Mrs. Grundy. (Tracy City, Tenn.) 1903-1930, 1911-05-18


best Of our civilization seems to be
Towering into Physically, 1t would
have been hard to suggest an improve,
ment in him, he approached so near
the ideal standards. He was fine
grained, supple. slender, small jointed.
thoroughbred from head to heel.
Intellectually, he had been good
enough to go through the academy at
West Point with credit, and to grad
uate high enough In his class to be
assigned to service In the cavalry. His
standards OF conduct. his ideas of hon.
or and morality had been about the
same as those OF the best third of his
classmates. II his fellow officers in
the Philippines, during the year or
two he spent In the service, had been
asked to pick flaw in him, which
they would have been reluctant to do,
they would have said that he seemed
to them bit too thin-skinned and
rather fastidious: that was what his
chum and only intimate friend, Perry
Hunter, said about him at any rate.
But he could afford to be fastidl-
GUS, for he had about all man could
want, one would think. For three
generations they had taken wealth
for granted In the Cayley family, and
with 1t had come breeding, security
of social position, simplicity and ease
in making friends, both among men
and women In short, there could be
no doubt at all that up to his twenty
ninth year Fate had been ironically
kind to Philip Cayley. She had given
him no hint, no preparation for the
stunning blow that was to fall upon
him, suddenly, out of so clear sky,
When 1t did fall, It cut his life
clean across: so that when he thought
back to that time now, 1t seemed to
him that the Lieutenant Cayley of the
United States army had died over
there in the Philippines and that he.
the man who was now soaring in those
great circles through the arctic sky,
was chance inheritor Of his name
and OF his memory.
He had set out one day at the head
of small scouting party, the best
| liked man in the regiment, secure In
! the respect, In the almost fatherly re-
| gard, of his colonel, proudly conscious
of the almost idolatrous admiration
| OF his men and the younger officers.
He had gone out believing that no
| one ever had truer friend than he
possessed In Perry Hunter, his class
mate at West Point. his fellow officer
In the regiment, the confldant of all
his hopes and ideals
| He had come back, after Q fort
| nights absence, to find his name
smeared with disgrace, himself judged
and condemned, unheard, in the opin-
| ion Of the mess And that was not
| the worst of 1t. The same blow which
had deprived him of the regard of the
only people in the world who matter
ed to him, destroyed, also root and
branch, his affection for the one man
of whom he had made an intimate
The only feeling that 1t would be pos
sible for him to entertain for Perry
Hunter again must be Multiplying
half-incredulous contempt. And II
that was his feeling for the man he
| had trusted most and loved the most
| deeply, what must be 1t for the rest OF
humankind? What did 1t matter what
they thought of him or what they did
to him? All he wanted of human So
ciety was to escape from 1t.
He fell to wondering, as he hung,
suspended, over that rosy expanse Of
fleecy fog, whether. were the thing to
do over again, he would act as he had
acted five years ago; whether he
would content himself with a single
disdainfnl denial Of the monstrous
thing they charged him with; whether
he would resign again, under fire, and
go away, leaving his furnished name
for the davis to peck at,
Heretofore he had always answered
that question with fierce affirma-
tive. Today 1t left him wondering.
Had he stayed, had he paid the price
that would have been necessary to
clear himself, he would never have
| found his wings, SO much was clear.
He would never have spent those
four years In the wilderness, working,
! experimenting, taking his life in his
hands, day after day. while he master
| ed the art that no man had ever mas
| tered before.
| He had set himself this task because
| 1t was the only one he knew that did
not involve contact with his fellow
beings. He must have something that
he could work at alone. Work and
solitude were two things that he had
felt an overmastering craving for. And
the possibility he had faced with a
light heart every morning-the possi-
| bility Of sudden and violent death
before night, had been no more to
him than an agreeable spice to the
| days work.
It was not until he had actually
| learned to fly, had literally shaken the
dust of the earth from his feet and
taken to the sky as his abode, that his
wound had healed. The three months
| that he had spent In this upper arctic
air, awning for 1e hours out of "a. had
Gained him, put his nerves in tune
again; given him for men and their
affairs a quiet Indifference, in place
of the smarting contempt he had been
| hugging to his breast before. Three