had allowed my imagination to go beyond the normal. Judge Simmons had no imagination and had no sympathy with a man who attempted to interlard his speeches before him with classical references or poetical sentences. He said to me more than once: \"Oh, let all that foolishness stop and get to your case.\" I despaired of ever finding a channel that would reach his mind and heart. One day after he had been on the bench more than two years, he went into the Judge's chambers from the courtroom and motioned to me to follow him. I did so, and when I reached the room, he directed me to take a seat and then rose up and commenced.\npacing the room from one end to another, he finally said to me, \"Harris, I want to tell you something in confidence about myself. I do not know much law and I have been exceedingly afraid that I will rule wrong or do injustice in the trial of the cases that come before me. I pledge you my honor that for the two years and better that I have been upon the bench, I have spent almost one-third of the time on my knees praying the Lord to direct me and keep me from doing wrong.\"\n\nThe statement was like a revelation to me. I could hardly speak when he made it. And after I had talked with him awhile, I went away with my eyes full of tears. I said then to myself, \"If I have failed herebefore to convince him of the justice of my case, I am determined that I will never do so again, or if I do, I will do it with greater fervor and conviction.\"\nI never had any further trouble with him in any case. I found him trying to follow the law with the most persistent and settled determination. If I failed to convince him at any time, I accepted my defeat as one that was deserved. I loved him from that time to his death. In every race he made afterwards, he asked me to take the head of his campaign for him, and I did so. When he died, there was no more earnest mourner that followed his bier than the man who, at first, had failed to appreciate and understand him.\n\nGovernor Terrell, who was presiding over the state's fortunes at the time of his death, asked me if I would take his place, meaning to give the Chief Justice's position to some member of the court and then fill the Associate Justice place left vacant. I was absorbed in\nI. PARTNERSHIP WITH MR. HILL\n\nNothing I could say would sufficiently express my gratitude and devotion to Walter B. Hill. From the time he entered the University in the second term of Sophomore year, to his death, there was the closest, deepest, and most profound love between us. His face attracted me the first day he came to the class. I felt a strong drawing towards him, and when it was followed by a close association, I never lost my first impressions. From the beginning to the end, there was never a misunderstanding between us. We never used a harsh word with one another. We tried to find out what the other wanted in almost every matter and followed.\nI can remember only one difference in our judgment of the law. A client came into the office and consulted first with Mr. Hill. He decided that the case was a good one and agreed to undertake it. When I came into the office, he told me of it and I said to him, \"Walter, you made a mistake in this \u2014 the law is against us entirely.\" He still persisted in his belief that I was wrong; went before the court, tried the case and gained it. He said to me after his success, \"Now you see I was right, don't you, and that you were wrong?\" These were the hardest words he ever said to me about a case. I replied, \"Walter, the case is not over yet. The other side will take it to the Supreme Court.\" It was taken to the Supreme Court and the case was reversed. It was reversed with a decision that settled the matter.\nI laid down the law exactly as I had told my partner it would be found correct. He was generously hearted, and coming to me with the decision in his hand, said, \"Nat, I will never differ from you again in our partnership. We will pull together from now on.\"\n\nHe gave himself to the advocacy of the prohibition cause in Georgia. He put his heart and his life into it. He wrote, spoke, and traveled on its behalf. He did not live to see the success of his work. He was recognized as the apostle of prohibition in Georgia, and when he died, he left the work to me, begging me to finish it for him.\n\nI took it up and fought the battle in the State. I did this before the Legislature in 1907, and afterwards as Governor when the Bone Dry Law was finally passed. All that I did, all that was accomplished, I laid on the line.\nThe grave of my deceased partner, as it was his work and his wish that brought about any success I achieved. Mr. Hill served as Chancellor of the University for six years, during which time he spread the fame of the University throughout the nation and even among the educational institutions of Europe.\n\nWhen he died in December 1905, letters of sympathy or condolence were received from all over the United States and many from England, France, and Germany.\n\nHe has been called in the University vernacular, \"The Great Chancellor,\" and I think he deserved it all.\n\nAfter his death, the Board of Trustees tendered me the position of Chancellor three times to succeed him. While the matter was pending, the alumni of Georgia Tech sent me a petition purporting to be signed by every living graduate, asking me not to accept.\nDr. Kenneth G. Matheson had been a member of the Georgia Tech faculty for twenty years. He had served as its president for seventeen of these years. Born on July 28, 1864, in South Carolina, Matheson came from a distinguished family; his mother's side having held high positions in the country. He was educated at The Citadel in South Carolina.\n\nActing as President of Georgia Tech,\n\nMatheson had been on the Georgia School of Technology faculty for twenty years. He had served as its president for seventeen of these years. Born on July 28, 1864, in South Carolina, Matheson came from a distinguished family; his mother's side having held high positions in the country. He was educated at The Citadel in South Carolina.\nHe obtained a Master of Arts degree from Leland Stanford University, then studied at the Chicago and Columbia Universities. He was a man of fine presence, splendid bearing, and possessed the highest order of principles. I considered him a high-class nobleman in a degenerate age. He was patriotic and, after helping educate a large number of boys in the Aviation School following the declaration of war, the Tech was appointed the 8th Ground School of Aviation in the Union. Feeling a strong desire to participate himself, he secured leave of absence from the institution and tendered his services to the Government, being appointed Division Chief of the Y.M.C.A. in the Langres Area in France. He served from March to September, 1918, on the front.\nIn France, I was chosen by the Trustees to act as the President of the institution in the absence of the original president. I agreed to do so, as I had recently left the Governor's chair and the work at the Tech was entirely military. In fact, the school had been offered to the United States Government for war purposes. While I was in charge, the classes lasted approximately ninety days, and at the end of their term, a large majority were given commissions in the aviation corps. The Tech sent out around thirty-seven hundred young men in total to participate in the war, with some going to various training camps in the United States and a large portion crossing to France. Dr. Emerson, the Dean of the Chemical School of the Institution, acted as my assistant in the education sector.\nThe young men and the Military School were supervised by Prof. R. H. Lowndes. Each class numbered around five hundred, and the work appeared to be carried on with reasonable success. It gained the approval of the Department of Aviation in Washington. I look back on this work with some degree of gratification. I had asked to be allowed to go across the water to take part in the military operations in France but was refused a commission by the Secretary of War due to my age. I tried to do something on this side of the water so that I might not be considered a cipher, while the whole Nation was engaged in lending aid in the terrible struggle. It was my habit to address every graduated class. I was accustomed to telling the young men that they were now graduates of Georgia Tech.\nThey carried its colors, and wherever they went, they would owe it allegiance as their military Alma Mater. I told them that the flag that would float over them was the flag of their country. It was their duty to uphold it and never lower it, or in the service do aught to disgrace it. The eyes of the school would follow them.\n\nA pathetic incident took place in reference to one of these boys who went out from the Tech. He was sent to France and on one of his flights was shot down by a German plane and fell to the ground mortally wounded. His comrades gathered around him as he lay stretched upon the soil of France, to hear his last requests and to transmit his farewells to his people across the sea. After he had enumerated a number of things that he wished said and done, his life ebbed fast.\nHe turned to his comrades and almost whispered, \"Tell the Tech boys and the old Governor that I did my duty.\"\n\nAutobiography\n\nAnd then he died. The boys wrote the message to us and it reached us across the ocean, bringing tears to our eyes as a tribute to the gallant boy who had given his life in that far land for his flag and his country.\n\nAt the commencement which occurred on June 10, 1918, few of the graduates were present to receive their diplomas. It was thought for a while that commencement ceremonies would not be necessary, and I think possibly this was the view of the faculty. However, I had determined not to allow the occasion to be passed without some kind of ceremony, so it was determined to have the usual exercises, barring the presence of the graduates.\n\nThe commencement address was delivered by Hon.\nClifford Walker, who was then Attorney General of Georgia and has since been elected Governor, delivered a striking, patriotic, and eloquent address. The United States flag was carried up the aisle and placed on the rostrum. Its coming was like a clarion call to arms and aroused the speaker to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. He exhorted the boys who were left behind to equal in devotion the valor of the brave boys who were across the sea, roaming the ocean paths, or making the supreme sacrifice, so that the world and our country might be freed forever from the curse of war. The speech ought to have been published in its entirety, as it would have been an inspiration to the School for years.\n\nThe closing address was made by me as acting President.\nIdentified and the author of the bulletin states the following about it: \"The words fell not on the ears of listening graduates as in years passed, but on a hushed and respectful audience who were present to do honor to those young men whose names were called and whose degrees were laid aside to be mailed to addresses left when they quit the Tech for the training camp or the front.\" My address was as follows:\n\nClosing Address by Ex-Governor Harris\nYoung Men of the Graduating Class:\nI am to say only a few words to you today, for I am impressed with the fact that my audience is across the water or doing duty in training camps where a young recruit learns to mark time and carry a gun. I had determined that the names of those who graduate should be called on this anniversary occasion as had been done at all the near thirty commencements.\nIt was a tradition at the Virginia Military Institute on Commencement Day to call the roll of its graduates. When the class that fought in 1864 at New Market was reached, someone would cry out \"dead on the field of battle.\" I thought of this when the names of the graduating class of 1918 were called. But the answer is not \"dead on the field of battle.\" It should be \"very much alive on the field of battle, or in the camp preparing for battle.\" It is on the same level of patriotism for these boys, who could not stay to get their diplomas in this greatest crisis in their lives, to testify by that act their devotion to their native land and their willingness to answer the call when her liberties are imperiled.\nAnd now, to those of you who are present, a word or two. The motto of this school has been \u201cTo Know, to Do and to Be.\u201d The new motto \u201cKnowledge and Service\u201d encompasses the whole field of activity. You are educated engineers; you have a kinship to a soldier, for before you reached your graduation day, you had already put on the uniform of your country and in effect declared yourselves soldiers for her defense. Young gentlemen, I earnestly beg you not to forget the teachings of your boyhood, the words of your mother, your earlier home training, as you go out into the world. The army will soon clasp and hide you, but be sure to carry with you the sweeter and softer impulses of a pure humanity along with your determination to be men and to fight to the last for the liberties of your country, and the honor of your flag.\nNever forget that you are Georgia Tech boys. The heart of the old State will go with you, and your professors, instructors, and old Chairman will watch your career to rejoice in your triumphs or sorrow for your defeats. God bless you all. Good-bye.\n\nThe War Department seemed to set some store by the education conferred by Georgia Tech. One of our graduates determined to apply for a position with the Engineers in order to go across to France. He obtained several letters of recommendation, including one from the Governor and one from each of the two Senators, and from a good many business men. He went to Washington and without anyone to introduce him entered the building in which the Department of Engineers was located. He came to the room where one of the Colonels in charge was sitting at his desk.\nAnd going up to him after saluting, addressed him respectfully, telling him of the purpose of his visit and asking him to look over his credentials. The Colonel took up the papers, gazed at them casually, read one or two of them, and turning to the young man said, \"Where were you educated, Sir?\" He replied, \"I graduated at Georgia Tech.\" When this was said, the Colonel dashed the papers to the floor and exclaimed, \"Why didn't you tell me that at first? The Tech goes here.\" Then calling to his Secretary, he said, \"Write an order giving this young man a lieutenancy in the Engineers.\"\n\nThe boy was a resident of Macon, and his father was very proud of his success. He went in as a lieutenant, crossed the ocean to France, and came back as a captain. He had done his duty to his Alma Mater as well as to the Nation that he served.\nColonel Augustus P. Gardner of the 31st Division\n\nThe story of Colonel Augustus P. Gardner from Massachusetts, who married a daughter of Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, is one of the saddest and most pathetic that came under my notice during the great war.\n\nMr. Gardner was a Congressman from the District of Massachusetts, and having been taken with the war fever, he conceived it to be his duty to join the army.\n\nWhen I went to El Paso, I met him on the International Bridge in company with a congressional committee. He had just visited Juarez opposite El Paso and consulted with the Mexican authorities at that point regarding some of the matters with which the committee was concerned. I, myself, was on the bridge crossing over into Mexico when we met. Only ordinary greetings passed between us, and both of us then came back to the American side.\nWhen he returned to Congress after a few months, he resigned and applied for a commission in the United States Army. He was appointed Adjutant of the 3rd Division and reported to the Division Commander at Macon, Georgia. He acted as Division Adjutant for some months in the camp.\n\nAfter Dr. Matheson's return and the completion of my work at the Tech, I came down to Macon and rented a suite of rooms in the house that I had built on Georgia Avenue, which had been sold and was held by a third party. My wife and I occupied the quarters for some time, and I visited Camp Wheeler as often as possible to keep up with its condition.\n\nA terrible epidemic of \"flu\" had hit the camp, and a large number of soldiers had died of pneumonia. Our surgeons seemed unable to control the disease, and it grew worse and more fatal as the weather worsened.\nI. Colonel Gardner's Unexpected Visit\n\nThe weather grew colder and harsher for the boys in camp. One day, while sitting in an upstairs room I had rented, I heard footsteps approaching the staircase. In due course, there was a knock at the door, and I went to answer it. Before me stood an officer in full uniform, bearing an eagle on his shoulder. I did not recognize him, but he introduced himself as Colonel Gardner, Adjutant of the 31st Division. He mentioned that he had seen from the papers that I was in town and was eager to meet and converse with me.\n\nI was taken aback by the suddenness of the visit. I was alone in the house, having spent the previous moments lost in thought, pondering the past and wondering about the future. The Colonel entered and took a seat beside me, and we engaged in a lengthy conversation. He then mentioned that he had come to discuss...\nI. He was dissatisfied with his position and wanted to get into the line. I discouraged him in this, as I believed he could be of more advantage to the country as the Adjutant of the Division than he could in a line position.\n\nAutobiography\n\nAfter discussing matters affecting our armies and our cause, he left me. I never saw him again. A few weeks later, however, I noticed in the papers that he had resigned as Adjutant of the Division and had been appointed to a Major's position in the 121st Infantry, which was our old Second Regiment in the Georgia National Guard and was largely made up of troops from Macon and adjacent counties.\n\nThe regiment was practicing target shooting in a camp in Twiggs County some eight or ten miles beyond the headquarters in Camp Wheeler and the officers.\nThe regiment's officers took turns supervising practice. It was Major Gardner's turn, and he went out to the camp with the regimental detachment. The weather grew cold, and the facilities at the target grounds were certainly not as good as those in the regular camp. He contracted the \"flu,\" lingered for a while when he returned to the encampment, developed pneumonia, and died. Among the noble, self-sacrificing examples given in the war, I hold Colonel Gardner's case in the highest regard. His death was a great loss to me. I wrote a notice for The Telegraph about it, including a brief description of his worth and sacrifice. Someone sent the paper containing the notice to Senator Lodge in Washington, and he wrote me a beautiful reply.\nFull letter thanking me for my kindness and telling how his widowed daughter had appreciated my words. If he had lived, with the spirit that was in him, he would have gone rapidly toward the top, and I think the 31st Division would have received better treatment at the hands of the War Department. Colonel Gardner gave up his position as Congressman to come to the army. He felt there was a duty on Congress to show to the country that when it declared war, it did not mean to hide behind its prerogatives and let others do the fighting, receive the wounds, and often die. It was his purpose to get on the firing line so as to set an example of patriotic service for the Congress and the Nation. There were very few like him on the American continent. Offer of Farmers to Aid in Race for United States Senate.\nI. Year after Governorship, Atlanta railway terminal, approached by Colonel Charles S. Barrett, President of Farmers\u2019 Union: \"Governor Harris, we want you to run for United States Senate.\" I replied, \"Why, Charlie, aren't W.J. Harris and T.W. Hardwick sufficient?\" He replied, \"No, we do not wish either one.\" I said, \"Charlie, people would say I'm in my dotage if I run.\" He retorted, \"That's a lie, but even if it were true, we can put you over.\"\n\"the top if you will only give us your name. We do not wish you to make any extensive campaign, only to deliver a few speeches and we will do the rest. You carried all the cities and towns in your race for governor, and we will give you the country if you enter the field.\" \"But,\" I said, \"Charlie, it will cost a considerable sum to make the race and I haven't got the money.\" He replied: \"The money is already raised. Your friends will not have to pay one cent, we will take care of all that, and, Governor, if you will come into the race I will do for you what I would not do for any other living man on earth, I'll come to Atlanta and take charge and manage your campaign for you, and there's no power on earth that can beat you if you will consent to make the race.\" My wife was standing by and heard all of this, and\"\nI turned to her and said, \"What do you say, madam?\" She replied at once, \"I think you have had enough of politics and you ought to rest the balance of your days.\" I turned to Col. Barrett and said, \"Charlie, that's my answer.\" But he insisted and said he would not take the answer at that time. He begged me to wait a week or ten days, think over the matter and then make up my mind. I still replied, \"No, the madam has made my answer and I must decline your offer, which is certainly very greatly appreciated by me.\"\n\nDuring the week, I met some members of Mr. Wilson's cabinet. One of them said, \"Governor, we understand that the farmers of Georgia have asked you to run for the United States Senate.\" I replied, \"Yes, Sir, you are right.\" Then it was said to me, \"If you will do so, Governor, if you will make the decision to run...\"\nMr. Wilson will not take any action against you. W.J. Harris and you are both his friends, and his hands will be off in the contest. This offer by Mr. Barrett, I later learned, was made with Mr. Watson's consent, with whom his friends had conferred in McDuffie. If I had entered the race under these circumstances, it seems to me now there was no power in the State to prevent my election. The offer that was made to me by Col. Barrett stopped all thoughts I had up to that time of leaving Georgia. To my mind, coming as the position did, it was almost equivalent to an election. When I saw W.J. Harris afterwards and mentioned the proposition that had been made to me, he expressed:\nHis surprise and he said, \"I am glad you did not accept the offer, for it would have caused both of us to be defeated if you had come into the race.\" I answered, \"No, my dear friend, it would have brought about my election and your defeat and that of your opponent, Mr. Hardwick, as certain as the sun rose this morning.\" There comes over me at times something like regret that I did not accept the proposition and come into the race. My strength might have been sufficient to make the campaign and afterwards discharge the duties of the office if I had been elected. Colonel Barrett's word as the head of the great farmers' organization would have carried power and influence to every county and district in the State. He was living at that time in Florida during the winter, as I have been doing ever since. Many times he has been.\nI have steadily refused political positions offered by the government in Washington and elsewhere. I shall never cease to thank him for the offer and the kind words that accompanied it.\n\nA Visit to Mrs. Corra Harris and Reminiscences\n\nLiving on Fine Log, about four miles from the homestead that was occupied by my mother and her family after my father\u2019s death, is a lady who has become celebrated as a writer throughout the whole country. Her name is Mrs. Corra Harris. I call her cousin, but her husband was not related to me.\n\nWhen I was beginning my professional life in Macon, I spent some time looking after the Southern Christian Advocate. It was published by my father-in-law, Rev. John W. Burke, who owned a large printing house and book store in Macon.\nI corrected the proofs for the paper and in doing so came into contact with Reverend Lundy Harris, who was then teaching in Emory College, located at Oxford, Georgia. The President of Emory College, Dr. Atticus G. Haygood, afterwards Bishop, was the editor of the paper and Mr. Harris came down at regular intervals to look after the editorials and the general make-up of the paper for Dr. Haygood. Here we met. He afterwards married Miss Corra May White, who survived him and is living in a little home in Bartow County near the old Pine Log settlement. When I first met her, she had become a very celebrated author, writing a number of novels that have achieved a decided success in the literary world. She is also the author of other works that exhibit a wonderful genius, placing her among the first in the South.\nI met her by accident one day at the Georgian Terrace in Atlanta, and after some conversation, she invited me to visit her home. I told her I would be delighted to do so if I could go to the old place where I lived with my mother in the first years after the war. She assured me I could and arranged to meet me in Cartersville, as she had business there from time to time, and fixed the day when I should come.\n\nI went up accordingly and she met me with her chauffeur and automobile. In going to her home, she turned out a short distance from the main road and took me to the homestead, where my mother and the children had lived. It was the first time I had seen it since the Fall of 1868, and I could not put on paper the feelings that crowded upon me.\nWhen I looked on the old white house, where we found refuge after my father's death near Kingston, Georgia. My mother, who was with us then, has long since gone to her rest. The children died one after the other with consumption, and only my oldest brother and I, with one widowed sister, remain of the twelve. There was nothing that seemed familiar to me except the well in the side yard. The trees had changed \u2013 the fences had been torn down and moved to other locations. The splendid grove that stood in front of the house had been largely thinned and cut out, and the landscape was changed beyond recognition. The fifty-five years that had passed had obliterated the landmarks that I would have recognized. Yet the house seemed natural, and the rooms were just as I remembered them.\nI gave me heartache and I went to the home of my friend. Her house occupies an elevated position, in fact, on the top of a ridge overlooking a large stream that runs toward the south. It is an ideal place for a poet's residence. It is located near the place where her husband died. Mrs. Harris showed me her study and the chair in which she sat to write her stories and other contributions to literature. It stands in the yard, some distance from the main house.\n\nSitting in front of her chair was an easel holding a picture of a deceased daughter. She had died some time before but the mother kept her face where she could look on it as she wrote her wonderful productions.\n\nWhile she talked to me, she would grow eloquent at times and smiles would play upon her face. Then she would drop into a cynical mood without warning and:\n\nAutobiography\n\n(This text appears to be complete and free of meaningless or unreadable content. No corrections or translations are necessary.)\nHer face took on a hard and stony look. I recognized her genius at once and rejoiced that I had become acquainted with her before I died.\n\nShe writes at regular intervals, and every word she publishes adds something to the fame of Georgia as well as of the authoress, who sends them out to the world.\n\nI took dinner with her and in the afternoon she carried me back to Cartersville, some twelve miles distant, where I boarded the train for Atlanta, rejoicing on the way that I had seen one person of my name who by her genius, her untiring energy, and splendid diction, had made a fame for herself that had gone to the utmost limits of the nation.\n\nA Family Sketch\u2014 The Three Cousins\n\nSome time before the great Civil War, three boys were born in East Tennessee: two in Carter County named Taylor, and one in Washington County named\nThe Harris children were sisters' offspring, all linked by a strong bond. The father of the Taylor boys was a Methodist church minister, as was the father of the Harris boys. The Harris boy was older than the other two, with three years or more separating him from the eldest Taylor boy. They all resided in the countryside, and the Harris boy often perceived a resemblance in their thoughts and similarities in their aspirations. All three endeavored to become speakers, as they had been instilled since childhood that there was nothing more valuable than the ability to deliver an eloquent speech.\n\nNat G. Taylor, father of the two Taylor boys, was a renowned orator and politically ambitious in East Tennessee. He attended Congress twice.\nDr. Alexander N. Harris became a member of President Johnson's administration, having been appointed Indian Commissioner by him. A strong speaker with a lurking ambition to participate in politics at times, Harris and his brothers conferred and promised each other what boys close in kinship and hoping to do something in life would. The youngest Taylor boy eventually took the lead of all. He ran for Congress at a time when his district had a majority against his party of over six thousand votes. He was elected and served his term. In the second race, he was defeated, but a Democratic administration being in power at the time, he was given the office of Pension Commissioner in Knoxville. After this, he ran for Governor of Tennessee and was elected, serving three different terms as Governor and then ran for higher office.\nFor United States Senator against E.W. Carmack was elected, and died in office. The other Taylor boy went to Congress several times from his district and was finally elected Governor of Tennessee, serving one term. The Harris boy, having served in the Confederate Army, was driven out of Tennessee at the end of the Civil War. He went to Georgia and engaged in business there, having graduated with first honors at the University of Georgia at Athens. He served in the Legislature as Representative and Senator, became Judge of the Circuit in which he resided, and was elected Governor of the State of Georgia, serving one term.\n\nAUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\nWhile Harris was serving as Governor, one of his friends from his youth, Dr. Eugene E. Hunter, died. Alfred Taylor was present at his funeral, and so was Mr. Harris. They met in the yard and Mr. Taylor.\nMr. Taylor told Mr. Harris, \"Now that you have been elected Governor of Georgia, I think I may admit that I was named after your father.\" Mr. Harris had known this but was unaware that Mr. Taylor had not admitted it. When Mr. Taylor became Governor of Tennessee, Mr. Harris wrote him, \"Now that you have been elected Governor of Tennessee, I think I may admit that I was named after your father.\" These three cousins were never mentioned together, yet there had always been the closest intimacy between the boys. When Robert ran for Congress for the first time, he had no money of his own to cover his expenses and no friends from whom he could borrow. His Georgia kinsman sent him a contribution to help him get to his appointments and then wrote to his brother, David Harris, asking him to do the same.\nRobert went to the first appointment to see if his cousin Bob had a chance of being elected against Mr. Pettibone, the former District Attorney, in Sullivan County. The meeting took place in Bristol. At this meeting, an episode occurred that made Taylor famous throughout the country.\n\nMr. Pettibone did not notice Robert in the opening of his speech. However, as he concluded, he asked, \"And whom have the Democrats nominated against me in this race? A young man whose fame had not gone beyond his own militia district, who had never made a public speech except perhaps at some school exhibition, and his only acquisition was the skill to play a fiddle at some shake-down on Saturday night.\"\n\nWith this, he closed. Robert came forward, looking awkward, his body slightly disheveled.\n\"Yes, fellow citizens, we love music in this country. We cannot help it. We hear it in the rush of our mountain streams, in the rustle of the leaves on the trees, in the songs of the birds, in the winds that sweep through our mountains. All alike, purling brook and rustling leaves and sighing winds, making one great musical diapason, rising on the air until it approaches the throne of the Eternal above us. Then he depicted the carpetbagger, the man who had come to our country to make a living off its miseries, to gather riches from its sufferings, in order to carry them out to some far away state to enjoy.\"\n\"Fellow citizens, take your choice. It is the fiddle or the carpet-bag,\" he said. Mr. Pettibone was from Michigan. The brother wrote the Georgia boy that Robert had laid out his opponent completely. The old men and young men who stood around the stand shed tears as they clapped their hands and heard the wonderful speech that the Democratic champion had made. The Georgia boy concluded that the money he sent to his kinsman was well placed. Some time it may be shown that it was well these three boys separated. There was not room enough in Tennessee for the realization of their personal ambitions. They would have been in each other\u2019s way.\n\nWhen Governor Bob Taylor ran for election the third time, his opponent was James A. Harris, of Jonesboro, a first cousin of mine. Harris had been Comptroller of Tennessee for several years and had\n\n(No further text provided)\nThree boys, including the one who made a reputation for himself, were accustomed to following in the footsteps of their uncle, Landon C. Haynes, in their earlier days. They learned some of his finest productions by heart and often quoted his speech delivered at a great bar meeting in Mississippi following the Civil War.\n\nColonel Haynes was a Confederate States Senator during the Civil War. After the war, he moved to Memphis as his surroundings, as well as those of other Southerners, were not pleasant in East Tennessee. He became a candidate for Congress in the Memphis District, but was defeated. Afterwards, when the Democrats regained power, Haynes was appointed Collector of the Port of Memphis. He served in this position until his death in 1875.\nThe democratic ascendancy was established in Tennessee, and he aspired to fill the position of Senator in the United States Congress. The Legislature elected the Senator at that time, around 1875, and a canvass was made on his behalf. Almost everything had changed in Tennessee, and it was developed following the canvass that at least two-thirds of the Legislature had pledged themselves to elect Haynes to the position.\n\nAbout this time, President Johnson determined to become a candidate for the Senate \"in order to pay back,\" as he was accustomed to say, the harsh treatment he had received at the hands of General Grant, who was then in office.\n\nThe story goes as follows:\n\nMr. Johnson approached Mr. Haynes and said:\n\n\"Colonel Haynes, I came to your aid when you needed it worse than you will ever need anything again. I will support your election to the Senate.\"\nI. Haynes gave you a pardon, restoring your citizenship. I wish the position of Senator, and I ask you to retire from the race in my favor. Ingratitude was never a fault of Landon C. Haynes. He told Mr. Johnson he could not resist such an appeal, retired from the race, and asked his friends to support the ex-President. This was done, and Mr. Johnson was elected Senator. Mr. Haynes did not live long after this disappointment. It was said in the family that his heart was broken by the sacrifice he felt compelled to make on behalf of one who had rescued him from the doom the people intended to bring upon him. Johnson's service was also of short duration.\n\nI have finished the task undertaken without thought and ended without gratification. Much of the work should never have been written.\nI have struck out and discarded much of this text that should not be included. It wearies me to read it over. Though it was a part of myself as I wrote it, my own life running into it, now that it is finished, I see how uninteresting it will prove and how little good it can accomplish for others. It is too intensely personal.\n\nI have tried to show the struggles of a young and friendless boy, thrown among strangers and making his own way in difficulties almost without parallel. If the story has any moral, it may show to some ambitious boy that the hardest obstacles may be conquered and the roughest road may be compassed if there is patience and a good heart to sustain the struggle.\n\nAppendix:\nI have done in my after life what I could for the people that trusted me. I have tried to set a good example, reverencing worth in men and women and.\nMy life, soon to be lost in the great sea of human existence, these memoirs extending through seventy-five years, may they serve in anyone reading them a better hope, a nobler ambition, or a purer motive for conduct and accomplishment. What's next?\n\nLife's grim tomorrow for the human heart,\nWhat burdens the future holds;\nWhat fleeting phantoms start,\nBefore yet the gathered gloom unfolds!\n\nWhere seers have gone, with dreadless hands,\nTo ring the changes on the text,\nThe soul of man now shivering stands,\nScarce daring once to ask \u2013 \u201cWhat next?\u201d\n\nBehold again, that white-haired man,\nWho comes with Christian faith to die;\nBowed low with age, and racked with pain,\nHe hails the welcome summons nigh.\n\nAbove him bends a seraph-host,\nWith heavenly light each face indexed.\nAnd from a far off shipping coast,\nFloat down the words \u2014 \u201cThis, this is next!\u201d\nAppenddix I\nVeteran Asks Voters to Vote for Harris\nSpecimen of appeals by old comrade:\n\"Lord of Hosts, be with us yet,\nLest we forget \u2014 lest we forget.\"\nSons of Confederate veterans of Atlanta and Georgia, the gallant Greeks of Athens and Sparta and those\nscattered throughout the world have not forgotten the glorious deeds of their ancestors at Marathon, Thermopylae, Salamis and Platea, though centuries have passed away. Soldiers of the Confederacy, from the heights of Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, Chickamauga and Vicksburg a half century look down upon you, and the heroes and legends of a hundred battlefields are recalled. One of \u201cour boys in gray,\u201d who handled a musket and followed \u201cthe plumes\u201d of Lee and Jackson \u2014 asks from your hands the helmet of\nThe name is Nat Harris, of Macon and Georgia. Mothers of \"Old Georgia\" and daughters of the Confederacy hold veterans of the \"C.S.A.\" in sacred loving memory. They will be with us August 19, and will select a Confederate veteran as Governor of Georgia. The writer is the only surviving member of the medical staff headquarters, Lee's Army.\n\nAppomatox - (Dr. Newton)\n\nAppraisal of a friend:\n\nTHE NEW PENSION COMMISSIONER\n(From Atlanta Journal)\nBy John T. Boifeuillet\n\nGovernor Walker has signaled the closing months of his first term by appointing former Governor Nathaniel E. Harris to the office of pension commissioner. The Governor has thus rendered an inestimable service to Confederate veterans, benefited the State, and\nThe position was adorned with one of Georgia's most prominent citizens - a Christian gentleman and ardent patriot, an exemplary figure of Southern manhood, chivalry, and fidelity. Among the bright constellation of gems and honors that adorn and enrich Nat Harris's brow, whether as Legislator, Judge, Governor, or forty-year trustee of educational institutions, I believe there is not one he values more highly than the pension commissionership. He hopes this will be the crowning opportunity for him to render his climaxing service to Confederate veterans and their dependents before he crosses over the river to \"rest under the shade of the trees.\" With this lofty desire and noble expectation, the last hero of the Confederacy to hold the Governorship of Georgia has accepted.\nNat Harris entered the Army as a youth, before manhood had replaced boyhood on his brow. He enlisted as a private in the Confederacy, shouldered a musket, and heroically marched to fight for freedom's battles, defend constitutional rights of the South, maintain state sovereignty, and uphold popular liberty principles at the foundation of home government.\n\nIn his unripened manhood, at the tender age of sixteen, Nat Harris joined the immortal Army of Northern Virginia and followed the gleaming sword of the peerless Lee, which he had drawn in splendor and righteousness. For Private Harris, the path of duty was the way to glory. His only issue was loyalty to his beloved South.\nNat Harris exhibited dauntless courage on the battlefield and heroic fortitude in enduring the hardships, privations, and sufferings of the camp. He bore himself with conspicuous bravery on the firing line, standing firm and undaunted in every conflict and danger. His lion heart never flinched and his knightly soul never quivered amid the crash of Federal artillery.\n\nAfter the curtain went down at Appomattox, Nat Harris was unfaltering in his devotion to the glorious memories of the Confederacy. His zeal for the welfare of the broken and maimed heroes of that sanctuary conflict has burned with a steady and unquenchable radiance.\n\nAs commander of Camp Macon of the Confederate Veterans, he was untiring in his labors on behalf of his comrades.\nOld comrades in arms. He was quick to hear the voice of the suffering and alert to respond to the wants of the needy. As Legislator and Governor, he worked and appealed for increased pensions for the men who wore the gray. In his inaugural message, June 26, 1915, he said: \"The time is near at hand when it would be good policy to double the pensions paid to the Confederate soldiers. Age and infirmities increase the necessities of this class of our citizens and render each one more dependent. These old heroes have earned the right to be supported by the State, and the resultant satisfaction on the part of the people with such expenditures is the proof that the patriotic sentiments of the fathers yet survive in the hearts of the sons.\"\n\nTwo Memorable Orations\nNat Harris has been a wonderful orator in his day,\nHe yet retains much of the force and power of true eloquence. In his halcyon years, he could successfully play on all the chords of human emotions. For every heart, he had a tone. His voice still has many of those deep and musical cadences which fell upon the ears of his enraptured listeners \"like waves on the shore of the far resounding sea.\"\n\nOne of his many matchless orations was a panegyric on General John B. Gordon, delivered in 1904, at Nashville, Tenn., at the general reunion of the Confederate Veterans. It was a glowing eulogy in praise of the shining valor, chivalric daring, and brilliant achievements of the \"Man of the Twelfth of May.\"\n\nThe pages of Nat Harris\u2019 eloquent address were illuminated with the splendors of the exploits of this intrepid commander.\n\nAnother oration equally as notable as this one was\nNathaniel E. Harris delivered a splendid exposition on \"The Civil War, Its Causes and Results\" at the general reunion of veterans in Louisville, Ky, in 1905. He eloquently expounded on every phase of the subject, making an invaluable contribution to the history of the most transcendent drama in American history.\n\nAuthor of Important Legislation\n\nIn the limitations of this article, I can only refer to a few outstanding features in Nathaniel E. Harris' public career. The Georgia School of Technology is a shining and towering monument to his foresight, progressiveness, and patriotism. Georgia's present leadership in industrial education is due to the wisdom, enterprise, and perception of Legislator Harris, who instituted the legislation more than forty years ago that established the Tech.\nWhen Mr. Harris represented Bibb County in the Legislature in 1884, he was the very able chairman of the finance committee and rendered most important service to Governor McDaniel in refunding the State debt. Nat Harris' action marked an epoch in the financial history of Georgia.\n\nDue to the ardent and fearless advocacy of this Christian patriot as Governor, the prohibition law of 1916, and the bone dry law of 1917, were enacted. There was no voice in Georgia that spoke more eloquently, more potentially, more frequently and more consistently in favor of the releasing of the state railroad than Governor Harris, and a lease act was passed at the extraordinary session in 1915 containing his recommendations on the subject. The formal lease of the property was executed by Governor Harris on behalf of the State of Georgia, after the whole question was settled.\nThe thorough investigation and consideration of re-leasing had been conducted and deliberated in all its phases by an able commission, with Charles Murphey Candler serving as the untiring and faithful chairman. The report was submitted to the General Assembly. The other commissioners and signers of the report were N.E. Harris, G. Gunby Jordan, E.A. Copeland, and St. Elmo Massengale, with Massengale replacing the deceased Hon. Judson L. Hand. Fuller E. Callaway was one of the originally appointed commissioners but declined the position due to heavy business pressure.\n\nAppendix\nAppendix II\n\nIt is mentioned in these reminiscences that there were ten Senators and ninety-seven Representatives of the 1915 Legislature who originated and engineered a successful revolution in\nPolitical affairs looked towards the adjournment of the Legislature without passing legislation and making the necessary appropriations to carry on the Government. The suggestion of such a course was likely due to Colonel Thomas B. Felder, whose efforts to bring about prohibition in Georgia were unmatched by anyone living in the State at the time. The movement in the Senate was led by Dr. A.S.J. Stovall of Elberton, representing the 30th District. The movement in that body did not command a majority. In the House, ninety-seven members united to secure the desired end. Regular meetings occurred mostly in the breakfast room of the Ansley Hotel. The members were held in line by earnest appeals, fervent addresses, and invincible arguments in behalf of the cause to which these men were devoting themselves.\nI have frequently said in addresses to the Legislature and the country outside that these men - the ninety-seven Representatives and the ten Senators - deserved to have their names cut on marble tablets to be placed on the corners of the Capitol, so that their memories might be kept bright for ever. I opposed the movement with all the earnestness that I could bring to bear upon it, as my message quoted in the reminiscences will show; but the time had come for a change in Georgia concerning the sale of liquor and it was determined to destroy the traffic at all hazards. The Governor in office was held responsible for the reform, and his defeat followed, as is usual. It may be interesting hereafter to read the names of these men. The Atlanta Chamber of Commerce published a list of the members of both Houses before their meeting, giving a list of their names.\nI. Short history of each man's life as far as could be obtained at that time. I have taken the liberty to append the names of the ten Senators and of the ninety-seven Representatives with the sketch given to each as they appeared in the catalog. It will be seen that, when the vote was taken, as shown on the Journal of the House, pages 1255-56, ninety-eight members voted in the affirmative. The immortal ninety-seven, therefore, gained one member before the final test came. An effort was made previous to publishing this list to secure additional facts concerning many of these men, but with very small result.\n\nAppendix:\n\nSenators:\nTwelfth District\nC. C. Tracy (P. O. Preston)\nBorn in Walker County, Ga., December 20, 1845; educated in the common schools; farmer; has been Commissioner of Roads and Revenues of Webster County; has been Justice of the Peace.\nW. J. Wren (P. O. Wrens), born in Jefferson County, Ga., October 22, 1858. Educated in the common schools of his county. Farmer, merchant and mill man. Has served in Commission of Roads and Revenues. Chairman of County Board of Education for 25 years.\n\nWilliam Terrell Harrison (P. O. Yatesville), born at Musella, Ga., Mar. 6, 1887. Educated at Young Harris College and University of Chicago. Teacher. President J. E. Johnston Institute. Methodist.\n\nW. J. Eakes (P. O. Conyers), born Forsyth County, Ga., April 9, 1869. Educated in common schools of Cumming, Ga. Cotton and fire insurance. Was cashier of Bank of Rockdale 14 years. Has served as State Bank Examiner. Chairman of Board of Commissioners of Rockdale County.\nA. S. Stovall (P. O. Elberton)\nBorn in Elbert County, September 25, 1861; educated in the common schools, at the University of Georgia at Athens, at the medical department of the state university at Augusta and at the Polyclinic, New York; physician and farmer; president of Elbert County Medical society, vice councilor of the Medical Association of Georgia; member of State Democratic Executive Committee; has served in previous legislatures. Co-author of Prohibition Legislation.\nThirty-first District\n\nThomas B. Bonner (P. O. Lavonia)\nBorn near Gaffney, S. C., March 24, 1862; educated at Furman University, Greenville, S. C.; physician; has been mayor of Hartwell; has been mayor of Lavonia; director of the Bank of Lavonia; Grand Guardian Odd Fellows; Worshipful Master Lavonia Lodge A.F.M.; president Tugaloo Sunday school convention.\nThirty-seventh District E.T. Moon (P.O. LaGrange) Born Walton County, Ga., November 14, 1867; educated at Logansville, Walton County, and University of Georgia; lawyer; was census supervisor in 1910, Appenddix for the Fourth Congressional District; was a member of the last legislature.\n\nThirty-eighth District J.J. Mangham (P.O. Bremen) Born in Upson County, Ga., July 6, 1878; educated in the common schools of Upson County; banker, farmer, cotton business and fruit grower; has been cashier Bank of Bremen 12 years; now vice president of the same bank; treasurer county board of education; mayor of Bremen.\n\nForty-second District W.M. Ransom (P.O. Menlo) Born in LaFayette, Ga., January 7, 1869; educated at Emory College and at Yellow Stone, Ala.; teacher; superintendent of Menlo schools; Methodist; has served in a previous legislature.\nForty-fourth District\nj.r. McFarland (P.O. Rossville)\nBorn in Walker County, Ga., in 1856; educated in common schools; real estate broker.\n\nAppling County\nJ.W. Johnson (P.O. Baxley)\nBacon County\nJ.H. Carter (P.O. Alma)\nBaker County\nW.J. Kidd (P.O. Milford)\nBorn at Milford, Ga., November 30, 1874; merchant, farmer and saw mill man; has been chairman of Board of Education; has served in previous legislatures.\n\nBartow County\nWarren A. Dodd (P.O. Cartersville)\nBorn at Kingston, Ga., September 1, 1858; educated in public schools of Bartow County and at North Georgia Agricultural and Mechanical College; farmer; member of Board of Education; president of the Bank of Taylorsville; Baptist; Mason.\n\nBen Hill County\nWesley R. Walker (P.O. Fitzgerald)\nBorn in Dublin, Ga., March 14, 1874; educated in rural schools.\nAb Beville, GA: Thomas R. Ayer (P.O. Macon)\nBorn in Barnwell County, SC; farmer.\n\nBibb County: H.L. Barfield (P.O. Macon)\nBorn in Crawford County, GA, March 27, 1869; educated in Bibb County public schools and Mercer University; wholesale grocer; interested in improved land title law.\n\nBibb County:\n\nBleckley County: T.D. Walker, Sr. (P.O. Cochran)\n\nAppen:\n\nBrooks County: A.J. Hodges (P.O. Morven)\n\nBulloch County: Fred T. Lanier (P.O. Statesboro)\nBorn Statesboro, GA, August 6, 1877; educated University of Georgia; lawyer; Solicitor of City Court of Statesboro for eight years.\n\nBulloch County: J.W. Wright (P.O. Ivanhoe)\nBorn in Bulloch County.\n1850; Farmer, has been Justice of the Peace for seven years.\nBurke County\nE. V. Heath (P. O. Waynesboro)\nBorn at Girard, Ga., February 9, 1889; educated at Emory College and the University of Georgia; lawyer; is a Mason and an Elk; has served in a previous legislature.\nButts County\nC. A. Towles (P. O. Cork)\nBorn at Cork, Ga., March 9, 1865; farmer.\nCamden County\nA. J. Liles (P. O. White Oak)\nBorn Wayne County, Ga., December 22, 1849; educated in the county schools; farmer; member of county board of education fourteen years.\nCarroll County\nI. H. P. Beck (P. O. Bowden)\nBorn in Heard County, Ga., February 17, 1862; educated in the public schools; dealer in fertilizers and cotton; taught school for 23 years; has served in a previous legislature.\nCarroll County\nL. Z. Dorsett (P. O. Carrollton)\nBorn in Douglas County, April 22, 1864; educated.\nCommon schools of Douglas County and Bowdon College in Carroll County; lawyer. Has been city attorney, recorder and mayor of Douglasville; Baptist.\n\nCharlton County\nT. L. Pickren (P. O. Folkston)\nBorn in Coffee County, educated in the common schools of the county and Hawkinsville High School; farmer, merchant and manufacturer; has been mayor of Folkston; has been judge of county court of Charlton County; is president of the County Board of Education.\n\nChattahoochee County\nG. G. Gordy (P. O. Cusseta)\nChattooga County\nT. J. Worsham (P. O. Holland)\nBorn Crawford County, Ga., March 1, 1847; educated in the public schools; farmer; has been sheriff and Justice of the Peace in his county.\n\nCherokee County\nJ. N. Simpson (P. O. Holly Springs)\nBorn Edgefield County, South Carolina; educated in the common schools of Cherokee County; farmer; has been justice of the peace.\nAppendix\n\nZach Arnold (P. O. Fort Gaines, Clay County)\nBorn in Henry County, Ga., January 5, 1889; educated at Gordon Institute, Young Harris College and Atlanta Law School; lawyer; was captain of Company M, Fifth Infantry, National Guard of Georgia; Methodist.\n\nR. W. C. Green (P. O. Forest Park, Clayton County)\nBorn in Clayton County, educated in the common schools and medical school of Atlanta; physician and farmer; Mason, Odd Fellow; Red Man and member of the Junior Order.\n\nR. G. Dickerson (P. O. Homerville, Clinch County)\nBorn in Clinch County, October 27, 1870; educated in the public schools of Clinch County and at the Florida Normal School; lawyer, banker, stock and naval stores; president of the Bank of Homerville; has served as treasurer and solicitor of the county court of his county.\nRobert L. Shipp (P. O. Moultrie)\nBorn in Chattahoochee county, August 12, 1872. Educated in the public schools of Cusseta and Americus and at Alabama Polytechnic College at Auburn, Alabama. Lawyer and farmer. Has been mayor of Moultrie. Has been judge of the City Court of Moultrie. Has served in previous legislatures.\n\nI. V. Ballard (P. O. Harlem)\nBorn at Abingdon, Virginia, June 14, 1873. Educated at Emory and Henry College, Washington and Lee University and the University of Mississippi. Lawyer. Director of the Newman Banking Co. Methodist. Has served in a previous legislature.\n\nGarland M. Jones (P. O. Newnan)\nBorn at Abingdon, Virginia, June 14, 1873. Educated at Emory and Henry College, Washington and Lee University and the University of Mississippi. Lawyer. Has served in a previous legislature.\n(P.  O.  Newnan) \nBorn  at  Newnan,  March  3, \n1856;  educated  at  Newnan \nschools,  the  University  of \nGeorgia  and  in  Baltimore, \nMaryland;  is  farmer,  merchant \nand  banker;  has  been  member \nNewnan  city  council;  has  been \nchairman  of  Board  of  Coweta \nCounty  Commissioners;  has \nserved  in  previous  legislatures. \nCrisp  County \nW.  H.  DORRIS \n( P.  O.  Cordele) \nDade  County \nM.  G.  SMITH \n(P.  O.  Trenton) \nBorn  in  DeKalb  County, \nAPPENDIX \nAla.,  March  27,  1889;  educated \nat  Springville,  Ala.,  and  Knox\u00ac \nville,  Tenn.;  lawyer;  has  been \nclerk  of  Dade  County  Superior \ncourt. \nDawson  County \nJ.  B.  MATTHEWS \n(P.  O.  Dawsonville) \nBorn  in  Dawson  County, \nApril  7,  868;  educated  in  Daw\u00ac \nson  County  schools;  farmer \nand  merchant;  Methodist;  Ma\u00ac \nson. \nDecatur  County \nA.  B.  CONGER \n(P.  O.  Bainbridge) \nBorn  Ty  Ty,  Ga.,  July  14, \n1886;  educated  Mercer  Univer\u00ac \nsity;  lawyer;  was  president  of \nhis  class  at  college;  secretary \nCounty Board of Education, DeKalb County\nR. Frank Smith (P. O. Decatur)\nBorn in DeKalb County, 1873; educated at Perry-Rainey College, Auburn, Ga., and State Normal School at Athens; farmer; was teacher for several years and for five years was connected with the State Department of Agriculture; is a member of the Farmers\u2019 Union; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nL. J. Steele (P. O. Decatur), Dodge County\nJ. L. Cravey (P. O. Eastman), Douglas County\nW. I. Dorris (P. O. Douglasville)\nBorn in Douglas County, December 16, 1867; farmer, merchant, saw mill and cotton gin man; is a Mason, a Knight of Pythias, an Odd Fellow and a Methodist; has served in a previous legislature; is a director of the Douglasville Banking Co.\n\nJ. W. Reiser\nBorn in Springfield, Ga., May 30, 1855; educated in Effingham Academy; has been member of the following: County Board of Education, DeKalb County, Georgia, 1914.\n\nR. Frank Smith - DeKalb County: Born in DeKalb County, 1873; educated at Perry-Rainey College, Auburn, Ga., and State Normal School at Athens; farmer; was teacher for several years and for five years was connected with the State Department of Agriculture; is a member of the Farmers\u2019 Union; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nL. J. Steele - Dodge County: Born in Dodge County, December 16, 1867; farmer, merchant, saw mill and cotton gin man; is a Mason, a Knight of Pythias, an Odd Fellow and a Methodist; has served in a previous legislature; is a director of the Douglasville Banking Co.\n\nW. I. Dorris - Douglas County: Born in Douglas County, May 30, 1855; educated in Effingham Academy; has been farmer, merchant, saw mill and cotton gin man; is a Mason, a Knight of Pythias, an Odd Fellow and a Methodist; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nJ. W. Reiser: Born in Springfield, Ga., May 30, 1855; educated in Effingham Academy; has been member of the County Board of Education, DeKalb County, Georgia, since 1914.\nW. J. Mathews (P. O. Elberton)\nBorn in Pike County, Ga., January 9, 1868. Educated in high schools of Pike County and Atlanta Medical College. Physician. Member of Elberton city council. County physician of Elbert County Medical Society. President Medical Society of Eighth Congressional District, Elbert County.\n\nT. M. McLanaham (Pi O. Elberton)\nBorn in Elberton, Ga.\n\nW. M. Atkinson\n\nCharles Davenport\nRedwin (P. O. Fayetteville)\nBorn in Fayette County, September 10, 1885. Educated in county schools and Fayetteville.\nVille High School; farmer, manufacturer, and cashier of Farmers and Merchants Bank of Fayetteville; has been mayor of Fayetteville; served in previous legislatures. Forsyth County\nW. P. Sloan (P. O. Cumming)\nGilmer County\nAlbert H. Burtz (P. O. Ellijay)\nBorn in Cobb County, Ga., October 6, 1879; educated at Reinhardt College and University of Georgia; lawyer; alderman and mayor of Ellijay; Odd Fellow and Red Man; served in previous legislature.\nGlascock County\nW. D. Allen (P. O. Mitchell)\nBorn in Glascock County, March 31, 1862; farmer; member of Board of Education of his county; Methodist and Odd Fellow; member of Farmers\u2019 Union.\nGrady County\nW. D. Barber (P. O. Cairo)\nBorn near Camilla, Ga., April 10, 1863; educated in Cairo public schools; farmer and dealer in live stock; member of Farmers\u2019 Alliance.\nmember of Farmers\u2019 Union; Mason, Knight of Pythias and Odd Fellow.\n\nC. C. KING (P. O. White Plains)\nBorn Habersham County, Ga., October 2, 1861; educated in North Georgia Agricultural College at Dahlonega and Atlanta Medical College; physician and druggist; member of Board of Education of Dawson Institute; vice president of Bank of White Plains.\n\nA. A. JOHNSON (P. O. Norcross)\nBorn Yellow River, Ga., March 18, 1858; educated in common schools; merchant and banker; has been mayor of Norcross; president of Bank of Norcross.\n\nVANCE PERKINS (P. O. Mt. Airy)\nBorn at Mt. Airy in 1876; educated at Mt. Airy; farmer and banker.\n\nHall County\nRICHARD MARTIN (P. O. Lula)\nBorn in Hall County, January 2, 1842; educated in Hall County; merchant and real estate dealer; president Enon Association Sunday School.\nConvention for eight years, moderator Enon Association.\nHaralson County\nJ. S. EDWARDS (P. O. Buchanan)\nBorn in Paulding County, Georgia,\neducated at Buchanan, Georgia, and Harrisonburg, Va.; lawyer and minister of the Gospel; has been mayor of Buchanan three times.\nHarris County\nC. I. HUDSON (P. O. Cataula)\nHeard County\nO. A. MOORE (P. O. Texas)\nHouston County\nS. A. NUNN (P. O. Perry)\nBorn at Perry, Ga., September 30, 1888; educated at Perry High School and Atlanta Law School; lawyer; president of South Georgia Conference Epworth League.\nJasper County\nWILLIAM H. KEY (P. O. Gladesville)\nBorn at Monticello, Ga.; educated at normal school and University of Georgia; lawyer; formerly a teacher; has been mayor of town of Graham.\nJeff Davis County\nHENRY G. MOORE (P. O. Hazlehurst)\nBorn in Fannin County, Ga., June 1, 1867; educated in Georgia.\nJames K. Wrens (Fannin County, GA)\nBorn February 11, 1869, in Jefferson County; educated at Statenville and Louisville, GA; farmer and insurance agent; Methodist; Mason; member of Hazlehurst Board of Education; served in a previous legislature.\n\nA.S. Anderson (Millen, Jenkins County, GA)\nBorn April 21, 1889, in Screven County, GA; educated in common schools and at Mercer University; lawyer; recorder of Sylvania; Justice of the Peace; judge of county court of Jenkins County; judge of city court of Milton; postmaster of Miller; president of Georgia Presidential Postmasters Association; editor Millen News; Methodist.\n\nW.B. Coleman (Dexter, Laurens County, GA)\nFarmer; served as justice of the peace.\nGeorge B. Davis (P. O. Dublin)\nBorn March 19, 1881, in Montgomery County; educated in common schools and at Mercer University; lawyer; served four years as Solicitor of City Court of Dublin.\n\nW. H. Lunsford (P. O. Smithville)\nBorn April 2, 1857, in Marion County, Ga.; educated in country schools of Webster county; merchant; member of Board of Education of Lee County.\n\nB. B. Brooks (P. O. Montezuma)\nBorn August 1, 1872, in Macon County, Au.; educated in the common schools of the county; dentist.\n\nAppendix\n\nJ. N. B. Thompson (P. O. Colbert)\nBorn November 3, 1861, in Madison County, Ga.; educated in the common schools of his county; farmer; has served as a member and president of his County Board of Education; has been member of Farmers Alliance and Farmers\u2019 Union; has served in a previous legislature.\nJ. P. Hogg (P. O. Buena Vista), Marion County\nJ. Glenn Stovall (P. O. Thomson), McDuffie County\nLawyer; Mason; Baptist; served in previous legislature\n\nN. F. Culpepper (P. O. Greenville), Meriwether County\nBorn in Meriwether County, September 16, 1867; educated at Emory College; lawyer and farmer; solicitor of city court of Greenville; member of County Board of Education; chairman of Board of Trustees of Greenville school district; chairman of Democratic Executive Committee of Meriwether county; served in a previous legislature\n\nBion Williams (P. O. Woodbury), Meriwether County\nBorn near Warm Springs, Ga., in 1868; educated at Woodbury High School, Emory College and University of Georgia; farmer and merchant; mayor of Woodbury several times; chairman of Board of Trustees of Woodbury High School\nP.D. RICH (P.O. Colquitt) \u2013 Miller County\nBorn September 22, 1879, in Decatur County, GA. Educated in Decatur county. Lawyer. Solicitor of city court of Miller county. Mayor of Colquitt. President of Colquitt National Bank.\n\nWalter L. Bell \u2013 Milton County\nBorn January 29, 1865, in Milton County. Educated in common schools and Emory College. Farmer. Trustee of Ninth District Agricultural School. Served in previous legislatures.\n\nJohn M. Spence (P.O. Camilla) \u2013 Mitchell County\nBorn August 17, 1870, at Camilla. Educated at Camilla High School and Military College at Milledgeville. Physician. Mayor of Camilla. County physician. School trustee of Camilla.\n\nC.M. Taylor (P.O. Smarrs) \u2013 Monroe County\nBorn February 16, 1857, at Smarrs. Educated at Emory College. Farmer and trader. Steward in Methodist church. Served in previous legislatures.\nMurray County:\nEugene H. Beck (P.O. Eton)\nBorn in Murray County, July 13, 1850. Educated in the common schools of Georgia and at Wesleyan College. Teacher. County school commissioner of Lumpkin County. Has served in previous legislatures as representative of Brooks and Lumpkin counties. Assisted in the establishment of the Georgia School of Technology and the South Georgia Agricultural and Normal College at Valdosta. Has been professor at Homer College, Louisiana. Now principal of Eton Training School. Trustee of the South Georgia Agricultural and North Georgia Agricultural Colleges. Has been professor at Homer College, Louisiana. Principal of Eton Training School. Trustee of South Georgia Agricultural and Normal College. Mason. Odd Fellow.\n\nNewton County:\nR.W. Campbell (P.O. Mansfield)\nPaulding County.\nJ. B. Baggett (P. O. Hiram)\nBorn in Douglas County, 1859. Educated in common schools of Paulding County. Farmer. Has been member of County Board of Education and Justice of the Peace. For 12 years was postmaster at Hay, Ga.\n\nL. S. Ledbetter (P. O. Cedartown)\nBorn at McDonough, Ga. Educated in the public schools. Farmer and insurance agent. Has been treasurer, alderman, recorder and mayor of Cedar-town. Knight of Honor, member of Royal Arcanum, Knight of Pythias and Odd Fellow. Methodist. Was delegate to General Methodist Conference in Baltimore in 1898. Has served in a previous legislature.\n\nPolk County\nWilliam Chancey (P. O. Hawkinsville)\nQuitman County\nT. W. Oliver (P. O. Georgetown)\nFarmer, Beaver, Woodman of the World. Baptist. Has served in a previous legislature.\n\nRandolph County\nW. S. Short (P. O. Shellman)\nBorn in Marion County.\nGa. March 11, 1875; educated at Shellman Institute. Merchant and farmer; has been mayor of Shellman.\n\nRichmond County\nJ. B. Beall (P. O. Blythe)\nBorn Schley County, October 7, 1875; educated in rural schools, Andrew Chapel Appen\u1e0dix High School and Bethel Male College at Cuthbert; farmer and teacher; is a Methodist and Knight of Pythias; was president of Farmers\u2019 Union of Schley County.\n\nSchley County\nR. J. Perry\nBorn Schley County, October 7, 1875; educated in rural schools, Andrew Chapel Appen\u1e0dix High School and Bethel Male College at Cuthbert; farmer and teacher; is a Methodist and Knight of Pythias.\n\nScreven County\nJ. H. Evans (P. O. Sylvania)\nBanker; has been member of County Board of Education; Mason; Baptist; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nStephens County\nD. H. Collier (P. O. Toccoa)\nBorn Habersham County, Stewart County; educated in common schools and Cottonhill Academy in Clay county; farmer; has been justice of the peace; is a member of the\n\nW. S. Boyett (P. O. Lumpkin)\nBorn Pulaski County, Ga., September 22, 1845; educated in common schools and Cottonhill Academy in Clay county; farmer; has been justice of the peace.\nCounty Board of Education:\nServed four years in the Confederate army; Baptist; Mason; served in a previous legislature.\n\nSumter County\nJ. E. Sheppard\n(P. O. Americus)\nLawyer; president State Camp, Patriotic Order Sons of America; Mason; Baptist; served in previous legislatures.\n\nTelfair County\nMatt Cook\n(P. O. Lumber City)\nBorn Coffee County in 1859; educated in common schools of said county; merchant and farmer; has been member of council and mayor of Lumber City; member of school board; twice before a member of the Georgia Legislature.\n\nTerrell County\nM. J. Yeomans\n(P. O. Dawson)\nBorn in Tattnall County, Ga., March 17, 1866; educated at the University of Georgia and Vanderbilt University; was teacher for many years; is now a lawyer; has been Solicitor of the City Court of Dawson; has been vice chairman and chairman of the State Democratic Party.\nJ. A. Bowers (CP. O. Meigs)\nBorn in Bibb County, Ga., July 6, 1876. Educated in Dodge county. Banker, manufacturer and farmer. President of Baker County bank. City councilman of Moultrie. County commissioner of Baker county. Congressional Committeeman from Thomas county. Chairman of Board of Education of Meigs. Methodist.\n\nH. W. Hopkins (P. O. Thomasville)\nBorn Waverly, Ga., January 3, 1856. Educated in private schools and in the office of Judge John L. Hopkins of Atlanta. Lawyer and real estate man. Mayor of Thomasville nine times. County solicitor and judge. Served fourteen years in legislature, both in the House and the Senate. President pro tempore of the Senate. Author of\nThe Constitutional amendment for the election of judges and solicitors by the people.\n\nRobert A. Smith\nToombs County\nBorn near Lyons, December 1, 1867; educated in rural schools; farmer and lumberman.\n\nJ.M. Rice\nTowns County\nBorn Monroe, in 1859; educated at Monroe high school and University of Georgia; lawyer; has been mayor of Monroe; has been clerk of the Superior Court of Walton county; has been judge of the county court of Walton county; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nH.H. Lane\nTroup County\nBorn at Mountvile, P.O., December 1, 1867; educated in rural schools; farmer.\n\nBen J. Edwards\nWalton County\nBorn at Monroe, in 1859; educated at Monroe high school and University of Georgia; lawyer; has been mayor of Monroe; has been clerk of the Superior Court of Walton county; has been judge of the county court of Walton county; has served in a previous legislature.\n\nL.J. Cooper\nWare County\nBorn Cool Spring, S.C., December 1, 1871; educated at Mullins Academy, Mullins, S.C.; banker; president of First National Bank of Waycross; was a member of city council in Tampa, Fla., moving to Waycross.\nGeorgia, born in DeSoto county, Miss., was a delegate to the National Democratic Convention in Baltimore in 1912; a strong supporter of the tax equalization bill in the last legislature.\n\nP.G. Veazey (P.O. Gibson)\nWarren County\nBorn in Warren County, Ga.; educated in its schools; is a farmer and minister of the Gospel; a Baptist; was jury reviser for six years; has been administrator of several estates; is a member of Farmers\u2019 Union.\n\nWheeler County\nJ.D. Brown (P.O. Alamo)\nWhite County\nJohn B. King (P.O. Leaf)\nBorn in Habersham County, 1859; educated in its common and high schools; farmer; was justice of the peace in Habersham county 12 years; is chairman of the Board of Education of White county; Baptist; was a member of the Farmers\u2019 Alliance and president of the Farmers\u2019 Union of White county.\n\nWilcox County\nC.D. McRae (P.O. Rochelle)\nPhysician and farmer.\nA.S. Anderson, born Wilkes County, September 7, 1855. Educated Mercers University. Merchant and farmer. Has been member Board of Commissioners of Roads and Revenues of his county; also served on County Board of Education.\n\nWilkinson County: W.A. Jones, born (P.O. Gordon). Farmer, banker, physician, Mason. Has served in previous legislature.\n\nWorth County: G.S. Summer, born (P.O. Shingler). Physician, farmer, banker, vice president Farmers and Merchants Bank of Sylvester. Mason.\n\nAPPENDIX III\n\nList of Appointments Made by N.E. Harris\n\nPrice Gilbert, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court.\nO.H.B. Bloodworth, Judge of the Court of Appeals.\nRobert Hodges, Judge of the Court of Appeals.\nD.W. Krauss, Judge City Court Brunswick.\nHenry S. West, Judge City Court Athens, July 6, 1915.\nS. C. Upson, Solicitor, City Court, Athens, July 6, 1915.\nLt. Col. Frederick R. Jones, Aide de Camp and Military Secretary, July 1, 1915.\nJoel Cloud, Judge, City Court, Lexington, July 8, 1915.\nMiles W. Lewis, Solicitor, City Court, Greensboro, July [missing year].\nW. T. Dickerson, Solicitor, City Court, Clinch County.\nC. S. Roberts, Atlanta, to define line between Candler, Tattnall and Emanuel, July [missing year].\nB. W. Turnipseed, Judge, City Court, Fort Gaines, July 19, 1915.\nP. C. King, Solicitor, City Court, Fort Gaines, July 19, 1915.\nMrs. W. H. Felton, Member, Board of Managers, Ga. Training School for Girls, July 19, 1915.\nRev. M. Ashby Jones, D.D., Augusta, Tr. School for George F. Gober, Marietta; Tr. University of Georgia.\n\nAppointments\nJohn W. Bennett, Waycross, Tr. University of Georgia.\nBowdre Phinizy, Augusta, Tr. Univ. of Ga., 10th Dist., July [missing year].\nHugh J. Rowe, Athens, Tr.\nUniv. of Ga, City of Athens, Howard Thompson, Gainesville, Tr. Univ. of Ga, 9th G.R. Glenn, Dahlonega, State Board of Education, July 27, T.J. Woofter, Dahlonega, State Board of Education, B.E. Thrasher, Judge County Court Oconee, Aug. 4, 1915, Andrew J. Cobb, Athens, Tr. Univ. of Ga, 8th Dist., Aug. George Foster Peabody, N. Y., Tr. Univ. of Ga, Aug. 5, Milton C. Barwick, Judge City Court of Louisville, Aug. 10, John R. Phillips, Solicitor City Court of Louisville, Aug. 10, H.W. Nelson, Sol. Co. Court, G.E. Maddox, Rome, Tr. Univ. of Georgia, 7th Dist., Charles S. Arnow, St. Marys, State Com. Game and Fish, J.R. McFarland, Rossville, Bd. of Visitors, Ga. School, A.A. Lawrence, Savannah, Bd. of Visitors, Ga. School, J.F. Holden, Crawfordville, Bd. of Visitors, Ga. School, E.H. Griffin, Bainbridge, Bd. of Visitors, Ga. School.\nM. J. Yeomans, Dawson, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for G. M. Jones, Newnan, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for L. J. Steele, Decatur, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for T. R. Ayer, Macon, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for L. C. Brown, Athens, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for L. Roberts, Gainesville, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for J. P. Knight, Nashville, Board of Visitors, Ga. School for T. D. Walker, Sr., Cochran, Board of Visitors, Ga. School\nJ. K. Hines, Atlanta, Attorney, R. R. Commission, Aug. 28, Dr. F. F. Jones, Macon, Ost. School, State Bd.\nDr. F. M. Ridley, LaGrange, Regular School, State Bd.\nDr. A. F'. White, Flovilla, Eel. School, State Bd. Med. Ex.\n\nDr. R. E. Hinman, Atlanta, Horn. School, State Bd. Med.\nS. H. Titshaw, Lyons, 1st Dist. School, Med. Dept. U.\nR. W. Wimberly, Ft. Gaines, 2nd Dist. School, Med. Dept.\nW. J. Ford, Sylvester, 2nd Dist. School, Med. Dept. U.\nDr. W. E. Thomason, Texas, 4th Dist. School Med. Dept., R. T. Park, Newnan, 4th Dist. School Med. Dept., University of Lee Reeves, Carrollton, 4th Dist. School Med. Dept., University H. S. Cantrell, Cornelia, 9th Dist. School Med. Dept., University H. C. Chilson, Alpharetta, 9th Dist. School Med. Dept., University Lamar Harris, Wrightsville, 11th Dist. School Med. Dept. J. Houston Johnston, Atlanta, Miss Jane Van DeVrede, Savannah, State Bd. Exam. Tr. Miss Bertha E. Whatley, Augusta, State Bd. Exam. Tr. L. B. Hunt, Macon, State Bd. Barber Exam, Oct. 1, 1915 J. E. McGee, Dahlonega, Tr. N. Ga. Agricul. College, Oct. J. H. Oliphant, Augusta, Bd. E. L. Murray, Americus, State Bd. of Pharmacy, Nov. 14 Clarence T. Guyton, Guyton, Sol. City Court of Springfield H. A. Adams, Elberton, Tr.\nJ. C. Williams, Director, 8th District Agricultural College, Greensboro\nL. F. McClelland, Atlanta, Director, State Medical College\nT. O. Hathcock, Atlanta, Judge, Municipal Court, Dec. 1\nBell & Ellis, Atlanta, Collectors Near Beer Taxes\nAlbert Goette, Savannah, Board of Embalmers, Dec. 8, 1915\nGeo. Ogden Persons, Forsyth, Representative of the Governor at General Governors\u2019 meeting, Charleston, Dec. 9\nT. R. Isbell, Toccoa, Registrar, City of Toccoa, Dec. 28\nCharles J. Metz, Atlanta, Auditor, State Departments\nRichard Johnson, Gray, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium\nH. H. Dean, Gainesville, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium\nDr. Thos. R. Wright, Augusta, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium\nP. H. Gambrell, Macon, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium, Dec. 6\nE. E. Lindsey, Rome, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium, Dec. 6\nJohn T. Brantley, Blackshear, Trustee, Georgia State Sanitarium\nDr. J. C. Jarnagin, Warren, Tr. Ga. State Sanitarium, Henry Banks, LaGrange, Tr. Ga. State Sanitarium, Dec. C. C. Brantley, Valdosta, Tr. Ga. State Sanitarium, Dec. A. C. Newell, Atlanta, Tr. Ga. State Sanitarium, Dec. 6 Wilkie C. Brown, Savannah, Near Beer Tax Collector, Dr. L. G. Hardman, Commerce, Dir. Ga. Exper. Sta., A. S. Chamblee, Bartow, Dir. Ga. Exper. Sta., 10th Dist., J. J. Brown, Bowman, Committee of 15 on Preparedness, John D. Walker, Sparta, Committee of 15 on Preparedness, Mell R. Wilkinson, Atlanta, Committee of 15 on Preparation, Sami. M. Jackson, Savannah, Committee of 15 on Preparation, John A. Brice, Atlanta, Committee of 15 on Preparedness, R. L. Carithers, Winder, Committee of 15 on Preparation, F. S. Etheridge, Jackson, Committee of 15 on Preparation, Rev. B. D. Gray, Atlanta, Committee of 15 on Preparedness, Dec. 1, 1915.\nChas. A. Barrett, Union City, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nJas. D. Price, Atlanta, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nR. N. Randolph, Atlanta, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nS. T. Blalock, Fayetteville, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nJ. N. King, Rome, Committee on Preparedness, Dec.\nJ. Rice Smith, Augusta, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nT. F. Johnson, Jefferson, Committee of 15 on Preparation\nW. H. Davis, Waynesboro, Director G. N. I. C., Jan. 6\nZ. H Clark, Moultrie, Director\nRev. Rutherford E. Douglas, Macon, Tr. Ga. School for the Deaf\n\nAppenndix:\nDr. W. H. Doughty, Jr., Augusta, State Bd. of Health, Jan. 17\nDr. J. D. Weaver, Eatonton, State Bd. of Health, Jan. 17\nCapt. F. D. Bloodworth, Savannah, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Hospital\nCapt. Chas. P. Hansell, Thomasville, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Hospital\nGen. H. T. Davenport, Americans, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home\nJudge J. F. C. Williams, Hampton.\nI.ton, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home,\nFrank M. Myers, Atlanta, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nCol. C. M. Wiley, Macon, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nR. D. T. Lawrence, Marietta, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nJudge Fred Foster, Madison, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nCapt. H. W. Bell, Jefferson, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nMaj. C. E. McGregor, Warrenton, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home,\nJudge J. L. Sweat, Waycross, Tr. Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home, Jan. 27,\nJ. C. C. Black, Jr., Augusta, Judge C. C. Richmond, Augusta,\nWm. Inman Curry, Augusta, Sol. C. C. Richmond, Augusta,\nT. D. Howard, Milledgeville, Sol. Co. Court Baldwin, Feb.,\nJos. N. Worley, Elberton, Judge S. C. Northern,\nWalter C. Bryan, Douglas, Judge C. C. of Douglas, Mar.,\nWm. T. Anderson, Macon, Trustee 6th Dist. A. &. M.,\nFred Lewis, Atlanta, Delegate Conference on National Strength and Efficiency,\nW. B. Hunter, Cornelia, Delegate\nL. W. Robert, Atlanta, Survey and fix line between Bulloch and Evans Counties\nRev. G. A. Nunnally, D.D., Rome, Board of Visitors U. Ga.\nCol. O. R. Horton, Milledgeville, Board of Visitors U. Ga.\nMay Prof. W. S. Sewell, Tennille, Board of Visitors U. Ga.\nMay Prof. Paul R. Anderson, Blakely, Board of Visitors U. Ga.\nE. H. Hanby, Cuthbert, Board of Visitors U. Ga.\nMay Capt. Jno. P. Webb, Gwinnett, Trustee Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home\n\nAppointments\nDupont Guerry, Macon, Judge City Court Macon, June 2\nE. S. Griffith, Buchanan, Audit Inspector in re Tenn.\nC. C. Anderson, Macon, Survey dividing line between Pulaski, Houston, and Pulaski and Blakely, June 27.\nDoyle Campbell, Jasper, Solicitor Gen. Ocmulgee Circuit, July\nEb. T. Williams, Atlanta, Solicitor Gen. Atlanta Cir., July 1.\nT. J. Brown, McDonough, Judge Co. Court Henry Co.\nPaul Turner, McDonough, Sol. County Court, Henry Co.\nWilmer L. Moore, Atlanta, Trustee Ga. Tr. School\nJudge W. H. Davis, Waynesboro, Trustee Ga. Tr. School for Girls\nMrs. Z. I. Fitzpatrick, Thomaston, Trustee Ga. Tr. School for Girls\nF. J. Ralph, Messenger Exec. Watt Harris, Milner, Sol. City Court Cartersville\nAlfred H. Crovatt, Sol. City Court Brunswick\nSt. Elmo Massengale, Del. So. Forestry Con. July 8, 1916\nJ. Fleming Bloodworth, Sol. Co. Court Wijkinsgn\nMrs. Maud Barker Cobb, State Librarian July 26, 1916\nC. F. Lanier, Millen, Scholarship Med. Dept. U. of Ga.\nMyron R. Leard, Canon, Scholarship Med. Dept U. of Ga.\nC. A. West, Warrant and Rec. Clerk, Exec. Dept.\nE. J. Bondurant, Athens, Trustee State Normal School\nW. J. Morton, Tr. State Normal School, Athens, Aug.\nA. B. Green, Fort Valley, Tr. State Normal School, Athabasca\nJ. M. Collum, Americus, Tr. State Normal School, Athabasca\nH. Y. McCord, Atlanta, Tr. State Normal School, Athabasca\nE. S. Griffith, Buchanan, Tr. State Normal School, Athabasca\nE. A. Copeland, Greensboro, Tr. State Normal School\nL. B. Evans, Augusta, Tr. State Normal School, Athabasca\nA. C. Riley, Fort Valley, Judge County Court of Houston\nRobert E. Brown, Sol. County Court of Houston County\nGeorge Gilmore, Washington Co., Tr. State Agricultural College\nAPPENDIX\nJohn W. Bennett, Ware Co., Tr. State Agricultural College\nR. C. Neely, Burke County, Tr. State Agricultural College, Augusta\nL. L. McMullan, Hart County, Tr. State Agricultural College\nLawrence McCalla, Scholarship Med. Dept. U. of Ga.\nCapt. John A. Cobb, Americus, State Bd. of Entomology\nR. C. Berckmans, Augusta, State Bd. of Entomology\nW. D. Tutt, Judge City Quarterly\nDr. D. D. Atkinson, Brunswick, State Board of Dental V. H. McMichael, 3rd Dist, Scholarship Med. Dept. U. of Ga. J. L. Pendley, Athens, State Board of Optometry Sept. 6 W. R. Wilson, Douglas, State Board of Optometry Sept. 6 Geo. B. Wood, Rome, State Board of Optometry Sept. 6 C. E. Folsom, Atlanta, State Board of Optometry Sept. 6 J. H. Spratling, Macon, State Board of Optometry Sept. 6 A. L. Miller, Edison, Judge City Court of Morgan Sept.  Clarence J. Taylor, Sol. City Court of Morgan Sept. 13 Geo. P. Munro, Buena Vista, J. S. C. Chattahoochee Cir. Dr. N. Peterson, Tifton, State Bd. Med. Exam. (Reg. Sch.) Dr. O. B. Walker, Bowman, State Bd. Med. Exam. (Elec.) S. D. Dell, Judge City Court of Hazlehurst Sept. 16 Rufus H. Baker, Dahlonega, Trustee N. Ga. Agri. Col. Delegates to Conference on Social Work at Macon, Oct. Judge H. A. Matthews, Macon.\nW. W. Tindall, Atlanta\nJ. C. Logan, Atlanta\nW. C. Vereen, Moultrie\nRobert B. McCord, Atlanta\nRev. W. N. Ainsworth, Macon\nMrs. Z. I. Fitzpatrick, Thomasville\nAgnes McKenna, Valdosta\nCeleste Parrish, Atlanta\nGeorge L. Goode, Carnesville\nJudge City Court, Carnesville\nB. A. Harper, Argyle, Judge County Court, Clinch Co.\nR. W. Jemison, Macon, Member Ga. State Bd. of Public Accounts, Oct. 9, 1916\nHarold Hirsch, Atlanta, Member Ga. State Bd. of Public Accounts, Oct. 9, 1916\nW. S. Elkin, Jr., Atlanta, Member Ga. State Bd. of Pharmacy,\nW. W. Jones, Columbus, Member Ga. State Bd. of Barber\nListon Volney Williams, Waycross, Arbitrator Tenn. Cop\nJohn W. Callahan, Bainbridge, Trustee State Agri. College\nMamie Mobley, Atlanta, State Bd. of Exam, of Nurses\nLouise Hazlehurst, Macon, State Bd. of Exam, of Nurses\nJ. L. C. Kerr, Decatur, Captain of the Guard, Oct. 30\nHon. James Beall, Carrollton, Trustee 4th Dist. A. & M.\nDr. M. C. Hardin, Atlanta, Member State Bd. of Osteopathic Exam., Nov. 9, 1916\nDr. Chas. E. Lorenz, Columbus, Member State Bd. of Osteopathic Exam., Nov. 9, 1916\nSt. Elmo Massengale, Atlanta, Commission, Nov. 11, 1916\nDr. B. C. Teasley, Hartwell, Member State Bd. of Health,\nDr. W. B. Crawford, Lincoln-John T. Boifeuillet, Macon, Railroad Commission, Nov.\nW. S. Lazenby, Harlem, Tr. 10th Dist. A. & M. School,\nH. Lester Marvil, Waycross, Mem. Ga. State Bd. of Em-\nW. A. Scott, Columbus, Mem. State Bd. Vet. Exam., Dec.\nD. A. R. Crum, Cordele, Judge Superior Court Cor.\nW. W. Bennett, Baxley, Judge City Court of Baxley, Dec.\nDr. H. J. Williams, Macon, Mem. State Bd. of Health,\nDr. A. L. Crittenden, Shellman, Mem. State Bd.\nJohn Allen, Americus, Sol. Gen., S.W. Cir.\nS.C Parkinson, Norfolk, Va., Comm. of Deeds for Ga.\nCapt. T.L. Norman, Trustee, Ga. Soldiers\u2019 Home (Dist.)\nT.R. Mann, Jacksonville, (12th Dist.) Mem. Bd. Directors, Ga. Exp. Sta., Jan. 10,\nW.D. Hiammack, Coleman-, (3rd Dist.) Mem. Bd. Directors, Ga. Exp. Sta., Jan. 10,\nWm. Anderson, Ocilla, (11th Dist.) Mem. Bd. Directors\nCraig R. Arnold, Dahlonega, Trustee 9th Dist. A. & M.\nC.L. Cowart, Sol. City Court of Reidsville, Jan. 17, 1917\n\nAppendix\n\nAndrew J. Cobb, Athens, Judge Sup. Court Western Circuit,\nH.G. Lewis, Greensboro, Judge City Court of Greensboro,\nEntering N.C. & St. L. Ry. as party proposing to Trustees State Tuberculosis Sanitarium, Feb. 12, 1917:\nDr. Craig Barrow, Savannah.\nRev: Graham, Forrester, Savannah.\nHon. W.A. Buchanan, Blakely.\nDr. W.H. Hendricks, Tifton.\nDr. C. H. Richardson, Oglethorpe: Hon. Lee G. Council, Americus: Dr. C. A. Dexter, Columbus: T. H. Persons, Talbotton: Jos. A. McCord, Atlanta: Dr. T. R. Whitley, Douglasville: Dr. M. A. Clark, Macon: M. H. Sandwick, Thomaston: S. P. Maddox, Dalton: Dr. Howard E. Felton, Cartersville: Dr. J. H. Goss, Athens: Dr. W. I. Hailey, Hartwell: Dr. Jeff Davis, Toccoa: J. N. McClure, Duluth: Dr. W. D. Jennings, Jr., Augusta: Dr. D. E. McMaster, Tennille: Dr. J. I. Prescott, Lake Park: Dr. Gordon Burns, Douglas: John S. Adams, Dublin: Dr. J. M. Nunez, Swainsboro: J. J. Brown, Bowman, Commissioner of Agriculture: Gen. Peter W. Meldrim, Savannah, Judge Sup. Ct.: E. Thos. H. Crawford, Blue Ridge, Arb. Tenn. Copper E. S. Griffith, Buchanan, Insp. Tenn. Copper Co., Feb. 21: Dr. Douglas B. Mayes, Americus, Tr. State Tuberculosis: Geo. H. Aubrey, Cartersville.\nJudge City Court, Carter's Col. Asa G. Candler, Atlanta, to attend Gov. Conf. in Washington, Mar. 1, 1917.\n\nDr. J. R. Beall, Blythe, Tr. Ga. Tuberculosis Sanitarium,\nProclamation appointing Ga. Council on Food and Agricultural mobilization:\nJ. J. Brown, Chm., Atlanta.\nH. G. Hastings, Atlanta.\nJ. H Mills, Jenkinsburg.\nJ. D. Weaver, Dawson.\nR. C. Berckmans, Augusta.\nT. M. Swift, Elberton.\nA. P. Brantley, Blackshear.\nLouis P. Marguardt, Atlanta.\nMrs. W. L. Peel, Atlanta.\nMrs. Nellie Peters Black, Atlanta.\nMrs. Eugene Heard, Middleton.\n\nProclamation on National Food and Fuel Supply and Price:\nJ. J. Brown, appointed to attend conference.\nL. B. Jaekson, appointed to attend conference by Fed. Trade Com.\n\nThe Governor, appointed to attend National Def. Conf.\nLt. Col. F. R. Jones, appointed to attend National Defense Conference, Washington, May 2, 1917. Adjutant General designated to represent Governor in supervision of military registration, May 7, 1917.\nCarl A. Edwards, Pembroke, Sol. Co. Court of Bryan Co.\nH. J. Lawrence, Baxley, Judge City Court of Baxley, May [date missing]\nClark Howell, Dixie Highway Commission, April 12, 1917.\nW. T. Anderson, Dixie Highway Commission, April 12, 1917.\nN.C. & St. L. Ry. entered as corporation leasing W. & A. R. R. Lease executed and enacted.\nW. L. Converse, Valdosta, Trustee, S. Ga. State Normal College.\nDr. K. G. Matheson, Atlanta, State Council of Defense.\nH. R. Hunt, Powder Springs, Board of Visitors, University of Ga.\nJ. W. Farmer, Augusta, Board of Visitors, University of Ga., 1917.\nA. G. Miller, Waycross, Board of Visitors, University of Ga.\nGeo. E. Usher, Adel, Board of Visitors, University of Ga., 1917.\nRalph Newton, Fort Valley, Committee to lay before National Gov. needs of people of Ga. in respect of commercial fertilizers, May 28, 1917: J. H. Hall, Macon. J. H. Mills, Jenkinsburg. T. S. Johnson, Jefferson. T. M. Swift, Elberton. Chas. E. Stewart, Axson. Associate members State Council on Food Production and Conservation: From State at large: R. R. Wright, Pres. Ga. State Ind. Col., Savannah, Chairman. Bishop R. S. Williams, Augusta. Prof. W. E. Holmes, Pres. Gen. City Col. Macon, Secretary. Dr. Whittier H. Wright, Physician, Savannah, Asst. Secretary. Dr. J. W. Holley, Principal Albany Bible Ind. Inst., Albany, Treasurer. H. L. Johnson, Atlanta. Bishop J. S. Flippen, Atlanta. M. W. Reddick, Americus. T. K. Gibson, Atlanta. C. T. Walker, Augusta. H. A. Hunt, Ft. Valley. From 1st Dist: Walter B. Scott, Savannah.\nFrom 2nd Dist: A. C. Cooper, Cuthbert\nFrom 3rd Dist: J. C. Styles, Dawson\nFrom 4th Dist: Rev. F. R. Forbes, Macon\nFrom 5th Dist: Rev. H. H. Proctor, Atlanta\nFrom 6th Dist: C. E. Moore, Macon\nFrom 7th Dist: D. R. Brown, Cedartown\nFrom 8th Dist: Dr. W. H. Harris, Athens\nFrom 9th Dist: Dr. N. A. Doyle, Gainesville\nFrom 10th Dist: Prof. Silas X. Floyd, Augusta\nFrom 11th Dist: C. A. Clark, Brunswick\nFrom 12th Dist: H. T. Jones, Dublin\nLocal Board of Trustees, Alexander H. Stephens Institute\nJ. A. Beasley, Crawfordville, 2 years beginning June 4, 1917\nClem G. Moore, Crawfordville, 4 years beginning June 4, 1917\nJno. F. Holden, Crawfordville, 6 years beginning June 4, 1917\nW. H. Burwell, from State at Large, 6 years beginning [year missing]\nSamuel L. Olive, from State at Large, 2 years beginning [year missing]\nHorance M. Holden, from State at Large, 4 years beginning June 4, 1917.\nW. G. Fleming, Augusta, 10th Dist, Tr. State Normal Col.\nCorrespondence designating Jno. C. Hart to represent State in collecting inheritance\nAppointing J. C. Hart in re J. M. Smith estate, Feb. 26, 1917.\nCalvin W. Parker, Waycross, referee Tenn. Copper Co.\nFrederick B. Gordon, Columbus, State Council of Defense\nState at Large, June 29, 1917.\nT. L. Pickren, Charlton Co.\nC. S. Meadows, Wayne Co.\nJ. H. Roberts, Dodge Co., 11th Dist. A & M School.\nMrs. J. L. Kendal, Macon, Lady Bd. Visitors Ga. Normal & Industrial College.", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1925", "title": "Biographies of representative women of the South", "creator": "Collier, Margaret (W.), \"Mrs. Bryan Wells Collier.\" [from old catalog]", "lccn": "unk81010938", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011701", "partner_shiptracking": "165GR", "call_number": "6258485", "identifier_bib": "00400553981", "lc_call_number": "CT3260 .C7", "volume": "3", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "Atlanta", "description": "5 v. 24 cm<div>Vol. 5, 1861-1925</div>", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-10-29 13:00:19", "updatedate": "2019-10-29 13:56:00", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "biographiesofrep03coll", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-10-29 13:56:02", "operator": "associate-saw-thein@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "302", "scandate": "20191119180923", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-cherrymay-villarente@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20191121093145", "republisher_time": "740", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/biographiesofrep03coll", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t9d58qc49", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "year": "1925", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156362403", "backup_location": "ia907004_33", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "96", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1925, "content": "Contents:\nFrontispiece\nDedication\nMrs. Nellie Pearl Neal\nMrs. Bryan Wells Collier\nMy Garden of Love (Poem)\nMrs. Ann Catherine Anderson Saunders\nMrs. William Wallace Anderson\nMrs. Walter C. White\nMrs. A. McDermott Wilson\nViscountess Astor\nThere is Still a Dixie\nMrs. Mary Coffee O\u2019Neal Campbell\nSarah Somervell Mackall\nMrs. Bolling H. Jones\nMrs. James Carter Cook\nCorra Harris\nMrs. Edward Carter\nMrs. James Harris Baughman\nMrs. John Allen Walker\nMrs. Thomas Earle Edwards\nMrs. Samuel Hale Sibley\nThe Birds in My Tree Tops (Poem)\nMrs. Martin L. Sigmon\nContentment (Poem)\nMrs. Frances Lewis, Mrs. Gross Robert Scruggs, Mrs. Robert Stuart Price, Mrs. Daniel Branch Price, Mrs. Margaret Scruggs Carruth, Mrs. J. Wilmer Biddle, Mrs. John Eldridge Clark, Monticello, Mrs. Burridge Davenal Butler, Mrs. William Ewen Slipp, Mrs. Nellie Pearl Neal, Mrs. Thomas Janies Collier, Georgia\u2019s Answer (Poem), Mrs. Martha Patton Weeden, Mrs. Olivia Moore O\u2019Neal, Ann Pamela Cunningham - 134-135, Mrs. Samuel Preston Davis, Mrs. Jacob H. Pleckner, Mrs. Julius Frederic Ferdinand Cassell, Mrs. Edward Franklin Wayman - 144-145, Mrs. Charles Henderson, Hall of Fame (Poem), Mrs. Emeline Cox, Mrs. Mary Latham Perry Wharton - 152-154, Mrs. Virginia Land Blanchard, Motherhood, Mrs. J. Morgan Smith, Miss Marianne McClellan.\n[Mrs. John Ewing Price, Mrs. John Van Land Ingraham, Mrs. Martha Shannon Blair Farwell, Mrs. S. Lewis Simons, Miss Katherine Drayton Simons, Mrs. William B. Burney, Mrs. Fuller Earle Callaway, Mrs. John Francis Weinman, Mrs. Alexander Powe Perrin, Mrs. James Madison Woodson, Mrs. Alvin Valentine Lane, Mrs. Dan Connally Lyle, Mrs. William Ellis Whitehead, Dr. Margaret Itoe Caraway, Mrs. Stirling Price Gilbert, Mrs. John Thomas Lindsey, Mrs. Robert K. Ratnbo, Mrs. James L. Logan, Mrs. Christian Harwood Clark, Mrs. Edwin Clifton Stuart, Mrs. Wren McOuln, Mrs. Mary Venable T. Womble, Mrs. Thomas W. Steele, Mrs. Abigail L. Bean]\nCecelia Willingham, _ 234-237\nJames Ammons Mobley, _ 238-239\nWilliam Ashby Land, _ 240-241\nLeslie Warner, _ 242-245\nEdward Earle Schaaf, _ 246-247\nIntroduction, _ 248-252\nGeorge Craggs Winterson, _ 256-257\nGodfrey M. Harmon, _ 258-259\nResponse to Address of Welcome, 263\nLewis Griffin Larus, _ 264-265\nJames Sprunt, _ 266-268\nMary Ancrum Shannon, _ 269\nBenjamin Christopher Harris, _ 270-271\nDaisy St. Clair Simpson, _ 272-273\nHenry Strickland, Jr., _ 274-275\nJesse Drew Beale, _ 276-279\nWilliam Oscar Mitchell, _ 280-281\nAlfred Robert Shaw, _ 282-283\nMartha Berry, _ 284-288\n\nMy heart thrills with a new joy as I present and dedicate this, my third volume of Representative Women of the South, to Southern Womanhood of Today.\nI have accomplished this work by your gracious help and interest. Every day you have made life sweeter, better, and more useful to me, as I have recorded chapter after chapter of the ancestral records of your royal blood. I shall ever be satisfied with your grateful benediction on this labor of love. Happier still, if, as the years pass, I may be permitted to pursue this mighty task and give to history many more volumes of the great and noble women of my country, the land which has ever been \"peopled with the dream fabric\" of a nation whose civilization has uplifted the world in song and story of heroic and chivalrous manhood and gentle, cultured and queenly womanhood. Yes, the South will ever have a charm that holds the golden chapter in American history that no other nation can claim.\nThe indestructible kingdom of the land of twilight dreams still lives. I would find no inspiration for Representative Women of the South if it weren't for the royal blood of the ancient line that ripples in the heroic strain of her children today.\n\nMrs. Nellie Pearl Neal\n(Sketch on pages 118, 119)\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Bryan Wells Collier\nBy Mary Hilliard Hinton.\n\nThe greatest asset of the South yesteryear was her daughters. Upon their shoulders devolved duties that seemed beyond their strength, which they accepted with ease. After the Republic was firmly established, a calm pervaded the Southern home, which can be likened only to the sweet expectant rest of the Beyond, of which it was a harbinger because the virginity and purity of the women of the South were the foundation of its strength and stability.\nThe homes were founded upon the spiritual, not the material. A new era has succeeded the age, and different standards or lack of standards are found throughout the land. What is the result? The homes are endangered. A spirit of restlessness is worldwide, and calm is relegated to the dictionary, Arctic wastes, and Tropical jungles. Where are we drifting? How will future generations battle with the temptations?\n\nAs a balm, a panacea, comes from the pen of one of the South's most realistic interpreters a monumental gift, inspired by the best that has been bequeathed to us of the past, that must leave its impress upon the future. This work has been the outburst of a soul who loves the workers of today as well as those of yesterday and holds a fair vision for the children of the future of the land.\nIs dear to the heart of Margaret Wootten Collier. No one can express this love as forcefully as the late lamented Lollie Belle Wylie did in 1922 in The Confederate Veteran:\n\n\"It was said of Queen Elizabeth that the secret of her power was that her impulses were impulses common to the English people. Her purposes were their purposes. So we know Mrs. Collier loves the South. No one can come in touch with her and not feel this loyal love. She knows her people and believes that in no other country are the women like the Southern women. This is the inspiration of her work.\"\n\nAnd again, the tribute from Georgia\u2019s brilliant historian, Dr. Lucian Lamar Knight, reveals the secret of the success of \"Representative Women of the South\":\n\n\"Only one in spirit akin to these, one of the very elect number.\"\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Collier, whose gentle aristocratic blood runs deep, undertakes this task with a tender heart filled with memories and muses. It has long been her dream to produce something truly worthwhile for the South, and the publication of this work realizes this worthy ambition and fulfills a splendid dream. The author is to be congratulated first on the magnificent vision that gave birth to such a work, and secondly on the artistic manner in which she has performed her task and brought a colossal task to completion. It is not only a finished product but a flower of genius.\n\nFrom the emigrant ancestor, Richard Wootten, who received a grant of land in Warwick County, Virginia, on August 30, 1647.\nFletcher Wootten of Wilkes County, Georgia, there is an unbroken line which went from the Old Dominion to North Carolina, then to Georgia. He married Margaret Marion Hendrix. Their youngest daughter, Margaret, was born December 9, 1869. Losing her mother six years later, her father became her most beloved companion, and he molded her character, instilling into her soul those lofty ideals and inspirations which have borne the rare fruit of maturer years. In Dr. Wootten was found all the charm of a gentleman of the old school\u2014knightly, cultured, brilliant\u2014a gifted writer, an eloquent speaker, naturally he was a delightful conversationalist. Patriotism is a virtue Mrs. Collier inherited from her father, a brave patriot himself, who served as surgeon throughout the War between the States. This home was the center of a generous hospitality. Dr. Wootten.\nAmong his friends were persons of equal culture and charm, who would drive long distances to spend an evening by his welcoming fireside, basking in the warmth of his genial companionship. When Margaret Wootten was three years old, her parents moved from their country place to the college town of Dalton, Georgia, so that their four daughters could have every educational advantage. Margaret Wootten entered Dalton Female College very young, when it was under the presidency of Dr. Rufus W. Smith. She completed her education under this celebrated Smith family, first in Dalton and later in LaGrange, Ga. Possessing remarkable talent for Music, she began her studies under Professor Henry Schoeller, which were pursued later under the direction of the celebrated Alfredo Barili of Atlanta. Given exceptional advantages and raised amid such surroundings,\nIt is no marvel that Margaret Wootten developed into the type of young womanhood that reflected the charming and abiding characteristics of her Southern forebears. Lineage and environment vied in the development of one of the South's most gifted and beloved daughters. It is fitting that some mention be made here of an ancestry of which there is just cause for pride. Her direct lines are those of Hill, Hinton, Calloway, and Hendrix - names that have been among the substantial settlers of the New World and which attained distinction in England.\n\nThe name Hinton is an ancient one, and, in Anglo-Saxon, means 'Old Town.' It was derived from Hynton-Sutton or Hynton-Brackley, as it is variously called, in northeastern Northamptonshire, and Hynton-Woodford in the northwestern section. According to records, the family name can be traced back to the 13th century. The Hintons were among the most influential families in England during the Middle Ages, with lands and titles spread across the country. The family crest, a golden lion on a red background, is still used by some members of the family today.\nThe text first appeared in England in 1066 when two brothers, Eruald and Albert, came from Normandy with Geoffrey de Magnavil. They fought at Hastings. In the Domesday Book, it is recorded that in 1070 they received lands in Northamptonshire. To Eruald de Hynton, progenitor of the English line later transplanted in the South, was granted 'two hides of land (240 acres) at Hynton, and half a hide (60 acres) at Silverton.' Of this 'five caracutes' (75 acres) was arable; 'two caracutes in demesne,' with two house servants, and '11 villeins' and five tenants held the remaining forty-five acres.\n\nIn this long line of noble forebears, a few of the most notable will be mentioned. Robert de Hynton of Hynton-Brackley was granted the manor of Hynton-Woodford in Northamptonshire by Henry II.\nWhich had lapsed to the crown upon the extinction of another branch, there was one Isabel Hinton, wife of John, sixth Lord Lovel, who claimed as her right the family seat of Hinton-Brackley. The first of the name to receive the honor of knighthood was Sir Richard Hinton of Hinton-Woodford, knighted by Henry III prior to 1250. His son, Hugh de Hinton of Hinton-Woodford, was Captain of Archers under Henry de Bohun, Earl of Essex and Hereford, and fought at both Lewes and Evesham. John de Hinton, son of John de Hinton, Knight, was with Edward III at Antwerp, by whom he was knighted there in 1338. He fought at Crecy and was, a year later, in the retinue of Richard, Lord Talbot, at Calais. His son, Geoffrey de Hinton, was quite prominent in the reign of Edward III and held the office of Comptroller of the Customs.\nThe family of Toms was represented at the Battle of Agincourt by John de Hynton, who commanded a Company of Archers under Sir Henry Boushier. His grandson, Richard Hynton of Kingston-Lisle, purchased \"Eagle\u2019s Hall\" and was the first to use the eagle's leg and serpent for a crest. One of the most distinguished in the long, unbroken line was Sir Thomas Hynton of \"Earlscote\" and \"Chilton-Foliot,\" in Wiltshire, a graduate of Queen's College, Oxford. He served as High Sheriff of Berkshire and was a member of Parliament. He entered into partnership with Sir Sebastian Harvey and eventually became the wealthiest commoner of his day. He was one of the largest stockholders of the London Company for the settlement of Virginia.\nSir Thomas was the friend of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, and lifelong friend of Henry Pierrepont, Marquis of Dorchester. He was knighted for services to the crown by James I at Oatlands. His first wife (the mother of his children) was Catherine Palmer, granddaughter of Sir Thomas Palmer, Knight, and his wife, Katherine, daughter of Sir Edward Stradling. He descended from the royal families of England and France, and many noble houses of the realm. Sir Thomas' third son, John, rose to eminence during the reigns of Charles I and Charles II. A graduate of Queen\u2019s College, Oxford, he pursued his studies at Leyden and became a noted physician. He received appointments as Physician in Ordinary to Queen Henrietta Maria, also to Charles, Prince of Wales, and later was Field Surgeon in the Royal Army. In 1657 he was honored with the appointment as Fleet Surgeon on Drake\u2019s ship.\nThe \"Mayflower's\" flagship, Dr. John Hinton, later became Physician Ordinary to Charles II and Queen Catherine of Prasanz. For services during the Great Plague, he was knighted by King Charles. Dr. Sir John Hinton is the grandfather of the North Carolina ancestor. Among his numerous descendants in the Carolinas, Georgia, and various Union states, including our writer, Margaret Wootten Collier, the Hintons displayed bravery, indomitable will, and leadership during colonization. The Woottens (sometimes Wotten) have appeared in English history for five or six centuries, with the earliest recorded being Robert Wootten of Boughton Malherbe, Kent, who married Annie.\nThe daughter of Henry Belknap had two prominent sons in the sixteenth century: Sir Edward, Knight, and Nicolas, Doctor of Laws. The latter was an executor of Henry VIII's will and undertook diplomatic missions to the courts of France, Spain, and Germany. Sir Edward was equally eminent. His son, Sir Thomas, inherited Boughton Malherbe in 1501 and served as Sheriff of Kent for many years. He appeared on various commissions taking musters, planning for peace, fortifying Dover, and looking into the cause of piracy. When Queen Elizabeth was his guest at Boughton in 1573, he declined knighthood at her hand. He was a scholar, deeply religious, a Protestant in faith, and possessed great wealth. Of his six sons, the eldest was his successor. Sir Edward Wootten was created by James I a Baron, bearing the title of Lord Wootten of Marby, in Kent.\nAnd three others were knighted. The youngest son, the only child by his second marriage, Sir Henry Wootten, received many honors. His life was written by Izaak Walton.\n\nThe Woottens of Kent are mentioned frequently in historical works of that time. The Coat-of-Arms borne by this family was, Argent, a saltire engrailed sable. Crest \u2014 A Blackamoor sideface, wreathed, on the forehead, bat's wings to his head, azure.\n\nWith culture, a love of travel, and qualifications of leadership, the settling of a New World offered attractions to the younger sons of this family. Their name appears in the first settlement in the person of Dr. Thomas Wootten, physician of the first Jamestown Colony of 1607, evidently having been the first doctor of medicine in America. Both Captain Smith and Alexander Brown mention that.\nHe accompanied Captain Smith on an exploring expedition. He was believed to be the fifth son of Sheriff Thomas Wootten of Kent by his first marriage. Richard was the ancestor of Mrs. Collier. On December 9, 1897, Margaret Wootten married the Rev. Bryan Wells Collier, of Griffin, Georgia. This marriage has been a supremely happy one. Mr. Collier, who comes of the distinguished Bryan and Collier Families of Virginia, which has given so many useful and brilliant citizens to the Union, is one of the foremost scholars and divines of the South and has filled with distinction some of the leading pastorates in Georgia and Florida. His poem, \u201cGeorgia,\u201d appears in this volume. In their home, Margaret V. Wootten Collier has created an atmosphere that no pen can describe. One must study her writings or partake in them.\nShe presided with queenly grace over the drawing room and was also a culinary artist, managing her household with rare executive ability and not eating the bread of idleness. A lover and interpreter of Nature's every mood, she was a born landscape gardener. She had made \"Sunset Cottage,\" with its profusion of flowers, trailing roses, masses of shrubbery, and ties, a bower of loveliness nestling in the most picturesque setting in the cultural suburb of College Park. Here she had dreamed and translated her dreams into realities. In the grounds in the rear of \"Sunset Cottage,\" in the woodland, filled with various plants.\nThe song of birds behind the delicate green tracery of giant pines, she has watched the golden radiance of sunsets, the soft blue and violet tints of the afterglow, pausing at eventide to watch with her dearest, with admiration and thanksgiving the passing of a well-spent day. Her home is renowned for its hospitality. The earth's noblest - some of the most notable men and women of the day have been her guests. It is her kingdom, over which she was born to rule. Only superior natures can win and hold the highest love, abiding devotion. This is the secret of Mrs. Collier's life. Her husband adores her; their two sons idolize their mother; friends, innumerable, lavish their admiration and love upon her. Her own words can better describe her life's work than the pen of another: \"This is my life \u2013 my boys. All other dreams fade away when I am with them.\"\nFor fifteen years, the world was unfamiliar with me. Home was my sole kingdom, with these little boys by my side. I truly believe that without that cozy fireside I always tried to make bright and happy, and without those golden years we spent so close together, I would not have them still close by my side. Motherhood is the greatest joy and blessing that can be given to anyone.\n\nAll my renunciations of the world's accolades during those years of happy seclusion have brought a rich reward to my heart and home. Both have reached the heights they should and bring comfort to their devoted parents.\n\nMy eldest son, Bryan Wootten Collier, born December 18, 1899, had won three medals for History and Oratory by the time he was sixteen. During his last year of studies at Oglethorpe University,\nAtlanta, he filled the leading role in a two-act play, written by himself and presented during the commencement of Oglethorpe. After three years on the staff of the Atlanta Journal, he is now on the staff of Vanderbilt Newspaper, Inc., Miami, Fla., and has shown brilliant promise in journalism and literature.\n\nTheir second son, Thomas Wootten Collier, born October 29, 1902, is a graduate of Georgia Military Academy, College Park, and Emory University. In Atlanta, he received the degree of B.S. in 1923. He pursued graduate studies in chemistry at Yale University, 1923-24, and at the age of twenty-one became an instructor in the department of chemistry at the Georgia School of Technology, a position he still holds (1925-26). During the summer of 1925, he took additional studies in chemistry in the University of Chicago.\nBrilliant, practical, sympathetic, deeply spiritual, it is no marvel that Mrs. Collier, the home maker, was inspired to preserve for all time the records of those noble women who have helped make our fair Southland, through ages of constructive development and through the dark period of Reconstruction on to the gigantic struggle of restoration. To her alone could have been granted the permission to give to the world their unconscious share in the sacred task. Love for and absolute confidence in Mrs. Collier's high motive alone accomplished this mammoth task. Her past in the cultured home of her father and in the sweet haven of rest she has fashioned prepared her for this special mission.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nfrom one stepping stone to another, has been a preparation for this special mission. In all - the vision, the dream, the realization - Mr. Collier.\nMrs. Collier has rendered every assistance, giving only sympathy and encouragement, which has been an important factor in the phenomenal success of a colossal plan. To accomplish something worthwhile, to honor the brave women of the South, has been Mrs. Collier\u2019s life ambition. During the period she was training her children and making an ideal home, she was planning for this chef d'oeuvre. Prayer has been the power of her every effort, hence the success. When the time came for the fulfillment of her dream, the result was \"Representative Women of the South.\" Vol. 1, was warmly received and inspired the second volume, which was dedicated \"In Loving Memory of Our War Queens of the Sixties, Your Mother and Mine.\" This has won national fame and has received recognition in foreign lands.\n\nWith this work, Mrs. Collier's fame has become established.\nThe public eagerly awaits the appearance of the third volume, followed by Volume IV. In this set of choice biographies, names heretofore unknown to the world appear, but they were moving spirits in making and restoring the Southland to its unique place in world history. The third volume will feature her finest attempt in poetry \u2014 \"In My Garden of Love,\" dedicated to \"Representative Women of The South.\" Her style is delightful, eloquent, and so vivid that in reading her delineation of the past, one lives again those days with her unconscious heroines. She interpreted their lives and atmosphere with equal grace through the medium of prose or poetry. Mrs. Collier's patriotism has been revealed through her interest in patriotic work and orders, feeling that by enrolling her name in them.\nThe Historian of the Atlanta Chapter D.A.R. from 1923-24-25, Corresponding Secretary-General of the Confederated Memorial Association since 1917, and Past President of the Robert Lee Chapter U.D.C. of College Park, she is eligible to all Colonial, royal and noble organizations. She is a member of the League of American Pen Women. With the achievement of the past, Mrs. Collier's warm admirers and supporters feel confident she, through prose and poetry, will continue to preserve all that is truly American and so interwoven with the foundation of our country that it is an invaluable heritage. Before the sable curtains of night close over the vanishing sentinels of that glorious civilization, may this gifted Southern author.\nIn my garden of love, I labor and dream,\nWith noble and true hearts, I've gathered these flowers,\nA radiant theme I've wreathed together for you.\n\nIn this garden of love, planted by wiser hands,\nI've found precious souls, throughout the land,\nOf regal and divine womanhood.\n\nThis garden of love holds the kingdom of home,\nDeep-bedded in sunsets and bowers,\nI drink in its dells wherever I roam,\nWith birdsongs and old-fashioned flowers.\nYes, this garden of love is my poem to you,\nI have gathered these flowers for you,\nSo the South's noble women may see,\nA message uplifting and true.\nMay you live in this garden of beautiful souls,\nTill the end of Life's glorious task;\nMay your resolute faith and courage uphold,\nAll that the Master shall ask.\n\nAnn Catherine Anderson Saunders, Representative Women of the South,\n\nAnn Catherine Anderson Saunders was born in the Fayetteville Arsenal, N.C., Oct. 8, 1864. At this place, her uncle, Colonel F.L. Childs, was in charge of the arsenal, ordnance and munition works. She is the daughter of Major William Wallace Anderson, Surgeon U.S.A., and C.S.A., and his wife, Mary Virginia Childs, and niece of Lieut.-General Richard Heron Anderson, who was the ranking military officer in North Carolina during the Civil War.\nMajor William Wallace Anderson, born in South Carolina, was the son of Dr. William Wallace Anderson. Dr. Anderson moved to Statesburg in 1810 to practice medicine. He was the son of Colonel Richard Anderson of Montgomery County, Maryland, and his wife, Ann Wallace. They were married on July 31, 1787. Colonel Anderson was a gallant officer in the War of the Revolution. At the Battle of Green Swamp near Camden, he was severely wounded. He served in the Seventh Regiment of the Maryland line. The Military and Naval Magazine of the United States contains many records of his intrepidity and courage. He visited Camden several times in later life. He was there in 1825 on the occasion of Lafayette's visit and acted as one of the pallbearers at the reinterment of Baron de Kalb. Again in 1832.\nHe was toasted at a banquet in Camden. He died in 1835. Colonel Anderson's parents were Richard Anderson of Charles County, Maryland, and his wife, Priscilla Briscoe. She was a granddaughter of Dr. John Briscoe, who accompanied Cecilius Baltimore on his expedition to the colonies in the boats, the Ark and Pinnace Dove. In the Briscoe family is still preserved the personal note of invitation to Dr. John Briscoe from Lord Baltimore, requesting that he join this party of colonists.\n\nDr. William Wallace Anderson married Mary Jane Mackenzie on Jan. 30, 1818. She was the daughter of John Mackenzie and his wife, Elizabeth Heron. John Mackenzie was the son of William Mackenzie, who was Collector of the Ports at Savannah, Ga. Through this line is descent from the Campbells and Cadwalladers. Elizabeth Heron was the daughter of Captain Benjamin Heron of the Royal Navy.\nCaptain Heron and his wife, Mary Howe, settled near Wilmington on Cape Fear. He served the Government as deputy auditor, deputy secretary, clerk of the pleas and crown, and was also a member of the council and chairman of that body. He died in 1770.\n\nMary Howe was descended from Job Howe, a member of the Commons House of Assembly of South Carolina from January 1696 to March 1696. She was also descended from Governor James Moore and his wife, Lady Margaret Yea Mans.\n\nThe ancestral home of Mrs. Saunders comes through the heritage of her grandmother, Mary Jane Mackenzie Anderson. This is now the sixth generation to tread the well-known threshold.\n\nThe son of Mary Jane Mackenzie and Dr. Anderson, Major William\nWallace Anderson, married to Mary Virginia Childs on Dec. 27, 1833. Through her maternal line, Mrs. Saunders is descended from Deacon Samuel Chaplin. Appointed magistrate of Springfield, MA in 1652; his commission was extended indefinitely. Deacon Chapin died Nov. 11, 1675.\n\nHis great-granddaughter, Hannah Chapin Sheldon, married Timothy Childs on Nov. 26, 1719. Their son, Captain Timothy Childs, was an officer in the War of the Revolution. He married Mary Wells on July 12, 1744. Their son, Dr. Timothy Childs, commanded a company of minute men, taking part in the battle of Lexington and other engagements. He married Rachel Easton on Feb. 1, 1778. Daughter of Colonel James Easton of Pittsfield, MA, and his wife, Eunice Pomroy. Colonel Easton served his country with signal devotion during the struggle for independence. He commanded troops under Ethan Allen.\nAllen sacrificed his entire fortune for liberty. Brigadier General Thomas Childs, son of Dr. Timothy Childs and Rachel Easton, was called out of West Point as a Cadet to assist in the defense of his country during the War of 1812. He participated in the capture and defense of Fort Erie, and served in many Indian wars including the Florida war of 1836-42. He was frequently breveted for gallantry and efficiency during the Mexican War. In the defense of Puebla, he commanded from September 13th to October 12th. He was Military Governor of Jolapa and was made Brevet Brigadier General on October 12, 1847. The government presented him with a brass quadrant that he had captured from a gun at the defense of Fort Erie, as well as a very handsome sword. On January 5, 1819, he married Ann Eliza Corydon of Alexandria, Va.\nTheir three children who lived to adult age were Mary Virginia, Gen\u2019l Childs (died Oct. 8, 1853, at Fort Brooks, Tampa Bay, Pla.), and unnamed. Mary Virginia Saunders, now Mrs. Walter C. White of Cleveland, Ohio, is a devoted daughter to her Southland. She was successively appointed Chapter Sponsor, Division Sponsor, and Sponsor for the South Carolina Division by the Confederate Veterans. In May, 1916, she was appointed Honorary Sponsor for Life for the South Carolina Division. Major William Harrison Saunders, U. S. A., graduated from West Point.\nPoint among the Engineers went overseas with the First Division in April 1917 and trained in France in Observation Aviation. He received several citations for acts of valor and lost his life in the service of his country on Nov. 5, 1919. The Distinguished Service Cross was posthumously awarded him. Considered the best Observer in the whole American army, he bore a record without fear and without reproach.\n\nMrs. Saunders is actively associated with all benevolent and patriotic organizations in her community and has been chiefly instrumental in preserving the beautiful building of the Church of the Holy Cross in the Parish. Her work has been untiring in safeguarding valuable records and relics. She was chairman of the Red Cross activities in her township during the period of the World War.\n\nMrs. Saunders is a member of the Colonial Dames of America.\nDaughters of the American Revolution (Sumter\u2019s Home Chapter), the Society of the Ark and the Dove, United Daughters of the Confederacy (Dick Anderson Chapter), and The South Carolina Historical Society honored Mrs. William Wallace Anderson. She held the title of Honorary Dame for Life, bestowed upon her by the South Carolina Division of the United Confederate Veterans.\n\nThe shawl in the picture of Mrs. Anderson was an heirloom, given to her by her mother on her wedding day. It had originally been presented to her grandmother by her grandfather, Brigadier General Thomas Childs. He received it for a reception given to him by the president upon his return from the Mexican War.\n\nMrs. William Wallace Anderson\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. William Wallace Anderson, wife of Surgeon William Wallace Anderson\nMrs. William Wallace Anderson, born May 16, 1833, was the daughter of Brigadier General Thomas Childs of Pittsfield, Mass., and Iris wife Ann Eliza Coryton of Alexandria, Va. She married Dec. 27, 1855, and celebrated her golden wedding anniversary Dec. 27, 1905. A noble, Christian woman, she was versed in belles-lettres, a gifted musician, and possessed a brilliant and cultured mind. Her life was spent in the active accomplishment of good works, marked by an elevated character, strong personality, poise, dignity, acute discernment, wise discrimination, and executive ability, qualifying her for lofty service and leadership. Her interests and benevolences were not limited to her community and Parish but were world-wide in scope.\nMary Virginia Saunders White, born Dec. 19, 1889, at Hill Crest Plantation, Sumter County, SC, was the daughter of William L. and Ann Catherine Saunders. In 1919, she married Walter C. White of Cleveland, OH. They had two daughters, Ann Heron and Mary Greenleaf White. Mary Virginia's last name indicates her New England father's lineage, as his faithfulness has been established there since Mayflower times. In 1918, Mary Virginia Saunders received one of the greatest honors for a Southern girl, the appointment.\nas \"Sponsor for the South,\" at the Reunion of Confederate veterans which took place at Tulsa, Okla. She is a great-grand niece of Brigadier General William W. Harllee, grand niece of Lieut. Col. Frederick L. Childs, Lieut. Gen. Richard Heron Anderson, Capt. Edward M. Anderson, Private Augustus Saunders, Private William B. Saunders, and grand-daughter of Major William Wallace Anderson - all brave Confederate soldiers. Ten lines of descent have been established from Revolutionary soldiers. The War of 1812, Mexican and Indian Wars also have their heroes whom this family has contributed to the cause of their country. In the World War, her brother, the late Major William Harrison Saunders, received the Distinguished Service Cross. Among the founders of the nation may be ranked William Saunders, an English gentleman, the first settler of what is now Sumter.\nThe family holds the ancient royal grant from 1734. Among their colonial ancestors were Deacon Samuel Chapin of Springfield, Mass., Medad Pomeroy of Dorchester, and Dr. John Briscoe, one of the \"gentlemen of very good fashion,\" who came to Maryland in 1638 upon Lord Baltimore's personal invitation. The letter conveying this invitation is still preserved by the Briscoe family.\n\nThrough the maternal line, there is descent from royal governor James Moore of South Carolina and Major Alexander Lillington, deputy governor of North Carolina in 1693 and later governor; also Capt. Job Howe, chairman of the South Carolina Assembly in 1789, and Capt. Benjamin Heron, chairman of the Royal Council of North Carolina, who died in England in 1770 and was buried at.\nThe threshold of the royal mausoleum at St. George\u2019s Chapel, Windsor. This gentleman's ancestors came to England with the Conqueror and received a barony in Northumberland. The Briscoe and Pomeroy families also trace to followers of the Conqueror, and infusions of the royal blood have occurred in the various pedigrees.\n\nThrough the Saunders family, Mrs. White is related to the Canteys and Harllees of South Carolina, and the Hicks, Harrison, Randolph, and Brace families of Virginia.\n\nMrs. White's personal interests lie with her family, her beautiful home and garden, and her various patriotic and philanthropic societies, including The Colonial Dames of America, The Daughters of the American Revolution, The United Daughters of the Confederacy, and The Society of the Ark and The Dove (Maryland).\n\nMrs. Arthur McDermott Wilson\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Arthur McDermott Wilson\n\nNone among the prominent women of America deserve a higher place of honor and distinction for contributing to the progress of our country along many lines of inspiration and achievement than Mrs. A. McD. Wilson, President General of the Confederated Southern Memorial Association.\n\nThe outstanding achievement of her life has been the work of saving Joel Chandler Harris' home as a memorial. Since the founding of the Uncle Remus Memorial Association in 1910, Mrs. Wilson has been its president, and she has been elected president for life of this organization. It was through her initiative that President Theodore Roosevelt came to Atlanta to lecture on \u201cJoel Chandler Harris,\u201d for the memorial fund to preserve \u201cWrens Nest,\u201d and on this occasion, she was hostess to Mr. Roosevelt in her home.\nThrough all these years she has worked faithfully, and as a result, she has lived to see Wrens Nest purchased and preserved as a memorial to Joel Chandler Harris. In recognition of her unwearied and successful efforts, at the November, 1924 meeting of the Uncle Remus Memorial Association, a full-length oil painting of Mrs. Wilson was presented to the Association. On this occasion, the following beautiful tribute was paid to her by Mr. F. J. Paxon, a lifelong friend and one of the leading business men of Atlanta:\n\n\"One should consider it a privilege to be able to give, as far as the lips can, some of the utterances of the heart to express for the living, deep and abiding affection, and to scatter flowers of memory while they live.\n\n\"This painting of our dear friend, Mrs. Wilson, is by a master.\"\n\"I hold in my hand a string of rare pearls. They are very valuable. I borrowed them from a leading jeweler for this occasion, as they are too valuable intrinsically for me to own. But I got them to illustrate a few characteristics of Mrs. Wilson.\n\nThe first pearl that I mention in this necklace is that of Vision. Without it, nothing is ever accomplished, and it was through her Vision that Mrs. Wilson saw fulfilled a lasting memorial to Uncle Remus. For while others were merely dreaming of sometimes having perpetuated a memorial to Uncle Remus, she visualized the dream.\"\nThe second pearl is that of Faith, and it was through faith that Mrs. Wilson accomplished what she did. She had faith that her purpose was pure and high; faith that she was right and that faith was contagious. The third pearl is that of Charm - tact we sometimes call it - for it was the charm of Mrs. Wilson, her tactfulness, that drew people to her. Once drawn to her, they caught the Vision, absorbed the Faith, and so the group of noble women who talked, thought and planned with Mrs. Wilson, worked with her. Another pearl is that of Purity, and the value of pearls lies in their Purity. Many dreamers or those who have visions have not purity of purpose, but are governed by selfish motives. Not so with our friend.\nEvery motivation of her life is one of purity in thought, action, and purpose. I could go on and take each pearl separately on this strand and have them speak their own message of what Mrs. Wilson embodies, but time does not allow it. I will call your attention to the last pearl: that of Leadership, for which Mrs. Wilson is distinctly qualified \u2013 pure, unselfish, consecrated Leadership, enabling her to have the outstanding following in this movement which is so marked. But let me call your attention to what pearls are and to their value. There is no jewel so much referred to in the Bible as pearls. It was the Pearl of Great Price that the Master pictured so beautifully \u2013 the Pearly Gates that we read about, and so on. But why pearls? Ah, pearls come only through suffering.\nThe pearl is formed in the very bosom of the oyster, and the oyster, instead of having its nature changed, takes the irritation of the sand and transforms it, changing its character from a thing of irritation and annoyance to something of purity, beauty, and grace. Some natures take the little things of life, transform their sufferings, and transmute them to others as things of beauty.\n\nLeadership calls for all of this \u2014 service, sacrifice, and unselfishness. Pearls symbolize and typify more than any other stone I know, the beauty, the grace, and the wisdom of our Mrs. Wilson.\n\nBefore I close, I pay tribute to her helpmate of many years, our friend, a friend to every worthy citizen, Major A. McD. Wilson. The life companion of the woman we are speaking of, a man who gloried in her virtues.\nA man proud of his wife's distinct leadership, all her grace, beauty, and charm, yet standing on his own pedestal, endearing himself to all as a civic leader, loving friend, beloved husband, and father - this was the man who is the subject of the following tribute. On this beautiful occasion, the author had the privilege of paying homage to this noble woman. Her portrait now hangs in the hall of \"Wren\u2019s Nest,\" where it will remain to tell her story to generations to come.\n\nMargaret A. Wilson, daughter of Elizabeth Pettigrew Thompson and Patrick O'Connor, is descended from colonial and Revolutionary ancestry on her mother's side, including the families of Thompson.\nWade, Gibbs, and Weeks were among her ancestors from Virginia, and on her father's side, she descended from Roderick O\u2019Conner, the last reigning monarch of Ireland. She was born in Gainesville, Ga. In 1862, her family moved to Atlanta, where she has resided since. She received her education in the private schools of Atlanta and completed it at the Young Ladies\u2019 Seminary under Professor and Mrs. Hale.\n\nIn 1875, she married Arthur McDermott Wilson, a prominent financier and businessman of Atlanta, with whom she had one son, Arthur McDermott Wilson, Jr. Her father, Lieutenant O\u2019Connor, served under General Lucius J. Gartrell and was one of five sons who devoted themselves to the Southern cause. One uncle, Captain James O\u2019Connor, lies in an unknown grave in the cemetery of Camp Chase, Ohio, where many Southern soldiers lost their lives in prison.\nDr. William Thompson, an uncle, served as surgeon major for two years with the Arkansas troops. From this ancestry, Mrs. Wilson has inherited qualities of leadership of a loyal order.\n\nHer earliest recollections center around the period when, as a child, she made lint for the wounded soldiers by unraveling old linen, and went to the hospital trains with her mother to carry soup and delicacies to the sick and wounded soldiers. In this way, the loyal and devoted spirit that has made her the splendid Confederate Daughter she is was fostered.\n\nWhen the order came from Sherman for the women and children to leave Atlanta, as he would shell and burn the town, with her mother and two little sisters in one end of a box car and the Negro servants in the other, they fled. One month was occupied in being transported the 175 miles to Augusta, Georgia, where the family remained.\nMrs. Wilson's interest in Memorial Day exercises began as a child when she assisted in making wreaths to decorate graves. She later became a member of the Ladies\u2019 Memorial Association and a Daughter of the Confederacy. She has been president of Atlanta Chapter, U.D.C., and served a term of four years as vice president for the Georgia Division of PT. D.C. Her election to the high office of President General of the C.S.M.A., the oldest patriotic organization of women in America and the originator of Memorial Day, came as a fitting conclusion to her years of untiring devotion to the sentiments and traditions of the South. For eight years she held the office of President General of the C.S.M.A.\nShe rendered valuable service in organizing the first conference held by the Georgia Division of Children of the Confederacy. She has been honored by having the largest Chapter of Children of the Confederacy in the South named for her, the Margaret A. Wilson Chapter, in Atlanta, and as a memorial to her, this chapter is planning to erect a Margaret A. Wilson Chapter House on Wrens Nest grounds. Through her efforts as State Chairman for the United Daughters of the Confederacy, the money was raised for the Georgia window in Old Blanford Church at St. Petersburg, Virginia, and she assisted Mrs. Walter D. Lamar, then State President of the U. D. C., in unveiling the window. By appointment of the State President, Mrs. Wilson, with four other women, was selected to decide on the location of the Winnie Davis Memorial, which was given to Athens, Ga.\nAfter filling many offices in the Atlanta Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, she was elected Regent of the Atlanta Chapter and served two terms. Later, she held several terms as State Recording Secretary and State Historian for the Georgia Society, D.A.R. None the less important has been her philanthropic and civic work. Under her guidance, the Young Woman's Christian Association had its first splendid success. For twelve years she held the office of President of the Gulf States, which included Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi. For two years she was a member of the American Committee of the Young Women's Christian Association, and she was one of thirty women called to New York from various large cities for the organization of the National Board, being a charter member of the National Board. Under her leadership.\nAvas organized the Atlanta Y.M.C.A., serving as its first active President and Honorary President for Life. For four years, she presided over the Florence Crittenden Home, during which time the work became a powerful force for good. She was elected president of the City Federation of Women's Clubs, an organization of over eight thousand club women, and served two years as president of the Atlanta Woman's Club. She is also a member of the Daughters of 1812 and an honorary member of the Atlanta Writers' Club. A distinguished compliment was the election of Mrs. Wilson to membership in the Old Guard, the oldest military organization, her election having taken place in 1919. Among other notable offices held is that of Vice President of the Ladies' Auxiliary of Grady Hospital.\nMrs. Wilson assisted in making possible the children\u2019s ward in that institution. She was also the first Vice President of the Atlanta Children's Home and a member of the Advisory Board. Through various organizations, Mrs. Wilson accomplished remarkable civic, religious, and philanthropic work. She is a cultured, widely traveled woman, both in Europe and America, with the social graces befitting her position. Since the passing of her beloved and honored husband, Major Arthur McDermott Wilson, she has closed her country home, Bally Clare, long noted for its cordial welcome and southern hospitality. It is significant to record the life of this gentlewoman of the old South, who has passed the noonday of life.\nThe sun sets, with shadows and gold tints, finding her heart still responding to humanity. The latest honor bestowed upon Mrs. Wilson was her selection in 1922 as one of the vice-presidents of the Stone Mountain Memorial Association. At the Dallas, Texas Reunion of Confederate Veterans, she was presented with the fifth memorial coin by Hollins Randolph, the Association's President. Accepting the coin on behalf of the Confederated Southern Memorial Association, she thrilled the hearts of all in that vast assembly.\n\nViscountess Astor, Representative Women of the South\nViscountess Astor\n\nThat the voice of a southern woman should be heard in British councils and carry the potent influence it does is noteworthy.\nThe first woman in British Parliament hails from old Virginia, a fact of great pride for southerners. Viscountess Astor, born Nancy Langhorne at Mirador, Greenwood, Va., is the daughter of Chiswell Dabney Langhorne. Her brother, Marshall Langhorne, had a long and distinguished diplomatic career, serving as consul or charge de affairs in various European and South American capitals. One sister is married to Charles Dana Gibson, the celebrated artist.\n\nNancy Langhorne married Robert Gould Shaw in 1897, and in 1906, she wed Viscount Waldorf Astor, son of the first Viscount William Waldorf Astor.\nViscountess Astor was created a peer by King Edward VII. She holds a degree from the ancient University of Oxford and is the owner of the London Observer. She has held many important parliamentary positions, serving as chairman of influential committees and wielding a pronounced influence in governmental affairs.\n\nViscountess Astor's entrance into public life and her activities in the political realm have been of a character to exalt womanhood and reflect honor upon her native State and country. The courage, brilliance, and unselfishness with which she has presented the causes near her heart to the consciences of her countrymen have appealed powerfully to the imagination of the English-speaking world, and \"our Nancy\" has won her way into the hearts of Americans and Englishmen alike.\n\nSince beginning her public career, she has represented her district in parliament.\nLady Astor, in Plymouth, at the House of Commons, has dedicated her energies and abilities to the enactment of measures beneficial to the public. Among the social issues she has addressed are unemployment, housing, education, public health, temperance, prison and penal reform, and lunacy reform.\n\nMoral questions have engaged her assiduous efforts, and the interests of women and children among the poorer classes have found in her a staunch supporter. Special questions affecting women have received her most careful and efficient attention.\n\nIn advocating for these measures, Lady Astor has gone directly to the people, and her readiness, skill, and grace as a public speaker have earned her admiration from all classes. Lady Astor, Representative Woman of the South.\nIn an address to the voters of Plymouth, she asks for your support to obtain a better standard of life for our people. I have fought for a higher moral and social standard. The breadth of her attitude is well expressed in these significant words: \"Because I do not represent any single class, I am attacked by some in every class. I do not believe in class hatred or class domination. A better world can only come if we have better men and women in all walks of life.\" The spirit in which she addresses herself to the great tasks of her public career is found in this final declaration: \"I do not promise to cure all your ills at once, but I will strive to change the world into a better place for your children.\"\n\nA tour of America which Viscountess Astor made in 1923.\nShe pleaded for America's participation in working out Europe's problems through the League of Nations attracted nation-wide attention and comment. Representative Women of the South. Is there still a Dixie? Yes, there is still a Dixie. A Dixie in the hearts of some of us older ones, and in the realm of the spirit, fancy may summon visions of the most beautiful scenes, the loveliest faces, and the days of cloudless blue! Dixie, the East to which those of us who stand on the rim of the fading day turn in devotion while the shadows creep! Dixie, the Glory Land of the past, the golden bourne of memory's silent rambles, the hallowed solitude in whose cool depths the lost chords of life breathe their music into our souls. By George Bailey of the Houston Post.\nThe soul! Dixie, Love\u2019s Shadowland, peopled with the unfettered spirits of the noble and the great, redolent of memories that do not die, because they cluster about things immortal, templed with the dream fabrics of a nation that drew from out God's boundless deep. After four years of romance, poetry and glory, turned again home. Dixie, the Beautiful and Glorious, the sweetest chapter of history, the noblest epic of the ages, the light of yester-year whose effulgence gilds the crest of Time\u2019s swift onward tide! Dixie, the stainless Mother of the Nation, the indestructible Kingdom of the Twilight \u2014 Dixie, incomparable South of our dreams.\n\nMrs. Mary Coffee O\u2019Neal Campbell\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMary Coffee O\u2019Neal Campbell\nDaughter of Alexander Donelson Coffee and Ann Eliza Sloss.\nMary Coffee was born at \"Hickory Hill,\" near Florence, Alabama, July 26, 1852. Volumes could be written about this remarkable life, many pages of which would read like a fairy story.\n\nShe was taken as an infant to middle Tennessee to be presented at the \"Hermitage\" and to her great-grandmother, Mary Purnell Donelson, widow of Capt. John Donelson. Her first winter was spent in St. Augustine, Florida, where she learned to take her first steps on the old sea wall while her father explored the St. John\u2019s River with her cousin, Andrew Jackson Hutchings. Thus began the travels that continued throughout her girlhood, broadening and enriching her life in a way nothing else could have accomplished.\n\nHer father was Capt. Alexander Donelson Coffee, who served in the War Between the States; her grandfather, Gen. John Coffee.\n\"Murat was in Gen. Jackson's army in the War of 1812 and the Battle of New Orleans. Her great-grandfather, Joshua Coffee, was a captain of mounted gunners in the Revolutionary War. She was a descendant of the eloquent divine, Samuel Davies, the first president of Princeton University and of his grandson, Col. John Donelson, a member of the House of Burgesses in Virginia and a personal friend of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Patrick Henry. Capt. Donelson, in his \"good boat, \u2018Adventure\u2019 \", led the fleet that sailed the Autauga down the Tennessee, through the Muscle Shoals, and up the Ohio and Cumberland to settle French Lick. President Roosevelt said that \"The passenger list of the fleet was to Nashville what the log of the \u2018Mayflower\u2019 was to Boston\". On the maternal side, Mrs. Campbell\u2019s mother was Ann Eliza Sloss,\"\nThe \"Daughter of the Manse.\" Her father was the first resident pastor of the Florence Presbyterian Church, which celebrated its one hundredth anniversary in October, 1924. Her great-grandfather was David Campbell, the first judge of the Supreme Court of Tennessee. He had previously been judge of the Superior Court of North Carolina and judge of the District Court of the United States for the Mississippi Territory. Her great-great-grandfather was Colonel Alexander Outlaw, whom Caldwell characterized as \"one of the best and purest, as well as one of the ablest, men of his time in Tennessee.\"\n\nMrs. Campbell was educated at the Synodical College in Florence. Her vacations were spent traveling with her parents, visiting countries from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from Canada to the Gulf, and meeting many notables, among them General Robert E. Lee and his family.\nAt the Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs in Virginia, after her mother's death, she went abroad with her father in 1872, traveling extensively in Great Britain and on the Continent. At Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh, she was presented to Queen Victoria and was wonderfully impressed with \u201cthe weight of empire.\u201d In the fall, she received the blessing of Pope Pius IX at the Vatican in Rome. From her mother, Mrs. Campbell had inherited a voice of rare sweetness and volume and had studied with the best teachers in America. Through the influence of Prince Camille de Polignac, she procured a place in the studio of Masset in Paris where she had the inspiration of meeting such artists as Christine Nilsson and Adelina Patti. Two years later, she again went abroad, visiting the Netherlands, Germany, and Austria-Hungary, where she saw Emperor William.\n1. and \"our Fritz,\" subsequently Emperor of German V, and the beautiful and unfortunate Elizabeth, Empress of Austria. She was particularly interested in her visit to the German Court at Berlin and Potsdam due to her cousins, the daughters of Col. Andrew Jackson Donelson, American Ambassador to Germany during President Polk's administration.\n\nIn 1875, at beautiful \"Ardoyne,\" Mary Coffee became the bride of Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal II. a brilliant young lawyer, the son of Gen. Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal. However, after a little more than a year of wedded happiness, she was left to rear her infant son, Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal III, alone. She educated him at the classical schools of Florence and at Washington and Lee University, Virginia, where he took an academic course and law, and completed his education through extensive travel with her in this country and Europe. He returned\nNov. 3, 1904, he married Julia Haft Well Camper in Florence. They had two sons, Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal IV and Moncure Camper O\u2019Neal, both at Davidson College, North Carolina, and one daughter, Amelia Brown O\u2019Neal, living in Montgomery with her parents. In 1886, Mary Coffee O\u2019Neal married William P. Campbell, a native of Ireland and the first banker in the Tennessee Valley. She raised Campbell's young daughter as her own, around the age of her son. In 1923, Campbell died.\nForty years ago, the Southern Library Association was organized, and Mrs. Campbell was made one of its directors. After forty years, for various reasons, several directors gave up the work, and Mrs. Campbell took it on. In three years' time, she increased the number of volumes from three hundred to seventeen hundred, demonstrating her success. She is still one of the directors. Mrs. Campbell was one of the founders of the Firenze Club, the oldest literary club in Florence; was president of the Ladies' Aid Society, now the Woman's Auxiliary, in the Presbyterian Church; the leader and inspiration of \"The Campbell Clan,\" an organization formed of the sons and daughters of her friends, meeting regularly in her home. Her son and she...\nMrs. Campbell's daughter was a member of the Clan for ten or twelve years. She organized a club among a group of young girls, providing them with the benefits of her extensive travels. This was known as Mrs. Campbell's Travel Study Club and is known today as the Study Club. Mrs. Campbell is an honorary member of the Blue Pencil Club, the only Writers' Club in Northern Alabama.\n\nIn 1915, at the celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans, Mrs. Campbell was the guest of the State of Louisiana, the City of New Orleans, and the Historical Society. She was also the house-guest of Miss Grace King, authoress. These courtesies were shown to her as the representative of her grandfather, Gen. John Coffee, and great-uncle, Gen. Andrew Jackson. There was much to gratify her in the celebration, one of the speakers recalling to mind the significance of her family connections.\nNapoleon is reported to have said of his grandfather's march of eight hundred miles through a wilderness inhabited by savages, wild beasts, and venomous reptiles, \"It was the greatest recorded in military annals.\" President Wilson stated, \"We are celebrating a hundred years of peace rather than a battle, as no foreign foe has dared invade our shores since that day.\" One foreign delegate held a bay wreath over General Jackson's statue and said, \"All honor to the old hero who taught the mother country how to treat her colonies. She denied the United States of America what she so graciously granted to Canada, Australia, South Africa, and New Zealand.\"\n\nIn 1918, during the historic pageant in the Centennial celebration of Florence, Mrs. Campbell was asked to be the \"representative woman of the South,\" and she graciously accepted the role.\nAmong her acquaintances through the years, Mrs. Campbell numbered such literary geniuses as Thomas Nelson Page, whom she entertained in her home and introduced with a reception to the people of Florence in 1892; Father Ryan and Madame le Vert, both of whom she met at the Battle House in Mobile; Augusta Evans Wilson; John Trotwood Moore; Clifford Lanier; historians Brewer, McCorvey, and Owen; Paul Hamilton Hayne of South Carolina; Samuel Minturn Peck; Howard Weeden; Mrs. Clay Compton; Helen Keller and Maud Lindsay.\n\nThere is no sweeter way to close this sketch than with the poem written by Mr. Peck to Mrs. Campbell\u2019s lovely voice. A copy of the poem was placed in the cornerstone of the State University at its dedication during the administration of Gov. Edward A. O\u2019Neal I.\n\nBoat Song\nThere's music on the river! 'Tis the purling of the tide and merrily it tinkles from the bubbles as we glide. Now it fades away in silence; now it wakes so sweet a note. Fancy whispers 'tis an echo from a laughing Naiad's throat; or else it is fair Undine who is singing near the wave; or yet perchance the Lorelei within her crystal cave. There's music on the river! More joyously 'tis heard. Gaily thrilling from the bosom of a bonnie mockingbird; amid the swaying willow trees, melodiously clear, he carols to his brooding mate by the lay she loves to hear. How tenderly she listens with her little heart a-beat! Though he sings it over a thousand times she thinks it just as sweet. There's music on the river! 'Tis the fluttering of the wind.\nBlithely boasting of the flowers he wooed and left behind,\nDo you scent the fragrant kisses that he brings upon his mouth?\nThey were stolen from the lilies of the lakelet in the South;\nAnd alas, the lissome roses, dewy darlings of the night.\nHe has left them broken-hearted in the sultry noon to blight.\nThere's music on the river J, it will never know eclipse,\nFor 'tis the peerless melody that floats from Beauty's lips;\nAh; gently it is wafted from its home of rosy bloom.\nAnd steals upon the senses like a fairy brought perfume;\nO sweetly carol wind and bird and tinkling water fall.\nBut the gentle voice of woman is the sweetest sound of all.\n\n(Samuel Minurn Peck)\n(Sarah Somervell Mackall)\nRepresentative Women of the South\n(Sarah Somervell Mackall)\n\nGifted with that rare charm, the peculiar birthright of southern women.\nwomanhood is a title that will ever give her an immortal place in history, with a heritage of gentle birth and royal ancestry, Sally Somervell is truly a representative woman of the South. From Colonial days, when knighthood was in flower, when romance, poetry, love of home and love of country thrilled the heart and inspired undaunted courage and heroic deeds, her ancestors have been found on the honor roll of our nation.\n\nSarah Somervell Mackall's eligibility for membership in the Colonial Dames of America rests on descent from twenty-three Colonial ancestors, on her father's side alone, every one of whom served his state and country with distinction and high honor. She is the founder and the president of the National Society of Americans of Royal Descent, which was incorporated in 1908.\n\nShe has spent her life in historic Old Georgetown, D.C.\nJohn Mackall, a descendant of the Clifts family, settled in Calvert County, Maryland in 1685, a year after Cecil Calvert, Lord Baltimore, established the first settlement in the Colony. Two of his descendants were members of the Maryland House of Burgesses. Col. John Mackall served as speaker of the House of Burgesses from 1725 to 1734. His son, James John Mackall, owned a lordly estate of 30,000 acres between the Patuxent River and the Chesapeake.\nThe fourth colonel, Benjamin Franklin Mackall, born in Calvert County in 1723, was a member of the famous Association of Freemen in Maryland. He participated in the Maryland Constitutional Convention of 1776, which adopted the Bill of Rights, the Constitution of the State, and its form of government. He instructed the Maryland delegates to sign the Declaration of Independence and raised eight battalions of regular troops.\n\nThe mansion of brick, built in the old English style and surrounded by spacious and well-kept gardens and grounds, was admired as much as the eight beautiful daughters. One married Robert Bowie, governor of Maryland, another the celebrated Reverdy Johnson, and each married men prominent in the state affairs.\n\nBenjamin Franklin Mackall, the fourth colonel, was born in Calvert County in 1723. He was a member of the renowned Association of Freemen in Maryland. Mackall took part in the Maryland Constitutional Convention of 1776, which adopted the Bill of Rights, the Constitution of the State, and its form of government. He instructed the Maryland delegates to sign the Declaration of Independence and raised eight battalions of regular troops.\n\nThe mansion, constructed of brick in the old English style and encircled by expansive and meticulously maintained gardens and grounds, was as admired as the eight lovely daughters. One married Robert Bowie, governor of Maryland, another wed the celebrated Reverdy Johnson, and each married men of prominence in state affairs.\nThe Quota assigned to Maryland by the Continental Congress. He imported at his own expense the necessary arms and ammunition for these troops. He was also a delegate to the General Convention which met at Annapolis in 1774. He was appointed by the Constitutional Convention to command a regiment of militia from Calvert County. He was one of the 5 first judges of supreme court at Annapolis, holding this position for more than a quarter of a century.\n\nAnother ancestor, John Grahame Mackall, was the owner of vast estates in Calvert County. His home was set on fire by the British during the war, and with it were destroyed numerous articles of personal property.\n\nAnother Colonial ancestor was Richard Smith, who was appointed by Oliver Cromwell the first attorney general of Maryland and who attained eminent distinction during the early days of the Colony.\nLeonard Covington, who distinguished himself under General Washington during the Revolution and later became a Member of Congress, engaged in various military exploits in the service of his country and attained the rank of brigadier general. He was mortally wounded during the war of 1812 at the battle of Williamsburg. Another ancestor who held high rank among the pioneer founders of America was Robert Brooke, of de la Brooke, Maryland, and of royal descent, born in England in 1602 and settled in Calvert County, Md., about 1650. He was President of the Council, and acted as governor of Maryland from March to July, 1652. His son, Maj. Thomas Brooke, held places of distinction and responsibility both in military and civic spheres. The Brookes of Coiebrook are an old Irish family who settled in Ireland in the reign of [REIGN UNKNOWN].\nSir Basil Brooke served Queen Elizabeth as governor of Donegal. Members of this family hold high positions in social, military, and diplomatic circles in Great Britain today.\n\nMiss Mackall's paternal grandfather, Louis Mackall, born in 1802 at Mackall Square, Georgetown Heights, became an eminent physician. He wrote extensively for the press and many of his books on scientific subjects are in the Congressional Library. Professor Joseph Henry of the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., declared his medical theories were a hundred years ahead of his time.\n\nHer maternal grandfather, Rev. James McVean, was descended from Sir Peter Fraser on her mother's side. Sir Peter Fraser was knighted for saving Robert Bruce's life three times.\nKing of Scotland. He was a graduate of Union College and Princeton College and spoke seven languages fluently. Carnahan, later president of Princeton College, headed a classical seminary for young men at Georgetown. Among his students who later achieved distinction was his brother, Hon. Clias McVean, who became state attorney and surrogate judge of New York.\n\nRev. Mr. McVean died July 8, 1847. The Board of Common Council and Aldermen of the Corporation suspended business for eight days and crepe was worn on the arm for thirty days in mourning for this distinguished scholar, educator and Christian. In 1848, Bacon & Scribner of New York published a work entitled \"Teaching a Science; The Teacher an Artist.\" In this work was:\nA list of learned men began with Socrates and ended with James McVean - a notable tribute. Mackall's father, Louis Mackall II, was born on April 10, 1831, at \"Mattaponi,\" the old family seat in Prince George County. After graduating from Georgetown College and Maryland Medical University, he practiced medicine in Georgetown with great success throughout his long life. He was a professor of Clinics in the medical department of Georgetown University, served as president of the Medical Association of the District of Columbia, and frequently contributed to medical magazines. Sarah Somerville Mackall found in the cultured home at Mackall Square, amid its picturesque surroundings on the banks of the lordly Potomac, just the environment to stimulate her.\nHer childhood home was a handsome brick house of Colonial architecture, with large halls and great square rooms on either side, lit by four windows. The house was situated on a high eminence overlooking Washington, which spread out like a broad panorama below. The Potomac flowed just below, and in the sunlight, it appeared like a great silver sheet, bordered on either side by the blue hills. In the distance, the evening sun rested upon the dome of the Congressional Library, and the many windows reflecting their golden light gave the city an appearance of a city enveloped in flame. To the west, the tall gray spires of the college stood out in bold relief against the clear sweep of the many-hued sky. While a student, she received a gold medal for English composition.\nMiss she submitted a painting accepted by the State of Maryland for the World's Fair at Chicago. In the Art Building of that great Exposition, Miss Mackall was the only Washington artist represented. She designed the insignia of the society she founded, \u201cThe Society of Americans of Representative Women of the South,\u201d the insignia beautifully made by Bailey, Banks and Biddle, of Philadelphia, and which has been greatly admired. In 1898 she published \"Early Days of Washington,\" a work which betrays literary gifts of a high order, combined with marked ability as a historian and genealogist. Its pages teem with interesting descriptions of interesting people and places, and cast many valuable side lights on some important aspects of political, diplomatic and historical events.\nWith great charm and breadth of historical perspective, she pictures striking and notable scenes in the history of the nation's capital. Scenes in which her own ancestors have in every generation played conspicuous and honorable parts. She describes the beauty of the scenes on the hills overlooking the historic Potomac, \"the lovely green lawns, and box clad slopes, dotted with magnificent oaks centuries old,\" \"the splash of the boatman's oar and the silver sheen on the moon lit waters forming a scene of loveliness ever to be remembered.\" Vivid and fascinating descriptions are given of the laying out of Georgetown in 1751 by direction of the Maryland legislature, on land belonging in part to George Beall, one of her ancestors, who owned the tract of land known as the Rock of Dum.\nThe reception given by Washington to Marquis de Lafayette, George Washington and Robert E. Lee's memorable sojourns, the removal of the government seat from Philadelphia to Washington in 1800 and President John Adams' difficulties, Benjamin Mackall's role in transporting valuable government books, the troublous days of the War of 1812 and Washington's burning by the British, President and Mrs. Madison seeking refuge at Fairfax in Salona Hall, the home of Reverend William Maffitt.\nMrs. Madison, in the haste and peril of leaving the capital city, refused to go until the Declaration of Independence had been taken from its frame. In February 1816, she held the most brilliant levee in the executive mansion. Notable features included a splendid tribute to the three achievements in history of her native state, Mainland, an account of the reception given to Andrew Jackson when he came to assume the presidency in 1829, and the romantic career of Thomas Sim Lee.\n\nThe old Mackall home on Georgetown Heights, given by Mrs. Brooks Beall, an ancestor of Miss Sarah Somervell Mackall, to Miss Mackall's great great grandmother in 1650.\n\nGovernors in the old days of Maryland, the circumstances connected with them.\nLula Harrison Jones, born in Roanoke, Va., daughter of Dr. J.R. Harrison and Sarah Elizabeth Lunsford, was a charter member of the U.A.R., belonging to the Daughters of the Cincinnati Colonial Governors and Colonial Dames. With brush and pen, as a leader in patriotic and literary activities, she proved true to her illustrious lineage. The composition of the Star Spangled Banner, the romantic marriage of Harriet Beall Williams to the Russian Minister, M. de Bodisco, and numerous other historical events were among her accomplishments. Mrs. Bolling H. Jones, Representative Women of the South. Mrs. Rolling H. Jones.\n\nDr. J.R. Harrison, a famous Baptist minister and educator, was the founder of Virginia Intermont College, one of the leading institutions of Virginia.\nMrs. Harrison, mother of Mrs. Jones, was a lady of the old Virginia gentility, tracing her lineage back to Sir Thomas Lunsford of colonial fame. From 1861 to 1865, while Dr. Harrison served as chaplain in the Confederate army, she kept \"the home fires burning\" with unwavering loyalty and devotion.\n\nLula Harrison received her education at Hollins College and Marion College in Virginia, graduating from the latter. On October 15, 1889, she married Bolling Jones of Campbell County, Virginia. Jones' ancestry can be traced back to Pocahontas, and he is related to the Bollings, Pages, Harrisons, Floods, Langhornes, and other prominent Virginia families. His grandfather, Thomas West, brother of Lord Baltimore, served as colonial governor of the State, and West Point, Virginia, was named in his honor.\nMr. and Mrs. Jones moved to Atlanta in 1900. Since then, Mr. Jones has been an influential figure in the city's business, religious, and civic life. For eight years, under President Woodrow Wilson's administration, he served as Atlanta's postmaster. Mrs. Jones is a prominent figure in church work and civic and humanitarian organizations. She is a trustee and chairman of Memorials and Gift Scholarships for the Mary Ann Lipscomb Industrial School of Tallulah Falls, Ga., a school for the education of mountain girls, owned and operated by the Georgia Federation of Woman's Clubs, and a charter member of the Ellen Wilson Memorial, Inc. During her presidency of the Atlanta Woman's Club (1908-1909), the old Christian Science Church was purchased for use as a club house.\nMrs. Jones spearheaded the purchase and development of the wonderful club house and auditorium. She served as Director of Georgia for the General Federation of Woman's Clubs for four years and has been on its executive board for eighteen years. For two years, she was president of the Sheltering Arms Day Nurseries, a worthy city charity. She has been president of the Nineteenth Century Class, a forty-year-old organization with many brilliant women of Atlanta among its members, and a charter member of the Fine Arts Club, the Drama League, the D.A.R., the U.D.C., War Mothers, Martha Berry Circle, Atlanta Music Association, Atlanta Art Association, and the Atlanta branch of the Southern Women\u2019s Educational Alliance.\nMrs. James Carter Cook, a leading Southern woman, was vice president of the Southeastern Division of the United War Work Fund, spanning seven states, and an effective leader in other war work organizations. Endowed with queenly dignity and womanly charm, her culture irradiated by Christian ideals, she truly represented the best and highest in southern womanhood.\n\nMrs. James Carter Cook\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nAs one of the leading Southern writers, Mrs. Mary Louise Cook was widely known. As an interpreter of the beautiful home life of the Old South, with its chivalry, idealism, and culture, Mrs. Cook was unexcelled. She not only interpreted that beautiful life\u2014she lived it. Her beautiful home, \u201cBelmont,\u201d in the suburbs of Columbus, Ga., is distinctly Southern in its architecture and picturesque setting amidst the woods.\nMary Louise Redd, a native of Georgia, was a woman of culture and quick sympathies with wide interests. She lived in a gracious and genuine southern city, leaving an impression on it with her beautiful home life. Daughter of Charles Anderson Redd of Virginia and Elizabeth Gresham Redd of Greensboro, Ga, her entire life was spent in the South, which she loved passionately. The South's genius was interpreted in her life of culture and refinement, and its spirit found free, intelligent, and accurate expression in her works. At an early age, she married James Carter Cook, a wealthy Southern planter owning an extensive estate in the northern suburbs.\nMr. Cook was a man of high and honorable character, a descendant of two old and illustrious Southern families, the Cooks and Carters of Virginia. In 1869, Mrs. Cook wrote \"Ante Bellum; or Southern Life As It Was.\" At the time, \"Mary Lennox\" was given as the author's name, and the book was dedicated to \"the friends of the South.\"\n\nThe author of this book was herself left an orphan at an early age, and one can well imagine that the tender and exalted beauty of some of the passages is but an echo of some of her own early experiences.\n\nFrom no less than Alexander Stephens came high praise for \"A Woman's Perils.\" Mr. Stephens wrote this characteristic letter:\n\nLiberty Hall, Crawfordville, Ga.\n\nMy dear Mrs. Cook,\nI have finished cleaning the text:\n\nAlexander Stephens: \"I have just finished reading 'A Woman's Perils.' I was thoroughly engaged in the story from beginning to end. All the characters are original and some are exquisitely drawn. In particular, the instances of Mrs. Dalton and the infamous Lawson, as well as that of Mrs. Gordon, are almost without parallel in romance. I heartily congratulate you on this admirable contribution to the country's literature.\"\n\nSomeone said of Mrs. Cook, \"She writes because she cannot help it.\" Her soul sought expression, and in writing, painting, and her beautiful home and social life, her heart and spirit were revealed.\n\nThe parlors and dining room of \"Belmont,\" Mrs. Cook's home, were adorned with her paintings.\nA distinctively Southern family like the Cooks, with their rearing, sympathies, tastes, and historic ties, should have given the fullest devotion to the Southern Confederacy. In time, their home city, Columbus, which seemed so remote from the early battlefields of the war between the States and secure, fell into the hands of the Federals through the fortunes of war. In that dark hour, the grim manifestations of war penetrated into the very grounds of this fine old Southern home, located though it was in the suburbs. A camp had been pitched in the flower yard of the residence. Major General J. T. Wilson was in charge of the Federal troops. One of\nThe Columbus newspapers reported on this incident at \"B'elmont\" as follows:\n\n\"General Wilson instructed one of his officers, Colonel Eggleston, to seize the most elegant carriage that could be found and report to his headquarters at the Mott mansion. Colonel Eggleston went to the residence of Mr. James C. Cook on Rose Hill and demanded his carriage, stating that he had been ordered to take it as it matched the description. The lady of the house, we are told, despite being surrounded by Federal troops, refused to deliver the carriage, telling the officer it was private property and she had been provided with a guard to protect her rights.\n\nThis spirited protest did not help, however, as the property was seized. The newspaper account of this incident continued:\"\nThe handsome carriage, drawn by four horses, was taken to headquarters with United States flags floating over it. Mr. and Mrs. Cook were thoroughly identified with all charitable movements in Columbus, their home city. On the first anniversary of Mrs. Cook's death (December 23), her husband gave the mayor of Columbus a check for $500.00, to be used for the poor of this city. Representative women of the South, especially the children, said he would like to feel that there were no \"empty stockings\" in town that Christmas. \"Rose Hill,\" an extensive suburban area of Columbus, was named by Mrs. Cook. This name was chosen because of the profusion of Cherokee roses which formerly grew wild on that hill. Mr. and Mrs. Cook had four children: Charles Anderson Cook, James Carter Cook, Henry Carleton Cook, and Miss Mary Elvira.\nJames Carter Cook was a member of the famous Nelson Rangers, one of the most noted Confederate commands. Corra Harris In the galaxy of literary geniuses which the State of Georgia has contributed to American letters, the name of Corra Harris shines as a bright particular star. Since 1909, when \"A Circuit Rider's Wife\" gave the reading public something absolutely unique and original in thought and expression, she has been recognized as one of the outstanding writers of the nation. Writing about the things which pertain to her own life and experience, describing characters and episodes which have passed under her own observation, with an insight, a frankness, and a vividness of apprehension which is startling, she has made an impression upon her generation which must abide. Corra White Harris\nShe was born on March 17, 1869, in Elbert County, Georgia, the daughter of Tinsley Rucker White and his wife, Mary Elizabeth. Her father was a man of striking personality, from whom she seems to have inherited something of her original genius, and her mother was a woman of intense Christian faith and strong character. The childhood and education of Corra White were of a character in keeping with the brilliant career for which she was destined. In no sense was she cast in a conventional mold. She manifested early the keen sense of humor, the power of microscopic observation, the mental alertness and independence, and the soaring imagination which readers of her works have learned to know so well. In her school career, she was impatient of the routine of prescribed studies, but before she was sixteen, she had read Plutarch's Lives.\nAt this period, she studied Paradise Lost by Milton, Jerusalem Delivered by Tasso, the Aeneid by Virgil, and the Odes of Horace in Latin. She also read Paley's Moral Philosophy and a ponderous work on the Evidences of Christianity. During this time, she attended a private school in Elberton and later was sent to another school conducted by a kinsman, Mr. Wootten Matthews, a noted teacher and scholar. Despite her education at textbooks, she learned more from great works of literature and the moving panorama of life around her.\n\nIt was while attending the last-named school that she met Lundy Harris. He had been an editor of a religious publication and a pro-Dissenter during the following three years. He was a man of culture, scholarship, literary taste, and intense spirituality. (husband of a Methodist minister, William Thompson of \"A Circuit Rider's Wife.\")\nFebruary 8, 1887. Lundy Harris and Corra White were married. During the following three years, as the wife of a pastor or of Methodist churches, she began to acquire that rich store of experience and reflection which she has used with such telling effect in her books. After three years, Mr. Harris again took up his teaching work as Professor of Greek at Emory College, Oxford, Ga., and remained a member of the Emory faculty until he experienced a nervous breakdown in June, 1898. These were the formative years for the future author. In her contact with her husband\u2019s parishioners both on the circuit and in his town and suburban churches, and in the succeeding years in Oxford college town atmosphere, she was learning human nature and hanging in the portrait gallery of her mind pictured types of life and character.\ncharacter  which  she  was  later  to  immortalize  in  the  pages  of  her \nbooks. \nSome  slight  advances  in  the  direction  of  authorship  were  made \nduring  the  Oxford  days.  But  the  real  beginning  of  her  literary  activity \ncame  with  the  publication  in  the  Independent  of  May  17,  1899,  of  a \nletter  from  her  dealing  with  the  race  problem  in  the  South,  a  dis\u00ac \ncussion  which  elicited  from  Dr.  William  Hayes  Ward  a  letter  asking \nfor  further  contributions  from  her  pen.  The  story  of  her  immediately \nsucceeding  efforts  may  be  told  in  her  own  words:  \u201cIn  addition  to \nsigned  articles  and  a  few  short  stories,  I  read  and  reviewed  twelve \nhundred  books,  mostly  novels,  between  1900  and  1904.  I  was  well \nand  strong  and  had  a  mind  as  fresh  and  bracing  as  a  keen  spring \nwind,  blowing  over  living  fields.  I  did  not  know  anything,  as  knowl\u00ac \nDuring this period, I wrote articles on various topics, including literature and religion, as well as politics. These articles were widely copied throughout the country. In this period, my husband recovered his health, and after another stint in the ministry, we moved to Nashville, Tennessee, in the fall of 1902, where he became the assistant secretary of the Board of Education of the Methodist Church. One circumstance that influenced my literary life during this period was the fact that for nine years, our evenings were dedicated to the reading of poetry. \"Lundy\" read aloud with expression and appreciation of literary and artistic beauty. We thus read and discussed Browning, Lanier, Keats, Poe, Byron, and Tennyson, among others. It is worth recording Mrs. Harris' expression.\nI shall always contend that the best preparation for creative literary work is the reading of the Old Testament and the elder poets. Her great and climactic adventure in the realm of letters came in 1909, when she went in person and submitted the story which formed the nucleus of \"A Circuit Rider's Wife\" to George Horace Lorimer, editor of the Saturday Evening Post. The result of this interview was the acceptance of the completed story for publication in the Post. She began \"A Circuit Rider's Wife\" on the third day of July, 1909, and finished on the 31st of the same month. Her fame was established at once. Discussion of this new and refreshing voice in literature was nationwide, and the author was deluged with letters of praise, mingled with some which were critical.\nThe public received the first volume with criticism-charmed interest. They eagerly followed with 'Eve's Second Husband' and 'The Recording Angel'. Later, 'The Circuit Rider's Widow' was published, along with numerous short stories and articles. A series of letters from the war zone in Europe during 1914 and 1915 also emerged. The last Circuit Rider story was 'My Son', written in late 1919. Her husband, whose character and achievements were significant in her writings, died on September 16, 1910. In 1919, she was overshadowed by another great bereavement - the death of her daughter Faith. She was remarkable as a child, sweet and winning, with a brilliant mind and an affectionate disposition.\nThere is nothing more beautiful in recorded annals than her affection for her father and mother, and the love they in return bestowed upon her. She graduated from Goucher College, Baltimore, and became a student and writer of exquisite gifts. After her father's death, the bonds between mother and daughter grew even stronger, and their mutual devotion was an idyl of beauty and charm.\n\nIn 1923, Mrs. Harris published \"My Book and My Heart,\" a wonderfully informing, tender, and heart-stirring record of her life. The passages in which she recounts incidents connected with her memories of Faith are among the most charming in the entire volume. In the midst of some tender and touching reminiscences, she utters this personal word:\n\n\"You will know how to take this little wreath of memories to...\"\nFaith, as you have kindly allowed me to place a crown on my Circuit Rider's head, for they are now the very fragrance of my life and a part of this record from which she must pass on, as she has already passed from life itself.\n\nThe title, \u201cMy Book and My Heart,\u201d aptly expresses the central facts in Corra Harris's life. Her first book, \u201cA Circuit Rider's Wife,\u201d was the center of her literary activity and power. All the others group themselves around that. And, like every great book, it sprang from her heart. It was the expression of the thoughts, dreams, and visions of her whole life. In the concluding pages of \u201cMy Book and My Heart,\u201d she tells of how after fame had come to her and the power to fulfill her desires, she grew hungry for the old Georgia hills, and bought in North Georgia an estate on which stood\nThe cabin, pictured opposite, is where Corra Harris spent much of her later life. I came upon it twelve years ago, in May 1923, during a hike higher up into the hills. The door hung on one hinge, the floor was half decayed. A little thorn bush grew just inside, its pretty green head leaning through the door. A wren had nested in it, full to overflowing with tiny birds, their bills wide open. The hidden hill on which this cabin stood was covered with a dense growth of trees, brambles, bushes, and weeds. Yet I recognized it as my home. You see things sometimes that belong to other people but are by nature your own.\nThis cabin had been built by Pine Log, a Cherokee Indian chief, some time before 1830. There is a wide, level valley below, still seeded with arrowheads where the tribe must have had their wigwams.\n\nI bought the place the following year \u2014 the forest of a hundred and fifty acres in the midst of which the cabin stands, the level valley of seventy acres below and the comb of wooded hills beyond. I own it to the center of the earth and beyond the last star that shines above it \u2014 pretty stars, like a garden of white flowers overhead on dark nights. Two weeks out of every month I also own the moon. This is a good deal of real estate and sky and star stuff for one woman to have. I am so wealthy that not all the money in the world can buy this place from me. It is rich in minerals, but nobody lives here now.\nshall ever bore a hole in it or dig anything out of it. For it is the screen grave of my silence and peace, it is the sky-wide treasure chest of my last memories of Faith. It is the living book we planned and planted together.\n\nMrs. Edward Carter (nee Bettie Hocker Logan)\n\nMrs. Edward Carter (nee Bettie Hocker Logan), daughter of Lydia Anne Hocker and William Tinsley Logan of Stanford, Kentucky (St. Asaph the third fort established in Kentucky in 1775 by her paternal ancestor, Benjamin Logan). Her ancestors in direct line date back to 912 A.D. from the illustrious Kings of Normandy. Pioneer ancestors to America, David Logan, also William Montgomery, father of Anne Montgomery, wife of Benjamin Logan. Among Mrs. Carter\u2019s ancestors are many of the most eminent men and women of the Colonial period; Montgomery, McCormack, Ellis, Lewis and\nMany others, holding high offices in Church and State in Colonial days were also her ancestors. All of her immediate ancestors served with the Confederacy. Both her father and mother were truly typical Southerners.\n\nMrs. Carter was a true daughter of the Old South, beautiful and winsome, always cherishing the lofty traditions that have made the South great in history.\n\nWhile still a young girl, her parents moved to Warrensburg, Missouri. Her father was killed protecting Southern rights in 1865, her mother died, and their large estate was sacrificed for the cause dearest to their hearts. She had suffered, she knew sorrow, she knew pain, she knew weariness, but she never knew fear nor malice nor defeat.\n\nShe was one of the bravest, most charming and courageous daughters of the Confederacy. She returned to Danville, Kentucky, the historical and cultured city.\nDanville was the first capital of Kentucky, where Benjamin Logan, her brilliant ancestor, convened the first State convention in 1785 to advocate for State Rights. Danville remained the capital for seven years. Here, Mrs. Carter completed her education, graduating from the college now known as the Kentucky College for Women, and was subsequently retained as a teacher.\n\nIn 1870, on November 3rd, she married Mr. Edward Carter. He was a gentleman of the old Southern school, tall and handsome, commanding figure in any gathering. This marriage united two of the most noble and distinguished families of Colonial days in Virginia and Kentucky.\n\nMrs. Carter had three children: the oldest, Logan Carter, died in infancy; the youngest, Edward Hume Carter, remained unmarried; her only daughter, Laura Logan Carter, married Mr. J. Harris Baughman.\nMrs. Carter, true to every high trust in home, church, state, and national activities, found her greatest joy and pride in her beautiful country home, \"Meadow Dale.\" The center of delightful hospitality, Meadow Dale radiated an atmosphere of culture and refinement, permeated with her splendid and superb compelling charm of Southern womanhood, while modest and sweet, with gentle dignity. She was gifted with rare grace of mind and character, an acknowledged leader. Here she reigned supreme in the hearts of her husband and children and in the joy of her friendships.\n\nMrs. James Harris Baughman (nee Laura Logan Carter)\nMrs. James Harris Baughman, born Laura Logan Carter, was the only daughter of Edward Carter and Bettie Hooker Logan, in Danville, Kentucky, at the Historical St. Asaph Fort in Stanford.\nCollins writes, \"Col. Logan was one of Kentucky's earliest and most distinguished pioneers, coming when Kentucky was a howling wilderness. In 1774, he accompanied Dunmore on his expedition to the north-west of Ohio. These journeys, attended with peril and privation, evince the hardihood and energy of his mind, as well as his bodily vigor and activity. He was a student of men. Never did the high and manly qualities of courage, sagacity, and fortitude for which Mr. Logan was so eminently distinguished, display themselves more gloriously than during those terrible days when his little garrison was beset for weeks by those howling Indians of the forest. He was a commanding figure of superb build, towering above his fellows, athletic, dignified, his face cast in the finest mold of manly beauty; he was a pioneer woodsman.\"\nA man, magistrate, legislator, and General; a recognized leader in Peace and War, at the council fire and in convention hall. Mrs. Baughman's Virginia ancestry includes the names of Ball, Montgomery, Carter, Dyrnoke, Hocker, Dale, Skipwith, Ellis, Nevin, and others, who held high places in Church and State in Colonial days. She was married to Mr. J. Harris Baughman in 1895. Mr. Baughman descends from the Taylor, Covington, Gentry, Harris, Baughman, Chenault, and other eminent Virginia and Maryland families. He is a Son of the American Revolution, Representative from Boyle County to Kentucky State Legislature, 1924-1925. In service to his home, State, and Country, he leads with the same dauntless courage as was manifested for the high ideals and principles of his noble pioneer ancestors.\nMr. and Mrs. Baughman, residents of the old college town where Col. Benjamin Logan called the first Convention in 1785, possess proud Confederate lineage. The Stars and Bars always wave above their mantle. Their home, a fitting setting for its queenly chatelaine with compelling beauty and personal charm, is the scene of brilliant social functions. The house, inherited and acquired through wide travel in America and Europe, is filled with the finest traditions of fast-passing and lavish hospitality.\n\nThe home of Mr. and Mrs. T. Harris Baughman, located in Stanford, Kentucky (St. Asaph Fort, 3rd in Kentucky), was the setting for their social gatherings until their move to Danville, Kentucky.\n\nMrs. Baughman's distinguished presence makes her an outstanding figure in any assembly.\nMrs. Baughman is a college graduate and has taught for thirty years in the Church of the Disciples, of which she is a communicant. She is a leader in all charitable, civic, and patriotic activities in her State. She has received the coveted degree bestowed by Chautauqua, President of Kentucky Chautauqua Club, Chautauqua, NY; member of Sulgrave Manor Association; Life member of C.W.B.M.; member of Pioneer Memorial Association Kentucky, Pageant of Kentucky's Historical Past, in Episode of thirteen States, represented New York State: Belongs to the Filson Club and Kentucky Historical Society; State Historian of Colonial Daughters; Organizing State President of Founders and Patriots of America in Kentucky; A member of the United Daughters of Confederacy; Organizing Regent of 3rd Chapter in Kentucky of the United States Daughters.\nMrs. Baughman, Recording Secretary of River Raisin Chapter of U.D.C., State Chairman for Kentucky of the Americanization work and Patriotic Education from 1921-24, as well as several times Regent of her St. Asaph Chapter of American Revolution and a lineal descendant of the Order of the Crown. A ready and graceful speaker with parliamentary skills, she teaches parliamentary law classes as her patriotic service to Kentucky womanhood. Mrs. Baughman cherishes the ideals and deeds of her ancestors and is deeply interested in preserving all records. However, she believes that the true and final test of merit lies in personal, unselfish individual achievement. She brings to organization work a well-trained and obedient mind, possessing a charming and winsome personality, deeply consecrated, eminently worthy of the brave men and high-born women from whom she descends.\nMrs. Baughman is justly acclaimed as one of Kentucky's worthy representatives of noble cultured womanhood in its truest and highest development and is one of the well-beloved women of Kentucky.\n\nMrs. John Allen Walker\n\nMary Elizabeth Peacock Walker was born on a plantation in Morris County, Texas. She was left an orphan at an early age, as her mother died when she was three weeks old, and when she was five years old, she was further orphaned by the death of her father, who was killed by the Comanche Indians while on official duty as a Texas ranger. During her girlhood, she lived the free, open, and healthful life of a western ranch. Her education was obtained under the best instructors at St. Joseph's Academy, Trinidad, Colo., and in 1886 she\nMrs. Walker was married to John Allen Walker of Brownwood, Texas, who was also of distinguished lineage and a man of prominence. Mrs. Walker's ancestry is ancient and honorable, and the archives of North Carolina and Virginia are enriched by honored names from four of her ancestral lines. This reveals the fact that her forebears have distinguished themselves for daring courage and patriotic service in every war in which America has been engaged. One of these ancestral lines was that of the Thompsons, who came to the new world in 1635. Members of this family performed notable service in various spheres of life, as members of the General Assembly and House of Burgesses of Virginia from Surrey County, as officer of a ranging company against the Cherokee Indians in North Carolina, as magistrates, and as Revolutionary soldiers.\nThe Coffees, ancestors of her mother, hailed from Ballyroe in Cork County, Ireland. They held chief positions in Westmeath, Galway, and settled in Norfolk County, Virginia, where they amassed significant land and became influential figures in various fields. A sketch of this family can be found in the \"History of Watauga County\" in North Carolina.\n\nVia another lineage, she descends from the Eoffs, a German family frequently documented in the annals of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. In the Somerset County, New Jersey, Historical Quarterly, there is a reference to the old Eoff Tavern, which had stood for 101 years prior to 1850. The names of Jacob Eoff and Robert Eoff appear in 1759 and 1798, respectively, as prominent members of the Lutheran Church at Pluckemin. A boulder in the old Lutheran churchyard bears their mention.\nThe names in \"Raritan in the Hills\" belong to Jacob Eoff Sr. and Jacob Eoff Jr. The Peacocks, their ancestors, emigrated from London before 1648 and settled near the \"Dismal Swamp\" in lower Virginia. When state boundaries were more definitively fixed, this land was located partly in Virginia and partly in North Carolina, making the Peacocks part of the history of both states. In colonial wars, the name William Peacock appears as a foot soldier in the militia of Surrey County, Virginia, in 1687. During the period of the Spanish invasion, John Peacock served as an ensign in a company commanded by Captain Sharpe. The Historical Association of North Carolina records show John Peacock rendering service in that State during the War of the Revolution.\nIn the War of 1812, another John Peacock served as a sergeant in Bruton\u2019s North Carolina regiment. Mrs. Walker credits much of the noble influence that surrounded her early life to her grandmother, Mary Knox. She married Joel Coffee and moved with him from Pulaski County, Kentucky, to Texas. Mrs. Coffee was a woman of brilliant intellect, strong character, and pronounced piety, and up until her death in 1874, she exerted a decided influence for good on the community in which she lived.\n\nMrs. Walker often heard her grandmother relate incidents in the adventurous life of her father, John Knox, in her girlhood. He was born in Ireland, emigrated to America, and enlisted in the Revolutionary forces at Chester, S.C. At the storming of Stony Point by the American forces under \"Mad Anthony\" Wayne on July 15, 1779, the latter of which is not mentioned in the original text but is included in the input, the.\nLieutenant John Knox was the second man to mount the ramparts. On July 26 following, he was among those to whom Congress gave a vote of thanks for heroic conduct on this memorable occasion. Mrs. Walker is an eager student of historical records that feature renowned figures of the past as examples for the present. She is thoroughly versed in geneological records concerning her illustrious ancestry. She is a member of the Order of La Fayette, the Order of the White Crane, the Military Order of the Frontier, and the Knights of the Golden Horseshoe. She belongs to the Daughters of the Confederacy, the Patriots and Founders of America, and the Colonial Dames. She has served as Regent and Vice Regent of the Mary Garlington Chapter I.A.R., of which she is a charter member, and was Vice-President for Texas.\nThe N.S. Daughters of 1812. Besides these patriotic and historical societies, she is a charter member of the Twentieth Century Club of Brownwood.\n\nOf her home life, one who has known her intimately speaks as follows: \"Mrs. Walker, her distinguished husband, and her charming daughter, Miss Mary Elizabeth, have all mastered the art which 'welcomes the coming, speeds the going, guest,' with the result that their beautiful home in Brownwood is the resort of a large circle of congenial, cultured friends.\" Thus we find another picture of one of the elegant southern women who, in the midst of manifold duties to her fate, her country, and her community, has ever shone brightest and with the most queenly dignity in the quiet circle of the home.\n\nMrs. Walker's picture appears as the frontispiece of this volume.\n\nMrs. Thomas Earle Edwards\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMRS.  THOMAS  EARLE  EDWARDS \nMary  Elizabeth  Walker  was  born  in  Colorado,  Texas,  the  daughter \nof  John  Allen  Walker  and  Mary  Elizabeth  Peacock  Walker.  Her  an\u00ac \ncestral  line  may  be  traced  across  the  continent,  having  representa\u00ac \ntives  in  Virginia,  North  Carolina,  Tennessee,  Alabama  and  Texas. \nJohn  Allen  Walker,  her  father,  is  a  son  of  Lieutenant  John  Allen \nWalker,  who  made  the  supreme  sacrifice  in  the  battle  of  Antietam, \nSeptember  17,  1861.  Her  mother\u2019s  sketch  precedes  this. \nThe  earliest  representative  of  the  Walker  family  of  whom  we  find \nrecord  was  James  Walker,  who  served  in  the  Colonial  wars  and  in \nthe  Revolutionary  war,  although  he  was  an  old  man  at  the  time  of \nthe  latter  struggle.  He  removed  from  Virginia  to  Granville  County, \nNorth  Carolina,  and  later,  about  1780,  to  Rockingham  County  in  the \nsame  state.  His  wife,  Sarah  Allen  Walker,  was  the  daughter  of \nWilliam Allen, who rendered notable service during the Revolution as a member of the North Carolina militia in 1779. Allen Walker, son of James, also served in the War of the Revolution as a sergeant. His wife was Esther McRory, daughter of Capt. Thomas McRory, and Hannah Armstrong. The Esther McRory chapter of the D.A.R. at Amarillo, Texas, bears her name.\n\nThe history of Hickman County, Tennessee, records that Allen Walker removed there in 1815, occupying a tract of 900 acres of land which was given him as a reward for Revolutionary service. He established Walker\u2019s Ferry, one mile from Centerville, TN. He lived at the headwaters of Indian Creek, three miles from Centerville, and reared a large family which played an important part in the development of this new and promising country.\nSergeant Allen Walker's son, Dr. Joel Walker, was a soldier in the War of 1812 as a member of the Tennessee gunners. Later, he served both houses of the Tennessee Legislature, representing a district composed of twelve counties and serving as Speaker of the House, being the only man in Hickman County to enjoy this high honor.\n\nThe Matherals, Curries, and McRorys, as well as the Walkers, emigrated to Tennessee and settled on land granted to them for Revolutionary services. The Walkers of Tennessee have always stood in the front rank in educational and professional circles. T.P. Walker, a son of Dr. Joel, was a state senator for eight years, while another son, Elijah, was made a judge when very young, being at that time the youngest in Tennessee.\n\nDr. Joel Walker married Mary Matheral, a descendant of John.\nMatheral and James Currie. The D.A.R. escutcheon of Mrs. Edwards bears bars representing the records of Captain Thomas McRory, John Matheral, James Currie, and Sergeant Allen Walker. The Matherals and Curries were Scotch and came from Pennsylvania, settling on the Haw River in North Carolina before Mrs. Edwards\u2019 maternal grandmother, Mrs. Caledonia Pruitt Walker, wife of Lieutenant John Allen Walker, was also of honorable lineage, as evident in a family record book kept by her father, Jacob Pruitt. This family had its beginning in America with three brothers who came from Scotland in 1637 and settled in Henrico County, Virginia. Later descendants of the family moved into Caroline and Spotsylvania counties, where they had occasion to exercise their manly prowess in border warfare with marauding Indians.\nWe find that Martin Pruitt was a spy among the Indians during the Revolution and received a pension for his services. An interesting family tradition concerns twin brothers, Abraham and Isaac Pruitt. Abraham, anticipating that he might fall in battle with the Indians, requested that Isaac marry his widow and bring up his four children. Isaac complied with this request, and four more children were added to the family. They lived in Lawrence and Marion County, Alabama.\n\nRegarding the branch of the family which settled in Alabama, it is stated in Saunders\u2019 \u201cEarly Settlers of Alabama,\u201d that the Pruitts were distinguished by fine personal appearance and carriage, strong constitutions, vigorous minds, and uncommon energy.\n\nColonial records of the family are found as early as 1687, and we find that William Pruitt and his five sons served with distinction.\nThe War of the Revolution. With such a lineage, it is not strange that Mary Elizabeth Edwards imbibed from earliest childhood those patriotic sentiments which form so large an element in her character. She was educated at Howard Payne College, Brownwood, Texas; Baylor University, Waco, Texas, and Barnard College, New York City, graduating from each of these institutions and receiving the A.B. degree from the two last named. On February 14, 1924, she married Thomas Earle Edwards, a native of Memphis, Tenn. and a son of Dr. T. E. Edwards and Mrs. Jennie Rossborough Edwards. He is an alumnus of the University of Mississippi, and was an ensign in the Naval Aviation Corps in the World War. He now is an employee of the National City Bank of New York, at its office in Havana, Cuba. Mrs. Edwards is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution.\nMrs. Samuel Hale Sibley\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Samuel Hale Sibley\n\nShe served as Secretary of the Mary Garland Chapter, D.A.R., of Brownwood, Texas, and State Registrar (1922-23) of the Founders and Patriots. She was keenly interested in music and church work, and during her residence in Brownwood was a member of the Brownwood Music Club and the Twentieth Century Club of that city. But what she valued most highly was the privilege of having a home in which true Americanism could find its citadel and its shrine. Truly, she could be called a Representative Woman of the South. May her years be filled with kindly deeds and noble influence that shall uplift those who learn to know her.\nMrs. Samuel H. Sibley, nee Florence Weldon Hart, now of Marietta, GA, was born in Pulaski County, Virginia, daughter of William Thomas Hart and Lucy Gaines Bentley. Her father was a son of James B. Hart of Union Point, GA, and Maria Virginia Collier. During the War between the States, William Thomas Hart was a captain of engineers, serving on the staff of General Breckenridge, but participated in several engagements and was severely wounded. While with the army in Virginia, he met his wife, Lucy Gaines Bentley, the daughter of Dr. Henry M. Bentley and Cynthia Keat. She was a descendant of \"William Bentley, Gentleman,\" one of the passengers on the first supply ship sent to Jamestown in 1608, and of a later William Bentley, who was an officer in the Revolutionary War and a member of the Order of the Cincinnati.\nMr. and Mrs. Hart lived at their estate, Maplewood, in Pulaski County, where they had six children. When Florence Weldon Hart was five years old, the family moved to Union Point, Ga. In this charming little Georgia town lived also Mr. Hart\u2019s brother, John C. Hart, who successively served as Superior Court Judge, Attorney General, and Tax Commissioner of Georgia, and his sister, Mrs. Jennie Hart Sibley, a pioneer in the temperance cause and for years president of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union of Georgia.\n\nFlorence Hart attended the Union Point High School and Lucy Cobb College in Athens, Ga. On April 29, 1897, she married Samuel H. Sibley, a remarkably gifted young attorney of Union Point, who is now District Judge of the Federal Court at Atlanta, by appointment of President Woodrow Wilson. Judge Sibley is one of them.\nMrs. Sibley, one of the South's prominent citizens, is depicted in this sketch in her wedding gown, which had previously been worn by her grandmother, Cynthia Kent, during her marriage to Dr. Henry M. Bentley at the River, Montgomery County, Virginia, on March 14, 1837. Mrs. Sibley is a Presbyterian Church member and an active leader in church, social, and club affairs. During the World War, she received medals for her Red Cross and Liberty Loan work. Currently, she serves as the third vice-president of the Service Star Legion of Georgia. She organized the Greene County Federation of Women's Clubs and the Union Point Mothers' Club. She was previously the president of the Ladies' Garden Club of Union Point.\nThe cemetery was enclosed with a stone gateway and iron fencing, transforming it into a place of beauty. After Judge Sibley's elevation to the bench, they moved to Marietta, near Atlanta. Since coming to Marietta, Mrs. Sibley has been president of the Woman's Bible Class of the Presbyterian Church.\n\nSuperior in mental qualities and endowed with rare graciousness and charm, Mrs. Sibley is loved and esteemed by a wide circle of friends. Her children are: William Hart, Sarah Virginia, and Florence Weldon Sibley.\n\nThe Sibley Home, Union Point, GA.\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nThere are birds in the treetops in the woodland dell\nThat sing to each other and their story tell;\nThere are carols of music floating all through the air\nThat tell you a songster is hidden somewhere.\nBut the sweetest birdsong that falls from the tree are the birds in my treetop that sing always to me. There are birds in the treetop where the morning sun falls, soft shimmering and glistening as the mocking bird calls. In the blue of the mountain, by the soft rippling stream, they sing all day, while I listen and dream. Yes, dream of the birds in the treetops at home, that sing to me sweetest wherever I roam. They sing all day and into the night, and carry my soul on, on, with their flight. They sing always sweetest at the first peep of dawn, when the rose tints of sunrise melt away into song. Yet eventide brings to their nest in the tree, the birds that will ever sing sweetest to me. Mrs. Martin L. Sigmon Representative Women of the South Mrs. Martin L. Sigmon, of Monticello, Arkansas, holds a place of distinction.\nVivian Marie Lewis, deserving distinction among workers in patriotic organizations keeping alive historic pride and fidelity to the ideals of our republic's ancestors, was born in Texarkana, Texas. Daughter of Dr. Francis B. Lewis and Elizabeth Broadnax Mann, her father enlisted in the Confederate Army's Company K, 51st Georgia Infantry. Educated at the Ursuline Sisters\u2019 Academy, graduating in 1902 with high honors, particularly in music, she married Martin L. Sigmon of Monticello, Arkansas.\nProminent manufacturer and philanthropist, who during the World War was a leader in the Red Cross work and a liberal contributor to this cause. Mrs. Sigmon, by virtue of her long and illustrious lineage, is a member of our most exclusive patriotic organizations, holding responsible positions in many of them. She has served as Arkansas State Chairman of the Student Loan Fund Committee of the Daughters of the American Revolution, State Regent of the Daughters of American Colonists, State Regent of the Imperial Order of the Yellow Rose, and Vice President of the United States Daughters of 1812. She is a member and active leader in the work of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, a member of the Scions of Colonial Cavaliers, Knights of the Golden Horseshoe, Huguenot Society of South Carolina, First Families of Virginia, Sons and Daughters of Pilgrims.\nDaughters of the Barons of Runnymede, Daughters of Founders and Patriots of America.\n\nA glance at this noteworthy list of organizations readily suggests a descent from names of high repute. This is indeed the case. The names emblazoned on her genealogical records enable us to envision the stirring days of chivalry and romance in colonial Virginia. Among her ancestors were Colonel George Reade, Colonel Augustus Warner, Colonel John Lewis, Colonel Robert Lewis, Colonel Charles Lewis, Colonel Moore Fauntleroy, Colonel William Fauntleroy, Colonel Edward Hill, who for a short time was Colonial Governor of Maryland, Captain Nicholas Martin, Colonel Nicholas Meriwether, Colonel Samuel Griffin, John Bushrod, Colonel Francis Epps, John Vivian, Henry Thacher, Colonel Edwin Conway.\nJohn Brodnax, Colonel John Walker, John Payne, and the families of Dancy, Barret, and Mann.\n\nTheir earliest colonial ancestor, Colonel George Reade, acted as governor of Virginia in 1638. Among their Revolutionary ancestors were Colonel Francis Vivian Brooking and Lieutenant Colonel Stephen Edward Broadnax.\n\nJohn Lewis, their earliest colonial ancestor on the Lewis line, married Elizabeth Warner. Their son, Colonel Robert Lewis of Belvoir, married Jane Meriwether; John Lewis married Catherine Fauntleroy; the next John Lewis married Elizabeth Kennan, a granddaughter of Colonel Charles Lewis of the Bird; Augustus Lewis married Louisa Brooking, and their son, Dr. Francis B. Lewis, the father of the subject of this sketch, married Elizabeth Mann.\n\nMrs. Sigmon is organizing Regent of the Edward Broadnax Chapter of the U.S. Daughters of 1812, the second largest in the State.\nShe has been six times a delegate to the D.A.R. Convention at Washington, D.C. Her stately country home near Monticello, set in the midst of broad and fertile acres, embowered amid lordly oaks and overlooking a gently sloping hillside, which her husband has christened \"Vivian Manor,\" is the delight of her friends and the admiration of all who are privileged to see it. Among the latest honors to be bestowed upon this gifted daughter of the South is her appointment as Corresponding Secretary National of the U.S. Daughters of 1812. This appointment was made at the 1925 meeting of the U.S. D. 1812 Council in Washington. When the history of the State of Arkansas is written, among the names of the talented and loyal women who have given unstinted service in behalf of her noblest ideals, a place of high honor must be reserved.\nFor Vivian Marie Lewis Sigmon.\n\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\n\nI am content to be a living, eager soul,\nA vibrant part\nOf Nature\u2019s grand, harmonious whole.\nContent to feel\nThe splendid rhythm of a tree;\nThe sound, the scent\nOf leafy Spring is ecstasy.\nContent to sing\nOf flowery field, and sheltered glade,\nThe sunset sky,\nAnd all the wonders God has made.\n\nMargaret Price Stillman.\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\n\nMiss Francis Lewis Sigmon\n\nThis lovely southern girl is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Martin L. Sigmon. Mrs. Sigmon's sketch precedes this. She was born in Little Rock, Ark., and is at present (1925) a popular student at Vassar College in the class of 1927.\n\nFrom her earliest years, Francis Lewis Sigmon has given evidence of decided gifts in many directions. Her readings given when a child\nShe was greatly admired and applauded for her versatility of mind, grace of movement, and social charm. An engagement to dance the minuet during the Confederate reunion at Little Rock in 1910 was forestalled by an illness just a week before. Throughout her school career, she manifested the qualities of a genuine scholar, winning the love of instructors and fellow students with her magnetic personality. Her preliminary education was received in St. Mary\u2019s Academy, Monticello, Ark., where she graduated on June 8, 1921. During this period, she was already exhibiting marked gifts as a writer, entertaining her classmates with charming stories of her own composition. After completing the course at St. Mary\u2019s Academy, she entered Miss Choate\u2019s famous school at Brookline, Mass., receiving at the close of her first year the medal offered to the student making the greatest academic progress.\ngreatest improvement throughout the entire year. She graduated from Miss Choate\u2019s school on June 9, 1922, and attended the same school during 1922-23, taking advanced studies. In September, 1923, she entered Vassar College as an honor pupil, carrying with her the highest encomiums from her instructors. Richly dowered by the hand of nature and furnished with the ripest culture which the best schools can impart, her life is one of rare promise.\n\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\nMRS. GROSS ROBERT SCRUGGS\n\nIn the heart of the Blue Grass region of Kentucky, in the same room of the lovely old home where her mother was born, on the tenth of July, 1869, Marian Stuart, only daughter of Robert Stuart Price and his wife Margaret Harrison Butler, came to delight the lives of all with whom she has come in contact. Jessamine County.\nMajor Price's home was shared by the Price and Butler families for over half a century. Major Daniel Branch Price, Robert Stuart Price's father, served as County Clerk for thirty-five years. John Butler, Margaret Butler Price's father, was sought for his justice and willingness to support the cause of the disadvantaged and powerless, as well as his strength and influence among community leaders.\n\nMajor Price was born in Prince Edward County, Virginia, in May 1789. His mother, a lovely young woman, passed away shortly after his birth. His father, Capt. John Price, met Daniel Branch of Powhatan County while studying at Hampden Sydney. He fell in love with Frances Branch, Daniel's sister. The Branches were the descendants of Christopher and Mary Addie Branch, who brought their infant son to this world.\nThomas settled in \"Arrowhattocks\" on the James River in 1619 with his wife Elizabeth, daughter of Captain Matthew Gough of Henrico. They were the parents of Matthew Branch. Matthew Branch's son Daniel married Elizabeth Dutoit Porter, daughter of Captain Thomas Porter and his wife Elizabeth Dutoit of Cumberland. Elizabeth Dutoit was the eldest daughter of Pierre Dutoit, a French Huguenot of influence in Mannikentown as early as 1714, and whose wife was Barbara de Bonnett. Pierre Dutoit styled himself in his will, written in his own hand in 1726, as \"of Moudon, Suisse (Switzerland) a dweller in King William Parish.\" Daniel Branch and Elizabeth Dutoit Porter were the parents of Frances, who married John Price in 1788 and lived only one short year. John Price married Judith Womack in 1792, who died at the birth.\nThe Price family is descended from John Price and his wife Ann, who came to Virginia in the \"Starr\" in 1610 and received one of the largest grants of land on the \"River James\" near \"ye Falles\" in Henrico County, totaling 150 acres. John's son and heir, Matthew, passed this land to his sons John and Daniel. John married Jane, daughter of Henry Pew, and had three sons, including Pew Price, the youngest. Pew Price married Jerusha, daughter of William and Judith (Pate) Penick of Amelia County. The Penicks are the ancestors of Representative John Price, whose fifth child was Captain John Price.\nWilliam Penick, a \"read-rights\" of Theodore Moyse of James River in 1637. Edward Penix, father of William Penix of Amelia County (recorded his baptism in New Kent County, 1694), died in Hanover in 1734, leaving his wife Easter, said to have been a Winston. The pioneer spirit exhibited in all these people was not confined to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; as late as 1878, the same tendencies are apparent in the removal of Robert Stuart Price and family from Kentucky to Texas, even at that time a new country.\n\nWhen Marian Stuart Price was about grown, the family moved to Dallas, where they have resided ever since. On the eighteenth of November, 1890, she married Toss Robert Scruggs, only son of Major James Briscoe Scruggs and his wife, Mary Isabella Hastings Dial, both of whom trace their descent to early settlers in our country.\nMrs. Scruggs has always been interested and active in all civic affairs. From girlhood, she has been a member of the First Presbyterian Church and served as President of the Ladies\u2019 Aid Society for many years, doing efficient organization and constructive work. At the same time, she lent much of her time and energies to the Young Woman\u2019s Christian Association, serving as Vice-Chairman of the Southwestern Field Committee, and of the National War Work Council, as well as a member of the local Dallas Board of Directors.\n\nDuring the World War, she was Dallas County Chairman of Knitting for the Red Cross, spending much time organizing and instructing groups in the towns surrounding Dallas, as well as in the city, for which she received official recognition from the national headquarters. She was also interested at this time in the work for the French War Relief.\nOrphans, her only son being stationed at Brest in the Naval Aviation Construction Department, for the duration of the war. Her club work has been directed along various lines: literary, artistic, social, patriotic, and genealogical.\n\nAs a girl, she was a Charter member of the first Chautauqua Study Club, organized by the late Mrs. Sydney Smith and Mrs. A.C. Ardrey, which club later developed into the Pierian Club. Today, Mrs. Scruggs is a member of the Matheon (literary) Club, having served it as Director, Corresponding Secretary, and Vice-President. She has also served as a Director in the Dallas Art Association, and is currently serving as Chairman of the Membership Committee of the Board of Governors in the Dallas Women's Club.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South organized, her accuracy, executive ability, and genius for organization.\nHer work in patriotic and genealogical societies is well-known and appreciated, making her much sought after, especially in intricate or difficult situations. Her deepest love, however, is for these societies, as she keenly feels the justice due to men who braved so much for our safety and happiness. She has been the First Vice-President for Texas in the National Society of the Colonial Dames of America for many years. She is a Charter member of the Daughters of the Barons of Runnymede and serves as one of the twenty-five national 'Sureties'. She has been appointed Organizing Burgess for the State of Texas for the Order of the First Families in Virginia, and is a Councillor of the Order of the Crown, holding a life office. She is the State Vice-President of the Founders and Patriots Association of America, and a National Vice-President of the National Society.\nMarian Stuart Price Scruggs is a member of the Genealogical Society and the American Genealogical Society. She is also a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution (1812), Knights of the Golden Horseshoe, Colonial Dames of the XIXth Century, Huguenot Society of South Carolina. She serves on the National Women's Committee of Sulgrave Manor and is intensely interested in the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities. She is a member of the Virginia Society of the Colonial Dames of America and the Colonial Dames Club of Washington. In all of her activities, Marian Stuart Price Scruggs is universally beloved, and her clear, logical insight into all questions which receive her attention makes her advice sought and appreciated. True to the powerful influence of her forefathers in shaping the destinies of the land in the past, her whole life is devoted to creating and renewing.\nIn the minds of our children and citizens, those ideals and standards for which the American Government stands.\n\nMrs. Robert Stuart Price\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Robert Stuart Price\n\nOn the seventeenth of June, 1843, Margaret Harrison, third daughter of John and Mary Anne (Settle) Butler, was born. She was a dainty, frail little thing, and soon became the darling of her father's heart. Despite the fact that three other daughters and a son were born afterward, none ever superseded her in his affections.\n\nJohn Butler's home was on the Lexington-Danville Pike, a few miles beyond the village of Nicholasville toward High Bridge, at the Kentucky River. This turnpike was famous in the early '50s, and it was John Butler's proud privilege to serve as President of the Company which superintended the upkeep of all the turnpikes in Central Kentucky.\nKentucky: He kept them in repair and handled the tolls. His daughter Margaret's earliest recollections are connected with the long, beautiful rides behind a spirited horse, such as have made Kentucky famous - taken with him in attending to this work. He was a man of high integrity and greatly respected for his clear legal mind. Although he was not educated for the law as a profession, he was often consulted in difficult matters and handled and managed more estates, serving as guardian for many orphans, more efficiently than any other man that has ever lived in Jessamine County. In spite of poor health, he was always ready and willing to serve his fellowmen, even filling the responsible, often dangerous, position of sheriff of his district, which in those early, troublous days was a dangerous responsibility.\nThe difficult task was entrusted only to chosen men, and when the Civil War came, his position became more difficult. His health disqualified him from active service, and his home, located near famous Camp Nelson on the turnpike, was in continual danger due to his known sympathies with the South.\n\nThe children's schooling in diplomacy and self-control, along with careful respect for others' rights, made them more conservative than they would otherwise have been. They were keenly alive to merriment and fun.\n\nThe Butler home was always noted for its hospitality and graciousness. The eight children, six daughters and two sons, were raised in the atmosphere of unostentatious plenty\u2014their father being generous.\nErasive, but severe in his simplicity, rigid in his ideals of uprightness and honesty, and unswerving in his devotion to his church and country. The home stood firm on the secure foundations of his Cavalier forefathers who had fled to Virginia early in the seventeenth century in order to live there as their conscience and intelligence dictated. The seal of the House of Ormonde and its REPRESENTATIVE WOMEN was graven deep in his being. Motto: \"Oonime je trouve\" and \"Butler a boo\u2019\u2019 or \"Butter Forever,\" was deeply ingrained in him. He was truly a fitting descendant of this proud and illustrious House, from whom has been handed down in this country in the proper line of descent from eldest son to eldest son to date an old seal ring bearing the ducal crest and falcon rising from the five ostrich feathers curling.\nMargaret Butler was educated in music and academic studies. Her cherished possession from her girlhood was her Steinway, a gift from her beloved father. Her mother, Mary Anne, daughter of Thomas and Priscilla Settle, a beautiful and capable woman, died quite early, living to be only forty-eight years old. After her death, Margaret took charge of the household until her marriage, in 1866, to Robert Stuart Price, youngest son of Major Daniel Branch Price and his second wife Mary Jane, daughter of Rev. Robert Stuart. Robert Stuart Price followed in his father's footsteps as County Clerk of Jassamine County. But in 1878, his wife\u2019s health being poor, they decided to move out to Texas. They joined relatives there.\nMrs. Daniel Branch Price, born March 16, 1804, at \"Walnut Hills,\" Fayette County, Kentucky, was the eldest daughter of Rev. Robert Stuart and his second wife, Hannah, daughter of General Levi Todd and his wife Jean Briggs. She was beloved for her gentle kindness to all, especially strangers, and her merry Irish wit. Despite lacking physical strength, she remained true to her Presbyterian training and inherited traditions. The Price family later moved from Sherman to Dallas, where all reside except for the dear Father. Mrs. Price is buried near Lexington, along with most of her family.\nRobert Stuart, 1772-1858, was a son of Captain Stuart of Augusta County, Virginia. His mother was Elizabeth Walker, daughter of Captain James Walker and his wife Mary Guffey, who came from Pennsylvania to Virginia in 1735-6. Captain James Walker served in the French and Indian Wars, receiving a grant of 3,000 acres for his services. He was a son of John Walker and Katherine Rutherford, who came to Pennsylvania from Newry, Ireland, in 1726, and whose forefathers of Wigton, Scotland, were martyrs to their Presbyterian belief. John and Katherine (Rutherford) Walker settled in Chester County, Pennsylvania, but when their friends and neighbors were moving to the newly opened \u201cBorden\u2019s Tract\u201d in Virginia, they took up lands there too. Returning to Pennsylvania, after erecting a house on the Virginia Home, John Walker died suddenly in 1738.\nis  buried  in  Pennsylvania.  His  wife,  Katherine  Rutherford  was  a \ndescendant  of  those  Rutherfords  and  Alleines  of  Scotland  noted  for \ntheir  adherence  to  their  Presbyterian  beliefs. \nCapt.  John  Stuart\u2019s  home  on  \u201cBorden\u2019s  Tract\u201d  is  near  the  present \ncity  of  Staunton,  Virginia.  Plis  father,  Judge  John  Stuart,  bought  the \nland  from  Benjamin  Borden,  Sr.,  1740-1,  the  original  purchase  being \n313  acres,  to  which  other  tracts  were  subsequently  added.  Here  he \nsettled  with  his  wife  and  only  child,  John,  who  was  born  in  Ireland \nin  1740,  and  brought  to  this  country  an  infant  in  arms.  John  Stuart \nSr.,  had  a  legal  education  and  served  as  a  justice  in  Augusta  County \nin  1737.  His  death  occurred  after  a  trip  back  to  Ireland  to  see  his \nrelatives  in  1769-70.  His  widow,  Elizabeth  Archer  Stuart,  was  a  sister \nof  John  and  Sampson  Archer  who  came  to  Virginia  also  from  County \nTyrone, early in the eighteenth century. The Stuart. Andrew, Lord Ochiltree, founder of Castlestewart in County Tyrone, Ireland, was the progenitor of this branch of the family, who emigrated from Ireland to America between the years 1725 and 1745; Archibald, Andrew, John, David, and possibly Robert Stuart. Andrew, the eldest of these brothers, settled in Paxtang, Pennsylvania, where he and his wife Mary, daughter of Lord Dinwiddie, lie buried. It was his eldest son, Rev. John Stuart, of Kingston, Canada, who was progenitor of that family, who were knighted and who served as Chief Justices in Lower Canada. The second brother, Archibald, married in Ireland. Janet, sister of the famous Presbyterian divine, Rev. John Brown of Augusta county, Virginia. He died in 1761, in Augusta, leaving numerous descendants there.\nDavid married in Virginia, having come later than the others in the party with Lord Dinwiddie, his brother-in-law. His wife, Margaret Jane Lynn, was the widow of Captain John Pauli (Pall) of Augusta County. Their only son is known as Captain John Stuart of \"Greenbrier,\" to distinguish him from his first cousin, Captain John Stuart of \"Borden's Tract.\"\n\nCaptain John Stuart of Borden's Tract had seven sons and one daughter. Robert was educated for the ministry. His health would not permit him to continue in it as a profession. Instead, after missionary work in Kentucky (as he expressed it in his memoirs), he accepted the Chair of Languages in Transylvania College at Lexington when it was organized. However, he did not give up the ministry entirely, but served faithfully at Walnut Hill Church.\nSalem Church for many years. His health again failing, he retired to his farm, \"Walnut Hill,\" where many of his students who became the leading men of Kentucky came to him there for private instructions. His four sons were men of prominence and influence. Robert moved to Missouri; David was an educator and his sons ministers and missionaries; Samuel was a Presbyterian minister, and John Todd Stuart, the Illinois lawyer and statesman, was the senior member of the law firm in which Lincoln received his education, and later became a partner. It was at his house that Abraham Lincoln met Mary Todd, whose aunt, Hannah Todd, was Rev. Robert Stuart's wife.\n\nHannah Todd, descendant of the Todds of Armagh, Ire., was a daughter of General Levi Todd, first clerk of Fayette County, Kentucky. She was born in 1780 and noted for her beauty and graciousness.\nHer mother, Jean Briggs, traditionally wove her wedding gown from a \"wild plant\" called \"cotton\" and was married on September 25, 1779, at Fort St. Asaph - old Logan's Fort, now Stanford, Ky. Her parents were Captain Samuel Briggs, an Irishman, and his wife Mary, daughter of David Logan and Jane McKinley. John McKinley, their brother, was the martyred President of Delaware. Hannah Todd's grandmother was Hannah Owen, a granddaughter of the Quaker from Wales, Robert Owen, who was imprisoned for his religion and died in America. Her home was on the Schuylkill, about ten miles east of Philadelphia.\n\nThose who descend from this Scotch-Irish Presbyterian stock, although strict, are usually noted and beloved for their remarkably keen sense of fairness and justice, along with a surprisingly unexpected trait - a real sense of humor. These qualities were Mary's.\nJane Stuart's life significantly influenced her husband's large family, who deeply loved and respected her due to her equal treatment of her five children and step-children. Her beautifully developed Christian character, which has religious influence to this day, spanned over eighty odd years.\n\nMrs. Margaret Scruggs Carruth\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nAmong young American genealogists, none show more promise than Mrs. Carruth. Endowed with marked talent, her special aptitude for finding \"missing links\" has been demonstrated in excellent work, including completing the Butler Genealogy, compiling the Stuart Chart, and a \"Reference Chart\" of five thousand records.\nMrs. Carrutli, born in Dallas, Texas, is the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. G.R. Scruggs. She was married there and has since resided. Her paternal ancestry is of Welch origin, traced for fourteen generations in \"The Scruggs Genealogy.\" The ancestry of the Dials and Briscoes, the latter belonging to the \"Cropton Hall\" line, is also published there. Their emigrant ancestor, Dr. John Briscoe, came to America in the \"Ark and the Dove\" expedition. His descendants intermarried with the Brookes and other illustrious Colonial families of Maryland. Mrs. Carrutli's distinguished maternal lineage is given in a sketch of Marion Price Scruggs.\nMrs. Carrutli, possessing a brilliant mind, acquired an excellent education at Cowart Hall in Dallas, Misses Kirk in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, and Bryn Mawr College (ex-1913). She supplemented this with a course in Law and a degree in the Katharine Blackford course, becoming a \"Character Analysis Expert.\" She also studied Art under Frank Reaugh, a noted cattle and landscape painter of the Southwest, and others. Her etchings display phenomenal talent. Her liberal education was broadened by extensive travel in Europe and America.\n\nDuring the World War, Margaret Carrutli was very active, despite her children, Walter and Marianne (who died of Bronchial Pneumonia m 1918), being babies, receiving an adoring mother's care. She helped\nMrs. Margaret Carruth is involved in reorganizing the Red Cross in Dallas and is a Civic Welfare enthusiast. She helped start the \"News-Boys Club\" and the \"Vocational School.\" A true patriot, she is deeply interested in patriotic orders, honoring her ancestors through enrollment in the following organizations: \"Order of the Crown of America,\" \"Daughters of the Barons Runnymede,\" \"Order of First Families of Virginia,\" \"Huguenot Society,\" Colonial Dames, Colonial Governors, D.A.R., and 1812. She also belongs to the League of American Pen Women and Association of American University Women.\n\nMrs. Carruth's rare beauty, charming manners, and sympathetic nature make her a favorite wherever she is known.\n\nMary Hilliard Hinton,\nMrs. J. Wilmer Biddle,\nRepresentative Women of the South,\nMrs. J. Wilmer Biddle,\nOf Binder House, Chesterton.\nNut Hill, Philadelphia, embodies the noblest elements of America's Colonial days. Mrs. Biddle is descended from one of those splendid Cavalier families whose dash and daring and chivalric spirit fashioned the superior institutions of Virginia and the Carolinas. Her husband represents the oldest, noblest, and proudest traditions of the City of Brotherly Love.\n\nMrs. Biddle's maiden name was Elizabeth Southall Clarke. She was born in North Carolina and later moved to Virginia. She is the daughter of John Eldridge Clarke and Anna Southall Clarke. Her mother was a daughter of Norborne Nicholas Southall of Charles City, Va., adopted son of President John Tyler. Rachel Tyler, President John Tyler's sister, married Colonel Stith Hardiman of Virginia, a great-great uncle of Mrs. Biddle.\n\nIn 1895, Elizabeth Southall Clarke represented the State of Virginia.\nAt the Confederate Reunion held in Birmingham, Alabama, Virginia bore the state flag with permission from the governor and under the escort of a special guard of honor. This was the only time the state flag left the capitol in Richmond. In 1897, she married Douglas Huntly Gordon of Baltimore, Maryland, and \"Wakefield Manor,\" Virginia. The name assumed additional lustre as it was celebrated in Scottish song and story, and further honored by those who bore it in every portion of the New World. Her husband, who died in 1918, was an alumnus of Johns Hopkins University and Johns Hopkins Law School. He was a prominent figure.\nFinancier and influential citizen of Baltimore, president of the Baltimore Trust Company and keenly interested in educational affairs and community well-being. Mrs. Biddle is joint owner of the old Gordon Estate in Rappahannock County, which has been in the family for three generations, since the days of Basil Gordon of Falmouth, Virginia.\n\nIn 1921, Mrs. Gordon married J. Wilmer Biddle of Philadelphia, son of Alexander Biddle. The Biddle name has been honorably represented in American annals in the law, in journalism, in statesmanship, in the army, and in the navy. Its best traditions are worthily upheld by the gifted Virginia woman who presides over the home on Chestnut Hill.\n\nMrs. Biddle has five children: Elizabeth Gordon, Anne Huntley Gordon (married Nov. 29, 1924, to Joseph F. Dahlgren).\nThe United States Navy, a great-grandson of Admiral Dahlgren: Douglas Huntly Gordon. He graduates from Harvard University in 1925, along with Virginia Southall Gordon and Sarah Stanley Gordon. Extensive travel in European and other countries has given Mrs. Biddle access to the artistic and cultural delights of Old World capitals. She is a member of the Colonial Dames of America, Chapter 11, Philadelphia.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMonticello\n\nAn address delivered by Mrs. Bryan Wells Collier for the Atlanta Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, for the Society of Colonial Daughters, and on many other notable occasions in interest of \u201cMonticello\u201d the nation\u2019s shrine \u2014 the home of Thomas Jefferson.\n\nIn all our thoughts about that historic mansion among the Virginia hills, we remember the woman who, more than any other, made Monticello a living symbol of the American Revolution and the American spirit. Her name was Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson, and she was the wife of Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States.\n\nMartha was born on May 30, 1748, in Charles City County, Virginia. Her father, John Wayles, was a wealthy planter, and her mother, Jane Randolph, was a member of one of the most distinguished families in Virginia. Martha grew up in a large, comfortable home, surrounded by servants and the luxuries of the plantation life. But her childhood was not a happy one. Her mother died when she was only three years old, and her father remarried soon afterward, bringing a new wife and several children into the household. Martha was often neglected and left to the care of servants.\n\nDespite these hardships, Martha grew up to be a beautiful and gracious young woman. She was tall and slender, with dark hair and dark eyes, and she had a sweet, gentle manner. Thomas Jefferson first met Martha when he was a young lawyer in Williamsburg, Virginia, and she was visiting her older sister, Martha \"Patsy\" Wayles, who was married to Dabney Carr. Thomas was immediately taken with Martha, and he began to visit her frequently. They were married on January 1, 1772, and they set up housekeeping at Monticello.\n\nMartha was a devoted wife and mother. She bore Thomas six children, three of whom survived infancy: Martha \"Patsy,\" Thomas \"Jefferson\" Jr., and Lucy. She was also a skilled manager of the household and the plantation. She oversaw the cooking, the sewing, the gardening, and the raising of the children, while Thomas attended to his law practice and his political career. Martha was known for her kindness and generosity, and she was beloved by all who knew her.\n\nBut Martha's life was not without sorrow. Her father died in 1773, leaving her a large inheritance, but also leaving her with a large debt. Thomas Jefferson had to use his own money to pay off the debt, and this put a strain on their marriage. Martha's oldest son, William, died in infancy in 1773, and her second son, John, died in 1774. Martha herself died on September 6, 1782, at the age of 32, leaving Thomas a widower with three young children to raise.\n\nThomas Jefferson was devastated by Martha's death. He wrote in his journal, \"I have lost my dearest friend and the best part of myself.\" He continued to mourn her for the rest of his life, and he kept a lock of her hair in a locket that he wore around his neck. Martha's memory lived on in the hearts of the American people, and Monticello became a symbol of the love and devotion that she and Thomas shared.\n\nToday, Monticello stands as a testament to the American Revolution and the American spirit. It is a reminder of the sacrifices and struggles of the early Americans, and of the beauty and grace that can be found in even the darkest of times. As we visit Monticello and walk through its halls, we can feel the presence of Martha Wayles Jefferson, and we can sense the love and devotion that she and Thomas shared. And we can be grateful for the legacy that they left us, a legacy of freedom, of justice, and of the American dream.\nMonticello, the most significant, is connected with the life, character, and achievements of the great American whose dream it enshrined and whose home it was for so many fruitful years. It was not the beauty of that Italian villa, representing though it did the finest expression of art that had yet reached our western world, that brought tourists by the thousand to Monticello as to a sacred shrine. It was rather the great man whose career had filled those stately halls with a wealth of meaning that would have made a hamlet glorious.\n\nMonticello was indeed the outward expression of Jefferson himself. It was the embodiment of the dream of his youth and symbolic in its grandeur and beauty of his own preeminent traits. True were the eloquent words of Henry Clay, spoken in Mr. Jefferson's honor.\nIn his old age, Jefferson replied to attacks from political opponents, \"He is not more elevated by his lofty residence on the summit of his own favorite mountain than he is lifted by the serenity of his mind and the consciousness of a well-spent life above the malignant passions and bitter feelings of the day. No! His own beloved Monticello is not less moved by the storms that beat against its sides than is this illustrious man by the howlings of partisan passion.\"\n\nThinking of Monticello brings to mind the things for which Jefferson is remembered, the things that constitute his title to affectionate remembrance and enduring regard. Jefferson himself told us what he most desired to be remembered for. Not that he was twice president of the United States, not that he was previously Governor of Virginia, or minister to France.\nAuthor of the Declaration of American Independence. \"The Magna Carta of our Liberties, as it has been well called, came from the brain of Mr. Jefferson, and its burning words were indited by his gifted pen. Of this immortal declaration it has been truly said: 'The Declaration marks one of the great stages in our advancement as a people. It is a milestone in our national highway. It sounded through the land like Roderick's bugle call in the highlands. It rallied the wavering and cheered the firm. It removed doubts and fixed a purpose.'\"\n\nFrance and Vice-President of the United States. No, the epitaph that he himself chose to have chiseled upon his tombstone was: \"Author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Toleration, Father of the University of Virginia.\"\n\nAuthor of the Declaration of Independence. This Magna Carta of our Liberties, as it has been well called, came from the brain of Mr. Jefferson, and its burning words were indited by his gifted pen. Of this immortal declaration it has been truly said: \"The Declaration marks one of the great stages in our advancement as a people. It is a milestone in our national highway. It sounded through the land like Roderger's bugle call in the highlands. It rallied the wavering and cheered the firm. It removed doubts and fixed a purpose.\" (Corrected OCR errors)\nWith that famous document, Jefferson's name and fame are unalterably linked. Author of the Statute for Religious Liberty. It is largely due to Mr. Jefferson that in America, man is free in regard to the highest and most sacred interests that enter into his life\u2014those interests that affect his relations to his Maker, his own soul, and his eternal future. Father of the University of Virginia. A graduate himself of William and Mary College, steeped in the classic lore of Greece and Rome, cultured and scholarly in the highest degree, he saw the importance of higher education and linked his name forever with this proudest representative of the culture of old Virginia. One of the appealing facts connected with the last days of this great man was that when too infirm to give himself to active pursuits, he would stand in his garden at Monticello, overseeing his lands and reflecting on the course of his life.\non the elevated portico of Monticello and through a field glass, watch the workmen at Charlottesville, five miles away, working on the buildings which were to constitute the nucleus of the great University. This was the \"Master of Monticello,\" to whose abode admiring pilgrims from all quarters of our country came as to a sacred shrine. Should not Americans treasure with patriotic pride this habitation of this great leader among statesmen and founders of our republic? Should not that manorial home whose erection occupied so many happy years of his honored life, and which was so associated with the annals of his career be preserved as a shrine for patriotic devotion?\n\nThe stately homes of England constitute the great charm of the mother country to those who love the noble and venerable. About those historic manors founded by representatives of great families.\nCluster associations that move and thrill us, even at this day. From these old courtyards, Crusaders may have ridden with Richard or Edward to the Holy Land. Through this massive gateway, knights with plumed crests may have followed the banner of Henry V to Agincourt or Edward to Poitiers. In this noble hall, the Cavaliers of Rupert may have caroused before the bugles blew for Edgehill or Marston Moor. And around the old homes of Virginia, there clustered associations as sacred and ennobling as in those of England. In the very lifeblood of the race ran this warm love for the ancestral seat. Chatsworth was not dearer to Cavendish, Penhurst to the Sydneys, Hatfield to the Cecils, nor Alnwick Castle to the Percys than Westover to the Byrds. Shirley to the Carters, Brandon to the Harrisons,\nAmong the things any people should treasure most highly are the memorials of departed greatness. Those things which stir our memories most profoundly and appeal to the imagination of the admiring student of other days are the things which make a people great. The Southern poet was thinking of this when he said:\n\n\"Yes, give me a land where ruins are spread,\nAnd the living tread light on the graves of the dead;\nYes, give me a land with a grave in each spot,\nAnd a name in that grave that shall not be forgot.\"\n\nThere is something irresistibly appealing in the halls that echoed to the footsteps of greatness, in the columned porticoes that looked down on the daily pursuits of the great spirits of earth. The ardent and impressionable youth in visiting the home of Jefferson feels a deep connection to the past.\n\"sentiment akin to that which our own Grady described as his, when a student at the great University which Mr. Jefferson founded: \"Enduring and hallowed, blessed be God, the strange and wild ambitions which startled my boyish heart among thy dim corridors, I caught the flappings of unseen wings in thy mighty past and the dazzling ideals of thy future stood revealed to my wondering heart.\" \"Mount Vernon, the home of Washington, is not used by strangers to his blood as a private residence. The Hermitage, the home of Andrew Jackson, is not used as a private residence. The same spirit of veneration for the mighty dead which consecrates Mount Vernon should rescue Monticello.\n\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\nMRS. BURRIDGE, ALABAMA BUTLER\n\nAmong the queenly daughters of Dixie, none is fairer, more charming,\nMrs. Burridge, Alabama Butler.\"\nIna Hamilton Butler was more radiant in her perfect womanliness than Mrs. Ina Hamilton Butler. Though she had lived for years beyond her southern borders, Mrs. Butler loved the south and all things southern with a devotion that perhaps distance had only intensified, true to the sentiment of the poet:\n\n\"You may take the bright shell from its home on the lea,\nWherever it goes it will sing of the sea:\nAnd, take the fond heart from its home and its hearth,\nIt will sing of its home to the end of the earth.\"\n\nIna Hamilton Busey was born in Baltimore but of a long and illustrious Virginia ancestral line. Her father, Norval Hamilton Busey, a native of Roanoke, Va., and gifted artist, is still, at the age of seventy-nine, pursuing his artistic vocation at his residence in New York City. Her mother is also a Busey, cousin of her father. Norval Hamilton\nBusey is a grandson of Colonel Alexander McClanahan, who participated in the Battle of Great Bridge near Norfolk, Va., on Dec. 9, 1775. The Virginians destroyed every British grenadier opposed to them without losing a man.\n\nThe distinguished lineage of Mrs. Butler includes the Lewises, Griffins, Ruffins, Prices, McClungs, Breckenridges, and General Albert Sidney Johnston - names that evoke stirring memories for every student of southern history.\n\nHer mother, a woman of remarkable mental capacity and great superiority of character, was an ardent southerner deeply rooted in southern lore. During the War between the States, she experienced many thrilling episodes. Once when her hometown was occupied by northern troops, she sought to express her soul and spirit.\nA Confederate dag hanging from a window was forbidden by military authority. Instead, the woman belted it around her waist and wore it as an apron during the entire occupation. Now, at eighty, she remains animated by the same indomitable spirit.\n\nIna Hamilton Busey's early years were spent abroad, where her bright and receptive mind drew from the art, literature, and historical associations of the Old World rich stores of thought, experience, and observation, which have heightened and accentuated the original charms Nature bestowed upon her so abundantly.\n\nShe married Burridge Davenal Butler in 1906, an English native from Louisville, Ky. They have lived in Chicago for some years. Mrs. Butler has two sisters: Mrs. Alonzo Cottier of Searsdale, New York, and Mrs. Richard Paran Buchanan of Cin.\nMrs. W.T.L.T. Amelia Ewen Shipp, of Lee, Mass., exemplifies all those womanly traits that beautifully represent the charm of southern womanhood and reigns as queen in her beautiful estate where she and her distinguished husband dispense a truly southern hospitality.\n\nMrs. William Ewen Shipp\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMargaret Busbee Shipp, daughter of Fabius H. Busbee and Annie McKesson Busbee, was born in Raleigh, North Carolina, November 9, 1871. Her father was one of the youngest officers in Johnson\u2019s army at the close of the Civil War and afterwards a prominent attorney. Through her father, she is descended from the Fauntleroys, Bushrods, and other distinguished families of Virginia's colonial history; through her mother, she is descended from the McDowells of North Carolina.\nThe name of Lina's ancestor, General Charles McDowell, is linked to the Battle of King's Mountain. The tale of his wife, \"Grace Greenlee, a Revolutionary Heroine,\" is recounted in the North Carolina Booklet published by the Daughters of the Revolution. The ancestry of Grace Greenlee can be traced back to Christopher Irvine, who fell at Flodden Field in 1513. In the fall of 1782, she married General Charles McDowell and became the mistress of Quaker Meadows and its 2,000 acres of fertile land. Quaker Meadows had belonged to the McDowells for nearly half a century at that early date. In 1894, Margaret Busbee wed Lieutenant William Ewen Shipp, a West Point graduate from 1883 who served with distinction in the Geronimo campaign. They had two sons: William Ewen, Jr., and Fabius Busbee.\nLieutenant Shipp was killed in battle on July 1st, 1898 during the assault on San Juan Hill. President Roosevelt gave unstinted praise to his courage, gallantry, and soldierliness. The memorial erected in his memory in Charlotte, North Carolina bears the inscription: \"Amongst a grove the very straightest plant.\"\n\nLeft with two sons to raise, Mrs. Shipp turned to the immediate duty of breadwinning. Her output has always been small, but her stories have appeared in Century, Collier's, Cosmopolitan, Everybody's, Munsey, Red Book, Saturday Evening Post, Woman's Home Companion, and over a dozen other magazines.\n\nShe is a member of the Episcopal Church, the Authors' League of America, Colonial Dames Society of North Carolina, United Daughters of the Confederacy, Raleigh Woman's Club, Fortnightly Review, and other organizations; and has been president of St. Mary's Alumnae Association.\nAssociation  and  vice-president  of  the  State  Literary  and  Historical \nAssociation. \nThe  Mount  Vernon  Ladies\u2019  Association  of  the  Union  appointed  her \nvice-regent  for  North  Carolina  in  1919,  since  which  time  she  has  served \nas  a  member  of  the  Council. \nMrs.  Shipp  has  traveled  widely  in  Europe,  the  F\u2019ar  East  and  South \nAmerica;  she  spends  many  summers  in  Canada,  and  much  time  in  the \nsouthwest  with  her  sons,  both  of  whom  are  Captains  of  Cavalry.  Her \nson  William  graduated  from  West  Point  in  1916,  and  her  son  Fabius \nentered  the  army  just  before  war  was  declared. \nIn  a  sketch  of  Mrs.  Shipp  by  Dr.  Archibald  Henderson,  the  dis\u00ac \ntinguished  writer  spoke  of  her  as  being  greatly  loved  in  her  native \nstate  and  attributed  it  to  her  \u201cgenius  for  friendship.\u201d \nREPRESENTATIVE  WOMEN  OF  THE  SOUTH \nMRS.  NELLIE  PEARL  NEAL \nMrs.  Nellie  Pearl  Neal,  of  Thomson,  Ga.,  is  a  true  type  of  that \nSouthern womanhood for which Georgia has been famous since the earliest days of the commonwealth. Her charming personality, womanly graces, and high degree of culture stamp her as an aristocrat of the lineage of the old South.\n\nPrior to her marriage, Mrs. Neal was Nellie Pearl Clary. Her father was Horace Thurston Clary, one of the influential planters of McDuffie County, Georgia, a man of fine principles and high ideals of character. Her mother, whose maiden name was Eva Jane Reese, was a cultured gentlewoman, a daughter of Lycurgus Reese, himself a member of one of the leading families of the State.\n\nMrs. Neal was born at Harlem, Columbia County, Georgia, April \nAmong her ancestors were many who rendered conspicuous service in the Revolutionary War. In the War between the States, many others of her ancestors distinguished themselves in the cause.\nOne ancestor of the Southern Confederacy was McKeen Green, who was awarded a tract of land in Georgia for services in the War of the Revolution. He represented Effingham County in the Georgia Legislature in 1787 and 1788. Two of his brothers, John Green and Major Benjamin Green, were quite prominent in the early history of the state.\n\nUncle Basil Llewellen Neal, a man of high standing and ability from Columbia County, authored an interesting work, \"A Son of The American Revolution.\" In this work, he provides many fascinating facts about his family history and personal experiences during and preceding the War between the States.\nA Colonial ancestor of Mrs. Neal: Robert Williams of Charleston, SC, and his son, Robert Williams, Jr., were prominent citizens of Charleston in its early days. Both were attorneys of eminence, and their names appear on many official documents of that period. A famous estate on the Ashley River, three miles from Charleston, known as Sans Souci, first owned by George Marshall, passed on Nov. 14, 1767, into the hands of Robert Williams, Jr.\n\nNellie Pearl Clary, a colonial ancestor of Mrs. Neal, completed her high school education in her home county before attending the Girls\u2019 Normal and Industrial College at Milledgeville and Wesleyan Female College in Macon, GA. In college, she was among the leaders of her classes and very popular. She specialized in Expression and won the medal offered in that department.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South.\nOn the 19th day of November, 1908, she married Mr. John L. Neal of Thomson, a prominent young businessman. Mrs. Neal has always taken a leading part in all the activities of interest to women. She was chairman of the Monument Committee that erected the handsome Confederate Monument in Thomson. She served several terms as president of the Thomson Chapter of the U.C.W. and at different times has creditably filled each office in the Chapter. She is also a member of the Augusta Chapter, I.A.R., and has held important offices in the Woman's Club at Thomson. She is a member of the Methodist Church and takes an active part in its work. Mrs. Neal has also served as a member of the state committee of the Matthew Fontaine Maury Memorial. She has two children: a daughter, Elsie.\nMrs. Neal, the mother, inherited her queenly qualities and has been one of the most popular students at an exclusive private school in Gulfport, Mississippi, for three years. Her son, James, has taken a high rank as a student at Riverside School in Gainesville, Ga.\n\nHer husband, John L. Neal, who sadly died in the summer of 1922 in New York, was a descendant of a distinguished Georgian family. Though still a young man, he had made an enviable reputation as a successful businessman.\n\nMrs. Neal is a woman of rare beauty, grace, gentleness, and general personal charm. These attributes, combined with the noble and cultured qualities of her mind and heart, make her an ornament to society and useful in the varied services she willingly performs. She is a true representative of American womanhood today. Her picture appears on the dedication page.\nMrs. Thomas James Collier, representative of Southern womanhood, passed away on April 5, 1919. Born on March 23, 1845, in Hancock County, Georgia, she spent her formative years in Monroe County and Forsyth, its county seat. Her education was completed at Monroe Female College in Forsyth, under the presidency of Prof. R. T. Asbury, a celebrated educator of that city. After graduation, she taught in Jonesboro and Forsyth.\nShe was associated with Allen U. Candler, later Governor of Georgia. Known as a young woman with rare beauty, personal charm, a brilliant and cultivated mind, gifted with her pen, a high appreciation of the best in literature and life, and eagerly interested in all that concerned her fellow creatures.\n\nIn November 1867, she married Dr. Thomas J. Collier of Indian Springs, Ga. He had passed through the war and finished his course in medical college, about to enter upon the practice of his profession. Dr. Collier had gone through the war as a member of the Butts Volunteers, L. D. Dupree, captain, and Larkin D. Watson, first lieutenant, and was wounded in the fighting in front of Richmond. A brother of his, Mr. Bryan A. Collier.\nAt the time of his death, Dr. Collier lived in New York City. He was twice wounded at Cold Harbor, and another brother, Judge N.C. Collier of St. Louis, was in the same company. Dr. Collier, who died in December 1910, was known throughout his life for professional ability and standing, as well as for a singularly exalted Christian character.\n\nAfter practicing his profession for ten years in Monroe County, Dr. Collier moved to Griffin in 1880. Here, Mrs. Collier formed ties and engaged in the varied lines of service that are of chief interest from the standpoint of the present work. She was for years a member of the UDC, holding positions of responsibility and honor and cherishing loyally and lovingly the traditions which the Daughters of the Confederacy are striving to perpetuate. She loved.\nEverything associated with the Old South and held tenaciously, without bitterness or rancor, to the sacred principles of the Confederacy.\n\n122. Representative Women of the South.\n\nThe work with which her life was most closely and enduringly intertwined was that of the Dorcas Society, a benevolent organization of ladies of the First Baptist Church of Griffin, in which her husband was a deacon. She was president of this society for many years. Much charitable work was done by this organization, and into this work she entered with the unselfish interest of one who delights in relieving distress, wherever found. There was scarcely a time during the years of her residence in Griffin in which her home was not frequently visited by some lonely old woman, stricken with grief and burdened with years, who never failed to find here a sympathetic ear and helping hand.\nA woman sought an ear to pour her story of distress into, whatever it may be.\n\nShe once made a journey to the State Hospital for the Insane at Milledgeville to accompany a poor unfortunate who had been committed there and who would go willingly in no other company than hers.\n\nAnother organization into which she poured a large portion of her life and thought was the \"Mystic Circle,\" a literary organization made up of a limited number of Griffin ladies of kindred tastes. For many years, the ties of friendship cemented in this \"Circle\" constituted a vital and cherished part of her life.\n\nIn the simple and yet momentous interests suggested by these brief facts, she spent the years of her life in Griffin, known and loved as the gracious, cultured friend, the polished gentlewoman, the Christian.\nThe unassuming wife and mother, whose finer qualities were best known and most tenderly cherished by her husband and children. From time to time, she brightened some current periodical with her writings, perhaps in advocacy of a cause near her heart. Forty years after her graduation, she responded to the call of her Alma Mater and addressed a gathering of the Alumnae at Forsyth at commencement.\n\nBesides a little daughter, Edith, who died in early childhood, one son, T.J. Collier, Jr., died in the summer of 1891 in his nineteenth year. Her surviving children are Bryan Wells Collier, Baptist minister, who married Miss Margaret Marion Wootten; Mrs. Mack Crawford, of Toccoa, Ga.; and Mrs. Julian A. Space, of Lake Land, Fla., at whose home she awaited the last months.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South.\nThere's a voice that's calling to Georgia,\nOh, Georgia men, what shall you say?\nWhat will you keep with your heroes who sleep,\nWho have honored your name for aeons?\nYou gave us Lanier, with his deathless song,\nAnd the healing art of your Crawford Long;\nYou have spoken a word that the nations have heard,\nBut what is your word today?\nShall Wisdom be thrust from your councils?\nShall Justice in agonies die?\nShall your Seal of State be a symbol of hate,\nAnd Moderation a lie?\nShall the will of the mob be the rule of the day?\nShall violence, riot, and passion hold sway,\nOn your red old hills, by your soft-singing rills\nAnd under your marvelous sky?\nAnd the Hills of Habersham answer,\nThe Marshes of Glynn reply:\nAnd the Valleys of Hall take up the call,\nAnd answer the challenge high:\nWe take up the challenge, we shun not the test,\nAnd the word that we speak is the word of our best.\nThat the might of the strong shall not sanctify wrong,\nNor the voice of the feeble deny.\nToo long has the good man slumbered,\nWhile the ruffian has worked his will,\nWhile the burning shame of the torch and the flame\nHas told of the passion to kill;\nAnd the hour has struck and it will not wait,\nTo redeem the fame of the grand old state;\nAnd the world must be told that the honor of old\nIs the honor of Georgians still.\nYes, from Tybee Light to the mountains\u2014\nFrom Rabun Gap to the sea:\nThe answer comes like the throbbing of drums\nFrom a people awakened and free;\nThat Georgia, redeemed, in the glow of her might,\nShall stand for the law and for honor and right,\nAnd shall set the stain of the brand of Cain\nOn the mob with its hideous plea.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. Martha Patton Weedon\nMatthew Locke was born in England in 1730. He was a noted statesman and man of affairs and filled many positions of trust and honor. He served as a member of the House of Burgesses, and in 1771 was elected to receive the lawful fees for the Sheriff and court officers of the crown. In 1775, he came to the United States and three years later became a member of Congress at Halifax, North Carolina. In 1793-1797, he served as Colonial Senator at Philadelphia during the administration of Washington.\n\nMatthew Locke was a signer of the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence. His four sons served in the Revolutionary War. His daughter, Jane Locke, was married to Colonel Robert Weakley of Nashville, who was born in Ireland and came to the United States in 1775. He served during the years 1779-1780 as Lieutenant in the army.\nHe was a member of Congress in 1809, speaker of The House of Representatives in 1818 and 1813, and one of the founders of Nashville, Tennessee. His daughter married General John Brahan, born in England on June 8th, 1774. He fought in the War of 1812 and in Seminole and New Orleans with General Andrew Jackson. They were warm personal friends. History tells us his father was killed in the Revolutionary War. General Brahan purchased a large tract of land near Florence and his residence, which is called \u201cSweet Water\u201d from the beautiful spring on it. His daughter, Jane Locke, married Robert M. Patton. Mr. Patton's father came from Londonderry, Ireland, and settled in Huntsville, Alabama in 1812. He built there the first cotton factory in the south, a remnant of which still remains.\n\nRobert M. Patton was prominent in political life from 1832.\nin 1861, he was appointed as a Confederate Commissioner after serving in the State Senate since 1861. In 1365, he was elected as the Governor of Alabama. He had three sons who fought in the Confederate War. They lived at Sweet Water for fifty years, famous for its warm hospitality. Mrs. Patton's second daughter, Mattie Patton, was born on March 12, 1840, at Sweet Water. She was educated at Florence College, graduating on June 14, 1860. After graduation, she traveled through the East, West, and Canada. She was in New York when Lincoln was elected President, and she describes the intense sectional feeling. The first company to be mustered into the Confederate War in Alabama was from Florence, and her brother was the Lieutenant, starting on April 1, 1861. Mrs. Patton served as Vice-President of the Aid Society, dedicating her entire time to providing clothing for the Army.\nShe lost a noble son at Shiloh and devoted her life to nursing sick and wounded soldiers in her home. Sweetwater, the ante bellum home of Ex-Governor R.M. Patton in Florence, Alabama, built by him in 1835 and childhood home of Mrs. Martha Patton Weeden, is still in perfect preservation.\n\nMattie Patton married Col. John D. Weeden of Huntsville, Alabama, on September 23, 1869. They lived for more than thirty years in their attractive and hospitable home in Huntsville. Col. Weeden was a lawyer and for several years held the chair of Professor of Law at the State University. Mrs. Weeden returned to her old home, Sweetwater, in 1890 to nurse her mother, who was paralyzed for nine years.\n\nMrs. Weeden is an enthusiastic member of the Florence Chapter.\nMrs. Weeden, a historian for thirty years, is still retained in that position. She has a refined literary taste, writes fluently, and has an intricate memory of the Confederate War. Mrs. Weeden's two daughters were members of the D.A.I. and U.D.C. She has been an active member of the Presbyterian Church since her girlhood, participating as a Sunday School teacher and member of the ladies\u2019 Societies. Her father and husband were both elders in the Presbyterian Church for many years. Her husband was a brother of Howard Weeden, the noted writer and artist. Her two sons are deacons at Huntsville and Florence, Alabama.\n\nMrs. Weeden has lived with her niece, Mrs. Lutie Patton Pryor, of Harris, Alabama, whom she raised. Her presence is a blessing and inspiration to the family, friends, and many others who cherish her deeply.\nMrs. Weeden's vitality, alertness, and youthful spirit are remarkable for a person of her years. She is universally beloved by young and old.\n\nMrs. Weeden was elected honorary President of the Florence Chapter, IT. D. C. and honorary member of the Athens Chapter, U. D. C.\n\nA Distinguished Daughter of Alabama\n\nMrs. Olivia Moore O\u2019Neal of Alabama, wife of Governor Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal and mother of Governor Emmet O\u2019Neal, was held in loving esteem by her entire State and by many beyond its borders. Her name was familiar to all who knew and admired her husband in his able service to his country. He, as citizen, soldier, and statesman, found in her a true helpmeet and inspiration.\n\nWhether in the quiet of her private home or dispensing gracious hospitality as the Governor's wife, she won all who came in contact.\nWith her, age did not detract from the charm of her magnetic personality.\n\nMrs. O\u2019Neal was born in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, in 1819, but in her infancy was taken by her parents to Huntsville, Alabama, and spent her long life there. Her mother was a Tennesseean, and her father, Dr. Alfred Moore, was a Virginian.\n\nOn the 13th of April, in 1838, there was an unusual wedding in Huntsville. The youthful groom was Edward Asbury O\u2019Neal, and the bride was the beautiful Olivia Moore, barely a girl in her teens.\n\nThe bride was attended by eight bridesmaids, and, according to the custom of those good old days, hosts of relatives and friends were invited to partake of the wedding feast. The excitement of the occasion extended to the slaves\u2019 quarters, and not a few of those faithful creatures, from some hiding place, witnessed the ceremony that followed.\nThe year after their marriage, the youthful couple lived in Florence, and except for the Governor's two terms in office from 1882 to 1885, they made their home there for more than fifty years. Here, Governor O\u2019Neal died in 1890, and Mrs. O\u2019Neal continued to reside in her old home, surrounded by her children and grandchildren.\n\nTo this union were born nine children. Two of them, Elizabeth and Mary, died in infancy. The eldest son, Alfred Moore, married Annie Warren of Tuscumbia, Alabama, and is a merchant in New York City. Edward Asbury Jr., a brilliant young lawyer, married Mary Coffee of Florence, Alabama, and died on Feb. 13, 1876, leaving one son, Edward Asbury III. Emmet married Elizabeth Kirkman of Florence, Alabama, and was associated with his father in the practice of law.\nThe eldest daughter, Rebecca Wheat, was the wife of Col. R. M. Shotwell of St. Louis, Mo. The second was Mrs. Eugene F. Williams of St. Louis, Mo., whose picture appears in this volume; she rendered valiant service during the World War, giving her sons and her means generously. The third, Sydenham Moore, is the wife of George A. Dudley of Montgomery, Ala. Miss Julia died in March, 1922.\n\nMrs. O\u2019Neal had the gratification of seeing the dualities of an illustrious ancestry transmitted to her descendants. Her sons were men of ability and prominence, and her daughters are not only accomplished women, but recognized social leaders.\n\nMrs. O\u2019Neal had vigor of body and mind unusual for one of her years, and she recalled the past with great vividness. She told with enthusiasm.\nThe pleasure of a journey she made to Washington in her girlhood. She and her father went by stage from Huntsville to Nashville, thence to Louisville by stage. From there they went by river to Wheeling, VA., and finished the trip to Washington by stage. During her stay in the capital city, the young girl visited her father\u2019s friend, President Jackson.\n\nMrs. O'Neal was a valued member of the Daughters of the Confederacy, and as the guest of honor at the unveiling of the Confederate monument, assisted in presenting the crosses of honor to the veterans. Her husband gave valiant service to the Confederacy from 1861 to 1865, rising to the rank of Brigadier General, and it was said of him that no more superb soldier enlisted in the Southern cause. Among Mrs. O\u2019Neal\u2019s most cherished treasures was the battleflag.\nthe  Twenty  Sixth  Alabama,  a  regiment  commanded  by  her  husband. \nThe  flag  was  in  seventeen  important  battles,  and  bears  the  marks  of \nmany  bullets. \nWhile  her  husband  was  away  fighting  for  his  country,  Mrs.  O\u2019Neal \nwas  bravely  fighting  life\u2019s  battles  at  home.  Though  accustomed  to \nevery  comfort,  she  endured  with  courage  the  trials  and  privations \nof  the  times,  and  was  ever  ready  to  minister  to  the  sick  and  wounded \nConfederate  soldiers.  She  assisted  in  nursing  back  to  health  those  of \nher  relatives  sent  to  her  from  the  battlefield. \nMrs.  O\u2019Neal  took  great  interest  in  everything  pertaining  to  the \nwelfare  of  the  state  and  nation.  She  was  also  interested  in  the  af\u00ac \nfairs  of  society,  and  when  her  strength  would  permit  she  gladdened \nthe  homes  of  her  friends  upon  some  social  function.  The  following \ntribute  was  paid  her  by  the  Birmingham  Age-Herald. \nMrs. O'Neal, the venerable widow of the lamented General and Governor, resides in the Florence home. Although she is on the sunny side of eighty, she takes a deep interest in public affairs. Thousands of sincere and good men in Alabama reverence Mrs. O'Neal, who was in her beautiful girlhood Olivia Moore. They will be glad to know that she goes the sunset way in perfect health and tranquility. No man ever knew this pure and charitable woman, Representative of Women of the South, whose husband added so many bright pages to the history of Alabama. With the burden of the years upon her, she is the most luminous light in the splendid kingdom of Alabama's womanhood.\nIn the passing of a beautiful earthly life to life celestial, Mrs. Olivia Moore has left an aching void in the hearts of those who loved her. She was held in loving esteem by all who knew her, for she brightened her world with love, and \"all along her way the hearts-ease bloomed.\" Her home life was ideal, for home was her kingdom, and she was the loving and beloved queen, \"whose gentle grace gave charm to all she did,\" and whose daily life was an inspiration to all who came into her presence.\n\nThe funeral services were conducted by Dr. E. D. McDougald, of the First Presbyterian Church, at the residence. His remarks were fraught with feeling and sympathy. A profusion of flowers from relatives and friends far and near, were mute and beautiful tributes to the honored and beloved dead. The funeral cortege, one of\nThe largest ever seen in the city went its mournful way to the city cemetery, where after a brief service, the remains were tenderly consigned to the tomb.\n\nThe following telegram of condolence was one of many, expressing a sentiment which multitudes were feeling:\n\n\"Philadelphia, Pa., Nov. 2, 1909.\n\n\"Our heartfelt sympathy goes out to you in this dark hour. We feel we also have lost a friend, for her personality was such as to win the love of all those who came into her presence. While the light of her life has gone out in a glorious sunset, the radiance of her loving memory still enfolds you.\n\nWalter C. and Eda P. Cole.\"\n\nMiss Ann Pamela Cunningham\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nAnn Pamela Cunningham, a gifted and beloved daughter of South Carolina and famed as the woman who saved Mount Vernon, was...\nBorn in Rosemont, Laurens County, on August 15, 1816, Ann Pamela Cunningham was a granddaughter of Patrick Cunningham, an officer under the British Government. Her father, Captain Robert Cunningham, was distinguished for his services during the War of 1812, his wealth, culture, and noble hospitality. Her mother, Louisa Bird, was remarkable for her beauty and accomplishments. Ann Pamela Cunningham was educated at Baronville, a noted institution for young women near Columbia.\n\nAt the age of nineteen, she suffered from ill health due to a severe fall that caused spinal injuries, leaving her an invalid. In 1853, her mother passed by Mount Vernon, which then presented a picture of desolation. Inspired by the suggestion that women of America should own and preserve Mount Vernon, she was moved.\nMiss Cunningham sent from her sick room a letter addressed to \"The Women of America,\" appealing to them to unite in an effort to make Mount Vernon a shrine sacred to the memory of the Father of his country. This letter was followed in quick succession by others, all under the nom de plume, \"The Southern Matron.\"\n\nIn 1853, she founded the \"Mount Vernon Ladies\u2019 Association.\" Its purpose was to raise $200,000 for the purchase of the mansion and the tomb of Washington, with 200 acres of land. Title to be in the State of Virginia. The movement attracted the attention of the Northern press, and in time became a national enterprise.\n\nThe Honorable Edward Everett, having met Miss Cunningham in Richmond on March 19, 1856, became deeply interested and devoted a large portion of his time and talents to raising money for this purpose.\nMiss Cunningham turned to her, requesting $69,074. In the following year, he came to her aid once more, advocating for the work in all significant cities.\n\nIn her first letter where she signed her own name, Miss Cunningham made a heartfelt plea for cooperation to accomplish this endeavor by Feb. 22, 1830. Her efforts bore fruit, and on that date, the property purchase was finalized.\n\nMiss Cunningham stepped down from the Regency of the Mount Vernon Ladies\u2019 Association in 1875, and shortly thereafter, the tender light of evening fell upon her.\n\nOh! Loyal heart, whose highest hope and aim,\nTranscendent rose,\nCrowning thy life with fame,\nWhich valor knows.\n\nHer tomb bears the following inscription:\n\nAnn Pamela Cunningham\nof South Carolina\nFirst Regent of Mt. Vernon Association\nHer Life's Work is Here.\nMrs. Samuel Preston Davis, born to Robert Allen Dowdle and Rebecca Aylett Taylor, was one of nine children, six of whom reached maturity and reside in Morrilton and Little Rock, Arkansas. She is a connection between the old south and the new, having been raised in a typical old southern home where grandparents and parents adhered to the axiom \"Spare the rod and spoil the child,\" with strict obedience and religious training rigorously enforced, yet love between parent and child shone through.\n\nHer father, a South Carolina native, and her mother, from Kentucky, relocated to Prairie County, Arkansas, in 1848, where their children grew up and intermarried. Her father, Robert Allen Dowdle, enlisted in the Second Arkansas Regiment.\nA regiment of Carroll's Arkansas Confederate Cavalry, better known as Anderson Gordon's Regiment, with which he served, was later transferred to Monroe's Arkansas Cavalry. He was made a prisoner and spent five months in the federal prison at Rock Island, Ill. Three of her uncles, Major Marion Dowdle, Captain William Dowdle, and Richard Aylett Taylor, gave their lives for the Confederate cause.\n\nShe was educated in Arkansas and Kentucky and is an alumna of Galloway College, Searcy, Arkansas.\n\nIn the Morrilton Methodist church, she and Samuel Preston Davis were united in marriage on November 16, 1893, the thirty-fifth wedding anniversary of her parents. Samuel Preston Davis, Jr., married Katharine Lindsey in Little Rock in 1915. Two children have been born to them, Pauline Lindsey and Samuel Preston III.\nTon Davis, Jr. graduated from the Second Officers Training Camp at Leon Springs, Camp Stanley, Texas, and was commissioned second lieutenant in the field artillery in November 1917. At the signing of the armistice on Nov. 11, 1918, he held the rank of captain. His daughter, Rebecca Dowdle, is an alumna of Wellesley College. On November 16, 1923, the wedding anniversary of her grandparents and parents, she was married to Milford Herschel Davis, of Massachusetts. Mrs. Davis is a member of the Order of the Crown, Americans of Armorial Ancestry, Daughters of the Barons of Runnymede, Colonial Dames of America, Order of La Fayette, Daughters of the American Revolution, United States Daughters of 1812, Confederate Southern Memorial Association, United Daughters of the Confederacy, American Legion Auxiliary, and the Aesthetic Club of Little Rock. She served.\nAs state regent and state president of the Daughters of 1812 during the World War period, and honorary state regent and state president for life, Mrs. Jacob H. Plecko was first vice-president national and is now completing her first term as president of the National Society United States Daughters of 1812. The founder of the society was a native of Boston, the organizing president was from New York, the second president national was from Chicago, the third from Hartford, Connecticut, and Mrs. Plecko, being the fourth, was the first southern woman to be elected to this office. She is upright, honest, and conscientious, accepts the Bible literally, and upholds the Constitution of the United States of America.\n\nMrs. Jacob H. Plecko\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. Jacob H. Flecker\n\nFrances Burton Plecko, born September 22, 1833, on her father's plantation.\nA descendant of Colonial and Revolutionary ancestors in Madison County, Virginia. Daughter of Daniel Jenifer Smoot and Harriet Medley, granddaughter of Ambrose Medley and Frankey Burton, and great-granddaughter of Major May Burton. Mentioned in Bishop Mead's \"Old Churches and Families of Virginia\" as a \"staunch Revolutionary soldier and zealous Episcopalian.\" Granddaughter of John (Jack) Smoot and Elizabeth Jenifer, relative of Daniel of St. Thomas Jenifer, signer of the Constitution. Both of her grandfathers served in the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. She was an early member of the U.S. Daughters of 1812 and wore the \"Real Daughters' Pin.\"\n\nNovember 22, 1854: married Jacob H. Plecker, a prosperous businessman and gallant Confederate soldier (Company F, 62nd, Va.).\nReg.,  Mounted  Infantry,  Imboden\u2019s  Brigade)  and  came  with  him  to \nhis  parental  County,  Augusta,  bringing  with  her  some  of  her  family \nslaves.  Faithful  Aunt  Dealy,  who  now  lives,  nursed  all  of  her  children. \nAn  ardent  Confederate  and  fine  manager,  while  her  husband  was \nin  the  War  Between  the  States,  she  kept  the  business  together.  She \nand  her  faithful  slaves  spun  and  dyed  the  wool,  wove  the  cloth  for \nher  husband  and  his  comrades,  prepared  boxes  of  provisions,  made  lint \nand  \u2018cared  for  wounded  soldiers.  Her  brothers,  Theophilus  Smoot, \nlawyer.  Confederate  soldier,  fist  Lieut..  Company  C,  4th,  Va.  Reg. \nCavalry)  married  Lucy  Ann  Elizabeth  Hume.  Horace  Smoot,  physi\u00ac \ncian,  married,  first,  Maria  Goolrick.  Andrew  Jackson  Smoot  died  in \nschool  in  Fredericksburg.  Her  sisters;  Catherine  Medley  married \nThomas  Catlett  Gibson,  lawyer.  Elizabeth  Jenifer  married,  first. \nAlbert W. Payne, second: James Harrison Seibert. Hester Ann died in girlhood.\n\nJacob H. Plecker, \"Real Son of War of 1812,\" born Oct. 13, 1829, son of Jacob Blaecher (old spelling), a soldier of the War of 1812, and Elizabeth Weisz. His great-grandfather Wise furnished ammunition in Dunmore War. His great-great-grandfather Haiglar, in protecting his home and country, was scalped by the Indians.\n\nMrs. Plecker was fond of her home, company, conversation, jokes, and horseback riding. Quick intuition, wit, and repartee, good reader of human nature, artistic, inventive, vivacious, kind, and sympathetic. Her Bible was her daily companion. A subscriber of the Christian Observer (Presbyterian) for 60 years. She selected her own nail-bearers and the same hymns sung at her mother\u2019s funeral. Jan. 11, 1915.\nAt her home in Staunton, Virginia, her soul passed to her Maker, her reason unclouded to the end.\n\nChildren of her marriage to Dr. Edward Franklin Wayman:\n- Harriet Elizabeth\n- Catherine Matilda Huston (lives)\n- Emma Frances married Julius Frederick Ferdinand Cassell (sketch on next page)\n- Horace Medley, druggist.\n- May Burton, civil engineer, Graduate of Western University of Pennsylvania. All died young, unmarried.\n\nMrs. Julius Frederick Ferdinand Cassell\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nEmma Frances Plecker was born in Augusta County, Virginia, the daughter of Jacob H. Plecker and Frances Burton Smoot (sketch on preceding page). Educated at Augusta Female Seminary, now Mary Baldwin University.\nBaldwin College, Staunton, Va., vice-president of class for Alumnae Association.\n\nDec. 23, 1884, she married Julius Frederick Ferdinand Cassell, who after receiving an especially fine education and graduating in Civil Engineering in Germany, visited the United States, where he became so deeply enamored with Emma Frances Plecker that he has ever since made America his home.\n\nAs the wife of a railroad man, Chief and Constructing Civil Engineer, twenty-five years were spent away from Virginia, through the states, which has given Mrs. Cassell wide experience and acquaintance. In Baltimore, Md., Relay Station, Grafton, W. Va., and Connellsville, Pa., president of missionary societies and active in Presbyterian and Synodical work in Presbyterian Church. Secretary of Ladies\u2019 Aid Society of Hazelwood Presbyterian Church. Charter member, Secretary.\nHazel, Treasurer and later Honorary member of Tuesday's Club, Pittsburgh, Pa. In Terre Haute, Indiana, Charter member, President, Corresponding Secretary, Chairman of House Committee and Board member for the Crittenton Home; Vice-President of Woman's Auxiliary Y.M.C.A., active in Y.W.C.A., King's Daughters\u2019 work and Federation of Women's Clubs. In Joliet, Illinois, worked with the same organizations. In 1909 her husband retired from railroading and they returned to Staunton, Va., to care for her aged mother. She at once threw her heart into the work of her girlhood home and became President, Vice-President of Woman's Work Society of First Presbyterian Church; Secretary of Foreign Missionary Society and now Cause Secretary of Foreign Missions of Woman's Auxiliary. Secretary for four years, Leader for five years of Henry Tinsley.\nCircle of King's Daughters and now Historian, Leader of Staunton City Union of King's Daughters.\nPresident and Vice-President of J. E. B. Stuart Chapter U. D. C., Organizer and member of Bath County Chapter IT. D. C., Warm Springs, Va.; one of the speakers at the unveiling of the Confederate Monument, there June 20, 1923.\nAs a true Daughter of the Confederacy, with both father and uncles giving gallant service, Mrs. Cassell has the distinction of having organized, April 4, 1914, the largest Junior Confederate Chapter, Staunton Juniors, U. S. C. V. and IT. D. C., with 50 members from Staunton and Augusta County. She was their only Director. She copied their names and records in a large book, 20x15 in, especially designed by her. This book and blanks are now in the Confederate Memorial.\nMrs. Cassell was a life member of the Literary Society for preservation in the Virginia Division U.D.C. She held various offices including State Registrar, State Custodian, State Chairman of Credentials, Seal and Monument Committees. She was the appointed sponsor from the 10th District for the comederate Veterans State Reunions in Norfolk, Winchester, Charlottesville and Roanoke. An honorary member of the Grandchildren\u2019s Chapter U.D.C., Richmond, and the Confederate Choir, Norfolk. Many of Mrs. Cassell's grandfathers and two great-grandfathers served in the War of 1812. She attended the first Virginia State Council, U.S.D. of 1812. State Librarian-Curator for four years; State Historian, resigned to till the office of State President for four years, was unanimously re-elected for another term at State Council.\nIn Bristol, 1923, but due to Constitutional limitations, Mrs. Cassell was ineligible for re-election and insisted on enforcing the Constitution. In recognition of her conspicuous service and ability, she was made Honorary State President for Life. She had worked indefatigably to complete the early records that were lost, organized two 1812 Chapters. State Chairman of Flag Committee, State Chairman of Craney Island Memorial Committee, and now State Chairman of Revision Committee, U. S. D. of 1812. Charter member, Librarian-Curator, and now Treasurer of Col. George Armistead Chapter U. S. D. 1812, Manassas, Va., April, 1923, was elected Curator National U. S. D. 1812, had served on the National Committee for Credentials, Americanization, House Reception and Banquet. As Virginia State Director for the Children of American Revolution.\nFor the past four years, the National G.A.R. Library Committee for Tamassee Mountain Girl's School, SC, founded by D.A.R. member from Livingston Manor Chapter D.A.R., Washington, DC, has served. I have been on the Memorial Continental Hall Committee, as well as the House and Railroad Committees for D.A.R. Congress. My activities are countless: member of the National Genealogical and Virginia Historical Societies, Virginia Historical Committee, Sulgrave Institution, Woman's Auxiliary Panama Exposition, Federation of Arts Chairman of Invitation Committee for Staunton, Daughter of American Colonists, Service Legion, Pocahontas Memorial Association, National Victory Memorial Building, Washington's Headquarters, Newburg, NY.\n\nAs a lineal descendant of the Weiss (Wise) family, I was one of them.\nSpeakers on the program at Wise Family Reunion held at Utopia Park near St. Michael\u2019s Reformed Church, Augusta County, VA, Aug. 1918.\nReceived two Red Cross Certificates, Graduate Instructor of Surgical Dressings and First Aid, President of Class.\nChairman of Million Membership Campaign Committee of National Defense for Staunton and Augusta County for Women\u2019s Section of Navy League.\nMember of National Committee of Department of Recreation and Comfort for the Navy of the Women\u2019s Naval Service, Inc.\nLeft home, spent six weeks in Richmond, VA giving services gratuitously at United War Work Campaign Headquarters, Nov. 11-13, 1918, in charge of Girl's Division as \u201cVirginia Executive\u201d and organized Victor Girls in the hundred counties in Virginia.\nAs Chairman of Women\u2019s Interdenominational Prayer Meeting.\nStaunton was delegated to interview ministers regarding an honor roll in each church vestibule, with the name of each enlisted boy and assignment recorded, allowing each church to keep in touch through prayer for their boys in the World War. Mrs. Cassell has devoted her time unselfishly to patriotic, literary, genealogical, historical, and philanthropic pursuits. She is Chairman of Fatherless Children of France for Staunton and Augusta Counties.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. Edward Franklin Wayman\nHarriet Elizabeth Plecker, named after her two grandmothers, was the eldest child of Jacob H. Plecker (a Confederate soldier, Company F 62nd, Va. Regiment, Mounted Infantry, Imboden's Brigade) and Frances Burton Smoot. Born in Augusta County, Virginia.\nSeptember 24, 1855: Graduated with honors from Wesleyan Female Institute, Staunton, Va., and gave the Salutatory Essay at the commencement. Married December 17, 1878, Dr. Edward Franklin Wayman, born January 10, 1847, Culpepper County, Va., a graduate of University of Maryland as M.D. and D.D.S. A prominent dentist, Knight Templar, Mason, and Confederate Soldier. He and his brother Joseph Thomas enlisted with Mosby\u2019s Rangers, Company C, 43rd Battalion; another brother, Newton Blakemore, was in Company F. His brothers, Lieut. John Isaac and James William, were in Company D, 4th Va. Cavalry, \"Little Fork Rangers.\" His last brother, Henry Clay, too young to enlist, chased and captured one of the enemies.\nJanuary 23, 1904, Mrs. Wayman was left a widow with seven children. Her husband at the time was Commander of Stonewall Jackson Camp U.C.V. of Staunton, Va., and was buried with Confederate honors. As an unselfish mother, she rose bravely above the crushing load for her children. She was a beautiful conversationalist, cultured with marked executive ability; the doors of her home were always open to her husband\u2019s friends and they numbered by legions. He being a lover of outdoor sports, hunting and fishing, had many trophies bestowed on him as a marksman. She read and kept apace with the times, reviewed her old school books with her children, assisting them through French and other courses. She continued the study of Art under her school professor, T.B. Coleman, despite a large family, her gifted hands.\nShe produced an oil painting every now and then, and at her death, her walls contained only her own paintings. She loved her church and was Treasurer of the Woman's Work Society of First Presbyterian Church in Staunton, Va. She had four lineal ancestors in the War of 1812, others at the front in the Revolutionary and Colonial Wars. Her charm and graciousness of manner only deepened with years. Apparently in the best of health, she suddenly dropped dead at her home in Staunton, Va., on Jan. 27, 1908, leaving seven orphans: Walter Newton, dentist, graduate of University of Maryland, married Minnie Carroll Bowen; Edward Franklin Jr., traveling salesman, educated Columbia (now George Washington University), married Katherine Caroline Geislar; one child, Edward Franklin Wayman III; Frances, educated at Mary Baldwin College, married Randall Lockhart.\nHart Gray, lawyer, three children: Briscoe Baldwin, Randall Lockheart, Frances Cassell.\nWilliam Jenifer, railroader, married Mary Eloise Williams, widow of Charles Clinson Doome; one child: Winda Ruth. Lelia Cassell, educated at Mary Baldwin College, married Howard Blackwell Carter, prosperous business man, two children: Edward Wayman, Elizabeth Cassell.\nElizabeth Houston.\nJoseph McKelden, graduate of Virginia Polytechnic Institute.\nMrs. Charles Henderson\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. Charles Henderson\nIn the December, 1916 issue of Everywoman\u2019s Magazine, Rosalie Armistead Higgins referred to the subject of this sketch as \u201cAlabama\u2019s most charming woman and the most loved.\u201d This tribute to the \u201cFirst Lady of the State,\u201d the wife of Alabama\u2019s Governor, was well deserved, as attested by many sources.\nMrs. Henderson, born as Laura Montgomery in Warrenton, NC, was the daughter of Thomas Alexander Montgomery, a prominent figure in North Carolina's public life. A descendant of a French Huguenot family, the Montgomery lineage originated in Scotland and then Northern Ireland. William Montgomery, the American founder of the family, hailed from Donegal, Ireland. Two of Mrs. Henderson's brothers served in the Confederate army, and her father, a constant supporter of the Southern cause, provided financial aid, was denied active service due to ill health. Her mother, Sarah Hill Dowtin, was descended from John Dowtin, a Revolutionary War soldier. The family proudly treasured the sword he wore in service as a heirloom. Another ancestor, Benjamin Ward, was a man of Chester, NC.\nLaura Montgomery, daughter of an intellectual family, is attested to this by the fact that her brother, Judge Walter A. Montgomery, once sat on the supreme bench of North Carolina. At the age of six, Laura Montgomery moved with her parents to Raleigh. After completing a college course at St. Mary's College in Raleigh, she began teaching in the public schools of Troy, Alabama. After one year, she married Charles Henderson, a brilliant young businessman from Troy, a scion of an old and honored family, and later Governor of Alabama, on November 7, 1888. Mrs. Henderson soon became a leading spirit in the women's clubs and patriotic organizations of Troy and the State. She was a member of the Board of Directors of the Boy's Industrial School of Eastlake, Alabama, and later became President of the Pike County Improvement Association.\nUnder her leadership, the Improvement Association received a prize of one hundred dollars for doing the best work. In 1912, she was elected President of the Alabama Federation of Women's Clubs. While holding this office, she represented Alabama at the Biennial Convention of the National Federation of Women's Clubs in San Francisco, displaying throughout her administration, marked ability and fitness for the work.\n\nDuring the period (1915-1919) of her residence in Montgomery as the governor's wife, Mrs. Henderson became noted as a charismatic hostess through the many brilliant social functions given at the executive mansion. As an evidence of the abiding impression which she left on the minds of Montgomery people, it may be noted that a leading florist of that city has recently named a flower after her.\nA beautiful pink rose, the 'Laura Henderson.' Since her return to Troy, she has wielded a far-reaching influence as president of the Community Service Federation of Troy. Her culture and literary taste, her wide reading of the best authors, her keen insight into questions of vital public interest, and the compelling magnetism of her speech have caused her to be greatly sought after as a public speaker. Above all else in her character, her loyalty and love for her church, the Episcopal, stand out in relief. For nearly five years she served as President of the Diocesan Branch of the Women's Auxiliary.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nHale of Fame\n(This \"Toast\" was given at a luncheon tendered by the Dalton Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy during the meeting.)\nThere's a place in my heart for the stainless gray,\nFor the flag of the Stars and Bars;\nFor the deathless truths of a deathless day,\nFor our southern sons of Mars.\n\nThere's a place in my heart for each knightly crest,\nFor Lee and his captains rare,\nFor Georgia's Gordon and all the rest\nWhose glory we proudly share.\n\nThere's a nook in my heart for each simple stone\nThat marks where a hero lies,\nWho gallantly fought in defense of his own.\nAnd who died as the patriot dies.\nThere's a pedestal high in the hall of my heart\nFor the women of Dixie land,\nWho nobly, proudly played their part\nWith a courage ineffably grand.\n\nThere's a place in my heart for this wonderful day,\nFor the song of the birds and the flowers of May,\nAnd the rippling mountain streams.\n\nAnd there'll ever be in this hall of my heart\nA place for the U.D.C.,\nThat shall linger forever, a precious part,\nOf this day that we spent with thee.\n\nYes, there's room in my heart for these memories old.\nAnd each honored Confederate name\nIs graven in letters of glittering gold\nIn my heart, in my Hall of Fame.\n\nEmeline Conway Cox\nRepresentative Women of the South\nEmeline Conway Cox\n\nEmeline Conway Cox was the only surviving child of William Conway and Mary Conway of Dinwiddie County, Virginia.\nBorn in Petersburg, Virginia on November 1, 1823, she was the daughter of unknown revolutionary army ancestry. Married to Benjamin Franklin Cox on February 2, 1848, he was born on August 31, 1816 and died on May 15, 1857. Son of Edward Cox and Judith Christian Humber, and grandson of Edward Cox of Powhatan County and Diana Holloway of Mechlenburg County, Virginia. Of their five children, two died in infancy. Emeline Franklin and Laura Virginia never married and both passed away in 1921. Mary Luvenia, born on November 9, 1848 and died on August 26, 1923, married Eugene Montraville Cox in 1871. Their children are Wallace, Irving, Inez May, Olin Christian, and Eugene Marvin. Mrs. Cox spent most of her life at her home, \"Peace\".\nA three-hundred-acre tract in Prince George County, called \"Hill,\" was purchased by her husband early in their married life. After being left a young widow with unfinished plans and great responsibilities, she accepted the situation with the true spirit of one born to command, as she belonged to the lineage of landowners with servants to work the land.\n\nDuring the siege of Petersburg, \"Peace Hill\" was within the Confederate lines, about a mile and a half from the Crater. General R.F. Hoke established his headquarters there. Mrs. Cox witnessed General Lee in conference with him and many others. General Hoke advised Mrs. Cox not to leave home as her presence would help protect her property, so she remained and lived in the basement during those days of stress while General Hoke occupied the upper rooms.\nDuring the heavy shelling, the family sought refuge in the \"bomb-proof\" shelter of a hill to the west. Miraculously, the dwelling was not destroyed, but fragments of shell were found in the walls, where they remained until it was burned about 1890. There is in the family today a mahogany wardrobe that was pierced by a fragment of shell that passed through a bedroom. The main avenue of approach to \"Peace Hill\" was from the north and led up through a deep ravine that offered good protection. It was there a field hospital was established and maintained through the summer of 1864. Because she possessed the true spirit of hospitality and generosity, a fine sense of honor, and the bravery that would not yield to fear, and because she gave of her time, strength, and substance freely while her home suffered the devastation that necessarily follows an army.\nMrs. Mary Latham Perry Wharton, a representative woman of the South. Born near Washington, Beaufort County, North Carolina, November 21, 1839, at \"Rosedale\", the plantation of her parents, David Bradley Perry and Mary Latham Perry, she lived happily with her sisters and only brother to young womanhood, completing her education at St. Mary\u2019s School, Raleigh, North Carolina.\n\nBorn on November 21, 1839, in Beaufort County, North Carolina, at \"Rosedale\", the plantation of her parents, David Bradley Perry and Mary Latham Perry, Mary Latham Perry Wharton lived happily with her sisters and only brother to young womanhood, completing her education at St. Mary\u2019s School in Raleigh, North Carolina. She had an unusual mind and strength of character, excelling in living for others and surpassing any imaginary character.\nMary, endowed with the qualities necessary for life and the courage to follow her high ideals, sustained her during the stress and horrors of the War between the States. Her only brother, Captain Thomas Latham Perry, was killed in the battle of Seven Pines near Richmond, Virginia. After his death, she assumed almost entirely the management of her broken home and its disorganized domestic life. Her mother, Mrs. Perry, felt the death of her only son deeply and the tragedy remained on her heart, but she survived long enough to cement the memory of a life of loving service and benefactions to her community, friends, and family.\n\nMary Perry, the subject of this sketch, with the aid and encouragement of her father, worthily assumed the duties and responsibilities.\nShe was laid down by her mother and preserved in the same gentle and unobtrusive manner. The role of unselfish service was carried on by her, and their wayside country home became the refuge for many a weary victim of the War, serving as a soldier's home for food and entertainment.\n\nIn this hospitable manner, she met Lt. Col. Rufus Watson Wharton of the Confederate Army, who was in command of forces in Washington. After the close of the War, she married Col. Wharton and lived at Rosedale. Their married life was harmonious and happy in every sense. In unison of thought and purpose, they maintained this happy rural home. Their generous acts of neighborliness not only secured the affection of those in their immediate social circle but also impressed the few remaining negroes on the plantation.\nRepresentative Women of the South:\n\nWith scarcely an exception, these old servants of ante-bellum days remained on the plantation and maintained friendly relations until Col. and Mrs. Wharton passed away.\n\nMrs. Wharton, blessed with a large family, ruled wisely and well. Her own life was exceedingly happy. She was an earnest Christian, a devoted member of the Episcopal Church. Active in all its community and missionary work, she was a charter member of the Beaufort County Chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy and ever continued loyal and zealous, working for the preservation of the memories which lay next to her heart.\n\nIt may not be inappropriate to emphasize the mental and spiritual qualities of this typical wife and mother of the old South. She possessed a vivid imagination, which never ran riot but was ever harnessed and used to inspire and uplift those around her.\nMrs. Wharton was in control of her mind, which was bright and vivacious. She was particularly gifted in conversation and had an unusual talent for expression. Many of her letters written during the sad and turbulent days of war and after peace had come to her troubled section have been preserved and are regarded by competent critics as fine examples of correspondence. She never permitted the burdens of home-keeping to prevent her from giving a portion of each day to good literature and correspondence. Mrs. Wharton died on February 16, 1904. Surviving her are three children: Thomas Perry Wharton, who inherits the spirit of self-sacrifice and service from his mother. He volunteered for service in the World War.\nMrs. Virginia Land Blanchard\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. James A. Blanchard, famed for her patrician beauty and social accomplishments, as well as her noble qualities of mind and heart, is of ancient and honorable lineage.\n\nVirginia May Land was born January 26, 1884, daughter of Alfred Dillingham Land and his wife, Sarah Virginia Lister. Her father, born June 15, 1842, died June 26, 1917, was for eleven years one of the most prominent figures in the community.\n\nAnother son, David Evans Wharton, still resides at Rosedale and is a farmer. Only one daughter survives; Mrs. Isabella Carter Wharton Small, wife of John H. Small, of Washington, NC, and Washington, DC.\nsupreme  , court  judges  of  the  State  of  Louisiana  and  for  ten  years  or \nmore  District  United  States  Court  Judge. \nHe  married,  Nov.  11,  1869,  Sarah  Virginia  Lister,  who  was  de\u00ac \nscended  from  Philip  Thomas,  the  \u201cEmigrant,\u201d  of  Maryland,  whose  de\u00ac \nscent  is  traced  back  through  the  annals  of  the  Middle  Ages  to  Alfred \nthe  Great,  the  most  famous  of  the  Saxon  Kings.  In  this  ancestral  line \noccur  the  names  of  Howard  and  Mowbray  and  many  others  celebrated \nin  the  records  of  chivalry. \nPhilip  Thomas,  \u201cthe  Emigrant,\u201d  came  to  America  from  Bristol, \nEngland,  in  1651,  and  settled  in  Anne  Arundel  County,  Maryland.  His \nson,  Samuel  Thomas,  married  Mary  Hutchins,  daughter  of  Frances \nHutchins,  Burgess  of  Calvert  County,  Maryland.  Their  son,  John \nThomas,  born  in  1697,  married  Elizabeth  Snowden,  daughter  of  James \nand  Mary  Snowden. \nJohn  Thomas  and  his  wife  had  a  daughter,  Elizabeth,  who  married \nAugust 13, 1754. John Richardson, son of Richard Richardson, married for the second time, Mary Virginia Plummer. They had a daughter, Ophelia Virginia, who married Albert Dunlap Lister, born January 11, 1822, died November 16, 1878. Their daughter, Sarah Virginia Lister, born October 17, 1848, died February 24, 1884, was the mother of Mrs. Blanchard.\n\nAmong the Barons of Runnymede who secured the Magna Carta from King John, the following were ancestors of Mrs. Blanchard: Henry de Bohun, Earl of Hereford; Saire de Quincy, Earl of Winchester; Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk; Hugh Bigod, the Third, Earl of Norfolk; Robert de Vere and William de Mowbray.\n\nFebruary 14, 1890. Virginia May Land married James Ashton Blanchard. He was an aristocratic Louisiana family scion and a prominent citizen of his State. Son of N. C. Blanchard.\nWho was a member of Congress, United States Senator, and Governor of Louisiana. Mr. Blanchard died on Feb. 14, 1919.\n\nMrs. Blanchard is a Colonial Dame, member of the Order of the Crown of America, member of the Daughters of the Barons of Runymede, the D.A.R., Daughters of 1812, and of many other social and patriotic organizations. She spends much of her time traveling in Europe and on both continents. Her beauty, her charm, and her genuine culture make her an admired figure in every circle in which she moves. She has one daughter, Emily Barrett Blanchard.\n\nMrs. Bryan Wells Collier, Representative Women of the South, Motherhood\n\nIt is said that when traveling in the old country, if you should go to Venice, that wonderful historic city by the sea, that seems hung with romance and mystery, you will find many examples of motherhood in its purest form. The Italian mothers, with their dark, passionate natures, are the embodiment of maternal love and devotion. They are the guardians of their homes, the protectors of their children, and the keepers of their traditions.\n\nIn Venice, you will see mothers with their babies in gondolas, traveling from one end of the city to the other. You will see them selling their wares in the markets, their faces etched with the lines of age and experience. You will see them in their homes, cooking, cleaning, and caring for their children. And you will see them in the churches, kneeling in prayer, seeking God's blessings for their families.\n\nBut motherhood is not just an Italian phenomenon. It is a universal experience, a bond that transcends nationality, race, and culture. It is a bond that connects us all, a bond that makes us human. And it is a bond that deserves our respect and admiration.\n\nSo, on this Mother's Day, let us take a moment to honor the mothers in our lives, the women who have given us love, support, and guidance. Let us remember the sacrifices they have made for us, the lessons they have taught us, and the love they have shown us. And let us strive to be like them, to be mothers and fathers who put the needs of our children before our own, who love unconditionally, and who pass on the values and traditions that make us who we are.\n\nHappy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there, and may you continue to be a source of strength, love, and inspiration to your families and to the world.\nBetween the earth and sky, you would find in the galleries the most noted creations of art. And if you should pause and step aside in your journey to watch the passers-by, you would notice that there is one picture before which each traveler pauses a little longer. It is the face of the \u201cMadonna and the Child.\u201d There is a halo around her brow, and a deep and tender look in her eyes that speaks to each pilgrim as he journeys. In that face, we catch the meaning of \"one touch of nature makes the whole world kin.\"\n\nMotherhood\u2014how I wish I could express the depths of its meaning. How I wish we could realize the old-time saying, \u201cThe hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.\u201d Yes, the day has come when the old world needs mothers as never before. And, if this is true, what must be our responsibility? What, must we do with our homes?\nMust we do with our children? There is but one answer. Our children are the supreme gift of our lives. If we neglect their keeping, we neglect the one great purpose our Father gave us to fulfill. We cannot separate the mother from the home, and they are God's noblest creations. Then what grave duties fall around us? Mothers of our land, when you sit by your firesides and read this message, wherever your home may be, whether on the mountainside where a lonely path leads to your gate, or in the quiet village, where evening falls around you in peaceful silence, or the crowded city, wherever that sacred place is, you are watching over, directing the daily life, guarding your children, step by step, into the nobler things of life. Pause just a little and breathe a prayer of thankful.\nDedicate yourselves to your heavenly Father for giving you that home and that child, then consecrate your life anew, and with deeper gratitude for the precious lives that have been placed in your care, strive as never before to give them the best you can. As the years go by, and we see them pass from childhood into matured years, when the time comes that we must send them out from the home to mingle with the world, what joy and consolation comes to us if we have done our best. If we have taught them right from wrong, if we have gathered them around the family altar and lived and directed our lives to bring theirs into the kingdom of God, then, dear mothers, you have fulfilled your duty. Trust in God to do the rest.\nThere are days in my life I shall never forget, their joys were so deep, the heartthrob so tender, the meaning of life so sacred. They are the birthdays of my two baby boys. I never let these days pass without their special pleasures and joys. To their wee hearts, it meant toys, pictures, parties and friends. To me, it was always meant a heart full of joy and thankfulness to my heavenly Father for his wonderful blessing to me. And so, the years passed on, each filled with its golden promises of life. Today, I realize as never before, we have all grown older. My first boy has grown into manhood. Just a short while ago, it seems, I stood in the shadow of a great university. I saw a long, black line in military formation, 300 boys about eighteen years old. The noonday sun fell so gloriously around them.\nIn the beauty of the lilies,\nChrist was born across the sea.\nWith a glory in his bosom,\nThat transfigured you and me.\nAs he died to make men holy,\nLet us die to make them free.\n\nMrs. J. Morgan Smith\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. J. Morgan Smith, among the many who may be justly classified as representative Southern women, is deserving of recognition more than any other. She truly embodies the South, both old and new.\nKate Duncan, daughter of Daniel Duncan and Rachel Harrington, is a native Alabamian who has spent her active and useful life in that State. Through many lines, she claims colonial and revolutionary ancestors. From her Scotch ancestry, she inherits an unswerving rectitude and devotion to principle; from the Quakers, a deep sense of justice and love of truth; from the Cavaliers, a high courage and indomitable spirit; from them all, that love for God and Country which is patriotism in its truest sense. In patriotic organizations, she has held the highest offices granted by her State, having served as State Regent for ten years. In appreciation of her service, Alabama Daughters of the American Revolution have placed her portrait in Alabama Room, Memorial Continental Hall; additional evidence of their affection has been the placement of her portrait.\nEstablishment of a school in a mountain section of the State with the inscription \"Kate Duncan Smith School, Daughters of the American Revolution.\n\nIn the National Society D.A.R., she has been significantly honored, having been elected one of the thirteen Honorary Vice-Presidents - an office of life-tenure.\n\nAs President of the Alabama Society Colonial Dames, she served for eight years with ability and distinction and retired from the office of her own desire.\n\nMrs. Smith has never neglected the social side of life, and her home has always been an abiding place of gracious hospitality. Gifted with a lyric soprano of great sweetness and purity, she has been an amateur singer of note and always a leader in the musical life of the community. In young womanhood, she was urged by her teacher.\nMiss Marianne McClellan, born at the beautiful [location], Ga., was born to a beloved minister. Her church work began early in her life, and she served many times and years as President of church and missionary societies. She was a member of the Board of Lady Managers who built and operated the HILIMAN HOSPITAL (Charity) of Birmingham, Alabama. Her name, along with those of her co-workers, is carved in the enduring granite of the corner stone.\n\nMiss Marianne McClellan\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMiss Marianne McClellan\nThe estate is located in the full country, named \"Idlewilde,\" which is the home of her grandfather, General William Blunt McClellan, in Talladega, Alabama. She is the daughter of John Marcus McClellan and Marianne Bradford Taul. On her father's side, she is descended from the McClellans of Tennessee and Virginia. Her great grandfather, Lieutenant John McClellan, served in the War of 1812 and in the Devolution. Captain William McClellan, her great great grandfather, came from Ireland to Virginia, where he married Barbara Walker, daughter of Samuel Walker and Jane Patterson. Her grandfather, Micah Taul, Jr., was a Lieutenant in Cavalry in the Civil War. He was one of the most distinguished men of Alabama, served as secretary of the State Senate from 1856-66, became Secretary of State during Governor Patton's administration, 1866-68. He married the beautiful Louisana Roach, daughter of Reverend Charles Roach.\nLewis Roach and his wife, Sarah Bradford. Her great-grandfather, Micah Taul Sr., married Mary Hayter. He was Colonel of Kentucky Volunteers in the War of 1812. His command joined General Harrison on Lake Erie, where he served with great distinction. In 1814, he was in Congress. He was a son of Arthur Thomas Taul, a Revolutionary soldier, and his wife, Mary Ann Johnson, of Maryland. Colonel Taul was a guest in May 1829 in Tallahassee, Florida, of Colonel (Prince) Archille Murat, eldest son of the celebrated King of Naples, and his Queen, sister of the great Napoleon.\n\nIn Colonel Taul\u2019s Autobiography, he tells many charming stories of the hospitality extended on this occasion, when he with several other distinguished gentlemen, Governor Duvall, Major Byrd Willis, etc., were present.\nMiss McClellan, daughter-in-law of Prince Murat, spent several days with the Prince and Princess. She is descended from the Bradfords, Blackburns, Johnsons, and McFarlands of Virginia, all Revolutionary soldiers. Sir John McFarland was the last of the Scottish Chiefs of the \"McFarland Clan of Scotland.\" After the Battle of Culloden, he came to America, settled in the Valley of Virginia, and served as an Ensign in the Colonial Wars. Miss McClellan was educated at Agnes Scott College. She belongs to the Presbyterian Church, the Daughters of the American Colonists, the Joseph Habersham Chapter, D.A.R., the Agnes Lee Chapter, IT. D.C., and is State Treasurer for Georgia of the Daughters of 1812. During the World War, she did Red Cross and Camp Activity work. It is a happy privilege to incorporate within the pages of this [text] the biography of Miss McClellan.\nMrs. John Ewing Price, born in Columbia, Missouri, was the daughter of Hon. David H. Hickman, a Kentuckian who later became a prominent citizen of Missouri, and Annie C. Bryan. She graduated from Stephens College in 1884, married John Ewing Price of Tennessee and Missouri in 1885, and since 1902 has been a leading figure in unspecified interests, lending dignity, honor, and true patriotism. With a heart full of enthusiasm for every good cause and a home typical of the best traditions of the old South, she consecrated her life to the highest ideals and made for herself a name that will radiate through coming years a memory tender and sweet.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. John Ewing Price (Mary U. Hickman)\nbusiness  man  of  Seattle.  They  have  two  sons,  Hickman  Price,  West \nLawrence  Park.  N.  Y.  who  married  Mary  Washington  Frazer  of  Nash\u00ac \nville,  Tenn.,  and  Andrew  Price,  of  Seattle,  who  married  Virginia  Wiley. \nMrs.  Price  is  of  ancient  and  illustrious  ancestry,  as  shown  by  her \nauthentically  compiled  geneology  soon  to  be  published. \nHer  Hickman  family  of  Virginia  and  Kentucky  descends  from \nRobert,  Lord  of  Bloxham  and  Wickham,  England.  The  landed  estate \nof  Edwin  Hickman,  one  of  her  colonial  ancestors,  included  the  land \nupon  which  Monticello,  Thomas  Jefferson's  home,  stands. \nHer  paternal  ancestors  were  also  the  Lewises,  Chews,  Conways, \nTaylors,  Strothers,  Terrals,  Johnstones,  Berrys,  McClanahans,  Elliotts, \nand  Overtons,  of  Virginia,  and  the  Thompsons,  Washingtons,  and  El- \ntonheads,  of  England.  Her  collateral  paternal  side  includes  Chief \nJustice John Marshal, Presidents James Madison, John Tyler, Zachary Taylor, Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, Governor Alexander Spottswood, General John Hunt Morgan, President Jefferson Davis, the Carters and Langhornes.\n\nMaternally, she descends from the Virginia and Kentucky Bryans, the Gwins, Mosses, Masons, Moores, Goodwins of Virginia, the Talbots, and Lord Baltimore of Maryland and Virginia, the Hunts of North Carolina and Kentucky, originally Long Island, the James, Wilsons, Howells, Reeds and Jessups of New York. All the ancestral lines run back into the mists of antiquity and Mrs. Price is many times descended from Edward I of England.\n\nMrs. Price was founder and is still President of the \u201cNational Society Colonial Dames of America in Washington,\u201d incorporated 1910. Burgess, \u201cFirst Families of Virginia\u201d, State Counsellor, \u201cOrder of the\u201d\nCrown of America, State President. Charter member, Daughters of the Barons of Runnymede, Daughters of the American Revolution, eligible for most patriotic organizations. During the world war, a member of the Executive State Boards of Council National Defense and National League for Women's Service, active in various relief works. Chairman of the One Hundred Thousand Dollar Fund raised by the National Society of Colonial Dames, maintaining Sulgrave Manor, England. First President of the North Side First Hill Guild of the Orthopedic Hospital, serving in this capacity for some years, member of various charitable and social organizations. Her outstanding characteristics are a high sense of justice, great kindness, unusual maternal instincts, and distinct individuality.\nMrs. Mary Spratt Van Landingham, a woman of artistic temperament and great delicacy and sensitivity, is a representative figure from Charlotte, N.C. Few lives have inspired and helped the community as much as hers. Her unwavering loyalty to her friends and ideals, kindness to the lonely and sorrowful, deep interest in public matters, and keen insight into motives and actions have made her a beloved and valuable citizen.\n\nBorn on September 14, 1852, in Charlotte, she was the second child of Charles E. and Margaret Oates Spratt. Both parents belonged to prominent families closely connected with the interests and progress of Mecklenburg County. Both were descended from Revolutionary and Colonial ancestry. Mrs. Spratt died in early life, but Mr.\nSpratt reached a ripe old age, living to be almost ninety. Mary Spratt was married on December 15, 1873, to John Van Landingham, a young hardware merchant, a native of Lancaster, S.C., but residing in Charlotte. They began housekeeping at 500 East Avenue, and there for forty-three years they lived an ideal life; her sympathy and help and his loving pride in her achievements and his generous provision made a perfect home. Four children were born to them: Ralph, Norma (now Mrs. Jacob Binder), and John Henry of Petersburg, Virginia. Mr. Van Landingham died in 1915, and Mrs. Van Landingham continues to live in the same home on East Avenue.\n\nBy nature and by inheritance, Mrs. Van Landingham's tastes and inclinations have been patriotic. Her country has always been dear to her, and she has done her part in preserving its glorious history.\nShe has taken a prominent part in D.A.R. work, being a charter member of the National Society Daughters of the American Revolution; elected Vice-President General of the National Society in 1913, her executive ability and grasp of difficult questions gave her judgment weight in national councils and did credit to her state. She declined the nomination for candidacy for President General, the highest honor in the gift of the National Society, three times.\n\nHer patriotic services were not all national, but were given freely to her state. She served as Regent for several years of Mecklenburg Chapter, the oldest and largest in the state, and was three times elected State Regent. In 1920, Mecklenburg Chapter honored her and itself by placing a handsome chair in Continental Halls, Washington, D.C., her name beautifully engraved thereon.\nShe is a valued member of the North Carolina Society of Colonial Dames; has been chairman of Mecklenburg County Committee; ice-President of the State Society and a member of the committee that placed a tablet to commemorate the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence in the state capitol at Raleigh. She is the only woman ever invited to address the Mecklenburg Historical Society. Her subject was \u201cThe Native Literature of North Carolina.\u201d Of this address, a Charlotte paper said, \"It was comprehensive in its scope; true in its criticism; beautiful in its diction, and should be preserved among the classics of the state.\" One of the original but true comments in this address has been so widely quoted that it has been incorporated in a little volume of anonymous quotations.\nAphorisms make North Carolina generally referred to as \"A Valley of Humility between two mountains of Conceit.\" In 1900, she was invited to read a paper before the State Literary and Historical Society, becoming the first woman to do so. Her topic was \"The Encouragement of Art as an Aid to History and Literature.\" Mrs. Van Landingham has always shown a keen interest in public affairs and is a member and valuable contributor to the Virginia Dare Book Circle, the Woman's Club of Charlotte, the North Carolina Folklore Society of Raleigh, and the National Officers' Club of Washington, D.C. She was reared in the Episcopal Church and has long been a loyal member. She served as Convocational Secretary of the Woman's Auxiliary to the Board of Missions for many years and as Vice-President.\nMrs. Van Landingham, a member of the Diocesan Branch of the Woman's Auxiliary, was an active worker in many parish organizations. Her numerous addresses before Historical and Literary Societies, newspaper articles, and essays have been compiled into a volume of great merit and interest titled \"Glowing Embers,\" a memorial to her husband. This is not for general circulation but for her friends, who highly value it for its literary merit and sweet remembrance. It is an unusual literary accomplishment, characterized by a smooth style and wise judgment.\n\nDespite her busy life, Mrs. Van Landingham does not neglect loving advice and help to her children and grandchildren, sweet and loyal service to her friends, and is a very present help in times of need to the sorrowful and anxious. In short, she is \"A perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command.\"\nOne who knew Mrs. Van Landingham from childhood, the late Dr. J.B. Alexander, historian and writer, spoke of her as \"a woman of rare charm, strong character, and brilliant intellect \u2014 a woman who with masculine mind can grasp the political and economic conditions of the country.\"\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nThis article can be brought to no more fitting close than by quoting a comment concerning her by a close friend; \"A composite representative of the old and new South, combining the dignity, modesty, and graciousness of the older period with the executive ability and business familiarity of the new \u2014 a high type of American womanhood.\"\n\nA Typical Southern Home\nThis beautiful old Colonial house on Prince Ave., Athens, GA, was built in 1841 by Chief Justice Joseph Henry.\nLumpkin. Here lived Martha Shannon Blair until her death in 1867, said to be the first real Colonial house with Grecian columns built in the South.\n\nMrs. Martha Shannon Farwell, Representative Women of the South\n\nMartha Shannon Blair (Daughter of John James Blair and Martha Couturier Ray, his wife), born in Camden, S.C., March 1, 1831, died December 11, 1918, New Orleans, La., married in New Orleans, La., 1857. Charles A. Farwell of New Orleans, formerly of Unity, Maine. Mrs. Farwell came to Mobile, Ala., with her parents when quite young, later moved to Spring Hill, Ala., and lived there for many years. She and a sister, Mrs. Ellen Rugby, came to New Orleans, La. when young women.\n\nMr. Farwell was a member of the New Orleans Home Guards. He and his family refugeed to Lumpkin, Ga.; there he joined a Georgetown militia.\nKate Drayton Mayrant, born September 27, 1862, at Stateburg, S.C., was the daughter of wealthy rice planter William Harry Mayrant. The Mayrants have been prominent in South Carolina's history, with a lineage dating back to their Huguenot ancestors who settled there in 1686. Throughout South Carolina's history, the Mayrants have been leaders, college-educated, students of law and statesmanship.\n\nKate Drayton Mayrant later became Mrs. S. Lewis Simons. In 1864, her husband, a company commander, was killed near Griswoldville, Ga. Mrs. Simons returned to New Orleans with their four children: Henry Blair Farwell, Charles Alphonso Farwell, Margaret Farwell, and Ellen Rugby Farwell. Mrs. Simons is a beautiful representative of the Old South.\nWilliam Harry Mayrant studied law due to his love for it. He was widely traveled and deeply read in the best literature. His fine library on his Santee plantation was filled with the best in belles lettres, history, statesmanship, and philosophy.\n\nMrs. Simons' mother, Katherine Drayton, was a descendant of the first Thomas Drayton, an English Cavalier who arrived in 1671. She was also a descendant of the celebrated colonial leader, the Hon. William Henry Drayton, along with Governor William Bull and other notable figures in South Carolina's history.\n\nHer lines of descent include the Gibbes line, which can be traced back to 1377, the Elliott line, which is traced back to the first Laird of Kilravock in Inverness in 1290. On both sides, her ancestors made history in South Carolina.\nKate Mayrant was a member of the \"Order of Hereditary Descendants of Colonial and Royal Governors.\" Two bars on her insignia bore the names of William Bull, royal governor of the State, and Governor Robert Gibbs, colonial governor.\n\nKate Mayrant received her education at the best private schools, paying particular attention to languages, in which she was proficient. On November 16, 1887, she married S. Lewis Simons, a civil engineer and architect from Charleston. Their children were: William Simons, a practicing physician, educated at the College of Charleston and the Medical College of South Carolina; Katherine Drayton Simons; Mayrant Simons, an electrical engineer in Syracuse, NY; and Lewis Hyrne Simons, who died in 1918. They resided in Charleston until their move to Summerville, a delightful suburban residence community.\nMrs. Simons is a member of the South Carolina Historical Society, the Huguenot Society of South Carolina, the National Geographic Society, the American Whist League, the Kings\u2019 Daughters, President of the Woman's Auxiliary to the Summerville Infirmary, Inc., Chairman Parish Social Service St. Paul's Episcopal Church, sub-chairman of the Historical Research Committee of the South Carolina Colonial Dames, and was for eight years President of the Summerville Branch of the Needlework Guild of America.\n\nIn 1914, Mrs. Simons joined the first group of women to work for France, and throughout the war, she did much work for the wounded soldiers in the hospital auxiliary Invalides. In appreciation of this work, she was decorated with a French medal by the \"Societe aux Secours Blesses Militaires.\" She was the leader in Summerville for the Christ-Relief Society.\nMasher built a ship for France. The American Red Cross recognized her able leadership and constant, efficient service with the highest commendation. She was Vice Chairman of the Summerville Chapter, Director of Women's Work, and later, Director of Home Service. Mrs. Simons spearheaded several successful campaigns and was several times a delegate to Red Cross Conventions. Her admirable service in this great work was acknowledged in the presentation of the American Red Cross Decoration with two stripes.\n\nFor generations, the Simons family have been leaders in the social life of this most exclusive southern state, and she holds office in a number of social clubs. She has written charmingly of the historic places of her state, with their wealth of storied lore.\nShe is an expert genealogist, widely read in the annals of old southern families, and speaks with authority and affection, born and bred of the old days, of tranquil halls and broad plantations. Rolling forth crested coaches and prancing cavaliers. Such as Fort Jorchester, founded over 300 years ago by a colony of religious zealots from Massachusetts, St. George's chapel of the Church of England, and the Old White Meeting House - enchanted names of bygone days, old ghosts which haunt the Ashley banks. Her advice and assistance on questions of genealogy are eagerly sought by many in all parts of America who know of her gifts in this department of historical study. Her lovely home, Green Gables, is surrounded by camellias and azaleas.\nWisteria and flowers of every description are the abode of elegance, and testify in every detail to her exquisite taste and love for the beautiful in nature and art.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMiss Katherine Drayton Simons\n\nA worthy daughter of South Carolina, a writer endowed with truly remarkable gifts, and a highly cultured young woman, is the subject of this sketch. The daughter of S. Lewis Simons, of Charleston, and Kate Drayton Mayrant Simons, whose sketch precedes this, she has inherited her intellectual qualities and her patriotic spirit. She is a graduate of Converse College, Spartanburg, S.C., and speaks several languages.\n\nWhen quite a young girl, Katherine Drayton Simons published a little volume of poems, \u201cShadow Songs,\u201d which received widespread recognition from critics of high standing. The Literary Digest spoke of her poetic talent in glowing terms.\nThe poems in this book were praised in enthusiastic terms, and \"Saturday Night,\" an influential weekly of Toronto, Canada, said: \"The slim sheaf of songs the book contains are imbued with the true lyric spirit and marked by unusual gifts of poetic expression.\" This critic, referring to the extreme youth of the author, said, \"One forms high hopes of what she may yet do.\"\n\nThis prediction has been generously fulfilled in later poems, indicating deeper experience and more matured powers of thought and expression. Written for the most part under the pen name \"Kadra Maysi,\" a contraction of the four parts of her mother's name, they have appeared in the New York Times and other high-class publications.\n\n\"Roads of Romance and Historic Spots Near Summerville, S.C.,\" published March, 1925, by Southern Printing and Publishing Co.\nCharleston is a thirty-seven page booklet of illustrated sketches. Both text and photographs are the work of Katherine Drayton Simons. A number of Miss Simons\u2019 poems, which have been greatly admired, were inspired by the World War. She is a member of the Poetry Society of South Carolina and won second honor in a prize contest of the society in 1923. She has won several prizes offered by the U.D.C. and other organizations, one for a beautiful tribute to Gen. Robert E. Lee, and has been represented in several anthologies of American poetry. Many delightful prose sketches celebrating historical localities and embellishing old legends have also issued from her gifted pen.\n\nOn both sides, her ancestry runs back to colonial days, entitling her to membership in the most exclusive patriotic organizations.\nShe is a Historian of the C. Irvine Walker Chapter, U.D.C., and at the State Convention of 1924 was called upon by the State President to respond to the address of welcome. She is also a member of the South Carolina Colonial Dames and of the Huguenot Society, finding constant exercise for her literary gifts. In company with her mother, she did French war work in the Red Cross, earning her decorations, and is a worker in several charitable organizations. As associate editor of the Summerville Journal, she finds constant exercise for her literary gifts.\n\nMiss Simons enters with the zest of a true daughter of the old Cavaliers into all forms of outdoor sports. A fearless horsewoman and a graceful rider, she delights in fox hunting, that sport so celebrated in the annals of the Old South.\n\nMrs. William B. Burney\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. William B. Burney, born in Yorkville, S.C., is the daughter of Samuel W. Melton and Mary Helen Gore Melton. Her family moved to Columbia when she was very young, and she spent her entire life there. Her father's paternal ancestors came from England and settled in Virginia, while on her maternal side, he was descended from the James and Davis (Daviess) families who settled in Pennsylvania in the 17th century. In colonial days, the James and Davies families, closely related by marriage, built a fort manned by them and their servants, which the settlers sought refuge in from the Indians. After the Wyoming Massacre, the Indians attacked Davies\u2019 Fort. The Reverend Mr. James, who was fighting, was killed.\nElizabeth James, Mrs. Burney's great-great-grandmother, never wavered in her work of molding bullets and delivering them to the men at the portholes. The Indians were defeated. Her mother was descended from the Gores, who settled in Maryland, and from the Lawsons, Shivers, and Ferdons of New York. The men of Mrs. Burney's family, notably her father, Judge Samuel W. Melton, one of the most brilliant lawyers and orators South Carolina has ever produced, were men of learning, courage, and culture. Two of them were among the early Presidents of Princeton College. Jefferson Davis was also descended from the same family. The women in each generation have been women of intellect and strong character.\n\nInheriting the qualities of such ancestors, Mrs. Burney has been a leader in the work of patriotic societies, and in club work.\nMrs. Burney, a renowned public speaker in her city and State, was active in the clubs of Columbia and served most of them as president. She became president of the South Carolina Federation of Woman's Clubs in 1908 and entered a broader field of activities. She has been identified with all the great constructive efforts for the betterment of her State and Country, serving on many important state and national committes.\n\nMrs. Burney's father served throughout the War between the States as Major and Colonel, and her three uncles as Major. From childhood, she took a deep interest in the work of the Memorial Association and the Daughters of the Confederacy.\nRepresentative of Wade Hampton Chapter of Columbia, Mrs. Burney, has done and continues to do wonderful work for the South Carolina Home for Confederate Veterans. She was elected one of the two members of Wade Hampton Chapter to become honorary members of Camp Hampton Confederate Veterans. She has attended many State and National Confederate Veterans reunions, and was Matron of Honor at the Reunions at Richmond and New Orleans. Mrs. Burney is now State Regent of the Daughters of the American Revolution of South Carolina. She served four years as State Registrar; and Columbia Chapter D.A.R. has twice elected her regent of that Chapter. During the World War, Mrs. Burney did fine work as Publicity Chairman of Red Cross Work in South Carolina. For this and other work, she was awarded a Service Medal.\nMrs. Burney is a member of the Officers\u2019 Club, D.A.R., of Washington and is a member of the U.S. Daughters of 1812. She has been invited to join the Society of Colonial Daughters.\n\nGraduating at Columbia College, Columbia, SC, she was the first girl to enter Wellesley College from South Carolina. While a student there, her contact with women from all parts of the country gave her the broad views and friendly fellowship that have enabled her to affiliate enthusiastically with the women of other states.\n\nUpon her retirement from the presidency of the State Federation, Mrs. Burney organized the City Federation of Women\u2019s Clubs of Columbia and became its first president. She did pioneer work in establishing a Home and Rest Room for Business Women.\n\nThe young woman who is earning her own living finds a sympathetic friend in Mrs. Burney.\nMrs. Burney is married to Dr. William B. Burney, Professor of Chemistry in the University of South Carolina. They have three children: William Melton Burney, whose wife is descended from General Andrew Pickens and John C. Calhoun; Adeline Melton, now the wife of Lucian C. Wilson, a foreign secretary of the Y.M.C.A.; and Dorothy Elizabeth, who has just graduated from Converse College, Spartanburg, S.C.\n\nMrs. Burney has traveled extensively in America and abroad and is a Cosmopolitan in every sense. She is indeed a woman with a vision that \"dips into the future,\" and her energy and enthusiasm will carry with her many who otherwise would \"only sit and wait.\"\n\nIda J. Cason, now Mrs. Fuller E. Callaway of LaGrange, Ga., was\nIda Cason was born on July 16, 1872, in Jewell, Hancock County, Georgia. From her earliest years, she developed a love for ancient, venerable, and beautiful things that continue to shape her life. Among her cherished family heirlooms are a lusterware cup and saucer inherited from an ancestor four generations back, a sampler made by one of her ancestors in 1652, an embroidered handkerchief made in 1740, and a blanket and worsted quilt passed down from Colonial times. One of her Pratt family relatives made the first organ in the United States.\n\nIda Cason graduated from the Southern Female College in La Grange in 1890. On April 28, 1891, she married Fuller Earle Callaway, a member of an old and honored family that has produced a number of celebrated names in the roster of Georgia and adjoining states.\nA prominent manufacturer from Georgia, Mr. Callaway, has two children: Cason Callaway, who married Virginia Hand of Pelham, Ga, and Fuller E. Callaway Jr., now a student at the Georgia School of Technology in Atlanta. Notable tributes paid to this queenly matron of the South include her husband's testimony, a towering figure in business and thought leader, attributing a large measure of his phenomenal success to her wise cooperation and helpfulness. While dedicating a major portion of her thought and energies to creating the beautiful home environment that forms an engaging background to her husband's and sons' careers, Mrs. Callaway has also found time for significant work in church, Sunday School, missionary society, and social and patriotic organizations.\nShe belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution, Daughters of the American Colonies, American Legion of Honor, United Daughters of the Confederacy, Peachtree Garden Club of Atlanta, Woman\u2019s Club of LaGrange, Woman\u2019s Auxiliary of Georgia Tech, and Woman\u2019s Missionary Society of the First Baptist Church of LaGrange.\n\nFor many years, the little city of LaGrange, a town of colleges, of cultural traditions, of stately homes and of that rare social atmosphere characteristic of the old South, has boasted one ornament of unique beauty and charm, Ferrell Gardens, a spacious collection of groves and flower gardens.\n\nSome years ago, Mr. Callaway purchased this estate, replaced the Terrell home with a mansion in keeping with its surroundings, added hundreds of acres of fertile land, which he beautified with all the improvements.\nMrs. Callaway, with the taste of an artist and the vision of a poet, has devoted herself to maintaining and enhancing the marvelous charm of this abode of delights, renamed \"Hills and Dales. Had Thomson seen \"Hills and Dales\" before writing his wonderful \"Seasons,\" he would have reached even greater heights of poetic beauty in picturing nature in her changing moods.\n\nThe visitor, after passing underneath a grove of giant oaks, enters these grounds through the east gate, encountering first the word \"GOD\" spelled out in boxwood letters. A terrace overlooking Mrs. Callaway's room contains two unspecified features.\nCrescent-shaped beds, bordered with boxwood. One contains the sentiment \"God Is Love,\" and the other the Latin motto, \"Fiat Justitia.\" In the corresponding part of the yard is the Callaway family motto, \"Ora pro Nobis,\" and also the words \"St. Callaway,\" both taken from the stained glass windows in the church of St. Neots, in Cornwall, England, the ancestral home of the Callaways.\n\nThe gardens contain well-kept terraces, which recall the stately homes of England. Quaint pergolas invite the visitor to linger in their enticing depths where \"Shadows dark and sunlight sheen, alternate come and go.\" A sundial bears the cheering motto, \"Let others tell of storms and showers, I\u2019ll only mark your sunny hours.\" Statues of Aristotle and Plato and others of the wise and famous of antiquity testify to the culture and taste of the owners.\nHere is a giant Cedar of Lebanon with double trunks, a silver maple sixty feet in height with a multiflora rose clambering to its summit, a gigantic plume-waving larch tree and near it a magnolia, each sixty feet in height. Many of the trees are festooned in spring with wisteria vines whose purple blossoms distill beauty and fragrance. One can well imagine himself in Fairyland.\n\nAdmiring visitors to \u201cHills and Dales\u201d have sent from every slate in the Southland and from distant shores the seeds of rare plants and flowers which have added to the bewildering variety of its manifold forms of beauty. A Chinese tea plant from whose leaves the cheering beverage is actually concocted; a sugar maple from which at need genuine maple sugar may be extracted; poinsettias which rival Florida\u2019s tropical charm, and rare plants from the Holy Land.\nLand, such as in Biblical narratives, contribute to these amazing scenes of beauty. The grounds have always been open to visitors, and through the years, many a pretty romance has been enacted amid these sylvan shades. The snowwhite dogwood blossoms heralded the coming of spring, the jasmine vines invited romantic thoughts, and the red-coated Cardinal admired his own reflection in the emerald waters of the \"sunken garden.\" Well may \"Hills and Dales\" be termed a Paradise of beauty, and its presiding genius be reckoned a benefactor to all who love the beautiful.\n\nMrs. John Francis Weinman\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\n\nMrs. John Francis Weinman of Little Rock, Ark., is one of the truly representative Daughters of the South, and has adorned the annals of her native state with a succession of noble achievements. Widely recognized for her contributions to society, Mrs. Weinman's accomplishments have left a lasting impact on her community and beyond.\nJeanne Fox, highly cultured, gifted with a graceful pen, natural charm of manner, and finely developed intellect, wields an influence which is felt widely and deeply.\n\nBorn in Little Rock, she is the daughter of John Wesley Fox and Anna Jeannette Compton Fox. John Wesley Fox rose to distinction as a lawyer in his native state of Indiana and later moved to Arkansas, where he was at the time of his death a judge in the United States District Court. Mrs. Fox is the daughter of Judge F.W. Compton, a native of North Carolina who came to Arkansas in 1849 and later became associate justice of the Supreme Court of the State.\n\nMrs. Weinman is a descendant of both Puritan and Cavalier ancestry. The virtues of both, the moral earnestness of the Puritan and the fine chivalry and lofty idealism of the Cavalier, are blended in her.\nHer ancestors are of notable character. On the paternal side, she is a descendant of Thomas Fox of Concord, Massachusetts, who arrived in America in 1640. He was one of the founders of the town of Concord. On the maternal side, her earliest American ancestor was William Lea of Virginia and North Carolina. Her great-grandparents, William and Susannah Lea, moved from North Carolina to Arkansas at an early stage in the state's history and were among the aggressive and resourceful pioneers who civilized this part of the west.\n\nOn both sides, her ancestors fought for American independence in the Revolutionary War. In a later day, they were found in the embattled ranks in the War of 1812, and they played an honorable part in the other great conflicts that have convulsed our western world.\nThe early days and later history of Jeanne were passed in an atmosphere of culture. She received the highest advantages afforded by the schools of her state. After passing through Mrs. Myra Warner\u2019s School for Young Ladies at Little Rock, she completed her education at Galloway College in Searcy, Ark.\n\nShe was first married to Richard Lembert Raleigh, a native of Little Rock. In 1902, she married John Francis Weinman, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, and a leading manufacturer and merchant of Little Rock. Their son, Cecil Earing Raleigh, a graduate of Culver Military Academy, volunteered in the World War while still a minor. He went to the marine camp at Quantico, Va., and was commissioned a first lieutenant in the Eightieth Company, Sixth United States Marines. He led his command in France and was gassed in Belleau Wood.\nJune 1918, was sent to a hospital and later promoted to a captaincy, placed in command of the Sixth Marine Guard at Brest, France. After the close of the War, he resigned his commission, Sept. 1920.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nThe beautiful home of Mrs. Weinman in one of the exclusive residence sections of Little Rock is a center of true southern hospitality, and she devotes her splendid talents to varied forms of service. Her largest interests are in patriotic activities, in the perpetuation and celebration of the outstanding historical interests of our country.\n\nShe is Division Historian for the United Daughters of the Confederacy and is enthusiastic in the collection of those memorials of our great wars which serve to keep alive our interest in the human aspect of a country\u2019s history. She was appointed Matron of Honor for\nMrs. Weinman served as Arkansas representative at the Jacksonville, Florida Reunion in 1914, and was appointed Matron of Honor for Arkansas at the Birmingham Reunion in 1916. She served as president of the T.J. Churchill Chapter, U.D.C., from 1920-1922 and is its Honorary President for Life. She was State Corresponding Secretary U.D.C., 1918-1920, and State Historian, 1920-1922.\n\nMrs. Weinman is Corresponding Secretary National of the United Daughters of 1812, and has also held the offices of Chapter Regent and State President (1921-1923), Honorary President for Life. In virtue of her descent from Stephen Fox, William Lea, and James Cochrane, she belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution. She was State Treasurer, 1921-1923, and is now State Parliamentarian. She wears on her D.A.R. insignia six ancestral bars.\nShe is National Vice Chairman of Conservation and Thrift.\nShe is State Vice President of the National Society of Founders and Patriots, a member of the Daughters of American Colonists, State Commander of the Order of Lafayette, and member of the Mary Washington Memorial Association.\nShe is on the Woman\u2019s Committee of Sulgrave Institute of Great Britain and America.\nAn unusually high honor has been accorded to Mrs. Weinman in her election to life membership in the Societe Academique de Histoire Internationale of Paris, she being the only American woman so honored.\nShe is a life member of the Red Cross, the League of Women Voters, and the International League of Women.\nShe takes especial pride in her membership in the Arkansas Pioneers Association, an honor coming to her through descent from Freeman Walker.\nCompton and Susan Lea. She is a member of the State Board of Occupational Therapy, the State Board of Americanization, and a charter member of the Military Society of the Frontier. Mrs. Weinman is an accomplished linguist, speaking several languages fluently and has traveled extensively in Europe and tropical countries. She has a wide circle of acquaintance, not only national but international in scope, and her sketches of foreign travel have brightened the pages of various publications.\n\nMrs. Alexander Powe Perrin\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Alexander Powe Perrin, endowed with culture, poise, dignity, and graciousness of manner, and strong and forcible utterance, both with tongue and pen, Mrs. A. P.\nPerrin stands easily in the forefront of women leading in educational, social, and civic affairs in the State of Louisiana.\n\nJane Flippen Perrin was born at Jackson, Tenn., daughter of Rowena Conger and Edwin Flippen. Her father fought in the Confederate Army in Forrest\u2019s Cavalry, in a company commanded by his brother, Captain Ben Flippen, at that time under age.\n\nOn both sides, the ancestral heritage of Jane Flippen was an illustrious one. In her father\u2019s family were many men prominent on the bench and at the bar in the States of Mississippi, Tennessee, and Texas. On the mother's side, she was descended from John Conger I, an Alsatian Huguenot, who came from England to New Jersey in 1669.\n\nHer great-great-grandfather, Stephen W. Conger, removed from New Jersey to North Carolina and then to Tennessee, where he died.\nIn 1808, he was an adjutant general during the War of the Revolution. Many members of the Conger family attained distinction in the professions. James B. Conger was the inventor of the turbine wheel and well known as a scientist and writer on scientific subjects. The family has contributed a long list of worthy names to every war in which the United States has been engaged. Many of the women of the family were of brilliant intellect and highly educated. True to the family tradition, Jane Flippen received the best of educational advantages, under the direction of her uncle, John H. Conger, a noted educator of Arkansas.\n\nJune 10, 1897, she was married to Alexander Powe Perrin of St. Bernard Parish, La., son of Capt. T. U. Perrin and nephew of Gen. Abner Perrin of the Confederate Army.\nMrs. Perrin has devoted much time and energy to work in various organizations, yet she has managed to do genuine good in a private way. Through her personal assistance, fourteen children have been carried through school and fitted for self-support who would otherwise have been deprived of such advantages.\n\nShe has served as Regent of the D.A.R. of New Orleans, State Historian of the D.A.R., State Secretary of the League of Women Voters, President of New Orleans Executive Council of Delphian Chapters, Corresponding Secretary of the Southern Women's Economic and Political Association, and President of Chalmette Chapter of Delphians in New Orleans. In various official capacities, she has served in political and educational clubs, both in the parish of St. Bernard, where she resides, and in the city of New Orleans.\nMrs. Perrin, an ardent history student, has traveled extensively in all parts of the world, visiting Europe sixteen times and Alaska, Japan, China, countries along the Black Sea, Turkey, Africa, every corner of the United States and its possessions. Devoted to her home and household interests, with a high type of culture developed by study, travel, and familiarity with the most cultured circles, she dedicates her highly trained intellect to the advancement of all worthy objects.\n\nMrs. James Madison Woodson, Representative Women of the South\nMrs. James Madison Woodson\n\nAnna Burbank Woodson, daughter of Edward W. Burbank and Ann Springer Kellogg Burbank, was born and raised in the sunny clime of New Orleans and educated amid the indescribable atmosphere.\nThe culture of the old French schools. The ancient home, with its spacious grounds of tropical fruits and flowers, was five miles out from the heart of the city on St. Charles Ave. Her ancestral lines go back, on the maternal side, to the Kelloggs of the 14th century and, on the paternal side, to the Burbank lines of staunch old Scotch Presbyterians. For five generations, a descendant of the Burbanks has been represented in Dartmouth College. She married Dr. James Madison Woodson, of Temple, Texas, a graduate of Tulane Medical College, New Orleans, and a descendant of Dr. John Woodson of Virginia, the first Woodson who came to America, and the Hawthorne family. Six children were born to this union. Two baby girls died in infancy, and James, Jr., died in the service of his country a few days before the signing of the Armistice.\nDr. Burbank Woodson graduated from Vanderbilt in medicine in June 1923, and was married to Myra Belle Preston. Anna Burbank Woodson received her degree in the National Kindergarten School in Chicago in 1924. Warren Burbank Woodson, the youngest child, finished his pre-medical course at Texas University in 1924. Their home near Temple is a beautiful Japanese Villa named \u2018Love\u2019s Acre.\u2019 Mrs. Woodson is untiring in her devotion to her home and her church, while devoting much time to public activities and club work. She organized the Young Ladies\u2019 Aid Society in the Presbyterian Church of Temple and has always enjoyed a Sunday School class of girls.\n\nMrs. Woodson served throughout the World War as Chairman for Women's Work, leading in the First Liberty Loan Drive and later in War Savings.\nMrs. Stamos is a charter member and three-time officer of the Betty Martin Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution. She was County Chairman for the adoption of French orphans, caring for and loving five of them alone. Mrs. Woodson is a Colonial Dame and a charter member of the Woman\u2019s Study Club, consisting of twenty-five of the most brilliant minds in Temple. She is very much interested in Parent-Teacher activities, serving three terms as president of the Mothers\u2019 Council. Through her efforts, Music Week was first given in Temple, with great success. She is a member of the American Legion Auxiliary, the Texas League of Women Voters, and the National Woman's Party. She has a life membership in the Parent-Teacher Association, the American Red Cross, and the Home Mission Society of the Presbyterian Church.\nLulie Huey Lane, third daughter of Joseph Huey and Ann Peters Huey, is greatly interested in her husband's work at the Woodson Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital. In 1922, she traveled to Europe with a party of twelve mothers and daughters, accompanied by her daughters and niece. They visited all the countries of Europe but particularly went to witness the Passion Play at Oberammergau.\n\nMrs. Alvin Valentine Lane\nLulie Huey Lane is of Scotch-Irish ancestry on her father's side and English New England on her mother's. She has inherited the qualities of all\u2014the Irish wit, the Scotch canniness, and the Puritan conscience.\n\nHer parents were native Americans. Her father was born in Pennsylvania, and her mother in New York. They met and married in Illinois and came to Texas to live, Mr. Huey having previously adopted that state.\nMrs. Lane, born in Texas of northern parentage, is a southern woman. Her parents were pioneers in Texas and aligned with the Confederacy. The Hugheys, or O\u2019Heogheys, are shown in ancient Irish and genealogical history as monarchs of Ireland and princes of Ilidia, lineal descendants of Milesius, King of Spain, through the line of Heremon, his son, the first Milesian monarch of Ireland. The earliest records of the Hughey family are found in the old family Bible, beginning with the marriage of Joseph Hughey and Jean Irwin (Erwin) on March 18, 1737. In 1759, Joseph Hughey held 200 acres of land in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. The next record of interest is the marriage of John Hughey to Elizabeth King, sister of the patriotic Presbyterian minister, John.\nJoseph Hughey, famous in Revolutionary annals. Born in 1827, he was the son of John Hughey III and Margaret Cavet Hughey, and the grandson of John Hughey II and Elizabeth Hughey. He adopted the simplified spelling of Huey. While he resided in Corsicana, Texas, and was a prominent banker and merchant there, he was also prominent in business affairs in Dallas.\n\nThe children of Joseph Huey and Mary Ann Peters are: Mrs. J.E. Whiteside of Corsicana; Mrs. J. Ashford Hughes of Dallas; and Mrs. A.V. Lane of Dallas. Two daughters and two sons died in infancy.\n\nLulie Huey graduated from Alta Vista Institute, Austin, Texas, and took courses in Music and Literature in Louisville, Ky. She married Alvin Valentine Lane, C.E., Ph.D., then professor in the State University at Austin. He later entered the business world and\nMrs. Lane is the Vice-President of the American Exchange National Bank of Dallas and a business and civic leader in that city. Their children are Alice (Mrs. J. Orren Newbury), Marion (Mrs. Tom W. Newsome), and Alvin H. Lane, an honor graduate of Yale and later a law graduate from Harvard. Representative Women of the South and later. Alvin volunteered for the first army camp, went to France as a Lieutenant of the A.E.F., and was later in the army of occupation. Now a practicing lawyer in Dallas. Her sons-in-law and nephews also held commissions in the army. Mrs. Lane is devoted to her home and children while giving much thought and energy to many activities, social, religious, intellectual, patriotic, and altruistic. She is a member of the Standard Club and a charter member of the Dorthick, afterwards.\nThe Ladies\u2019 Musical Club and charter member of the Art Association, of which she has served as president. She never sought office but was repeatedly honored with responsible official positions, which she filled with signal ability and success. She was one of the early presidents of the Mothers\u2019 Club, Vice-President of the City Federation of Women's Clubs, and declined the presidency some years ago. She helped raise funds for the United Charities Committee and the Dallas Public Library, was President of the Missionary Society of Trinity Methodist Church, president of the Y.W.C.A., member of the Executive Committee selected by the mayor to build an auditorium for the city of Dallas, and the first president of the Bankers\u2019 Wives\u2019 Club. Mrs. Lane devoted much time to the work of the Daughters of the American Revolution.\nShe organized the John Cavet Chapter of Daughters of 1812 and became its Regent, named after one of her ancestors. Later, she served as State President, then as Treasurer National of the general body for four years, and the last honor bestowed upon her was the office of Second Vice-President National (1924). In the Daughters of the American Revolution, she was Third Regent of the Jane Douglas Chapter for seven years, following which she served for two years as State Regent and was later Vice-President of the National Association for five years. She has served as chairman of a number of State Committees and a member of several National Committees. During the World War, she organized and became president of it.\nMrs. Lane, who later merged into the Red Cross, was an instructor in surgical dressing and participated in Liberty Loan, Red Cross, and War Drives. She is a member of the Confederated Southern Memorial Association. Mrs. Lane is a musician of ability, and in addition to her strenuous public work, she has given much time to singing in church choirs and local concerts for the benefit of church, charity, and patriotic causes. She is a woman of social charm, broad sympathies, keen intelligence, and devotedly unselfish spirit. With her husband, she has traveled extensively in both the Old World and the New, and their home is beautified with many paintings and other interesting objects of Art.\n\nMrs. Dan Connally Lyle\nFrances Douglas Lyle is the only child of Joseph Henry Ladson and his wife, Eugenia Douglas Ladson. She was born in Thomasville, Ga., on Dec. 1, 1876, and married Dan Connallv Lyle of Atlanta, Ga., in Oct. She is the proud mother of four fine children, to whom she has devoted the best part of her life, reigning in queenly grace around the home fireside.\n\nShe descends from a long line of illustrious ancestors, descending on the maternal side from the famous Douglas family, whose lineage dates back beyond the time of King Robert Bruce of Scotland. The name of Douglas is one of the most ancient and honored in the annals of Scotland. William Douglas, the first of the family on record, is found witnessing charters by the king and the bishop of Glasgow in Scotland.\nSir Archibald Douglas received knighthood in 1232. Sir William Douglas, his son, is mentioned in records from 1240 to 1272, serving as a Scottish partisan of Henry III of England. The following Sir William Douglas, known for his daring and restless temper, was the first notable figure to join Sir William Wallace in the rising against the English in 1297. His lands of Douglas were devastated with fire and sword, and his wife and children were taken captive.\n\nThe history of his son, \"good Sir James Douglas,\" is well-known as Bruce's greatest captain during the long war of succession. He was reportedly the hero of seventy battles and was killed in Andalusia in 1330 while carrying the heart of the Bruce in a golden casket to the Holy Land.\n\nFurther down in this ancient lineage, we find William, the Little Earl.\nAngus, the Marquis of Douglas, was created in 1633 and died in 1660. His son, Archibald Douglas, was created Duke of Douglas in 1703 and, in 1733, was made a British peer with the title of Baron Douglas of Douglas Castle.\n\nThe first Douglas emigrant to America was Deacon William Douglas, who settled at Gloucester, Mass., and soon moved to New London, Mass. Branches of the family soon appeared in nearly every state in the union, but the New London family is one of the oldest in America. The precepts of the first Deacon William have been handed down from father to son and treasured in the family to this day. It is said that the family records show no instance of any member figuring as a culprit in the criminal courts.\n\nFrances Ladson, the subject of this sketch, descends in direct line from this first Deacon William.\nFrom this illustrious family originated Eugenia Ladson. Her mother, whose likeness accompanies this sketch, was Eugenia Douglas. Daughter of Rev. David S. Tennent Douglas, who was born in Chazy, New York, in March, graduated from Middleburg College in 1839, returned to Chazy to teach and study law. In September 1844, he moved to Alabama and joined the faculty of the Dallas Male and Female Academy at Selma. In 1848, he succeeded Prof. Hentz and his celebrated wife, Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, in the principalship of Tuskegee Female Institute. In 1851, he was president of the Masonic Female College at Auburn, Alabama, but resigned to accept a position at Glenville, Alabama, where Eugenia Douglas, the mother of our subject, was born. He married Frances H. Davenport, daughter of William M.\nDuggar, a Virginia native, entered the ministry in 1852 but continued his rigorous academic pursuits. Mrs. Lyle's father, Henry Ladson, was the only child of Joseph Ladson and his wife, Katherine Rokenbaugh. Her uncle was a valiant Confederate soldier. Mrs. Lyle spent her childhood in Thomasville but moved to Atlanta to attend Washington Seminary. Her oldest son, Douglas Lyle, was born in East Point on June 9, 1895. This young man of brilliant promise volunteered at the first call for men in the World War and was among the first to give his life for his country's flag. He enlisted in May 1917 in an ambulance company composed of Atlanta boys and sailed in May 1918. He was on the battlefield in France near Nancy and while carrying wounded men to the hospital was fatally wounded on July 14, 1917. In college.\nPark was married on June 3, 1917 to Emma Finzer Jones of College Park. They had one child, Dan Lyle, Jr., born on June 16, 1904. He married Annie Jones of College Park on July 9, 1924. Their children are Robert Bruce Lyle, born on March 27, 1918, and Edwin Thompson Lyle. Despite her duties as wife and mother, Mrs. Lyle has found time to serve her town and state. She has been a leader in church, club, and civic life in her community, beloved by all who know her. She has held her ideals high and instilled them into the lives of those who looked to her for guidance. For twenty-nine years, she has been an active member of the Woman's Club of College Park.\nMrs. William Ellis Whitehead, born January 13, 1862, in Troy, Alabama, was named after the principals of the historic Trent Affair. Her father, Columbus Joseph Cunningham, entered the Confederate Army early in the war and became Colonel of the 57th Alabama Regiment at its close. He was with General Joseph E. Johnston during his brilliant retreat before Sherman, culminating in the victory at Kennesaw Mountain. He was severely wounded in this campaign. Daughter of Columbus Joseph Cunningham and Harriet Eugenia Hamilton, Mrs. Whitehead served as president of an organization three different times, a testament to the high esteem in which she was held. Both she and her husband were members of the Presbyterian Church, and they were active in its work.\nAfter the war, Colonel Cunningham moved to Union Springs, Alabama, where he gained distinction at the bar and on the bench. At the time of Judge Cunningham\u2019s death, former Governor Jelks of Alabama wrote of him, \"I knew him as a learned lawyer, a just judge, a glorious Christian gentleman.\"\n\nAfter graduating from Union Springs Institute, Dell Cunningham began her career as an educator in the public schools of Birmingham. It was her fortunate happiness to help shape the characters of some of the foremost men and women in that section of her native state.\n\nShe married William Ellis Whitehead in 1892, a descendant of many noted colonial families from his native state, Virginia. Two sons have been born into this union, the elder of whom is Eugene Cunningham.\nAfter receiving his degree from Georgia School of Technology (1914), served in the World War as Lieutenant in the Air Service. Married Winifred Kaufmann of Evanston, Illinois (1919). Two engaging children: John Cunningham and Margaret Hope. The second son, Lucian Hamilton, registered for the 18-year call in the World War (1917). Married Mary Glass of Atlanta, Georgia. They have two interesting sons: Lucian Hamilton, Jr., and William Lawrence. These four grandchildren, whose names appear on the Children\u2019s Founders Roll of the Stone Mountain Memorial in honor of their great-grandfather, Col. C.J.L. Cunningham, and Capt. W.A.J. Whitehead, represent the seventh generation of Mrs. Whitehead\u2019s family in America.\n\nThe Cunningham family traces its descent from William the Conqueror and St. David of Scotland. Archibald Hamilton, of Augusta.\nCounty, Virginia. James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, Regent of Scotland during the infancy of Mary, Queen of Scots, was the ancestor of County and his wife, Francis (Calhoun) Hamilton, who founded the southern branch of the Hamilton family in America. Major Andrew Hamilton, son of Archibald and Francis, and Major Hugh Middleton, a descendant of Sir Hugh Middleton, were the founders of the noted Hamilton and Middleton families of South Carolina.\n\nMrs. Whitehead's D.A.R. membership is in the Joseph Habersham Chapter, Atlanta. She is also a member of the U.D.C., the Woman's Club, and the War Mothers' Star Legion. However, Mrs. Whitehead finds her greatest happiness in her educational work, where she feels her best service to humanity was rendered.\n\nMrs. Whitehead and her husband are spending their declining years.\nMargaret Roe Caraway, M.D. in her attractive little home in College Park, GA, which she calls \"Alabama - here we rest.\"\n\nRepresentative Women of the Tri-South\n\nThe blood of patriots in one generation makes heroes unto generations uncounted. Colonel John McClure, of Virginia, a patriot and soldier of the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, produced in his great-great granddaughter, Margaret Roe Caraway, a heroine of today.\n\nHer two great-grandfathers, Rev. William Meers and William Burt, gave to this same Margaret through her mother, Agnes Burt Roe, the heritage of a pioneer spirit and a steadfast Christian character. The old Bethel church which they organized, and which has been a landmark in North Georgia for near a century, is no more a monument.\n\nMargaret Roe Caraway, M.D. - Daughter of Patriots and Pioneers. Granddaughter of Preachers and Soldiers. Heroine of Today.\nTo them is this modern, far-seeing woman, whose blood runs from the veins of yesterday into the heart of today. In the war between the states, her ancestors were a unit in loyalty and devotion to the southland. Her maternal grandparents, Reuben Thornton Burt and his wife, Caroline Meers, gave substantial aid to the Confederacy. Four of their sons were in service, two as commissioned officers. Her paternal grandparents, David Jared Roe and his wife, Margaret McClure, were likewise loyal. Their only son, Thomas Watson Roe, the father of the subject of this sketch, entered the Confederate army at the age of seventeen and was severely wounded while in service in the 11th North Georgia Cavalry. His saber is now one of her most treasured possessions.\n\nMargaret Roe was reared and educated in Atlanta, Georgia.\nA brilliant girl, married to W. W. Ellington, a young lawyer and University of Alabama graduate. After their marriage, they resided in Birmingham where Mr. Ellington practiced law until his death in 1902, terminating this congenial union of a few years.\n\nUndaunted, the young widow, with a determination equal to that which prompted her illustrious ancestors to engage in the battles of their native land, girded herself to meet the battles of life alone and single-handedly. With significant courage, she chose the profession of medicine as her field, at a time when women physicians were little known in the south. At the time of her graduation, the Mississippi Medical College had never before conferred the degree of M.D. upon a woman.\n\nIn December 1908, she was married to Dr. A. F. Caraway, a college graduate.\nDr. Margaret, affectionately known as such, is a popular figure in the public affairs and social activities of South Mississippi. Her fine character, magnetic personality, high mental qualities, and sense of organization have given her many positions of prominence in the club world.\n\nShe is a charter member and former regent of the Gulf Coast Chapter D.A.R., a former president of the Gulfport Chapter U.D.C., and a charter member of unspecified other organizations.\nM. F. C., a member and parliamentarian of the Woman's Club of Gulfport, is the secretary of the Carnegie Library Board and an active promoter of the Playground and Recreation movement. She is also the president of the Woman's Auxiliary of the Coast Medical Society. A devoted member of the First Presbyterian Church of Gulfport, she holds officer positions in its Woman's Auxiliary. Demonstrating her pioneer spirit, she was among the women who advocated for suffrage despite public opposition. She served as an officer in the Coast Suffrage Association and contributed insightful articles to the Mississippi press.\n\nM.F.C. is an ex-president of the Harrison-Stone Co. Medical Society, an honor rarely bestowed upon a woman doctor. She is now the president of the Woman's Auxiliary of the Coast Medical Society. A dedicated member of the First Presbyterian Church of Gulfport, she holds officer positions in its Woman's Auxiliary. Her pioneering spirit led her to stand firm in the fight for women's suffrage, despite public sentiment. She was an officer in the Coast Suffrage Association and penned thought-provoking articles for the Mississippi press.\n\nM.F.C., a member and former parliamentarian of the Woman's Club of Gulfport, holds the position of secretary for the Carnegie Library Board and actively promotes the Playground and Recreation movement. She is the current president of the Woman's Auxiliary of the Coast Medical Society. A devoted member of the First Presbyterian Church of Gulfport, she holds officer positions in its Woman's Auxiliary. Her pioneering spirit led her to be among those women who advocated for suffrage, despite public opposition. She served as an officer in the Coast Suffrage Association and contributed insightful articles to the Mississippi press. She previously held the esteemed position of president for the Harrison-Stone Co. Medical Society, an honor rarely granted to a woman doctor.\nThis daughter of warriors advocated for Woman's Rights, an unpopular cause. The entrance of America into the World conflict in 1917 brought out her sane attitude and safe judgment more clearly. With a fine sense of balance, she took up war work in its many forms without sacrificing the regular routine of home and community demands. Her services were at her country's command as a speaker, a Red Cross and Counsel of Defense worker, and as a member of the War Work Division of the Y.W.C.A. Her work in the Child Welfare Extension of the Public Health Service at that time was particularly splendid. She headed the corps of Examining Physicians, who weighed and measured over six hundred children of pre-school age in less than a week. At the close of the World War, when the numbers of the lost were being tallied, her services were invaluable.\nWe counted, and it was found that Gulfport had not been spared. Dr. Margaret and some of her associates conceived the idea of electing a monument to the glorious dead of their town. They worked tirelessly until a beautiful boulder of granite was set beneath the palms and oleanders of the coast, graven with the names of those who went forth strong in faith and patriotism, to return no more.\n\nAt the dedication of this memorial on second Armistice Day, Dr. Margaret made the speech of presentation to one of the largest assemblages in the history of the town. In words of eloquent patriotism, she expressed feelingly and sincerely the grief that staggered America in those first months after the close of the war.\n\nAs an estimate of her character as a woman and of the place she held:\n\nDr. Margaret was a remarkable woman, whose dedication to her community was unwavering. The monument she helped create stood as a testament to the sacrifices made by the brave men of Gulfport during the war. Her speech at the dedication was a moving tribute to their memory and a reminder of the profound impact the war had on the nation.\nTo Dr. Margaret Roe Caraway:\nWhose life is an ennobling example of all those enduring qualities of the finest type of womanhood; and whose broad human sympathy and the gift of sympathetic counsel draw friends from every walk of life, holding them fast, through a common bond of unfailing understanding.\nMrs. Stirling Price Gilbert\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. Stirling Price Gilbert, wife of Judge Stirling Price Gilbert of the Supreme Court of Georgia.\nMary Howard Gilbert was born in Russell County, Alabama, only daughter of Thomas Benjamin and Frances Anderson Howard; granddaughter of Ralph Owens Howard and Euphemia Calhoun Howard, owners of \"Ihagee,\" the old Howard homestead, where four generations lived.\nThe daughters of John Calhoun from Abbeville, S.C. were Euphemia Calhoun Howard and Frances Anderson Howard. The latter was the daughter of Thomas Ross Anderson and Mary Miller Anderson from Edgefield, S.C., and great-granddaughter of General Robert Anderson of Revolutionary fame, for whom the county and town of Anderson, S.C., are named. Frances Anderson Howard was a beautiful and brilliant woman, an outstanding figure in her community and church, possessing remarkable executive ability and all the dignity and grace typical of the true southern gentlewoman. The eldest son of Thomas Benjamin and Frances Anderson Howard, Thomas Anderson Howard, died at the age of twenty-five. Ralph Owens Howard graduated from Emory College and now owns \"Ihagee.\"\nMary Howard graduated from the Woman's College of Alabama and then moved with her mother and brother to Columbus, GA, where she married Stirling Price Gilbert, who was at the time Solicitor General of the Chattahoochee Judicial Circuit. After serving sixteen years as Solicitor General, he was elected Circuit Judge and in 1916 was appointed by Governor N.E. Harris as Justice of the Supreme Court of Georgia, to which office he has been twice reelected.\n\nJudge Gilbert is a graduate of Vanderbilt University and the law school of Yale University. During the World War, he was chairman of the General Committee of the Council of Defense for Georgia and was in actual charge of its affairs until the end of hostilities. Judge and Mrs. Gilbert have two splendid sons, Stirling Price Gilbert Jr., age 26, who graduated as a mechanical engineer at the Georgia School of Technology.\nFrancis Howard, age 18, a student at the University of Georgia, was a member of the Students' Club. Oglethorpe Chapter, D.A.R., Lizzie Rutherford Chapter, U.D.C., the Ladies' Memorial Association, and President of the Woman's Reading Club in Columbus. Since coming to Atlanta, she has been a member of St. Mark's Methodist Church. She served three years as Corresponding Secretary of the Georgia Federation of Clubs; first Vice President, Atlanta Federation of Clubs, is a trustee of Tallulah Falls Industrial School; was for two years President of Every Saturday Club; a member of the Drama League, the Music Study Club, the Atlanta Art Association, the Southern Woman's Educational Alliance, the Woman's Club, and Sheltering Arms Association. During the World War, she served.\nMrs. John Thomas Lindsey, born December 22, 1874, at the \"Brick House,\" a beautiful colonial home five miles west of Washington in Wilkes County, Georgia, was a woman of dignity and charm. A worthy representative of a family that contributed to making history from Colonial days to the present, she was the daughter of Aristides Callaway, a soldier in the War between the States. He married Martha T. Dowdy in 1857 and built the stately colonial home, the \"Brick House,\" in 1868. This historic landmark and admired mansion in a country of beautiful homes and cultured, hospitable people.\n\nMrs. John Thomas Lindsey, Ethel Callaway Lindsey. Representative Women of the South.\nMrs. Lindsey is a descendant of Capt. Thomas Callaway of Virginia, who served in the colonial militia in 1758 as an ensign and later as captain. He was a vestryman in the Episcopal Church, Antoine Parish, Halifax County, Virginia. In recognition of her descent from this colonial ancestor, Mrs. Lindsey is a member of the Georgia Society of the Daughters of the American Colonists. Her ancestral records in revolutionary times reveal the names of Jacob Callaway, Richard Peteet, John Griffith, Nathan Johnson, and Joseph Henderson. Her grandfather on the maternal side, Richard Dowdy, was an ensign in the War of 1812.\n\nEthel Callaway was educated at Washington Female Seminary. She was married to John Thomas Lindsey of Washington on January 30, 1896.\nMr. Lindsey, a successful merchant from Washington, retired from business in 1918. He served as a member of the Georgia Legislature for four years, from 1919-1924. Mr. and Mrs. Lindsey have one son, Willis Callaway Lindsey. He was educated at Washington High School, the Georgia School of Technology in Atlanta, Ga., and Columbia University in New York City, where he was a member of the S.A.E. fraternity. He volunteered for service in the World War and was in the Officers\u2019 Training Camp at Cambridge, Mass., and Key West, Fla. He was married on March 13, 1922, to Miss Lucile Virginia Barbre from Albany, Ga. They have a daughter, Ethel Arline Lindsey, born on April 17, 1923. Mrs. Lindsey is a member of the First Baptist Church of Washington. She is prominent in church, social, and patriotic circles.\nMrs. Robert K. Rambo, of Washington, Ga., served as Registrar of Kettle Creek Chapter, D.A.R., and as Registrar of the Last Chapter, U.D.C. She is President of the Ladies\u2019 Memorial Association, and a member of the American Legion Auxiliary. Her handsome colonial home is a center of gracious hospitality, and her gentleness, culture, and true womanly charm stamp her as one of the South's true gentlewomen.\n\nMrs. Robert K. Rambo\nRepresentative Women of the South 210\n\nMrs. Anne Trippe Rambo, of Atlanta, was born at Forsyth, Ga., daughter of Judge Robert P. Trippe and Mrs. Anne O'Neal Trippe. Her father, a first honor graduate of Franklin College (now the University of Georgia), was a member of the United States Congress, later serving in the Senate.\nA member of the Confederate Congress and a soldier in the Confederate Army. After the war, he served for several years as justice of the Supreme Court of Georgia. His wife, a beautiful woman and daughter of Judge Thomas O\u2019Neal of Forsyth, gave loyal service to the confederate cause in nursing the sick and in other ways.\n\nMrs. Rambo is a descendant of Henry Trippe, who came from England to Maryland in 1663. Before coming to America, he had served in the wars in Flanders under the Prince of Orange, later William III of England. His family had lived in County Kent, England since the days of William the Conqueror. His brother, Thomas Trippe, is mentioned in state papers as a friend and associate of the Duke of York, later James II. Henry Trippe served in the Maryland Assembly and was a justice.\nCounty commissioner and held other positions of trust and honor. His son, John Trippe, moved to North Carolina and became a leader in affairs in that state. Henry Trippe, great-grandfather of our subject, came to Georgia after the War of the Revolution, in which he had served in the North Carolina troops. Other Revolutionary ancestors of Mrs. Rambo were Benjamin Bass and James Patillo. A distinguished member of the Trippe family was Lieutenant Commander John Trippe of Maryland, a gallant naval officer who won distinction in the wars against the Barbary pirates.\n\nAnne Trippe was brought up in a home of abounding hospitality where distinguished ministers of the Methodist Church, prominent lawyers and statesmen were frequently guests and where the prevailing atmosphere was one of intellectual discussion of great themes.\nAt an early age, after the family's move to Atlanta, she entered Mrs. Ballard\u2019s School and later attended Wesleyan College in Macon, Ga. She married R. K. Rambo, a prominent business man of Atlanta. They are both members of the First Methodist Church, where Mr. Rambo is a steward and Mrs. Rambo has rendered valuable service as Sunday School teacher, president of the missionary society, and president of the Young Woman's Guild. She was the first president of Woman's Auxiliary of Wesley Memorial Hospital, holding that position for eleven years, and is now honorary president. Mrs. Rambo has lent the influence of her winning personality to many forms of social and civic achievement. As vice-president of the Atlanta Federation of Women's Clubs, member of the board of Directors of the Young Woman's Christian Association, Vice-Regent of what is presumably an order or title, but the context is unclear.\nMrs. James L. Logan, of Atlanta, Ga., nee Viola Wilbanks, is one of these superior women of the south whose regal dignity, combined with strength and beauty of character, commands the spontaneous homage of all who are gifted to discern the true gold in womanly character.\n\nShe is the daughter of James B. Wilbanks, a Confederate soldier who sealed his devotion to the Confederacy with his blood, and his wife, Sarah A. Raven, one of the noble women of Confederate history whose sacrifices for that cause have won the admiration of many.\n\nMrs. Joseph Habersham, of the Joseph Habersham Chapter, D.A.R., served important committees of the D.A.R. as State and National Chairman, and in other capacities. She has been a leading spirit in constructive and progressive movements.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. James L. Logan\nAmong the ancestors of Mrs. Logan, whose records have come down to us from revolutionary days, are the Allens of North Carolina, the Yarbroughs of Virginia, and the Ravens of South Carolina. Drewry Allen of North Carolina is recorded in the archives of that state as having seen active service in the Revolutionary War, and he may have been among those dauntless mountaineers who followed Morgan at Kings Mountain and made the name of that mountain hamlet forever memorable in history.\n\nIn 1878, Viola Wilbanks graduated from Wesleyan College, Macon, Ga., the oldest chartered college for women in the world. Here she specialized in music, in which she took high rank, winning a medal for special excellence.\n\nIn 1881, she married James L. Logan of Atlanta, a leading businessman and public-spirited citizen of that city, a son of James Lafayette.\nLogan and Mary Redding Logan. They have two daughters, Mary Ella, now Mrs. Cay McCall of Asheville, NC, and Lillian, now Mrs. Joseph Logan Hodgson of Atlanta. Mrs. Logan is a leading spirit in many forms of social, civic, patriotic and philanthropic activities. She is a member of the Atlanta Woman\u2019s Club, the Daughters of the Confederacy, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the Confederated Southern Memorial Association, the Young Women\u2019s Christian Association, the Red Cross and other organizations. She served for a term as vice regent of the Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R., and was for six years State Chairman of the Gift Scholarship Committee. To this work, so fruitful in the inspiration of ambitions and deserving youth, she has given a full measure of devotion. She is now (1925) State Chairman of Americanization. During the\nMrs. Christian Harwood Clark, representative of Women of the South, 219.\n\nWillette Hudgins, now Mrs. Christian Clarke of Atlanta, was born at Richmond, Virginia. Robert Miller Hudgins and his wife, Helen Mar Skinner, were her parents.\nGins was the son of John Hudgins and Harriett McDermott Miller. Helen Skinner was the daughter of Captain Thomas Parrish of the Confederate Navy and Anne Hayes. On both sides, she comes from the best blood of old Virginia. Her ancestors, who settled in the famous Tidewater section, came from England, some from Wales and Scotland. Thus, the Celtic and Saxon strains were blended in her ancestral heritage. Both her father and her maternal grandfather were valiant soldiers of the Confederacy, while her paternal grandfather and great-grandfather were both found fighting for the Stars and Stripes in the War of 1812. Willette Hudgins attended the private schools in Richmond during her childhood and later graduated second in her class from the Richmond High School. Her studies after completing the high school.\nJune 25, 1901: Miss Hudgins married Christian Harwood Clarke, son of Garland Harwood Clarke and Etta Christian. They had two sons: Christian Hudgins Clarke, a junior at the University of Georgia (1925), and Reverdy Estill Clarke, a junior at the Technological High School. In Richmond, Mrs. Clarke was a member of the Daughters of the Confederacy, Daughters of the American Revolution of Virginia, and the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities. For four years, she served as Regent of the Dorothea Payne Madison Chapter of the Daughters of 1812. Other organizations in which she was an active member.\nThe Richmond Art Club and the Vocational Board of the Richmont She was a member of the Board of Managers of the \"Retreat for the Sick,\" the oldest non-sectarian hospital in the South. As Chairman of the Ways and Means Committee, she took an active part in raising funds for the erection of the new Hospital building. The services she rendered as a member of the Woman's Service League were recognized by the Richmond Chamber of Commerce with the gift of a silver platter.\n\nSince coming to Atlanta, her fine civic spirit and gifts for leadership have found constant exercise and due recognition. A lifelong Presbyterian, she finds a wide field for usefulness as vice-president of the Woman's Auxiliary of the North Avenue Presbyterian Church, of which she and all her family are members. She is a member of the Atlanta Woman's Club, of the Sheltering Arms Hospital, and the Red Cross.\nMrs. Edwin Clifton Stewart, born in Atlanta, Ga., was the daughter of Judge John T. Pendleton and Elian Jane Bowie Pendleton of Westmoreland County, Virginia. Her father, a native of Kentucky, served in the Confederate Cavalry under Nathan Bedford Forrest and was taken prisoner at Chickamauga, kept in confinement at Fort Del.\n\nMrs. Stewart was the first state chairman of the Lucy Peel Memorial Association and Regent of the Joseph Habersham Chapter, D.A.R. Her executive ability and forceful personality found a congenial field. She served as hostess Regent to the State for the D.A.R. Conference during her administration.\n\nMrs. Stewart was also a member of the Y.W.C.A. and the Southern Educational Bureau, and an associate member of the John Floyd Chapter, Daughters of 1812.\nHe studied law at Washington University (now Washington and Lee) for a year and a half after the war. Mrs. Stewart cherishes his diploma, signed by Robert E. Lee, as one of her most prized possessions. Moving to Atlanta as a young man, he achieved distinction at the bar, becoming judge of the Superior Court, and earning a preeminent name for judicial learning and elevated personal character. Henry W. Grady remarked, \"God took a vestal virgin and made John T. Pendleton.\"\n\nHe hailed from the renowned Pendleton family in Virginia, whose first American representative was Philip Pendleton, born in Norwich, England, and arriving in Virginia in 1674. The illustrious jurist, Edmund Pendleton, was a notable member of this family, and it has produced many worthy names for church and state.\nHenry Pendleton, Sr., and Rice Curtis, two of Mrs. Stewart's ancestors, were officers in the Colonial Army. Mary Belle Pendleton graduated first in her class from the Girls' High School in Atlanta in 1894. She married Edwin Clifton Stewart, a descendant of General Stewart of Vermont and son of a Confederate soldier. His mother, before her marriage, was Miss Stirling of LaGrange, Ga., a southern woman of the old school. They have three children: John Pendleton Stewart, Mary Stewart (Mrs. Frank Carter), and Katherine Stewart. John Pendleton Stewart graduated first in his class from the Boys' High School of Atlanta and from the University of Georgia. He began practicing law in Atlanta with promising prospects. He served as a Lieutenant during World War I. Mrs. Stewart is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution.\nMrs. Stewart, a descendant of Henry Pendleton, Jr., William Thompson, and James Trabue, the last named being a descendant of a French Huguenot in South Carolina, served as Recording Secretary of the Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R., from 1922-23, and was made Chairman of the Executive Board in 1924. She is also a member of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, the War Mothers, the Atlanta Woman's Club, the Y.W.C.A., Patriots and Founders, and holds a very large place in her heart, the Ponce de Leon Ave. Baptist Church. Mrs. Stewart is devoted to the work of her church, having served as president of the Ladies\u2019 Society and in other important capacities. Between this and her interest in patriotic and civic work, she finds a large field for the energies of a busy and widely influential life.\nShe is Regent, Atlanta Chapter D.A.R., 1925-26. Representative Women of the South. Mrs. Eli A. Thomas. Mrs. Eli A. Thomas, one of the most prominent women among the Daughters of the American Revolution in Georgia, was formerly Miss Ruby Felder Ray. Under that name, she was widely and favorably known as a patriotic club woman and editorial writer. She was born in Newman, Ga, the only child of the late Col. Lavender R. Ray and his wife, Annie Felder Ray. Her father was a prominent lawyer in Newnan and Atlanta. His father, Judge John Ray, was a prominent lawyer and one of Newnan's wealthiest citizens. Through her father, Ruby Felder Ray descends directly from several of the earliest settlers of aristocratic Virginia \u2014 from William Gilliam, who came to Virginia in 1635, from Thomas Harding, who came to Virginia in 1635.\nCapt. John Knowles of Jamestown, William Giles, John Ellis, the Poythrees (Henry and Jarrett), and the Lavender family of Winchester, Va., were among the earliest settlers of her lineage in 1650. Her mother's side ancestors were South Carolina gentlefolk. General John Marsh and Captain Henry Felder were great-grandfathers, as was John Williams of North Carolina. There are also Jackson and Cowart lines.\n\nShe was educated at College Temple, Newnan, Wesleyan College, Macon, and Lucy Cobb Institute, Athens. Her public work has primarily been through the Daughters of the American Revolution and the church. She served Piedmont Continental Chapter, Atlanta, as Corresponding Secretary, Recording Secretary, Treasurer, and first Vice Regent. Since 1909, she has been continuously on the State Executive Board of the Georgia D.A.R.\nFor six and a half years, as State Editor in charge of the weekly department of the Atlanta Constitution, she used her gifted pen to arouse interest in the importance of preserving old county records and old newspapers, and in locating and preserving the history of Indian trails and stage roads. Her strong editorials on locating and marking the State\u2019s historic spots inaugurated the revival of this branch of D.A.R. work in Georgia.\n\nFrom May, 1912, to May, 1914, she was State Historian of the D.A.R., and compiled a list of historic spots and a map of the State, showing the location of old forts, battlefields, and treaty spots, which was published in 1913. Since May, 1908, she has been chairman of the D.A.R. Committee on the Preservation of Historic Spots, has directed this work in Georgia, and has spoken on notable occasions.\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nShe spoke at the dedication of the High Fountain in Atlanta, erected to the Founders of the Atlanta Chapter, and made the main historical address at the unveiling of the \"Jackson Trail\" marker in Hawkinsville in 1922. She spoke in October 1922, at the unveiling of the marble marker on Stone Mountain, marking an Indian trail; in July 1923, at Camilla, and at the unveiling of the \"Peachtree and Echota Trail\" marker on Peachtree Street in Atlanta.\n\nIn 1911, she originated the State Historic Post Card Collection and was in charge of this for two years. In 1913, she was appointed by the State Regent to secure from the State the privilege of depositing valuable records owned by the D.A.R. in the State Capitol for safe keeping, and through the aid of personal friends in the Legislature, the D.A.R. Depository was granted in 1916.\nShe has been equally devoted and enthusiastic in her church work. From June, 1910, she was editor in charge of the weekly newspaper devoted to the interest of the Central Presbyterian Church, Atlanta, of which she was a member, and held various offices in the young ladies\u2019 missionary society. For seven years, she was one of the department secretaries of the Sunday School. In 1916, Miss Ray married Rev. Eli A. Thomas, a Presbyterian minister, a graduate of Southwestern Presbyterian University at Clarksville, Tenn., and of Princeton Theological Seminary. Mrs. Thomas is now a member of the Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R., which she has served as Registrar, Secretary of the Executive Board, and Historian of the Georgia Branch of the Society of Daughters of American Colonists, of which she was a charter member.\nShe was a member of the Georgia Society of Colonial Daughters and the Newnan Club of Atlanta, serving as its representative at all Woman's Club Federated meetings and a member of the Georgia Historical Society, having been a charter member of the Georgia Historical Association which later united with the older society. During the World War, she was appointed by Dr. Lucian Lamar Knight, then President of the Georgia Historical Association, to collect data and write an article on \"The Effect of the War on Social Life.\" Her contributions are preserved in the Department of Archives and History at the State Capitol. She was also a member of the Historical Committee of the Georgia Council of Defense. War work included recreation and entertainment, making aviation vests and other garments.\nMrs. Thomas's achievement was the removal of the monuments and remains of General John Clark, former governor of Georgia, his wife, and two small grandchildren, from a neglected spot in a private residence at St. Andrews, Fla., and reinterring them in the beautiful National Cemetery at Marietta, Ga. In 1921, Mrs. Thomas was appointed by the D.A.R. State Regent to investigate and report to the State Conference regarding Governor Clark's grave. Her report, made in 1922, recommended removal of his remains, and she was made chairman of a committee for this purpose. After much hard work, the reinterment exercises took place on the afternoon of April 6, 1923, in the presence of many D.A.R. representatives from all parts of the State, representatives from the National Society United Daughters of the Confederacy, and other distinguished guests.\nMrs. Wren McGuin, in charge, Hon. John T. Boifeu-illet made the principal address at the exercises held at the State Department of Archives and History and various patriotic organizations. Truly the world is richer for having been blessed by the presence of one so gifted and lovable as dainty Wren McGuin.\n\nBorn in Jackson County and educated in Atlanta and New York, her outlook is broad and democratic, and as varied as the interests of life itself. Self-sacrificing deeds for her family, friends, and the larger public have filled her days to the brim. No worthy cause has appealed to her in vain, nor any emergency found her wanting. It has been said that she and her sister Mary Venable T. Womble also attended.\nMrs. McGuin, representative of the South, is blessed with a rich heritage of patriotism and loyalty through her mother, Mrs. Mary Jane Venable Thompson. Her ancestors include the distinguished Venables of Virginia and the Thompsons of South Carolina and New England. She is a direct descendant of William the Conqueror. Wren McGuin has won countless friends and admirers through her work as a literature interpreter. As a reader, she is irresistible and ranks both at home and abroad as a true artist. Her rendition of Madame Butterfly in costume is considered her greatest success, although she is equally captivating in child and negro impersonations. Mrs. McGuin divides her time between Georgia and Florida, where her present husband owns a number of orange groves. Full of patriotism and religious fervor.\nMrs. Mary Venable T. Womble was largely contributing to the advancement and success of every organization she belonged to, including the Georgia Society Daughters of Founders and Patriots of America, the Georgia Daughters of the American Colonists, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the Atlanta Women's Club, and the United Daughters of the Confederacy. She was one of the most faithful and enthusiastic workers during the World War.\n\nMrs. Mary Venable T. Womble\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nSomeone has said of Mary Venable Womble that she was like an apple tree in full bloom and that she had more real friends than anyone they had ever known. Lovely in face and form as well as in character, it is also said that if you wanted anything well done, ask her to do it.\nShe was the youngest daughter of Mary Jane Venable and C. Thompson, born near the well-known Venable plantation in Jackson County, but came to live in Atlanta, Georgia, when a child. After her marriage to John Philip Womble of North Carolina, she lived in that state for two years, after which she returned to Georgia.\n\nLike her sister, Wren McGuin, she is unusually gifted, being both a reader and writer of marked ability. She is descended from distinguished Virginia and Carolina families. Abram and Capt. John Venable, her colonial and revolutionary ancestors, were members of the Virginia House of Burgesses for a number of years and played an important part in the development and as founders of our beloved land of the free and home of the brave.\n\nAs a mother, Mary Womble is unsurpassed. Her son, Lieutenant Womble, is her descendant.\nJohn Philip Womble, Jr. entered the U.S. Naval Academy at sixteen and completed the four-year course in three years. He has since distinguished himself with the Pacific Fleet, serving as the gunnery and torpedo officer on the trophy-winning ship in the Navy. As Vice President of the conference in her church society, her work was with the leaders of the children and her influence was far-reaching, as she wrote and directed elaborate pageants, as well as making annual addresses and instructing leaders of the various districts of the conference. As Sunday School teacher of an organized class of about fifty girls, she has done, in her own opinion, the greatest work of her life, next to being a mother. As State Historian and State Recording Secretary of the Georgia Societies, Daughters of Founders and Patriots of America and Daughters of the American Revolution.\nMrs. Thomas Y. Steele\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Steele was a charter member and distinguished worker in both the American Colonists and Atlanta Writers' Club, War Mothers, United Daughters of the Confederacy, and the Atlanta Woman's Club. She served various roles including Past-President of the Woman's Missionary Society at the First Methodist Church, chairman of all church circles twice, Historian of the Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R., Recording Secretary and Secretary of the executive board, and chairman of the Medal Committee, Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R. In another instance, she presented the medal to the pupil of Washington Seminary for the best paper on Revolutionary Times in Georgia at the Atlanta Theatre in a most charming manner. During the World War, Mrs. Steele was an ardent and faithful worker for our boys.\nMary E. Thompson Patterson was born in Brownsville, Tennessee, to Margaret Wade Thompson and James Benjamin Patterson. She is descended from notable Colonial and Revolutionary families on her maternal side, including the Wade, Gibbs, Weeks, and Thompson families, who played significant and honorable roles in the early days of our country. On her paternal side, her ancestors included the Watkins and Paterson families of Tennessee and Maryland.\n\nMary E. Thompson demonstrated remarkable executive ability in early life when her family moved from Tennessee to Hondo, Texas. Deeply religious, she was troubled by the lack of a church building of her faith, the Methodist, in the town. She secured an abandoned saloon and proceeded to open a Sunday school.\nSchool: Planks laid across empty beer kegs furnished the seating facilities. The Sunday School was soon followed by regular church services, and in time, a more satisfactory church building was secured. A large factor in this accomplishment was a Ladies\u2019 Aid Society, which Miss Patterson organized in her own home and led.\n\nAfter her mother\u2019s death on March 9, 1886, she removed with her uncle, Dr. William Thompson, to Little Rock, Ark. Here, on Jan. 24, 1888, she married Dr. John Kelley Moeur, of Hondo, Texas. She continued her devoted interest in Sunday School work and also joined the Daughters of the American Revolution and the United Daughters of the Confederacy.\n\nAfter Dr. Moeur\u2019s death, she married on March 24, 1895, Mr. T. W. Steele. The Steele family had been among the first builders of cotton mills in North Carolina. Coming to Arkansas in pioneer days.\nThey acquired extensive tracts of land, and at the time of her death, Mrs. T. W. Steele, Sr., was the largest land owner in the state. After her marriage and removal to the large Steele plantation at Scott, Ark., Mrs. Steele took hold of a little, struggling Sunday School, numbering seventeen, and increased the attendance to over 300. An addition was built, which received the name of the E. Patterson Steele Annex. She also led in the erection of a new church building, which served as a community church, used by all the denominations represented. During the World War, this building was given over once a week to the work of the Red Cross. Mrs. Steele served as a member of the State Board of Directors of the Anti-Tuberculosis Association and of the Board of Directors of an Orphans\u2019 Home.\nAmong her many other acts of service was the reclamation of All Souls\u2019 Rest Cemetery, in which one Confederate was buried and which had fallen into a sad state of neglect. Through her fruitful labor, religious, patriotic and social, Mrs. Steele has built a monument to herself which will endure long after she is gone, and will enshrine her memory as that of a true representative of the highest ideals of womanhood.\n\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMRS. ABIGAIL L. BEAN\n\nMrs. Abigail L. Bean, nee Abigail Latham Dyson, was born in Washington, Wilkes County, Georgia, March 1, 1842. Mrs. Bean is of distinguished ancestry. She is the daughter of Emily Caroline Sneed and John Heard Dyson. Named for her maternal grandmother, Abigail R. Latham, wife of Major Archibald Henderson Sneed, an officer in the War of 1812. Her paternal grandfather, John Dyson,\nAn old Maryland family's descendant, Daniel Bean, left Charles County in the late 18th century and settled in Wilkes County, Georgia. His great-grandfather, Captain Stephen Sneed, served in the Revolutionary war and married Mary Williams, daughter of William Williams, a prominent North Carolina citizen in the mid-18th century. Daniel Latham, her great-grandfather, was also a soldier in the Revolutionary War despite being born and trained as a Quaker. Daniel Bean's great-great grandparents, Samuel Sneed and Ruth Dudley, were married in Hanover County, Virginia, in 1732. The Sneed coat of arms bears the royal fleur de Lis, bestowed by a grateful French sovereign on a loyal family member several centuries ago.\n\nDuring the Civil War, Mrs. Bean rendered devoted service.\nservice to the Confederate cause and after the close of the war, on October 10, 1865, married Henry G. Bean of Forsyth, Georgia. At the beginning of the war, Bean became a member of the 14th Georgia Regiment of Volunteers, and later assigned to Company K of the 53rd Regiment of Georgia Volunteers, where he continued in active service, except when disabled, until the close of the war. In 1880, Mrs. Bean was left a young widow with six children, all of whom are now living except Henry G. Bean, Jr., who died in his thirty-seventh year. Flowers have always been one of Mrs. Bean\u2019s hobbies, and during the early years of her married life, her flower garden was one of the beauty spots of middle Georgia. Well-endowed mentally, this gifted woman in middle age wrote several articles for northern periodicals. Later she became interested in education.\nin  writing  short  stories  for  a  Sunday  School  paper  for  children. \nDuring  the  World  War,  Mrs.  Bean  worked  assiduously  for  the  Red \nCross,  going  daily  to  the  work  rooms  and  giving  valuable  service. \nAt  the  age  of  eighty-three,  she  journeys  calmly  along  life\u2019s  path\u00ac \nway,  interested  and  interesting,  the  center  of  her  family  group  of  five \nchildren,  eight  grandchildren,  and  two  great-grandchildren \u2014 a  noble \nChristian  woman,  loving  and  beloved.  This  photograph  of  Mrs. \nBean  was  taken  at  the  age  of  seventy-one. \nMRS.  CECELIA  BAYNARD  WILLINGHAM \nREPRESENTATIVE  WOMEN  OF  THE  SOUTH \nMRS.  CECELIA  BAYNARD  WILLINGHAM \nCecelia  Matilda  Baynard,  born  January  10,  1829,  Beaufort,  S.  C., \nwas  the  daughter  of  Archibald  Calder  Baynard,  scholar,  planter  and \nmember  of  the  legislature,  and  Martha  Sarah  Chaplin.  She  was \ngranddaughter  of  Thomas  Baynard  of  English  family,  who  settled \nAt Port Royal, and married Sarah Calder of Edisto Island, SC.\n\nOn the Calder side, Mrs. Willingham's ancestry goes back to medieval wars fought in Scotland for the hand of Muriella Calder, whose beauty was the pride of her clan in the time of the Black Douglas. Through the Baynards, descent is traced to a daring knight who came over to England with William the Norman and was given an extensive grant of land on the Thames. Records show that it was he who built the Baynard Castle spoken of by Shakespeare on the site where the Tower of London now stands.\n\nCecelia's mother, Martha Sarah Chaplin, born November 5, 1803, Edisto Island, was devotedly religious. Her voice was remarkably sweet, indicative of her gentleness of character. Cecelia inherited her father's brilliant mind. The famous\n\"Miss Bonnie,\" the principal of the Northern private school, spoke of Cecelia as her greatest pupil. Cecelia's childhood was spent by the sea at Beaufort, S.C. In later years, she often spoke to her children about the happiness of this period. In 1840, Cecelia married Colonel Thos. H. Willingham. Dr. Richard Fuller, a noted Baptist clergyman, performed the ceremony. Mr. Willingham was a graduate of Colgate College, a man of culture and notable piety. He owned extensive tracts of land in Georgia and South Carolina, one tract including a whole county. On his estate, Smyrna, near Old Allendale, South Carolina, he built for his wife a mansion. The dining room of which was especially made to seat one hundred guests. So competent were the seventeen house servants that when entertainments and dinings were given, not even Mrs. Willingham knew what was prepared for her.\nThe menu would be revealed only when the silver covers were lifted by the butler. Conversation was brilliant and repartee stimulating, but wine was never served. The house, of Southern Colonial architecture, was approached through a park. On the estate was a lake and a church. Mrs. Willingham secured from London an expert gardener, \"Daddy Morris,\" to keep the formal garden with its trimmed boxwood. He took pride in sweeping his walks backward, so that no tracks could be seen, using a penknife for any sprigs of grass in the walks.\n\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\nMr. and Mrs. Willingham were active members of the Baptist Church. Both sang in the choir, taught Bible classes, and tithed, even to the giving of ten turkeys each year to the poor. Mr. Willingham was a deacon, and his father served as deacon for fifty years. Both gave largely to education and benevolence.\nWith such parents, it was only natural that the children should be earnest Bible students. Their daughter, Florence, wife of Dr. W. L. Pickard, eminent divine and Mercer President, was the author of a religious novel, \u201cBetween Scarlet Thrones,\u201d extensively used for collateral Bible study.\n\nMrs. Willingham was marked by several outstanding characteristics. She was punctual and true in keeping her promises, able to endure acute pain without a word, and immaculate in her personal appearance. She was an accomplished equestrienne, and even in advanced age was remarkably active, running up steps at the age of eighty-six. She was often spoken of as \u201cThe wonderful woman.\u201d\n\nAt the outbreak of the Civil War, her husband, his five brothers, and her son, a lad in his teens, were among the first to offer their services.\nMrs. Willingham served in the Confederacy and some of her sons became officers. She knitted, made bandages, and nursed wounded soldiers, earning her the title \"Angel of the war.\" After the war, the Willinghams moved from Smyrna to \"Yancy Place,\" a plantation owned by Mr. Willingham near Albany, Ga. They lived in Albany until Mr. Willingham's death, except for a brief residence in Macon and two years in Atlanta. In the Spring of 1914 in Tifton, Ga., Mrs. Willingham fell and fractured her hip, from which she died on April 11, 1914, in Atlanta, Ga. She is buried in Albany, Ga. Mrs. Willingham was the mother of Mrs. H.H. Tift, whose sketch is recorded in Volume 1. Bessie Tift College is named for her.\nFlorence Willingham: Author of \"Between Scarlet Thrones,\" a religious novel used in colleges and seminaries throughout America. Mother-in-law of William Lowndes Pickard, poet and noted Baptist divine, and former President of Mercer University (Who's Who in America, Knight's Library of Southern Literature). Tifton and Tift County are named for her son-in-law, the late Capt. Henry Harding Tift.\n\nChildren:\n- Sons: Thomas (deceased), Benjamin (deceased), John C. (deceased), Wilborn J., Baynard, Calder (deceased)\n- Daughters: Sallie (Mrs. E.H. Bacon, deceased), Maggie (Mrs. T.O.B. Wood), Julia (Mrs. W.W. Bacon, deceased), Telie (Mrs. C.J. Daniel, deceased)\nMrs. James A. Mobley (formerly Martha Louise Gibbs), daughter of Dr. David Anderson Gibbs and Anna Eliza (Browning) Gibbs, was born in Social Circle, Ga. She is now living in the ancestral home on the spot where she was born. Her ancestry can be traced through the Gibbs line of Virginia to Revolutionary patriots, the family having come from England early in the eighteenth century.\n\nHer paternal great-great-grandfather was among the earliest settlers of that grand old state. Her great-grandparents were Herod and Lucy (Anderson) Gibbs. The former served seven years in the patriot army under Col. Washington after independence.\nDr. Gibbs, the father of Mrs. Mobley, migrated to South Carolina and settled in Pickens County, living only a short time before moving to Greene County, Georgia, where he owned a large plantation. Dr. Gibbs was raised on the plantation of his parents, Thomas A. Gibbs and Martha (Maddox) Gibbs. After finishing his education in the country school, he entered Mercer University, then located at Penfield, Ga. After leaving Mercer, he went to Philadelphia to study medicine at Jefferson College and later graduated from the University of New York in 1847. He served as a Surgeon during the War between the States. Mrs. Mobley's maternal ancestors were among the prominent Georgian families of Hammond, Means, and Browning. Her grandparents were Joshua Rankin Browning and Margaret (Means).\nBrowning owned a large plantation and many slaves. The Browning place is now in the possession of Mrs. Mobley.\n\nAt the age of sixteen, she graduated from the Southern Masonic Female College in Covington and spent her young ladyhood in her hometown. In 1882, she married James Ammons Mobley, son of Walton's most prominent residents, James Lyle Mobley and Mary (Ammons) Mobley. They located in Social Circle, where they have since resided. Their large and happy family consists of six children: Miss Maude Mobley, Mrs. Nelle Mobley Wiley, Mrs. Myrtle Mobley Combs, Dr. Walter Eugene Mobley of Macon, Mr. Robert Browning Mobley of Columbia, SC, Mr. Ralph Dunlap Mobley of Social Circle. There are four grandchildren: James F. Wiley, Jr., Martha Gibbs Wiley, J. Walker Combs, Jr., and James Mobley Combs.\n\nThe Mobley home is a place where the family gatherings are like reunions.\nIn the ante bellum days, both relatives and friends were received with true southern hospitality by Mrs. Mobley. Mrs. Mobley has been a wonderful mother and home maker, giving most of her time and attention to her loved ones. However, she is a zealous member of the Baptist church. Her other interest is in the James M. Gresham Chapter, Daughters of the Confederacy, and the John Clark Chapter of Daughters of the American Revolution, of which she and her daughters are charter members.\n\nMrs. William Ashby Land\nRepresentative Women of the South\nMrs. William Ashby Land\n\nIn the ancestral lines of Mrs. William Ashby Land, of Blackstone, Va., are blended the strains of the English Cavalier and the French Huguenot - two types which have contributed more than any other to the making of a great nation. Willie Budd, now Mrs. Land,\nThe daughter of Colonel Henry Heagland Budd and Rosa Virginia Bondurant of Farmville, Va. On the maternal side, she is of royal ancestry, and among her ancestors were the Bondurants and Agees, leading French Huguenots. On the paternal side, she comes of noble English lineage. Among her early American ancestors were the Watsons and Allens, both prominent in the early days of Virginia and since. James Bondurant was in the legislature in early Colonial days from Buckingham County, Virginia, and James Allen from Prince Edward County. James and Charles Allen were among the original trustees and incorporators of Hampton Sidney College. Some members of this family have served as officers and privates in every war in which this country has been engaged. Several were members of the Virginia Legislature, another was governor of Louisiana.\nBrigadier General in the Confederate Army. Willie Budd married William Ashby Land, who comes from English and French Huguenot ancestry. He is a descendant of Reverend Robert Hunt, the first Episcopal clergyman to come to Virginia. Mr. Land is a civil engineer and was the supervisor of the Federal census from his congressional district, was a member of the Virginia legislature for four years, was mayor of Blackstone, and is now Judge of Juvenile and Domestic Relations of Nottingham County. Public-spirited and highly intelligent, of honorable descent and patriotic sentiment, Mrs. Land is active in the work of the leading patriotic organizations. She is a member of the Society for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, a member of the Huguenot Society of Charleston, S.C., State President of the Daughters of 1812.\nMrs. Land is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the United Daughters of the Confederacy. She held state offices in the United Daughters of the Confederacy and represented the organization in the historical pageant in Richmond in 1923. She organized the U.D.C. of Blackstone and served as its president for several years. Mrs. Land is also active in various social organizations, having organized the Order of the Eastern Star in Blackstone and served as president of several social and card clubs. During the World War, she was active in War Work, serving as chairman for her county in some important war activities. Mr. and Mrs. Land have two children, both boys, named Capt. Ashby.\nMrs. Leslie Warner, of Nashville, Tennessee, represented women of the South. She possessed intellectual gifts of the highest order, social charm that made her an admired figure in the most brilliant circles, clear-sighted comprehension of events connected with human progress, and devoted piety and warm solicitude for the welfare of the less fortunate of the race. These qualities were all beautifully and harmoniously blended in her character.\n\nKatherine Burch Warner was born in Chattanooga, Tennessee, the daughter of John C. Burch and Lucia Newell Burch. Her ancestry on both sides was esteemed.\nHer father was a colonel in the Confederate Army and a staff officer for Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest. He was the Editor and publisher of the old \u201cUnion and American,\u201d later \u201cThe Nashville American,\u201d state comptroller of Tennessee, and secretary of the United States Senate. Katherine Burch, with honorable family lines on both sides, attended Vassar College after completing her preparatory education. There, her brilliant mind was broadened, disciplined, and cultivated through contact with literature, science, and art. Following her studies at Vassar, she embarked on a social career.\nIn 1880, while living in Washington City during her father's service as Senate secretary, she married Leslie Warner. Her husband was a son of James C. Warner, a Southern industrial leader, and was himself a commanding figure in the business world, pioneering the iron industry in the South. Their married life was spent in Nashville.\n\nTheir beautiful home on Eight Avenue was the site of many delightful social events. Here, from time to time, many brilliant men and women were entertained. Joseph Jefferson, the celebrated actor, was their guest whenever he visited Nashville. Three children were born to Mr. and Mrs. Warner: John Burch, Leslie, Jr., and Marie. All died in early childhood. A sculptured marble group was brought.\nFrom Italy, a beautifully representative artwork placed in Mt. Olivet cemetery portrays children entering the presence of the Savior. This artistic expression reflected the parents' devotion and deep religious faith.\n\nMrs. Warner's home life was one of rare charm. Due to ill health, Mr. Warner retired from business, and together they embarked on several tours of Europe. They brought home many treasures in sculpture, painting, and tapestry, which contributed to the setting of culture and artistic beauty felt by everyone who crossed their threshold.\n\nMrs. Warner's interest in public affairs was deep and constant, based on a thorough study of state and national questions. She served as the first president of the Nashville Equal Suffrage League and later of\nThe Tennessee Equal Suffrage Association, Inc. She was a public speaker of marked ability and, as chairman of the Ratification Committee appointed by Governor Roberts, she was largely instrumental in leading Tennessee to ratify the nineteenth amendment. She was a member of the leading literary clubs of Nashville, Cradock Circle, The Review Club, The Browning Club, The Centennial Club, and a number of others, and was vice-president of the Tennessee Federation of Women's Clubs. She was a prominent member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and in 1923 was appointed by the National President of the order as vice-chairman of the Committee on International Relationships, of which Mrs. Robert Lansing was chairman.\n\nWhen the World War brought its challenge to the patriotism of American men and women, Mrs. Warner responded with that intensity.\nShe was known for her devotion and readiness to serve, a lifelong characteristic. She was the first vice-president of the Tennessee Woman's Council of National Defense and served on the National Board of the Fatherless Children of France Society. Deep spirituality and an abiding faith in the eternal verities underlying the universe were large elements in her richly endowed personality. She was an Episcopalian and a long-time member of Christ Church. The beautiful stained glass windows in this church, and other similar gifts from her, testify eloquently and appropriately to her unfailing devotion to its work. She founded and for many years presided over the Kensington Circle, an organization of Christ Church.\n\nMrs. Warner passed away on October 21, 1923. Her devoted husband had preceded her in death some years prior. Editorial tributes followed.\nMrs. Ida Mary Cox Schaaf, gifted author, historian, and genealogist, was born on March 14, 1869, in a little village in St. Francis County, Missouri, known as \"French Village.\" She was the fifth child of Dr. Joshua Barton Cox.\n\nSurvived by four brothers: John C. and Charles N. Burch of Memphis, Robert L. Burch of Chicago, and Lucius Burch of Nashville. Her only sister, Charles Schiff, had died a year or two before.\n\nNewspapers in Nashville testified to her elevated character, varied and extraordinary gifts, and far-reaching influence, declaring a void in Tennessee's civic life with her passing.\n\nMrs. Edward Earle Schaaf.\nCatherine Emily Brown and her husband. Mrs. Schaaf is of English, French, and German ancestry, specifically a daughter of the Spanish regime west of the Mississippi. Her great-great-grandfather Francois Valle was the first commander under Spanish rule at St. Genevieve, and his son, Francois Jr., was the last. Her grandfather Caleb Cox and his brother Moses were the first trustees of the town of Fredericktown, Mo., and her grandfather Robert Traver Brown was the incorporator of the town of Perryville, Mo. Both of these grandfathers served in the War of 1812, as did her great-grandfather Henry Andrew von Heins. During the War between the States, Dr. Cox, her father, was excused from military duty because of the need for his services as a physician, but two of his brothers, George and Henry, enlisted in the southern army.\nIda Mary Cox studied under a governess and attended the convent school at St. Genevieve, Mo., and then Central High School in St. Louis. On November 7, 1893, she married Edward Schaaf and moved to live at St. Mary's, Missouri, a village opposite the historic island of Kaskaskia. In these historic locations, she became a diligent student of early Missouri history. With among her papers the commission issued by Governor Claiborne of Louisiana to her grandfather, Caleb Cox, making him a lieutenant in the War of 1812, she gave special attention to the records of that war. She has written many historical articles of great value and interest. One of her tasks was copying and translating into English seven books of early Missouri history preserved in French at the Catholic Church of St. Genevieve.\nThis work was done for the Missouri Historical Society and published in the National Genealogical Quarterly. Mrs. Schaaf is a member of the United States Daughters of 1812, Daughters of the American Revolution, United Daughters of the Confederacy, Colonial Dames of America, Colonial Daughters of the 17th Century, Order of Armorial Ancestry, National Genealogical Association, Missouri Folk Lore Society, American Folk Lore Society, American Catholic Historical Society, St. Louis Catholic Historical Society, Missouri Historical Society, Missouri State Historical Society, Mississippi Valley Historical Society, St. Louis Shakespeare Society, National Security League, several religious organizations, and is first National Vice President, National Society, Daughters of the American Colonists. During the World War she was County Chairman of Liberty Bonds.\nThrift and Food Conservation. As a leader among the women of Missouri, she wields an influence which is felt throughout the state and far beyond.\n\nIntroduction from Volume I\n\nIt was a former Senator from New York, the eloquent Clarence Depew, who said on one occasion that during the great sectional conflict in America, there was produced at the North no counterpart to the Confederate woman. Coming from one who was not of the South and who spoke from an exalted seat of authority, this tribute is generous.\nThe text is already clean and readable. No need for any cleaning.\n\nThe South was the area of invasion. Perhaps nine-tenths of the battlefields of the war were embraced within the Confederate boundaries. In an area of country exposed to the constant fire of a devastating host, it was the lot of the Southern woman, in a peculiar sense, to endure the bitter agony of the Garden\u2014those of her loved ones strong enough to protect her at the front; only a retinue of faithful slaves to guard the mansion, with its inmates. But her lone Gethsemane lasted for more than a single night. It endured through four long years of peril, of sacrifice and of suffering\u2014till the Calvary of the war.\nThe Southern Cross was reached at Appomattox. Indeed, it continued no longer, down through the terror-haunted days of Reconstruction. To do that period justice requires the poet of Pandemonium and the painter of \"The Last Judgment.\"\n\nBut lineage, tradition, training - all these equipped her for the ordeal. She was a rare type, this gentle product of our Southland - let us call her the magnolia grandiflora of a race of Cavaliers. She inherited beauty - not only the kind that attaches to a person, though in superlative degree she possessed that - but beauty of mind, beauty of soul, beauty of character. These combined to lift her attractions to a higher power and to give her the exquisite charm of loveliness. Hers were the Spartan traits of an Old South - endurance, courage, fortitude, superiority of mind - traits which compelled respect.\nRepresentative women of the South, regardless of strangers' opinions, inspired reverence in her children and loyalty in her slaves, securing for her the goodwill of her neighbors. She also possessed the strength born of prayer, the tranquil calm that comes from faith, and the serene smile whose divine source is love. Whether in a pillared mansion or in a lowly cot, whether at home or abroad, whether dispensing hospitality to her equals or bestowing favors upon her dependents, she was always a queen; and whatever she said or did bore the baronial hallmark of the old manor and told of the gentle molds of ancestry from which she sprang.\n\nIt was said of Hotspur that \"by his light did all the chivalry of England move to do brave deeds\"; but the animating spirit of the South\u2014from Sumter to Appomattox\u2014was the Confederate woman.\nShe seemed to embody the principles for which he fought - to furnish the golden casket in which his gems were enshrined. With sublime self-abnegation, mothers sacrificed their sons, maidens their sweet hearts, sisters their brothers, wives their husbands, upon the altar of Constitutional Freedom. If knights were never braver, it was because vestals at the shrine were never purer - never more unwearied in keeping alive the temple fires. It was to defend them that the southern soldier fought. It was to protect his loved ones and to keep his hearthstone inviolate, that he went to war; and in safeguarding his holiest treasure from harm, no Israelite under Joshua ever fought more bravely for the Ark of the Covenant.\n\nShe deserved such homage. Her soul was in the cause to which she gave her dearest earthly belongings. She was the last of.\nThe Southern woman's soul shone on the battlefield. It patrolled the camp's sentinel round and hovered over the sleeping bivouacs where weary soldiers dreamed of home. It inspired Lee to write the glorious order at Chambersburg, forbidding any vandalism by his men while in enemy territory. It hallowed and preserved every letter from the front and treasured ten thousand locks of hair.\n\nall surrendered; even when defeat was imminent and our flag's tattered folds were drooping and its ragged followers few in number and feeble from exhaustion, she held out still. She pledged her trinkets and jewels to prevent failure until the resources of devotion were exhausted.\n\nThe soul of the Southern woman. It blazed on the firing line of battle. It paced the sentinel round of the camp. It hovered over the sleeping bivouacs where the weary soldiers dreamed of home. It inspired Lee to write that glorious order at Chambersburg\u2014a model for his enemies\u2014in which he forbade a single act of vandalism by his men while in enemy territory. It hallowed and preserved every letter from the front and treasured ten thousand locks of hair.\nTen thousand faded photographs kept tryst at ten thousand gateways at twilight, in ten thousand windows they watched unwearied till dawn. They busied themselves making garments for the soldier at the front. They bent over the wounded and the dying on the battlefield and in the hospital. Hourly, in a never-ending prayer to God, they winged their flight to heaven to find composure in a peace beyond the stars. They gathered the hallowed remnants of the heroic slain, lifted slabs above the lowly mounds, inspired the beautiful custom of Memorial Day, and lovingly, through the years, kept the hillocks green. It was the soldier's golden spur of knighthood; his reward in victory, his solace in defeat; while even in surrender, it buoyed him up with hope, till he saw in it the promise of a new dawn.\nprophecy: A new South will arise, and on the horizon in Virginia, he caught sight of - \"The maiden splendor of the morning star.\" Our war-queen of the Sixties! God make us worthy of her gentle memory - emulative of her sweet loyalty - and true to her heroic traditions. We cannot raise too many monuments for her. Let us build them all over the land - from the Patapsco to the Rio Grande; and may they tower and whiten in the Southern sun!\n\nBut better than inanimate marble or \"Praise encumbered stone,\" is a living monument. Such is the tribute which, in this rare work, is here presented to the public by its gifted author. It is a fitting monument to the Confederate women, because it enshrines her soul. It is spiced with the aroma of her brave deeds. It tells of her beautiful devotion to the South, in days of trial, of her patient suffering, of her selfless service, and of her unwavering loyalty.\nThis volume is a rich storehouse of memories - a portrait gallery, where the reader may wander, perhaps to make new friends, but recognizing upon the walls many familiar faces. These are Dixie\u2019s own daughters, all of them cast in the gentle molds of our beautiful Southland, and all of them true to its best ideals and inspirations. Only one in spirit akin to these, one of the elect number, could hazard such an undertaking. But Mrs. Collier is of the South. Its gentlest aristocracy is in her veins; and she brings to her sacred task a heart full of tenderness, filled with all its memories and endowed by all its muses. It has long been her dream to produce something truly worthwhile for the South, and the publication of this book is a worthy ambition realized and a splendid dream fulfilled.\nThe author is to be congratulated for the magnificent vision in which such a work had its genesis, and for the artistic manner in which she has performed it, bringing a colossal task to completion. It is not only a finished product but a flower of genius.\n\nMrs. Collier's family is distinctively Georgian. Its antecedents reach back to the days of the Revolution and into colonial times. She inherits these traditions, which enable her, with fidelity to truth, to portray a great past and to be, in the best sense of the word, an interpreter of her section. There is not a phase of southern life or character with which she is not familiar, and scarcely a page of Southern history whose contents she cannot repeat. Her childhood's home was among the peaks of the Blue Ridge, in the beautiful and picturesque region.\nThe historic town of Dalton, with its burning memories of Sherman\u2019s march. Later, she moved to Washington, Ga., the ancestral home of her family for many generations. Her maiden name was Margaret Wootten, and she was the youngest daughter of Dr. John Fletcher Wootten, a man of unusual brilliance of intellect, who served four years as surgeon in the Confederate Army and distinguished himself for skill, fidelity, and devotion in serving a Cause which, to him, never wavered. He was surgeon in the 3rd Georgia regiment of cavalry, a regiment captured at New Haven, just before the battle of Perryville. The maiden name of Mrs. Collier\u2019s mother was Margaret Marion Hendrix. The author was married on December 9, 1897, to Rev. Bryan Wells Collier, whose family is likewise an old and distinguished one in Georgia. Their two sons are Bryan Wootten Collier, age twenty.\nAvho, as a lad of sixteen, held three medals for history and creativity, and Thomas Wootten Collier, age seventeen, who will follow the profession of his two grandfathers, both of whom were surgeons in the Confederate Army, and ornaments to a great and noble profession.\n\nThe Confederate woman. Imagination cannot dwell too tenderly upon a theme so inspiring. Reverence cannot linger too fondly at so pure an altar. The historian\u2019s pen, which tells us of a Rome and of a Sparta \u2014 aye, the pen of inspiration, which tells of an Israel \u2014 has not portrayed her superior, if indeed her equal; nor may we expect to find it in all the hidden future. It took the civilization of an Old South to produce her \u2014 a civilization whose exquisite but fallen fabric now belongs to the dust of dreams. But we have not lost the blood of such women.\nI was born on September 15, 1859, in Auburn, Alabama, where war clouds were gathering for the secession storm in the Sixties. My father's ancestors were Huguenots who left Flanders after the Edict of Nantes and came to America in 1679, settling on the coast of South Carolina.\n\nRoyal blood of the ancient line; and in the veins of an infant Southland, the heroic strain still ripples. The Confederate woman, in her silent influence, in her eternal vigil, still abides. Her gentle spirit is the priceless heritage of her daughters. The old queen passes, but the new queen lives; and radiant, like the morning, on her brow, is Dixie\u2019s diadem.\n\nL.L. Knight.\nSpottswood Hall, June 3, 1920.\nMrs. B.M. Harlan.\nRepresentative Women of the South.\nAutobiography of Minnie Eloise Capers Harlan.\nMy father, Colonel Henry D. Capers, was the third son of Rev. William Capers, one of the first bishops of the M.E. Church South, founder of missions among plantation slaves and Creek Indians and one in China. He was the first American delegate to the British Methodist Conference in 11826. Born into the manor, he was, nonetheless, a gentle minister of God and brother to all men.\n\nMy mother, Mary Elizabeth, was the eldest daughter of Rev. Alexander Means, D.D., L.L.D., three-time President of colleges, including Emory of Oxford, Georgia. He was a poet sublime. His \"Ode to Stone Mountain\" is a gem in its crown of eulogies. He was a great chemist, inventing electric lights before Edison's time.\n\nMy Capers ancestors were soldiers, as our coat-of-arms and crest disclose. My great-grandfather, Major William Capers, fought under\nMarion was in the Revolutionary war and was distinguished for bravery. He was in Savannah\u2019s siege, 1779, and saw Pulaski fall. Thirty-seven of our Capers sons fought under the red-crossed banner of Dixie; fourteen lost their lives and fourteen were officers of rank, including two generals, my uncles. My father was in Jefferson Davis\u2019 cabinet. When I was a tiny child, the Confederate President took me in his arms and kissed me. That kiss had its influence. In later years, I was made president of Gordon County Chapter, U.D.C. I held that office for ten years. Changes incident to war brought us back to Oxford, Georgia, where we had a beautiful home near \u201cOrna-Villa,\u201d the colonial residence of my mother\u2019s parents. My childhood and girlhood were spent amid these classic shades. I began to teach in my fifteenth year and for seven years I gave my lessons.\nI. Mrs. George Gragg Winterson\\\nII. In this great calling, I have stewarded my ten talents - progeny - in its interests and that of the communities where I found homes and hearts.\\\nIII. In the missionary work of our church and along many civic lines, I have done what I should, giving my music, pencil, and pen, always in glad service.\\\nIV. In 1881, I was happily married to Bedford McKinney Harlan, a worthy scion of Quaker genealogy. We have reared five lovely daughters: Marie Eloise (Mrs. C.E. David), Idawee Sarah (Mrs. Z.T. Jackson of Calhoun), Susan Capers (Mrs. P.B. Trammell, Jr., of Dalton), Mignon Alleen, and Ella Clare, who still bless and comfort our home - \u201cThe Bird\u2019s Nest\u201d.\\\nV. When my day is done, may I be able to give back to the Giver of gifts an untarnished double of all I possess.\nMrs. G. C. Winterson, nee Jennie Austin Day, was born at Ellicott City, Howard County, Maryland. Her father, Thomas M. Day, many years clerk of the Court of Howard County, married Amanda C. Owings. Daughter of Dr. John Hood Owings and Amanda C. Boyle, daughter of Capt. Thomas Boyle, one of the distinguished and successful commanders during the war of 1812. He commanded the Maryland Privateer Comet, from 1812 to 1814, securing twenty-seven prizes. In 1814, he commanded the Privateer Chasseur, whose model stands in the City Hall in Baltimore.\n\nJennie A. Day married Dr. G. Graggs Winterson in 1902. They have one son, George McPherson Winterson, born 1905.\n\nOn both sides, Mrs. Winterson came of distinguished Revolutionary and Colonial ancestry. Both parents were truly Southerners.\nThe earliest American ancestor on my mother's side, originating from England, was Thomas Owings in the Colony of Virginia, in 1621. His son, Richard, came to Maryland and received land grants at Annapolis in 1654. He settled in Baltimore County, which later became the town of Owings Mills. Samuel Owings, his son, was appointed as one of the commissioners under the act of assembly in 1742 to select and purchase a site for St. Thomas\u2019 Protestant Episcopal Church. He served as a vestryman and registrar of the parish, as well as one of His Majesty\u2019s Justices.\n\nFour sons of Samuel Owings served in the American Revolution: Captain Beale Owings, Colonel Samuel Owings, Captain Christian Owings, and Captain Thomas Owings. The latter married Ruth Lawrence, daughter of Lieutenant Levine Lawrence, and descended from Sir Thomas Lawrence, who succeeded Gov. Copley in 1694 as Governor of Maryland.\nMrs. Winterson has been the State President of the U.S. Daughters of 1812 for three years, serving her second term. She is a member of the Founders and Patriots of America, and Daughters of the American Colonists. On her father's side, there are numerous colonial ancestors, among them John Day in the French and Indian War, 1757. John Day was one of the signers in establishing the Washington College at Chestertown, Md., 1783. He served as Captain, 1776. Mrs. Winterson came to Nebraska in 1908 with her husband Dr. George C. Winterson. Dr. Winterson is a son of Dr. C. R. Winterson of Elkridge, Md., and Sarah S. E. Craggs. Descended from Wm. Levering, the first founder of Roxborough, now the City of Philadelphia, and founder of the first public school of Roxborough. Dr. and Mrs. Winterson have made many friends in the West, both in a professional and social way.\nRepresentative Women of the South: Mrs. Godfrey M. Harmon\n\nMrs. Godfrey M. Harmon, born July 25, 1851, at Roxbury Mills, MD, was the daughter of Dr. John H. Owings and Amanda C. Boyle. Dr. Owings was a learned man, serving as both a scholarly physician and a Presbyterian minister. Mrs. Owings was the daughter of Captain Thomas Boyle, renowned in the War of 1812 for his efforts in securing \"free trade and seamen\u2019s rights,\" in which many gallant Americans gained deathless fame.\n\nTracing the paternal lineage of the Owings family, we find that they settled in Virginia in 1621 and later moved to Maryland, receiving land grants in 1654. The family settled in Baltimore County and the name endures in the town of Owings Mills, which they founded.\n\nRichard Owings, the first settler, married Rachel Beale, daughter of an unspecified lineage.\nThomas Beale, a notable figure in the early days of Maryland, was a council member under Thomas Nicholson, the first governor of Maryland, in 1649. Samuel Owings, son of Richard, was among the Assembly in 1742 and was appointed by King William and Mary to purchase a site for St. Thomas Protestant Episcopal Church.\n\nAmanda C. Owings married Thomas M. Day of Maryland in 1872. They had seven children, five of whom survived: Mrs. Robert Warren, Mrs. Emmet Glascock, John Hood Owings Day, all of Baltimore; Mrs. W. L. Tabscott, of West Virginia; and Mrs. G. C. Winterson, of Omaha, Nebraska.\n\nAfter the death of her first husband in 1905, she married Godfrey M. Harmon of Lexington, S.C., one of the gallant veterans of the [military conflict].\nMr. Harmon, a Confederate Army veteran, is still living at the age of 79. He has been the editor and publisher of the Lexington Dispatch for fifty years. Mrs. Harmon, a worthy daughter of the South, is true to the memory and traditions of her long line of Revolutionary and Colonial ancestors. She is devoted to the work of her church and finds happiness in the loftiest interests and pursuits of humanity in her tranquil and honored old age, revealing herself as a true representative of the noblest in womanhood.\n\nWomen of the South\nMrs. Elmer R. Kirk\nEmma Foote Kirk of Atlanta, GA, is descended from a long line of ancestors.\nThe text describes the ancestors of Emma Foote, including her connection to Alfred the Great and European royalty. Her paternal ancestors include the Footes, Ortons, Bieknells, and Beckers, while her maternal ancestors are the Greens, Parkers, Rices, and Stones. Elijah Bicknell, her great-grandfather, was an early educator in Schoharie, New York. Through her Colonial ancestor, Deacon Edmund Rice, she traces her descent directly to Alfred the Great and the first Saxon king, Cedric. Emma Foote was born in Lafayette, Medina County, Ohio, the only daughter of George W. Foote and Ruth Amy Green. At a young age, her parents moved to Cleveland, where she attended school.\nThis city she was educated, graduating third in a class of one hundred and eight. October 31, 1888, she was married to Elmer R. Kirk, of Port Clinton, Ohio, a descendant of the Kirks who came to America with William Penn and were extensive landholders in the early days of Pennsylvania. Although Quakers, several of them were soldiers and officers in the War of the Revolution. Mr. Kirk's mother, Eunice Rymare, was descended from the celebrated Williamson family of Pennsylvania.\n\nAfter their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Kirk removed to Atlanta and have been valuable citizens of their adopted state, entering heartily into all its interests and activities. Mrs. Kirk is a member of the First Methodist Church and deeply interested in all the work of the church. Her chief joy and interest is in her home. She has two children.\nHazel and Dorothy, lovely daughters. Both graduated from Washington Seminary, Atlanta, and in 1923, Dorothy graduated from Salem College, Winston-Salem, North Carolina. She is now president of the Atlanta Branch of the Alumni Association. Both are active members of the D.A.R. and the Daughters of the Founders and Patriots of America.\n\nMrs. Kirk is intensely patriotic and devotes a large part of her time and thought to her patriotic societies. She is a Colonial Dame, member of the Order of the Crown of America, member of the Daughters of the American Colonists, and a charter member and Historian of the Daughters of the Founders and Patriots of America. She is also eligible for the Daughters of the Barons of Runnymede, Americans of Armorial Ancestry, Daughters of Holland Dames, and several others.\nBut the first place in her affections has been held by the Daughters of the American Revolution. She is a life member of the D.A.R., and after holding the office of Recording Secretary and Registrar, was Regent for two years \u2014 1921, 1922. She was a member of the State Executive Board and was on National committees. Her father served three years in the 42nd O.V.I. during the War between the States. Her only brother, Rev. Chauncey L. Foote, a Baptist minister, is a veteran of the Spanish-American War, and for some time was stationed at Manila during the Philippine War.\n\nResponse to Address of Welcome\nDelivered by Mrs. Bryan Wells Collier at the twenty-third annual session of the Confederated Southern Memorial Association, held at Richmond, Va., June 19-22, 1922. Mrs. Collier was introduced by Governor Trinkle of Virginia.\nYour Excellency, Governor of Virginia, Madame President General, Honorable Commander of Confederate Veterans, Madame President General, United Daughters of the Confederacy: It is a joy to respond on behalf of the Confederated Southern Memorial Association to the welcome of the city of Richmond and the State of Virginia. It is with feelings akin to reverence that we come within the borders of the Old Dominion. I come to you from the State which gave the first impulse to the organization of the Southern Memorial Association and the institution of Memorial Day. It was in Columbus, Ga., in 1866, that the first Memorial Association was formed. The secretary of that association, on March 12 of that year, sent out a circular letter addressed to the press and ladies of the South, urging that the 26th of May be set aside for the decoration of graves of the Confederate dead.\n\"We cannot raise monumental shafts and inscribe thereon their many deeds of heroism, but we can keep alive the memory of the debt we owe them by dedicating at least one day in each year to embellishing their humble graves with flowers. We'll crown the honored resting places of the immortal Jackson in Virginia, Johnson at Shiloh, Cleburne in Tennessee, and the host of gallant privates who adorned our ranks. Let the soldiers' graves for that day at least be the Southern Mecca, to whose shrine her sorrowing women, like pilgrims, may annually bring their grateful hearts and floral offerings.\"\nIt was a former senator from New York, the eloquent Chauncey Depew, who said on one occasion that during the great sectional conflict, there was produced at the North no counterpart to the Confederate woman. I am happy to speak for these, both the living and the dead, both for those who have come in company with the fast thinning remnant of the heroes of the Gray to celebrate the thrilling days of the Sixties, and for those who from their homes throughout the Southland watch with eager interest what is being said and done in this beautiful city by the James.\n\nWe come, not alone to mingle in the throng of those who delight to honor the brave soldiers who wore the Gray, not alone to add our voices to the volume of praise which a grateful people accord to their memory, not alone to hear again the stirring strains of \"Dixie.\"\nMrs. Lewis Griffin Larus, Representative Women of the South. Mrs. Lewis Griffin Larus, nee Anne Gavin Traylor, was born in Richmond, Va., daughter of the late Robert Lee Traylor and his wife, Anne Gavin, of Memphis, Tenn. On the paternal side, Mrs. Larus is descended from many prominent figures.\nThe text pertains to the Virginia lines, specifically the Adams, Acree, Bailey, Fowler, Tucker, and Archer families. The subject's grandfather, Albert Washington Traylor, served in the War between the States as a private in Company E, 21st Virginia Regiment, Terry's Brigade, Gordon's Division, Army of Northern Virginia. He was captured on March 25, 1865, during an attack on Fort Steadman and was paroled and discharged on June 21, 1865. Ancestors of Mrs. Larus made honorable records in the Indian wars under Governor Dinwiddie of Virginia during the French and Indian War, the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Mexican War. William Traylor, the first to bear the name in America, patented a tract of about 3000 acres in Henrico County, Virginia, on the site of the present city of Petersburg. His name and that of his father-in-law, George Archer, are also notable.\nGeorge Archer, a tense land owner and slave holder, is listed in the only surviving rent roll from the year 1704-05. He was the brother and heir of Gabriel Archer, a member of the first council of Jamestown and the first secretary of the colonial government of Virginia.\n\nRobert Lee Traylor, father of Anne Gavin Traylor, was a leader in Richmond's business world. He was a man of taste and extensive literary attainments, an ardent book collector. His collection of books illustrating Virginia's literature and history was the largest in private hands anywhere, and he authored a monograph titled \"Some Notes on the First Recorded Visit of the White Man to the Site of the Present City of Richmond.\"\n\nAnne Gavin Traylor received her education in Richmond's public and high schools, later studying under private tutors.\nMemphis and the Bristol School, Washington D.C., followed by two years of intensive study in France under the Marquise de San Carlos Pedrosa. She married Lewis Griffin Larus, a prominent businessman of Richmond, a cultured gentleman of French descent, whose ancestry may be traced back to several crowned heads of Europe. They have three children: twins, Lewis Griffin Larus, Jr., and Cornelia Anne Larus, both seven years old, and a son, Robert Lee Traylor Larus, two years old. They live at their country home, \"Stony Point,\" in Chesterfield County, ten miles from Richmond. Mrs. Larus is a life member of the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities, a member of the Virginia Historical Society, and a member of the Richmond Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy. She is also a member of the Woman's Club.\nMrs. James Sprunt, The King's Daughters, The Country Club of Virginia, the Edgar Allen Poe Shrine, and the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation interest her. She served as a member of the local council of the Girl Scouts of America.\n\nMrs. James Sprunt\nRepresentative Women of the South, page 267\n\nLuola Murchison Sprunt was born near Fayetteville, North Carolina, in September. She was distinguished by a dignified queenly presence, a mind richly endowed with exquisite taste and surpassing ability. She illustrated with unaffected modesty the virtues and graces of a noble Christian character, by an unceasing and untiring devotion to things that are true and honorable and just and lovely and of good report.\n\nWhatever she did for the rescue of human souls drifting from God, for the conversion of the heathen in far-away lands, for the education of the poor, and for the relief of suffering, she did with a quiet and unassuming humility that endeared her to all who knew her.\nThe help of our missionaries, for the care and education of factory children, for the relief of helpless humanity in hospitals at home and abroad, for the comfort of the bereaved and afflicted, for the lonely stranger in a strange land, in the building of churches and schools and hospitals and habitations for the poor, in the skilful embellishment of her beautiful home, in her exquisite handwork, in the promotion of patriotic and social endeavor for the betterment of her community, in her loving loyalty to her family and friends, in her winning endearment for children, in her uncomplaining endurance of suffering, in all things that were worth while, she did with her whole heart and mind and strength, with never a moment misspent, with an eye single to the glory of God. The seven years she was President of the North Carolina Society.\nColonial Dames prominently figured in society history. Their executive ability broadened its work scope and strengthened its National Society place. At the Colonial Dames of America national councils in Washington, D.C., in 1908, 1910, and 1912, Mrs. Sprunt made an impressive reputation. She served on two significant committees: the Committee on \"Jamestown Memorial\" and the Committee on \"Historic Research.\" Her exhaustive and valuable report on \"Unmarked Historic Sites in North Carolina\" received praise, as did her report as Necrology Committee chairman.\n\nOrton, Home of Mrs. James Sprunt\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nMrs. Mary Ancum Shannon\n\nBorn in Camden, S.C., on January 3,\nThe eldest child of William Ancrum and Charlotte Douglas, born in 1840. The Ancrums were among the earliest landowners in and around the historic town. Through her mother, she descended from Porchers, Brisbanes, and Stuarts, prominent low-country families. The Douglas connection was one of the most widespread and influential in the county.\n\nHer maternal grandmother was a daughter of Dr. Tames Martin, a surgeon in the Revolution. Her father was an alumnus of Princeton.\n\nShe graduated with honors from old Barhamville Academy in 1855. In 1860, she married Dr. Charles J. Shannon of Camden, later a surgeon in the Confederate service. Four children were born of this union: Ellen Deas (later Mrs. William DeSaussure Boykin), Charles J., Leila Marthas, and Charlotte Douglas.\n\nDr. Shannon died in 1870, leaving his young widow in straitened circumstances.\nA born teacher, thorough in method and requirement, an exemplar of the lofty principles she inculcated, a fine representative of the best in the womanhood of the old South, kind and sympathetic, grasping and charming in manner, sane and penetrating in judgment, wise in counsel, delightful in conversation and companionship, broad-minded.\n\nIn circumstances resulting from the recent war, she turned her great native ability and well-trained mind to useful account and established a private school for girls, which was well patronized. Later, she was put in charge of the female department of the new public school system, and in 1887 became the lady principal of the High School. In 1906, she retired from active school life. For more than 30 years, Mrs. Shannon was identified with educational work in the community.\nIn patriotism, sincere in friendship, firm in faith \u2013 who can measure the influence of such a life and character on the impressionable mind and heart of youth? Seed planted in such soil perpetuates itself and flowers perennially.\n\nMrs. Shannon enjoyed the rare privilege of living to see the fruits of her labor. The last fourteen years of her life were spent in retirement and affluence, but she never lost touch with the world around her. She had daily manifestations of the love and veneration of the community which she had so long and effectively served. The only public office she held was as the first president of the Tobkirk Hill chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution.\n\nIn the eighty-first year of her age, on Nov. 20, 1920, in undiminished vigor of mind, she passed away at her home in Camden.\nMrs. Benjamin Christopher Harris, of Atlanta, Georgia, is the only child of Alfred Finch Goudeloch, a Confederate soldier, and Sarah Frances Mayes Goudeloch. Her maternal grandfather was Captain John M. Mayes, a captain in the Confederate army. Mrs. Harris is a direct descendant of John Adam Goudeloch, who came to America in 1700 and landed at Jamestown, Virginia, famous for John Smith and his companions. The name Goudeloch is Scotch for Golden Lake, and she is of both Scotch and English descent. Eleven of her ancestral lines go back to Revolutionary times through the families Goudeloch, Bullock, Waters, Mayes, Whelchel, and Fleming.\nYancey, Stockton, Nuckolls, Elliott, and Morgan. One of her ancestors on the maternal side, Francis B. Whelchel, was a surgeon in the Revolutionary army.\n\nMrs. Harris is a great-niece of Judge Davis Goudeloch, a supreme court judge of South Carolina. Her great-great aunt, Miss Sarah Goudeloch, was a cousin of Colonel William Washington of Revolutionary fame, and at a ball given in Charleston, S.C., she led the grand march with Colonel Washington. Her great grandmother was before marriage Miss Agatha Bullock, a first cousin of Archibald Bullock, the first president of the Continental Congress.\n\nPearl Goudeloch was educated at Brenau College, Gainesville, Georgia, and Wesleyan College, Macon, Georgia. In 1913, she married B.C. Harris, scion of the well-known Harris family of Meriwether County, Georgia, and a distant relative of Jefferson Davis. Mr. Harris is a [distant relative of Jefferson Davis](http://www.textutils.com/web/archive/20210315/https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jefferson_Davis).\nThe son of a Confederate lieutenant and grandson of Colonel William Martin of the Confederate army, Mr. Harris, has one son, B.C Harris. During the World War, Mr. Harris entered war work, serving as supervisor of the Pittsburg District Ordinance Department. He led the Liberty Loan Drive and received a certificate of honor for registering his department one hundred percent. Since the War, he has been an official in the treasury department of the Government.\n\nMrs. Harris is an active worker in the United Daughters of the Confederacy. She continually holds up before her son the life and character of Robert E. Lee as an ideal for him to imitate. Mrs. Harris is a member of the Atlanta Chapter of the D.A.R., and was one of the committee that raised the chapter quota for Georgia boys in 1924. She takes an active interest in questions of public moment.\nMrs. David St. Clair Simpson, daughter of Josephine, served as press chairman, chairman of citizenship for the East Lake P.T.A., and Child Welfare chairman. An active member of the Methodist Church, Brenau Alumnae Association, Atlanta Music Club, and an efficient worker for the Red Cross during World War II. By lineage, character, and personal achievements, she ranks as one of the truly representative women of the South.\nMantor Slocum, born November 27, 1887 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her father's ancestry traces back to the Winslows and Mary Chilton of Mayflower fame, with a treasured heirloom of whalebone rope from that ship in the family. Her mother's ancestral record goes back to the days of William the Conqueror.\n\nHer forebears include Oliver Hazard Perry, \"Neb'' Slocum who spiked British guns in Boston Harbor, the many illustrious Shermans, and the Van Cortlands of New York. These ancestors, such as William Dyer, the first commander in the old Colonial Navy, one of the founders of Portsmouth and Newport, and one of the eighteen to sign the compact making Rhode Island the first place in the world to grant, create an incentive to noble living rarely surpassed.\n\nWilliam Dyer, seven generations back, was the first commander in the old Colonial Navy, one of the founders of Portsmouth and Newport, and one of the eighteen to sign the compact making Rhode Island the first place in the world to grant self-government.\nThe Quaker religious freedom advocate, whose wife Mary was the only female martyr among them, was put to death on Boston Common on June 1, 1660, for her beliefs. Branches of this family founded Taunton, Reynham and Barkley in Massachusetts, Long Branch in New Jersey, and Scranton in Pennsylvania. The rosters of Harvard, Yale, and the Revolutionary army include many family names. Our subject is Episcopal, as her mother was confirmed by Bishop Whipple, the \"Apostle to the Indians,\" of Minnesota.\n\nMrs. Simpson's parents came to Florida in 1884, spending winters at Mount Dora where they purchased an estate and eventually settled. They spent intervals of seasons in Pennsylvania, New York, and Minnesota throughout her life, which was primarily spent in Florida.\nAfter attending the public schools in Mount Dora, she completed her school career at Rollins College, Winter Park, FL. On April 19, 1909, she married Davis St. Clair Simpson of Mount Dora, a descendant of some old southern families in Georgia and South Carolina. They have three children: a son, David Samuel, and two daughters, Abby Josephine and Rilda Carey.\n\nMrs. Simpson has taken an active and influential role in civic work. She was the first woman on the town council and serves as Chairman of Parks, as well as a member of the Health and Electric Light Committees. She has been vice-president and president of the Parent-Teacher Association.\n\nShe is a member of the Kings\u2019 Daughters Circle, a charter member and officer continuously of the Eastern Star Chapter, and a charter member and Regent (1924) of the Ochlawaha Chapter D.A.R.\nAlice Harrell Strickland, daughter of Newton Harrell and Mary Harris Harrell, was born in Forsyth County, Georgia, on June 24, 1859. Her mother, Mary Harris, was a charter member of the National Society and was active in the work of the Woman\u2019s Club, serving as Chairman of Visual Education for the County Federation. As a thoughtful student of vital questions and a progressive leader, she held a place of honor among forward-looking women working intelligently for the development of their state and section.\n\nMrs. Henry Strickland, Jr.\nRepresentative Women of the South\n\nAlice Harrell Strickland was born in Forsyth County, Georgia, on June 24, 1859. Her mother, Mary Harris, was descended from Captain Thomas Harris, who settled in Virginia in 1611 and was second in command to Thomas Osborn in the Indian Wars of 1622 and a member of the House of Burgesses from 1623-37-47; and from William Overton, son of Colonel Overton.\nOverton, Governor of Hull, England, under Oliver Cromwell. His father, Newton Harrell, served in the Confederate Army under Major Robert Graham. His great-grandfathers were Solomon and Jacob Strickland, brothers and soldiers of the Revolutionary War (His grandfather, Hardy Strickland, son of Solomon, married his first cousin, Priscilla, daughter of Jacob).\n\nOn November 10, 1881, Alice Harrell married Henry Strickland Jr., a young lawyer and businessman of Duluth, Gwinnett County, Georgia. She is the mother of four sons and three daughters. Henry L. and Newton Harrell Strickland were graduated from Georgia Tech. Henry has since traveled on business in Central and South America, Europe, Asia, and Africa. Harrell volunteered at the first call in the late World War, saw service in France and with the Army of Occupation.\nLieutenant-Commander Glenn B. Strickland, a graduate of Annapolis, served in Naval Aviation during World War II. Charlie E. Strickland, a student at Georgia Tech at the beginning of the war, volunteered at age eighteen and saw service with the Marines in France and Germany. Annie May was graduated from Wesleyan and Georgia Normal and Industrial College, and Susie from Brenau. Ellyne was graduated from Brenau at the age of sixteen and from Emory University in law in 1924. Mrs. Strickland is noted for her progressiveness and love for her church, town, and its people. She served one year (the limited time) as President of the Civic Club, during which time a clinic was held and twenty children had adenoids and diseased tonsils successfully removed, the operations being performed and the children recovering.\nChildren were cared for at her home. Later, a baby clinic was held for the benefit of mothers. She served one year (1923) in a most able and business-like manner as Mayor of her town. In the interest of forestry conservation, she donated a tract of land for a community forest to be planted and used by the children of Duluth for educational and recreational purposes, it being the first community forest started in Georgia. A distinctive honor was conferred on Mrs. Jesse Drew Beale in being chosen to represent the typical mother in the movement to honor mothers by planting a white birch tree on Mothers' Day. The idea of planting a Mother's tree originated by Mr. Solan L. Parkes of Reading, Pennsylvania, where the first Mother's tree was planted in 1923.\n\nMrs. Jesse Drew Beale\n'Safe:\nREPRESENTATIVE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH\nMrs. Jesse Drew Peale\nMrs. Jesse Drew Beale, daughter of the late Judge John D. Phelan of the Supreme Court of Alabama and his wife, a Miss Harris of Tennessee, gave four sons to the Southern Army, all of whom were officers and were devoted to the principles of the Confederacy. Judge and Mrs. Phelan called a meeting in Montgomery in 1866 for the purpose of organizing the Ladies\u2019 Memorial Association of Alabama. Mrs. Phelan was one of the organizers and was the first vice-president of the Association in Montgomery.\n\nMrs. Phelan's life was one of helpful activity in Church and State, characterized by patriotism and public spirit. The loss of two sons killed in battle, and two made invalids from hardships in war, both dying of consumption, left her a broken-hearted woman.\n\nGarrett.\nHistory of Alabama mentions, \"She was one of the foremost women of Alabama and extensively known throughout the State.\"\n\nMrs. Beale inherited her mother's patriotism and love of country, and for twenty-five years, she has been an active leader in all undertakings of Church, State, and club life. She has been president of many clubs and organizations of various kinds in Alabama. Her first work in the interest of the United Daughters of the Confederacy was to call a meeting on July 4, 1896, at her home in Montgomery to organize a Chapter. The Chapter, \"The Cradle of the Confederacy,\" was a large one and accomplished a wonderful work. Mrs. Beal was president for many years.\n\nShe was active in organizing the Alabama Division of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, and when calling a meeting in Montgomery to establish the division, she...\nAt the Council Chamber on April 8, 1897, McGormy rode her horse, \"The Daughter of the Confederacy,\" to notify Montgomery ladies of the meeting. The record of the Alabama Division's excellent work would fill volumes. Mrs. Beale contributed significantly to the erection of the Alabama Mountain Creek Home for Veterans. While living in Alabama, she never missed a General U.D.C. Convention and actively participated in its deliberations, always bringing something of interest to the body. In 1904, she was made a vice president and prepared the beautiful U.D.C. ritual, read at the opening of General Conventions and all State Division Conventions. She generously supported U.D.C. works \u2013 for charity, patriotism, and social purposes.\n\nIn May 1900, Miss Mary Custis Lee, daughter of General Robert E. Lee, visited.\nE. Lee, the greatest general in history, was a guest in her home. A brilliant reception was given for her. Men, women, and children came, eager to pay homage to one so distinguished. Every nook and corner in the palatial home was filled with flowers. General Torrence, G.A.R. commander, and his wife were stopping in Montgomery, en route for New Orleans. They, too, sent a handsome floral offering of red and white, and this courteous gift met with a heartfelt reception.\n\nAt the meeting of the UDC in Charleston in 1904, Mrs. Lee was elected a vice-president and served on many committees.\n\nThe work nearest her heart for twenty-five years was the preservation of the \"First White House of the Confederacy,\" in Montgomery, Alabama, the historic building associated with the period.\nWhen the capital of the Southern Confederacy was located in Montgomery, prior to its removal to Richmond, a picture of it appears opposite. She was Regent of the \"White House Association\" in Alabama and is now Honorary Life Regent. In 1897, she visited Mrs. Jefferson Davis and her daughter at Beauvoir, Miss., as they were dismantling and packing preparatory to removal to their new home. Through Mrs. Beale's energy and enthusiasm, a carload of articles of sentimental and historic interest were preserved for placing in the \"First White House,\" at Montgomery. These included the pens used by Mr. Davis in writing his famous work, \"The Rise and Fall of the Confederate Government,\" bedroom sets, books and cases, pictures, rugs, curtains, personal effects, bags, trunks, umbrellas, tables \u2013 everything.\nGovernor Joseph Johnson, then governor of Alabama, provided a room in the State Capitol for the preservation of the distinguished chief's relics and furniture from Beauvoir. However, Alabama eventually recognized the invaluable worth of this mansion, and in June 1919, the Legislature passed a bill to conserve the house. As a result, a home was secured for the relics and furniture. There are now rooms dedicated to Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The White House Association is now affiliated with the Memorial Association and holds meetings with their Conventions.\n\nIn 1905, Mrs. Beale moved to New York to reside there. She was elected Historian of the New York Chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy and delivered talks and original papers at every meeting. She also assisted in organizing the New York Division and was made a member.\nHistorian and Mrs. William Oscar Mitchell is now one of the Honorary Life Presidents. When America entered the World War in 1917, she induced the chapter to give an ambulance in memory of President Davis, General Lee, and Admiral Semmes, and was named chairman of the committee in charge. A second ambulance was given in memory of General Joseph Wheeler. Mrs. William Oscar Mitchell was director of \"World War Work\" for the New York Division, and manifested her patriotic spirit in many forms of war work.\n\nMrs. William Oscar Mitchell, nee Maynie Garland Tuggle, of Kirkwood, Ga., is one of Georgia's noblest daughters, particularly deserving of honor as a devoted Christian and a leader in the highest forms of Christian work. Born at Union Point, Ga, she is a daughter.\nEdward Tuggle, a Baptist minister and Confederate veteran who fought in Lee's army, and Ella Bledsoe Tuggle.\n\nMrs. Mitchell is descended from some of the oldest families in colonial America on her paternal side, including the Terrells, Hammonds, Battles, and Lesters. Her Terrell lineage, from which many representative men and women of the South have emerged, can be traced back to King Edward I of England. On her maternal side, she is a descendant of Mark Anthony, who came to America from Holland, and whose ancestral line runs back through the mists of the Middle Ages to the days of ancient Rome. Her mother, Elia Bledsoe Tuggle, was the daughter of a Baptist minister of distinction who died in Texas at the age of ninety-three, after a remarkably useful career, including the founding of thirty-six churches.\nAmong her remote maternal ancestors were the Clark, Carter, and other colonial families of Virginia. After passing through Union Point High School, Maynie Tuggle completed her education at Monroe College, Forsyth, Ga., now Bessie Tift College. In 1891, she married William Oscar Mitchell, a rising young attorney and descendant of the well-known Mitchell family of Spotsylvania County, Virginia, who came over from England in the 17th century. In February 1893, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell moved to Kirkwood and have lived there continuously since. They had one child, H.G. Mitchell, now a prominent businessman of Knoxville, TN. He married Lois McElreath of Athens, GA, and they had three children: Mary Ella, Dorothy, and Laura May. Mrs. Mitchell took an active interest in religious and benevolent affairs.\nBefore her marriage, she was an active member of the Sibley Union of the WT. C. T. U. of Union Point, and a devoted worker in church, Sunday school, and other activities. After moving to Kirkwood and joining the Baptist Church, she was recognized as a worthy leader. She served for years as president of the Woman's Missionary Society of the Kirkwood Baptist Church, as a member of the State Board, W.B.M.U., and as a member of the Woman's Board of the Atlanta Baptist Association. For fifteen years, she was the District Secretary of this organization.\n\nShe served two terms (1918-1919 and 1922-1923) as Regent of the Piedmont Chapter of the D.A.R. At the beginning of the World War, she was the chairman of the committee on war work of the Piedmont Chapter, a work in which this chapter made a splendid record.\nMrs. Alfred Robert Shaw, nee Henrietta Morris Trimble, born January 23, 1875, in Clifton, Kanawha County, West Virginia, displayed a strong, womanly nobility of character and an elevated conception of service that earned her numerous friends and influence that the years cannot erase.\n\nMrs. Alfred Robert Shaw\nRepresentative women of the south\n\nBorn in the little town of Clifton on the beautiful Great Kanawha River, Mrs. Shaw received her early education from public schools and Greenbrier Girls\u2019 Seminary at Alderson, West Virginia. After finishing school, she taught in West Virginia's public schools for several years. In 1900, she married Alfred R. Shaw, who was engaged in [occupation].\nThe U.S. Mail Service transferred Mr. Shaw from Point Pleasant, W. Va., where they had lived for four years, to Columbus, Ohio, in 1923. Mrs. Shaw's revolutionary ancestors were prominent on both sides of her family. She is descended from William Morris, the pioneer of Kanawha Valley, who came to this country from England in 1640. A long line of prominent people descended from him, many of whom still live in the Virginias. Mrs. Shaw's ancestor, \"Major Billy Morris,\" participated in the battle at Point Pleasant, where whites and Indians engaged in what is known as the first battle of the Revolutionary War. His name is on the monument erected at Point Pleasant to commemorate this battle.\nMrs. Shaw is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Daughters of the Confederacy. The former is a chapter in her home town in West Virginia, formed by twenty-five charter members, all direct descendants of William Morris of Point Pleasant. This chapter is named after him, and a candle is burned in his memory at each meeting in an old brass candlestick once belonging to him. Mrs. Shaw also belongs to the Daughters of the Confederacy as she had four uncles on her father's side who were in active service throughout the War between the States. Her work for the United Daughters of the Confederacy has been significant. She has served as State Registrar for four years, State Historian for two years, and President of her local chapter in the Ohio Division.\nIt was while serving as Chapter President, the chapter entertained the Convention, and as a courtesy to Mrs. Shaw, the ladies were entertained with a reception at the Executive Mansion, given by the wife of Ohio\u2019s Governor. During the World War, Mrs. Shaw gave her time and energy without stint in every possible way to serve her country. She is a charter member of the Woman\u2019s Club of Columbus, Ohio, also an active member of the Democratic Woman\u2019s Club. Being a member of the Episcopal Church, her religion has always filled a big place in her heart and life. On her maternal side, the ancestors were of Scotch and English descent, the families being the Huddlestons, McCoys, Jarretts, and Humphries, of the Virginias and Kentucky. From this long line of patriotic ancestors, she has inherited a spirit of loyal devotion to the highest ideals of true Southern womanhood.\nMartha Berry, representative of notable women in Pipe South, was born on October 7, 1866, in Rome, Ga., as the daughter of Captain Thomas and Francis Rhea Berry. Educated at Edgewood School in Baltimore, she received a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia in 1920. A member of the Episcopal Church, Colonial Dames of America, and Daughters of the American Revolution, Berry is impossible to discuss without mentioning the Berry Schools. This work, which arose in the North Georgia mountains and brought acclaim to its founder as one of the most notable women in America for her generation, warrants our attention. Berry was educated at Edgewood School and received a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia in 1920. She was a member of the Episcopal Church, Colonial Dames of America, and Daughters of the American Revolution.\nMartha Berry, a member of one of the most cultured Southern families, inherited the proud social traditions of the old South after leaving her Baltimore school. She was drawn irresistibly to the mountain children in the vicinity of her home, who were deprived of social and educational advantages but held great possibilities in her eyes.\n\nHer first attempt at helping was gathering a few children together on Sunday afternoons and telling them Bible stories. This effort met with astonishing success. Inspiration then struck to start a real school where boys could receive an education.\nA school was opened on her own farm, with a teacher employed and work begun, using her own means in a small one-room building. As time passed, students flocked in and the need for larger plans and greater resources became imperative. In the winter of 1901, Miss Berry went to New York City for the first opportunity to present her cause. She told her story at a church in Brooklyn to a small gathering on a snowy Wednesday night and received a $50 contribution. A few days later, a Wall Street financier gave her a $500 check after hearing her story in his office. This visit laid a solid financial foundation for the larger work she desired.\nThere followed years of growth as the boys flocked in, and a school for girls was added, new buildings were erected, the teaching force constantly enlarged, and the scope of the work broadened. Today, the Berry Schools embrace a group of artistic buildings set in the midst of attractive grounds, where hundreds of boys and girls are taught the manual and domestic arts and set on the highway that leads to honorable success and happy, useful living.\n\nThe Cabin\nThe Birthplace of the Martha Berry School\nMount Berry Chapel.", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"}
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